10401	----	[Illustration: _Daniel Drayton_] PERSONAL MEMOIR Of DANIEL DRAYTON, For Four Years And Four Months A PRISONER (FOR CHARITY'S SAKE) IN WASHINGTON JAIL Including A Narrative Of The VOYAGE AND CAPTURE OF THE SCHOONER PEARL. We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, _liberty_, and the pursuit of happiness. DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 1855. Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1853, by DANIEL DRAYTON, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts ADVERTISEMENT. Considering the large share of the public attention which the case of the schooner Pearl attracted at the time of its occurrence, perhaps the following narrative of its origin, and of its consequences to himself, by the principal actor in it, may not be without interest. It is proper to state that a large share of the profits of the sale are secured to Captain Drayton, the state of whose health incapacitates him from any laborious employment. MEMOIR. I was born in the year 1802, in Cumberland County, Downs Township, in the State of New Jersey, on the shores of Nantuxet Creek, not far from Delaware Bay, into which that creek flows. My father was a farmer,--not a very profitable occupation in that barren part of the country. My mother was a widow at the time of her marriage with my father, having three children by a former husband. By my father she had six more, of whom I was the youngest but one. She was a woman of strong mind and marked character, a zealous member of the Methodist church; and, although I had the misfortune to lose her at an early age, her instructions--though the effect was not apparent at the moment--made a deep impression on my youthful mind, and no doubt had a very sensible influence over my future life. Just previous to, or during the war with Great Britain, my father removed still nearer to the shore of the bay, and the sight of the vessels passing up and down inspired me with a desire to follow the life of a waterman; but it was some years before I was able to gratify this wish. I well remember the alarm created in our neighborhood by the incursions of the British vessels up the bay during the war, and that, at these times, the women of the neighborhood used to collect at our house, as if looking up to my mother for counsel and guidance. I was only twelve years old when this good mother died; but, so strong was the impression which she left upon my memory, that, amid the struggles and dangers and cares of my subsequent life, I have seldom closed my eyes to sleep without some thought or image of her. As my father soon after married another widow, with four small children, it became necessary to make room in the house for their accommodation; and, with a younger brother of mine, I was bound out an apprentice in a cotton and woollen factory at a place called Cedarville. Manufactures were just then beginning to be introduced into the country, and great hopes were entertained of them as a profitable business. My employer,--or bos, as we called him,--had formerly been a schoolmaster, and he did not wholly neglect our instructions in other things besides cotton-spinning. Of this I stood greatly in need; for there were no public schools in the neighborhood in which I was born, and my parents had too many children to feed and clothe to be able to pay much for schooling. We were required on Sundays, by our employer, to learn two lessons, one in the forenoon, the other in the afternoon; after reciting which we were left at liberty to roam at our pleasure. Winter evenings we worked in the factory till nine o'clock, after which, and before going to bed, we were required to recite over one of our lessons These advantages of education were not great, but even these I soon lost. Within five months from the time I was bound to him, my employer died. The factories were then sold out to three partners. The one who carried on the cotton-spinning took me; but he soon gave up the business, and went back to farming, which had been his original occupation. I remained with him for a year and a half, or thereabouts, when my father bound me out apprentice to a shoe-maker. My new bos was, in some respects, a remarkable man, but not a very good sort of one for a boy to be bound apprentice to. He paid very little attention to his business, which he seemed to think unworthy of his genius. He was a kind-hearted man, fond of company and frolics, in which he indulged himself freely, and much given to speeches and harangues, in which he had a good deal of fluency. In religion he professed to be a Universalist, holding to doctrines and opinions very different from those which my mother had instilled into me. He ridiculed those opinions, and argued against them, but without converting me to his way of thinking; though, as far as practice went, I was ready enough to imitate his example. My Sundays were spent principally in taverns, playing at dominos, which then was, and still is, a favorite game in that part of the country; and, as the unsuccessful party was expected to treat, I at times ran up a bill at the bar as high as four or six dollars,--no small indebtedness for a young apprentice with no more means than I had. As I grew older this method of living grew less and less satisfactory to me; and as I saw that no good of any kind, not even a knowledge of the trade he had undertaken to teach me, was to be got of my present bos, I bought my time of him, and went to work with another man to pay for it. Before I had succeeded in doing that, and while I was not yet nineteen, I took upon myself the still further responsibility of marriage. This was a step into which I was led rather by the impulse of youthful passion than by any thoughtful foresight. Yet it had at least this advantage, that it obliged me to set diligently to work to provide for the increasing family which I soon found growing up around me. I had never liked the shoe-making business, to which my father had bound me an apprentice. I had always desired to follow the water. The vessels which I had seen sailing up and down the Delaware Bay still haunted my fancy; and I engaged myself as cook on board a sloop, employed in carrying wood from Maurice river to Philadelphia. Promotion in this line is sufficiently rapid; for in four months, after commencing as cook, I rose to be captain. This wood business, in which I remained for two years, is carried on by vessels of from thirty to sixty tons, known as _bay-craft_. They are built so as to draw but little water, which is their chief distinction from the _coasters_, which are fit for the open sea. They will carry from twenty-five to fifty cords of wood, on which a profit is expected of a dollar and upwards. They have usually about three hands, the captain, or skipper, included. The men used to be hired, when I entered the business, for eight or ten dollars the month, but they now get nearly or quite twice as much. The captain usually sails the vessel on shares (unless he is himself owner in whole, or in part), victualling the vessel and hiring the men, and paying over to the owner forty dollars out of every hundred. During the winter, from December to March, the navigation is impeded by ice, and the bay-craft seldom run. The men commonly spend this long vacation in visiting, husking-frolics, rabbiting, and too often in taverns, to the exhaustion of their purses, the impoverishment of their families, and the sacrifice of their sobriety. Yet the watermen, if many of them are not able always to resist the temptations held out to them, are in general an honest and simple-hearted set, though with little education, and sometimes rather rough in their manners. The extent of my education when I took to the water--and in this respect I was not, perhaps, much inferior to the generality of my brother watermen--was to read with no great fluency, and to sign my name; nor did I ever learn much more than this till my residence in Washington jail, to be related hereafter. Having followed the wood business for two years, I aspired to something a little higher, and obtained the command of a sloop engaged in the coasting business, from Philadelphia southward and eastward. At this time a sloop of sixty tons was considered a very respectable coaster. The business is now mostly carried on by vessels of a larger class; some of them, especially the regular lines of packets, being very handsome and expensive. The terms on which these coasters were sailed were very similar to those already stated in the case of the bay-craft. The captain victualled the vessel, and paid the hands, and received for his share half the net profits, after deducting the extra expenses of loading and unloading. It was in this coasting business that the best years of my life were spent, during which time I visited most of the ports and rivers between Savannah southward, and St. John, in the British province of New Brunswick, eastward;--those two places forming the extreme limits of my voyagings. As Philadelphia was the port from and to which I sailed, I presently found it convenient to remove my family thither, and there they continued to live till after my release from the Washington prison. I was so successful in my new business, that, besides supporting my family, I was able to become half owner of the sloop Superior, at an expense of over a thousand dollars, most of which I paid down. But this proved a very unfortunate investment. On her second trip after I had bought into her, returning from Baltimore to Philadelphia by the way of the Delaware and Chesapeake canal, while off the mouth of the Susquehannah, she struck, as I suppose, a sunken tree, brought down by a heavy freshet in that river. The water flowed fast into the cabin. It was in vain that I attempted to run her ashore. She sunk in five minutes. The men saved themselves in the boat, which was on deck, and which floated as she went down. I stood by the rudder till the last, and stepped off it into the boat, loath enough to leave my vessel, on which there was no insurance. By this unfortunate accident I lost everything except the clothes I had on, and was obliged to commence anew. I accordingly obtained the command of the new sloop Sarah Henry, of seventy tons burden, and continued to sail her for several years, on shares. While in her I made a voyage to Savannah; and while under sail from that city for Charleston, I was taken with the yellow fever. I lay for a week quite unconscious of anything that was going on about me and came as near dying as a man could do and escape. The religious instructions of my mother had from time to time recurred to my mind, and had occasioned me some anxiety. I was now greatly alarmed at the idea of dying in my sins, from which I seemed to have escaped so narrowly. My mind was possessed with this fear; and, to relieve myself from it, I determined, if it were a possible thing, to get religion at any rate. The idea of religion in which I had been educated was that of a sudden, miraculous change, in which a man felt himself relieved from the burden of his sins, united to God, and made a new creature. For this experience I diligently sought, and tried every way to get it. I set up family prayers in my house, went to meetings, and conversed with experienced members of the church; but, for nine months or more, all to no purpose. At length I got into an awful state, beginning to think that I had been so desperate a sinner that there was no forgiveness for me. While I was in this miserable condition, I heard of a camp-meeting about to be held on Cape May, and I immediately resolved to attend it, and to leave no stone unturned to accomplish the object which I had so much at heart. I went accordingly, and yielded myself entirely up to the dictation of those who had the control of the meeting. I did in everything as I was told; went into the altar, prayed, and let them pray over me. This went on for several days without any result. One evening, as I approached the altar, and was looking into it, I met a captain of my acquaintance, and asked him what he thought of these proceedings; and, as he seemed to approve them, I invited him to go into the altar with me. We both went in accordingly, and knelt down. Pretty soon my friend got up and walked away, saying he had got religion. I did not find it so easily. I remained at the altar, praying, till after the meeting broke up, and even till one o'clock,--a few acquaintances and others remaining with me, and praying round me, and over me, and for me;--till, at last, thinking that I had done everything I could, I told them pray no more, as evidently there was no forgiveness for me. So I withdrew to a distance, and sat down upon an old tree, lamenting my hard case very seriously. I was sure I had committed the unpardonable sin. A friend, who sat down beside me, and of whom I inquired what he supposed the unpardonable sin was, endeavored comfort me by suggesting that, whatever it might be, it would take more sense and learning than ever I had to commit it. But I would not enter into his merriment. All the next day, which was Sunday, I passed in a most miserable state. I went into the woods alone. I did not think myself worthy or fit to associate with those who had religion, while I was anxious to avoid the company of those who made light of it. Sometimes I would sit down, sometimes I would stand up, sometimes I would walk about. Frequently I prayed, but found no comfort in it. About sun-set I met a friend, who said to me, "Well, our camp-meeting is about ended." What a misery those few words struck to my heart! "About ended!" I said to myself; "about ended, and I not converted!" A little later, as I was passing along the camp-ground, I saw a woman before me kneeling and praying. An acquaintance of mine, who was approaching her in an opposite direction, called out to me, "Daniel, help me pray for this woman!" I had made up my mind to make one more effort, and I knelt down and commenced praying; but quite as much for myself as for her. Others gathered about us and joined in, and the interest and excitement became so great, that, after a vain effort to call us off, the regular services of the evening were dispensed with, and the ground was left to us. Things went on in this way till about nine o'clock, when, as suddenly as if I had been struck a heavy blow, I felt a remarkable change come over me. All my fears and terrors seemed to be instantaneously removed, and my whole soul to be filled with joy and peace. This was the sort of change which I had been taught to look for as the consequence of getting that religion for which I had been struggling so hard. I instantly rose up, and told those about me that I was a converted man; and from that moment I was able to sing and shout and pray with the best of them. In the midst of my exultation who should come up but my old master in the shoe-making trade, of whom I have already given some account. He had heard that I was on the camp-ground in pursuit of religion, and had come to find me out. "Daniel," he said, addressing me by my Christian name, "what are you doing here? Don't make a fool of yourself." To which I answered, that I had got to be just such a fool as I had long wanted to be; and I took him by the arm, and endeavored to prevail upon him to kneel down and allow us to pray over him, assuring him that I knew his convictions to be much better than his conduct; that he must get religion, and now was the time. But he drew back, and escaped from me, with promises to do better, which, however, he did not keep. As for myself, considering, and, as I thought, feeling that I was a converted man, I now enjoyed for some time an extraordinary satisfaction, a sort of offset to the months of agony and misery which I had previously endured. But, though regarding myself as now truly converted, I delayed some time before uniting myself with any particular church. I did not know which to join. This division into so many hostile sects seemed to me unaccountable. I thought that all good Christians should love each other, and be as one family. Yet it seemed necessary to unite myself with some body of Christians; and, as I had been educated a Methodist, I concluded to join them. I have given the account of my religious experience exactly as it seemed to me at the time, and as I now remember it. It corresponded with the common course of religious experiences in the Methodist church, except that with me the struggle was harder than commonly happens. I did not doubt at the time that it was truly a supernatural change, as much the work of the Spirit as the sudden conversions recorded in the Acts of the Apostles. Others can form their own opinion about it. I will only add that subsequent experience has led me to the belief that the reality of a man's religion is more to be judged of by what he does than by how he feels or what he says. The change which had taken place in me, however it is to be regarded, was not without a decided influence on my whole future life. I no longer considered myself as living for myself alone. I regarded myself as bound to do unto others as I would that they should do unto me; and it was in attempting to act up to this principle that I became involved in the difficulties to be hereafter related. Meanwhile I resumed my voyages in the Sarah Henry, in which I continued to sail, on shares, for several years, with tolerable success. Afterwards I followed the same business in the schooner Protection, in which I suffered another shipwreck. We sailed from Philadelphia to Washington, in the District of Columbia, laden with coal, proceeding down the Delaware, and by the open sea; but, when off the entrance of the Chesapeake, we encountered a heavy gale, which split the sails, swept the decks, and drove us off our course as far south as Ocracoke Inlet, on the coast of North Carolina. I took a pilot, intending to go in to repair damages; but, owing to the strength of the current, which defeated his calculations, the pilot ran us on the bar. As soon as the schooner's bow touched the ground, she swung round broadside to the sea, which immediately began to break over her in a fearful manner. She filled immediately,--everything on deck was swept away; and, as our only chance of safety, we took to the main-rigging. This was about seven o'clock in the evening. Towards morning, by reason of the continual thumping, the mainmast began to work through the vessel, and to settle in the sand, so that it became necessary for us to make our way to the fore-rigging; which we did, not without danger, as one of the men was twice washed off. About a quarter of a mile inside was a small, low island, on which lay five boats, each manned by five men, who had come down to our assistance; but the surf was so high that they did not venture to approach us; so we remained clinging with difficulty to the rigging till about half-past one, when the schooner went to pieces. The mast to which we were clinging fell, and we were precipitated into the raging surf, which swept us onward towards the island already mentioned. The men there, anticipating what had happened, had prepared for its occurrence; and the best swimmers, with ropes tied round their waists, the other end of which was held by those on shore, plunged in to our assistance. One of our unfortunate company was drowned,--the rest of us came safely to the shore; but we lost everything except the clothes we stood in. The fragments saved from the wreck were sold at auction for two hundred dollars. The people of that neighborhood treated us with great kindness, and we presently took the packet for Elizabeth city, whence I proceeded to Norfolk, Baltimore, and so home. I had made up my mind to go to sea no more; but, after remaining on shore for three weeks, and not finding anything else to do, as it was necessary for me to have the means of supporting my increasing family, I took the command of another vessel, belonging to the same owners, the sloop Joseph B. While in this vessel, my voyages were to the eastward. I was engaged in the flour-trade, in conjunction with the owners of the vessel. We bought flour and grain on a sixty days' credit, which I carried to the Kennebec, Portsmouth, Boston, New Bedford, and other eastern ports, calculating upon the returns of the voyage to take up our notes. I was so successful in this business as finally to become the owner of the Joseph B., which vessel I exchanged away at Portsmouth for the Sophronia, a top-sail schooner of one hundred and sixty tons, worth about fourteen hundred dollars. In this vessel I made two trips to Boston,--one with coal, and the other with timber. Having unloaded my timber, I took in a hundred tons of plaster, purchased on my own account, intending to dispose of it in the Susquehanna. But on the passage I encountered a heavy storm, which blew the masts out of the vessel, and drove her ashore on the south side of Long Island. We saved our lives; but I lost everything except one hundred and sixty dollars, for which I sold what was left of the vessel and cargo. Having returned to my family, with but little disposition to try my fortune again in the coasting-trade, one day, being in the horse-market, I purchased a horse and wagon; and, taking in my wife and some of the younger children, I went to pay a visit to the neighborhood in which I was born. Here I traded for half of a bay-craft, of about sixty tons burden, in which I engaged in the oyster-trade, and other small bay-traffic. Having met at Baltimore the owner of the other half, I bought him out also. The whole craft stood me in about seven hundred dollars. I then purchased three hundred bushels of potatoes, with which I sailed for Fredericksburg, in Virginia; but this proved a losing trip, the potatoes not selling for what they cost me. At Fredericksburg I took in flour on freight for Norfolk; but my ill-luck still pursued me. In unloading the vessel, the cargo forward being first taken out, she settled by the stern and sprang a leak, damaging fifteen barrels of flour, which were thrown upon my hands. I then sailed for the eastern shore of Virginia, and at a place called Cherrystone traded off my damaged flour for a cargo of pears, with which I sailed for New York. I proceeded safely as far as Barnegat, when I encountered a north-east storm, which drove me back into the Delaware, obliging me to seek refuge in the same Maurice river from which I had commenced my sea-faring life in the wood business. But by this time the pears were spoiled, and I was obliged to throw them overboard. At Cherrystone I had met the owner of a pilot-boat, who had seemed disposed to trade with me for my vessel; and I now returned to that place, and completed the trade; after which I loaded the pilot-boat with oysters and terrapins, and sailed for Philadelphia. This boat was an excellent sailer, but too sharp, and not of burden enough for my business; and I soon exchanged her for half a little sloop, in which I carried a load of water-melons to Baltimore. By this time I was pretty well sick of the water; and, having hired out the sloop, I set up a shop, at Philadelphia, for the purchase and sale of junk, old iron, &c. &c. But, after continuing in this business for about two years,--my health being bad, and the doctor having advised me to try the water again,--I bought half of another sloop, and engaged in trading up and down Chesapeake Bay. Returning home, towards the close of the season, with the proceeds of the summer's business, I encountered, in the upper part of Chesapeake Bay, a terrible snow-storm which proved fatal to many vessels then in the bay. In attempting to make a harbor, the vessel struck the ground, and knocked off her rudder; and, in order to get her off, we were obliged to throw over the deck-load. We drifted about all day, it still blowing and snowing, and at night let go both anchors. So we lay for a night and a day; but, having neither boat, rudder nor provisions, I was finally obliged to slip the anchors and run ashore. I sold my half of her, as she lay, for ninety dollars, which was all that remained to me of my investment and my summer's work. Not having the means to purchase a boat, my health also continuing quite infirm, the next summer I hired one, and continued the same trade up and down the bay which I had followed the previous summer. My trading up and down the bay, in the way which I have described, of course brought me a good deal into contact with the slave population. No sooner, indeed, does a vessel, known to be from the north, anchor in any of these waters--and the slaves are pretty adroit in ascertaining from what state a vessel comes--than she is boarded, if she remains any length of time, and especially over night, by more or less of them, in hopes of obtaining a passage in her to a land of freedom. During my earlier voyagings, several years before, in Chesapeake Bay, I had turned a deaf ear to all these requests. At that time, according to an idea still common enough, I had regarded the negroes as only fit to be slaves, and had not been inclined to pay much attention to the pitiful tales which they told me of ill-treatment by their masters and mistresses. But my views upon this subject had undergone a gradual change. I knew it was asserted in the Declaration of Independence that all men are born free and equal, and I had read in the Bible that God had made of one flesh all the nations of the earth. I had found out, by intercourse with the negroes, that they had the same desires, wishes and hopes, as myself. I knew very well that I should not like to be a slave even to the best of masters, and still less to such sort of masters as the greater part of the slaves seemed to have. The idea of having first one child and then another taken from me, as fast as they grew large enough, and handed over to the slave-traders, to be carried I knew not where, and sold, if they were girls, I knew not for what purposes, would have been horrible enough; and, from instances which came to my notice, I perceived that it was not less horrible and distressing to the parties concerned in the case of black people than of white ones. I had never read any abolition books, nor heard any abolition lectures. I had frequented only Methodist meetings, and nothing was heard there about slavery. But, for the life of me, I could not perceive why the golden rule of doing to others as you would wish them to do to you did not apply to this case. Had I been a slave myself,--and it is not a great while since the Algerines used to make slaves of our sailors, white as well as black,--I should have thought it very right and proper in anybody who would have ventured to assist me in escaping out of bondage; and the more dangerous it might have been to render such assistance, the more meritorious I should have thought the act to be. Why had not these black people, so anxious to escape from their masters, as good a light to their liberty as I had to mine? I know it is sometimes said, by those who defend slavery or apologize for it, that the slaves at the south are very happy and contented, if left to themselves, and that this idea of running away is only put into their heads by mischievous white people from the north. This will do very well for those who know nothing of the matter personally, and who are anxious to listen to any excuse. But there is not a waterman who ever sailed in Chesapeake Bay who will not tell you that, so far from the slaves needing any prompting to run away, the difficulty is, when they ask you to assist them, to make them take no for an answer. I have known instances where men have lain in the woods for a year or two, waiting for an opportunity to escape on board some vessel. On one of my voyages up the Potomac, an application was made to me on behalf of such a runaway; and I was so much moved by his story, that, had it been practicable for me at that time, I should certainly have helped him off. One or two attempts I did make to assist the flight of some of those who sought my assistance; but none with success, till the summer of 1847, which is the period to which I have brought down my narrative. I was employed during that summer, as I have mentioned already in trading up and down the Chesapeake, in a hired boat, a small black boy being my only assistant. Among other trips, I went to Washington with a cargo of oysters. While I was lying there, at the same wharf, as it happened, from which the Pearl afterwards took her departure, a colored man came on board, and, observing that I seemed to be from the north, he said he supposed we were pretty much all abolitionists there. I don't know where he got this piece of information, but I think it likely from some southern member of Congress. As I did not check him, but rather encouraged him to go on, he finally told me that he wanted to get passage to the north for a woman and five children. The husband of the woman, and father of the children, was a free colored man; and the woman, under an agreement with her master, had already more than paid for her liberty; but, when she had asked him for a settlement, he had only answered by threatening to sell her. He begged me to see the woman, which I did; and finally I made an arrangement to take them away. Their bedding, and other things, were sent down on board the vessel in open day, and at night the woman came on board with her five children and a niece. We were ten days in reaching Frenchtown, where the husband was in waiting for them. He took them under his charge, and I saw them no more; but, since my release from imprisonment in Washington, I have heard that the whole family are comfortably established in a free country, and doing well. Having accomplished this exploit,--and was it not something of an exploit to bestow the invaluable gift of liberty upon seven of one's fellow-creatures--the season being now far advanced, I gave up the boat to the owner, and returned to my family at Philadelphia. In the course of the following month of February, I received a note from a person whom I had never known or heard of before, desiring me to call at a certain place named in it. I did so, when it appeared that I had been heard of through the colored family which I had brought off from Washington. A letter from that city was read to me, relating the case of a family or two who expected daily and hourly to be sold, and desiring assistance to get them away. It was proposed to me to undertake this enterprise; but I declined it at this time, as I had no vessel, and because the season was too early for navigation through the canal. I saw the same person again about a fortnight later, and finally arranged to go on to Washington, to see what could be done. There I agreed to return again so soon as I could find a vessel fit for the enterprise. I spoke with several persons of my acquaintance, who had vessels under their control; but they declined, on account of the danger. They did not appear to have any other objection, and seemed to wish me success. Passing along the street, I met Captain Sayres, and knowing that he was sailing a small bay-craft, called the Pearl, and learning from him that business was dull with him, I proposed the enterprise to him, offering him one hundred dollars for the charter of his vessel to Washington and back to Frenchtown where, according to the arrangement with the friends of the passengers, they were to be met and carried to Philadelphia. This was considerably more than the vessel could earn in any ordinary trip of the like duration, and Sayres closed with the offer. He fully understood the nature of the enterprise. By our bargain, I was to have, as supercargo, the control of the vessel so far as related to her freight, and was to bring away from Washington such passengers as I chose to receive on board; but the control of the vessel in other respects remained with him. Captain Sayres engaged in this enterprise merely as a matter of business. I, too, was to be paid for my time and trouble,--an offer which the low state of my pecuniary affairs, and the necessity of supporting my family, did not allow me to decline. But this was not, by any means, my sole or principal motive. I undertook it out of sympathy for the enslaved, and from my desire to do something to further the cause of universal liberty. Such being the different ground upon which Sayres and myself stood, I did not think it necessary or expedient to communicate to him the names of the persons with whom the expedition had originated; and, at my suggestion, those persons abstained from any direct communication with him, either at Philadelphia or Washington. Sayres had, as cook and sailor, on board the Pearl, a young man named Chester English. He was married, and had a child or two, but was himself as inexperienced as a child, having never been more than thirty miles from the place where he was born. I remonstrated with Sayres against taking this young man with us. But English, pleased with the idea of seeing Washington, desired to go; and Sayres, who had engaged him for the season, did not like to part with him. He went with us, but was kept in total ignorance of the real object of the voyage. He had the idea that we were going to Washington for a load of ship-timber. We proceeded down the Delaware, and by the canal into the Chesapeake, making for the mouth of the Potomac. As we ascended that river we stopped at a place called Machudock, where I purchased, by way of cargo and cover to the voyage, twenty cords of wood; and with that freight on board we proceeded to Washington, where we arrived on the evening of Thursday, the 13th of April, 1848. As it happened, we found that city in a great state of excitement on the subject of emancipation, liberty and the rights of man. A grand torch-light procession was on foot, in honor of the new French revolution, the expulsion of Louis-Philippe, and the establishment of a republic in France. Bonfires were blazing in the public squares, and a great out-door meeting was being held in front of the _Union_ newspaper office, at which very enthusiastic and exciting speeches were delivered, principally by southern democratic members of Congress, which body was at that time in session. A full account of these proceedings, with reports of the speeches, was given in the _Union_ of the next day. According to this report, Mr. Foote, the senator from Mississippi, extolled the French revolution as holding out "to the whole family of man a bright promise of the universal establishment of civil and religious liberty." He declared, in the same speech, "that the age of tyrants and of slavery was rapidly drawing to a close, and that the happy period to be signalized by the _universal emancipation_ of man from the fetters of civic oppression, and the recognition in all countries of the great principles of popular sovereignty, equality and brotherhood, was at this moment visibly commencing." Mr. Stanton, of Tennessee, and others, spoke in a strain equally fervid and philanthropic. I am obliged to refer to the _Union_ newspaper for an account of these speeches, as I did not hear them myself. I came to Washington, not to preach, nor to hear preached, emancipation, equality and brotherhood, but to put them into practice. Sayres and English went up to see the procession and hear the speeches. I had other things to attend to. The news of my arrival soon spread among those who had been expecting it, though I neither saw nor had any direct communication with any of those who were to be my passengers. I had some difficulty in disposing of my wood, which was not a very first-rate article, but finally sold it, taking in payment the purchaser's note on sixty days, which I changed off for half cash and half provisions. As the trader to whom I passed the note had no hard bread, Sayres and myself went in the steamer to Alexandria to purchase a barrel,--a circumstance of which it was afterwards attempted to take advantage against us. It was arranged that the passengers should come on board after dark on Saturday evening, and that we should sail about midnight. I had understood that the expedition, had principally originated in the desire to help off a certain family, consisting of a woman, nine children and two grand-children, who were believed to be legally entitled to their liberty. Their case had been in litigation for some time; but, although they had a very good case,--the lawyer whom they employed (Mr. Bradley, one of the most distinguished members of the bar of the district) testified, in the course of one of my trials, that he believed them to be legally free,--yet, as their money was nearly exhausted, and as there seemed to be no end to the law's delay and the pertinacity of the woman who claimed them, it was deemed best by their friends that they should get away if they could, lest she might seize them unawares, and sell them to some trader. In speaking of this case, the person with whom I communicated at Washington informed me that there were also quite a number of others who wished to avail themselves of this opportunity of escaping, and that the number of passengers was likely to be larger than had at first been calculated upon. To which I replied, that I did not stand about the number; that all who were on board before eleven o'clock I should take,--the others would have to remain behind. Saturday evening, at supper, I let English a little into the secret of what I intended. I told him that the sort of ship-timber we were going to take would prove very easy to load and unload; that a number of colored people wished to take passage with us down the bay, and that, as Sayres and myself would be away the greater part of the evening, all he had to do was, as fast as they came on board, to lift up the hatch and let them pass into the hold, shutting the hatch down upon them. The vessel, which we had moved down the river since unloading the wood, lay at a rather lonely place, called White-house Wharf, from a whitish-colored building which stood upon it. The high bank of the river, under which a road passed, afforded a cover to the wharf, and there were only a few scattered buildings in the vicinity. Towards the town there stretched a wide extent of open fields. Anxious, as might naturally be expected, as to the result, I kept in the vicinity to watch the progress of events. There was another small vessel that lay across the head of the same wharf, but her crew were all black; and, going on board her just at dusk, I informed the skipper of my business, intimating to him, at the same time, that it would be a dangerous thing for him to betray me. He assured me that I need have no fears of him--that the other men would soon leave the vessel, not to return again till Monday, and that, for himself, he should go below and to sleep, so as neither to hear nor to see anything. Shortly after dark the expected passengers began to arrive, coming stealthily across the fields, and gliding silently on board the vessel. I observed a man near a neighboring brick-kiln, who seemed to be watching them. I went towards him, and found him to be black. He told me that he understood what was going on, but that I need have no apprehension of him. Two white men, who walked along the road past the vessel, and who presently returned back the same way, occasioned me some alarm; but they seemed to have no suspicions of what was on foot, as I saw no more of them. I went on board the vessel several times in the course of the evening, and learned from English that the hold was fast filling up. I had promised him, in consideration of the unusual nature of the business we were engaged in, ten dollars as a gratuity, in addition to his wages. Something past ten o'clock, I went on board, and directed English to cast off the fastenings and to get ready to make sail. Pretty soon Sayres came on board. It was a dead calm, and we were obliged to get the boat out to get the vessel's head round. After dropping down a half a mile or so, we encountered the tide making up the river; and, as there was still no wind, we were obliged to anchor. Here we lay in a dead calm till about daylight. The wind then began to breeze up lightly from the northward, when we got up the anchor and made sail. As the sun rose, we passed Alexandria. I then went into the hold for the first time, and there found my passengers pretty thickly stowed. I distributed bread among them, and knocked down the bulkhead between the hold and the cabin, in order that they might get into the cabin to cook. They consisted of men and women, in pretty equal proportions, with a number of boys and girls, and two small children. The wind kept increasing and hauling to the westward. Off Fort Washington we had to make two stretches, but the rest of the way we run before the wind. Shortly after dinner, we passed the steamer from Baltimore for Washington, bound up. I thought the passengers on board took particular notice of us; but the number of vessels met with in a passage up the Potomac at that season is so few, as to make one, at least for the idle passengers of a steamboat, an object of some curiosity. Just before sunset, we passed a schooner loaded with plaster, bound up. As we approached the mouth of the Potomac, the wind hauled to the north, and blew with such stiffness as would make it impossible for us to go up the bay, according to our original plan. Under these circumstances, apprehending a pursuit from Washington, I urged Sayres to go to sea, with the intention of reaching the Delaware by the outside passage. But he objected that the vessel was not fit to go outside (which was true enough), and that the bargain was to go to Frenchtown. Having reached Point Lookout, at the mouth of the river, and not being able to persuade Sayres to go to sea, and the wind being dead in our teeth, and too strong to allow any attempt to ascend the bay, we came to anchor in Cornfield harbor, just under Point Lookout, a shelter usually sought by bay-craft encountering contrary winds when in that neighborhood. We were all sleepy with being up all the night before, and, soon after dropping anchor, we all turned in. I knew nothing more till, waking suddenly, I heard the noise of a steamer blowing off steam alongside of us. I knew at once that we were taken. The black men came to the cabin, and asked if they should fight. I told them no; we had no arms, nor was there the least possibility of a successful resistance. The loud shouts and trampling of many feet overhead proved that our assailants were numerous. One of them lifted the hatch a little, and cried out, "Niggers, by G--d!" an exclamation to which the others responded with three cheers, and by banging the buts of their muskets against the deck. A lantern was called for, to read the name of the vessel; and it being ascertained to be the Pearl, a number of men came to the cabin-door, and called for Captain Drayton. I was in no great hurry to stir; but at length rose from my berth, saying that I considered myself their prisoner, and that I expected to be treated as such. While I was dressing, rather too slowly for the impatience of those outside, a sentinel, who had been stationed at the cabin-door, followed every motion of mine with his gun, which he kept pointed at me, in great apprehension, apparently, lest I should suddenly seize some dangerous weapon and make at him. As I came out of the cabin-door, two of them seized me, took me on board the steamer and tied me; and they did the same with Sayres and English, who were brought on board, one after the other. The black people were left on board the Pearl, which the steamer took in tow, and then proceeded up the river. To explain this sudden change in our situation, it is necessary to go back to Washington. Great was the consternation in several families of that city, on Sunday morning, to find no breakfast, and, what was worse, their servants missing. Nor was this disaster confined to Washington only. Georgetown came in for a considerable share of it, and even Alexandria, on the opposite side of the river, had not entirely escaped. The persons who had taken passage on board the Pearl had been held in bondage by no less than forty-one different persons. Great was the wonder at the sudden and simultaneous disappearance of so many "prime hands," roughly estimated, though probably with considerable exaggeration, as worth in the market not less than a hundred thousand dollars,--and all at "one fell swoop" too, as the District Attorney afterwards, in arguing the case against me, pathetically expressed it! There were a great many guesses and conjectures as to where these people had gone, and how they had gone; but it is very doubtful whether the losers would have got upon the right track, had it not been for the treachery of a colored hackman, who had been employed to carry down to the vessel two passengers who had been in hiding for some weeks previous, and who could not safely walk down, lest they might be met and recognized. Emulating the example of that large, and, in their own opinion at least, highly moral, religious and respectable class of white people, known as "dough-faces," this hackman thought it a fine opportunity to feather his nest by playing cat's-paw to the slave-holders. Seeing how much the information was in demand, and anticipating, no doubt, a large reward, he turned informer, and described the Pearl as the conveyance which the fugitives had taken; and, it being ascertained that the Pearl had actually sailed between Saturday night and Sunday morning, preparations were soon made to pursue her. A Mr. Dodge, of Georgetown, a wealthy old gentleman, originally from New England, missed three or four slaves from his family, and a small steamboat, of which he was the proprietor, was readily obtained. Thirty-five men, including a son or two of old Dodge, and several of those whose slaves were missing, volunteered to man her; and they set out about Sunday noon, armed to the teeth with guns, pistols, bowie-knives, &c., and well provided with brandy and other liquors. They heard of us on the passage down, from the Baltimore steamer and the vessel loaded with plaster. They reached the mouth of the river, and, not having found the Pearl, were about to return, as the steamer could not proceed into the bay without forfeiting her insurance. As a last chance, they looked into Cornfield harbor, where they found us, as I have related. This was about two o'clock in the morning. The Pearl had come to anchor about nine o'clock the previous evening. It is a hundred and forty miles from Washington to Cornfield harbor. The steamer, with the Pearl in tow, crossed over from Point Lookout to Piney Point, on the south shore of the Potomac, and here the Pearl was left at anchor, a part of the steamer's company remaining to guard her, while the steamer, having myself and the other white prisoners on board, proceeded up Coan river for a supply of wood, having obtained which, she again, about noon of Monday, took the Pearl in tow and started for Washington. The bearing, manner and aspect of the thirty-five armed persons by whom we had been thus seized and bound, without the slightest shadow of lawful authority, was sufficient to inspire a good deal of alarm. We had been lying quietly at anchor in a harbor of Maryland; and, although the owners of the slaves might have had a legal right to pursue and take them back, what warrant or authority had they for seizing us and our vessel? They could have brought none from the District of Columbia, whose officers had no jurisdiction or authority in Cornfield harbor; nor did they pretend to have any from the State of Maryland. Some of them showed a good deal of excitement, and evinced a disposition to proceed to lynch us at once. A man named Houver, who claimed as his property two of the boys passengers on board the Pearl, put me some questions in a very insolent tone; to which I replied, that I considered myself a prisoner, and did not wish to answer any questions; whereupon one of the bystanders, flourishing a dirk in my face, exclaimed, "If I was in his place, I'd put this through you!" At Piney Point, one of the company proposed to hang me up to the yard-arm, and make me confess; but the more influential of those on board were not ready for any such violence, though all were exceedingly anxious to get out of me the history of the expedition, and who my employers were. That I had employers, and persons of note too, was taken for granted on all hands; nor did I think it worth my while to contradict it, though I declined steadily to give any information on that point. Sayres and English very readily told all that they knew. English, especially, was in a great state of alarm, and cried most bitterly. I pitied him much, besides feeling some compunctions at getting him thus into difficulty; and, upon the representations which I made, that he came to Washington in perfect ignorance of the object of the expedition, he was finally untied. As Sayres was obliged to admit that he came to Washington to take away colored passengers, he was not regarded with so much favor. But it was evidently me whom they looked upon as the chief culprit, alone possessing a knowledge of the history and origin of the expedition, which they were so anxious to unravel. They accordingly went to work very artfully to worm this secret out of me. I was placed in charge of one Orme, a police-officer of Georgetown, whose manner towards me was such as to inspire me with a certain confidence in him; who, as it afterwards appeared from his testimony on the trial, carefully took minutes--but, as it proved, very confused and incorrect ones--of all that I said, hoping thus to secure something that might turn out to my disadvantage. Another person, with whom I had a good deal of conversation, and who was afterwards produced as a witness against me, was William H. Craig, in my opinion a much more conscientious person than Orme, who seemed to think that it was part of his duty, as a police-officer, to testify to something, at all hazards, to help on a conviction. But this is a subject to which I shall have occasion to return presently. In one particular, at least, the testimony of both these witnesses was correct enough. They both testified to my expressing pretty serious apprehensions of what the result to myself was likely to be. What the particular provisions were, in the District of Columbia, as to helping slaves to escape, I did not know; but I had heard that, in some of the slave-states, they were very severe; in fact, I was assured by Craig that I had committed the highest crime, next to murder, known in their laws. Under these circumstances, I made up my mind that the least penalty I should be apt to escape with was confinement in the penitentiary for life; and it is quite probable that I endeavored to console myself, as these witnesses testified, with the idea that, after all, it might, in a religious point of view, be all for the best, as I should thus be removed from temptation, and have ample time for reflection and repentance. But my apprehensions were by no means limited to what I might suffer under the forms of law. From the temper exhibited by some of my captors, and from the vindictive fury with which the idea of enabling the enslaved to regain their liberty was, I knew, generally regarded at the south, I apprehended more sudden and summary proceedings; and what happened afterwards at Washington proved that these apprehensions were not wholly unfounded. The idea of being torn in pieces by a furious mob was exceedingly disagreeable. Many men, who might not fear death, might yet not choose to meet it in that shape. I called to mind the apology of the Methodist minister, who, just after a declaration of his that he was not afraid to die, ran away from a furious bull that attacked him,--"that, though not fearing death, he did not like to be torn in pieces by a mad bull." I related this anecdote to Craig, and, as he testified on the trial, expressed my preference to be taken on the deck of the steamer and shot at once, rather than to be given up to a Washington mob to be baited and murdered. I talked pretty freely with Orme and Craig about myself, the circumstances under which I had undertaken this enterprise, my motives to it, my family, my past misfortunes, and the fate that probably awaited me; but they failed to extract from me, what they seemed chiefly to desire, any information which would implicate others. Orme told me, as he afterwards testified, that what the people in the District wanted was the principals; and that, if I would give information that would lead to them, the owners of the slaves would let me go, or sign a petition for my pardon. Craig also made various inquiries tending to the same point. Though I was firmly resolved not to yield in this particular, yet I was desirous to do all I could to soften the feeling against me; and it was doubtless this desire which led me to make the statements sworn to by Orme and Craig, that I had no connection with the persons called abolitionists,--which was true enough; that I had formerly refused large offers made me by slaves to carry them away; and that, in the present instance, I was employed by others, and was to be paid for my services. On arriving off Fort Washington, the steamer anchored for the night, as the captors preferred to make their triumphant entry into the city by daylight. Sayres and myself were watched during the night by a regular guard of two men, armed with muskets, who were relieved from time to time. Before getting under weigh again,--which they did about seven o'clock in the morning of Tuesday, Feb. 18,--Sayres and myself were tied together arm-and-arm, and the black people also, two-and-two, with the other arm bound behind their backs. As we passed Alexandria, we were all ordered on deck, and exhibited to the mob collected on the wharves to get a sight of us, who signified their satisfaction by three cheers. When we landed at the steamboat-wharf in Washington, which is a mile and more from Pennsylvania Avenue, and in a remote part of the city, but few people had yet assembled. We were marched up in a long procession, Sayres and myself being placed at the head of it, guarded by a man on each side; English following next, and then the negroes. As we went along, the mob began to increase; and, as we passed Gannon's slave-pen, that slave-trader, armed with a knife, rushed out, and, with horrid imprecations, made a pass at me, which was very near finding its way through my body. Instead of being arrested, as he ought to have been, this slave-dealer was politely informed that I was in the hands of the law, to which he replied, "D--n the law!--I have three negroes, and I will give them all for one thrust at this d--d scoundrel!" and he followed along, waiting his opportunity to repeat the blow. The crowd, by this time, was greatly increased. We met an immense mob of several thousand persons coming down Four-and-a-half street, with the avowed intention of carrying us up before the capitol, and making an exhibition of us there. The noise and confusion was very great. It seemed as if the time for the lynching had come. When almost up to Pennsylvania Avenue, a rush was made upon us,--"Lynch them! lynch them! the d--n villains!" and other such cries, resounded on all sides. Those who had us in charge were greatly alarmed; and, seeing no other way to keep us from the hands of the mob, they procured a hack, and put Sayres and myself into it. The hack drove to the jail, the mob continuing to follow, repeating their shouts and threats. Several thousand people surrounded the jail, filling up the enclosure about it. Our captors had become satisfied, from the statements made by Sayres and myself, and from his own statements and conduct, that the participation of English in the affair was not of a sort that required any punishment; and when the mob made the rush upon us, the persons having him in charge had let him go, with the intention that he should escape. After a while he had found his way back to the steamboat wharf; but the steamer was gone. Alone in a strange place, and not knowing what to do, he told his story to somebody whom he met, who put him in a hack and sent him up to the jail. It was a pity he lacked the enterprise to take care of himself when set at liberty, as it cost him four months' imprisonment and his friends some money. I ought to have mentioned before that, on arriving within the waters of the District, Sayres and myself had been examined before a justice of the peace, who was one of the captors; and who had acted as their leader. He had made out a commitment against us, but none against English; so that the persons who had him in charge were right enough in letting him go. Sayres and myself were at first put into the same cell, but, towards night, we were separated. A person named Goddard, connected with the police, came to examine us. He went to Sayres first. He then came to me, when I told him that, as I supposed he had got the whole story out of Sayres, and as it was not best that two stories should be told, I would say nothing. Goddard then took from me my money. One of the keepers threw me in two thin blankets, and I was left to sleep as I could. The accommodations were not of the most luxurious kind. The cell had a stone floor, which, with the help of a blanket, was to serve also for a bed. There was neither chair, table, stool, nor any individual piece of furniture of any kind, except a night-bucket and a water-can. I was refused my overcoat and valise, and had nothing but my water-can to make a pillow of. With such a pillow, and the bare stone floor for my bed, looked upon by all whom I saw with apparent abhorrence and terror,--as much so, to all appearance, as if I had been a murderer, or taken in some other desperate crime,--remembering the execrations which the mob had belched forth against me, and uncertain whether a person would be found to express the least sympathy for me (which might not, in the existing state of the public feeling, be safe), it may be imagined that my slumbers were not very sound. Meanwhile the rage of the mob had taken, for the moment, another direction. I had heard it said, while we were coming up in the steamboat, that the abolition press must be stopped; and the mob accordingly, as the night came on, gathered about the office of the _National Era_, with threats to destroy it. Some little mischief was done; but the property-holders in the city, well aware how dependent Washington is upon the liberality of Congress, were unwilling that anything should occur to place the District in bad odor at the north. Some of them, also, it is but justice to believe, could not entirely give in to the slave-holding doctrine and practice of suppressing free discussion by force; and, by their efforts, seconded by a drenching storm of rain, that came on between nine and ten o'clock, the mob were persuaded to disperse for the present. The jail was guarded that night by a strong body of police, serious apprehensions being entertained, lest the mob, instigated by the violence of many southern members of Congress, should break in and lynch us. Great apprehension, also, seemed to be felt at the jail, lest we might be rescued; and we were subject, during the night, to frequent examinations, to see that all was safe. Great was the terror, as well as the rage, which the abolitionists appeared to inspire. They seemed to be thought capable, if not very narrowly watched, of taking us off through the roof, or the stone floor, or out of the iron-barred doors; and, from the half-frightened looks which the keepers gave me from time to time, I could plainly enough read their thoughts,--that a fellow who had ventured on such an enterprise as that of the Pearl was desperate and daring enough to attempt anything. For a poor prisoner like me, so much in the power of his captors, and without the slightest means, hopes, or even thoughts of escape, it was some little satisfaction to observe the awe and terror which he inspired. Of the prison fare I shall have more to say, by and by. It is sufficient to state here that it was about on a par with the sleeping accommodations, and hardly of a sort to give a man in my situation the necessary physical vigor. However, I thought little of this at that moment, as I was too sick and excited to feel much disposition to eat. The Washington prison is a large three-story stone building, the front part of the lower story of which is occupied by the guard-room, or jail-office, and by the kitchen and sleeping apartments for the keepers. The back part, shut off from the front by strong grated doors, has a winding stone stair-case, ascending in the middle, on each side of which, on each of the three stories, are passage-ways, also shut off from the stair-case, by grated iron doors. The back wall of the jail forms one side of these passages, which are lighted by grated windows. On the other side are the cells, also with grated iron doors, and receiving their light and air entirely from the passages. The passages themselves have no ventilation except through the doors and windows, which answer that purpose very imperfectly. The front second story, over the guard-room, contains the cells for the female prisoners. The front third story is the debtors' apartment. The usage of the jail always has been--except in cases of insubordination or attempted escape, when locking up in the cells by day, as well as by night, has been resorted to as a punishment--to allow the prisoners, during the day-time, the use of the passages, for the benefit of light, air and exercise. Indeed, it is hard to conceive a more cruel punishment than to keep a man locked up all the time in one of these half-lighted, unventilated cells. On the morning of the second day of our confinement, we too were let out into the passage. But we were soon put back again, and not only into separate cells, but into separate passages, so as to be entirely cut off from any communication with each other. It was a long time before we were able to regain the privilege of the passage. But, for the present, I shall pass over the internal economy and administration of the prison, and my treatment in it, intending, further on, to give a general sketch of that subject. About nine or ten o'clock, Mr. Giddings, the member of Congress from Ohio, came to see us. There was some disposition, I understood, not to allow him to enter the jail; but Mr. Giddings is a man not easily repulsed, and there is nobody of whom the good people at Washington, especially the office-holders, who make up so large a part of the population, stand so much in awe as a member of Congress; especially a member of Mr. Giddings' well-known fearless determination. He was allowed to come in, bringing another person with him, but was followed into the jail by a crowd of ruffians, who compelled the turnkey to admit them into the passage, and who vented their rage in execration and threats. Mr. Giddings said that he had understood we were here in jail without counsel or friends, and that he had come to let us know that we should not want for either; and he introduced the person he had brought with him as one who was willing to act temporarily as our counsel. Not long after, Mr. David A. Hall, a lawyer of the District, came to offer his services to us in the same way. Key, the United States Attorney for the District, and who, as such, had charge of the proceedings against us, was there at the same time. He advised Mr. Hall to leave the jail and go home immediately, as the people outside were furious, and he ran the risk of his life. To which Mr. Hall replied that things had come to a pretty pass, if a man's counsel was not to have the privilege of talking with him. "Poor devils!" said the District Attorney, as he went out, "I pity them,--they are to be made scape-goats for others!" Yet the rancor, and virulence, and fierce pertinacity with which this Key afterwards pursued me, did not look much like pity. No doubt he was a good deal irritated at his ill success in getting any information out of me. The seventy-six passengers found on board the Pearl had been committed to the jail as runaways, and Mr. Giddings, on going up to the House, by way of warning, I suppose, to the slave-holders, that they were not to be allowed to have everything their own way, moved an inquiry into the circumstances under which seventy-six persons were held prisoners in the District jail, merely for attempting to vindicate their inalienable rights. Mr. Hale also, in the Senate, in consequence of the threats held out to destroy the _Era_ office, and to put a stop to the publication of that paper, moved a resolution of inquiry into the necessity of additional laws for the protection of property in the District. The fury which these movements excited in the minds of the slave-holders found expression in the editorial columns of the Washington _Union_, in an article which I have inserted below, as forming a curious contrast to the exultations of that print, only a week before, and to which I have had occasion already to refer, over the spread of the principles of liberty and universal emancipation. The violent attack upon Mr. Giddings, because he had visited us three poor prisoners in jail, and offered us the assistance of counsel,--as if the vilest criminals were not entitled to have counsel to defend them,--is well worthy of notice. The following is the article referred to. THE ABOLITION INCENDIARIES. Those two abolition incendiaries (Giddings and Hale) threw firebrands yesterday into the two houses of Congress. The western abolitionist moved a resolution of inquiry into the transactions now passing in Washington, which brought on a fierce and fiery debate on the part of the southern members, in the course of which Mr. Giddings _was compelled to confess_, on the cross-questioning of Messrs. Venable and Haskell, _that he had visited the three piratical kidnappers now confined in jail, and offered them counsel_. The reply of Mr. Toombs, of Georgia, was scorching to an intense degree. The abolitionist John P. Hale threw a firebrand resolution into the Senate, calling for additional laws to compel this city to prevent riots. This also gave rise to a long and excited debate. No question was taken, in either house, before they adjourned. But, in the progress of the discussion in both houses, some doctrines were uttered which are calculated to startle the friends of the Union. Giddings justified the kidnappers, and contended that, though the act was legally forbidden, it was not morally wrong! Mr. Toombs brought home the practical consequences of this doctrine to the member from Ohio in a most impressive manner. Hale, of the Senate, whilst he was willing to protect the abolitionist, expressed himself willing to relax the laws and weaken the protection which is given to the slave property in this district! Mr. Davis, of Massachusetts, held the strange doctrine, that while he would not disturb the rights of the slave-holders, he would not cease to discuss those rights! As if Congress ought to discuss, or to protect a right to discuss, a domestic institution of the Southern States, with which they had no right to interfere! Why discuss, when they cannot act? Why first lay down an abstract principle, which they intend to violate in practice? Such fanatics as Giddings and Hale are doing more mischief than they will be able to atone for. Their incessant and impertinent intermeddling with the most delicate question in our social relations is creating the most indignant feelings in the community. The fiery discussions they are exciting are calculated to provoke the very riots which they deprecate. Let these madmen forbear, if they value the tranquillity of our country, and the stability of our Union. We conjure them to forbear their maddened, parricidal hand. An article like this in the _Union_ was well calculated, and probably was intended, to encourage and stimulate the rioters, and accordingly they assembled that same evening in greater force than before threatening the destruction of the _Era_ office. The publication office of the _Era_ was not far from the Patent Office; and the dwelling-house of Dr. Bailey, the editor, was at no great distance. The mob, taking upon themselves the character of a meeting of citizens, appointed a committee to wait upon Dr. Bailey, to require him to remove his press out of the District of Columbia. Of course, as I was locked up in the jail, trying to rest my aching head and weary limbs, with a stone floor for a bed and a water-can for my pillow, I can have no personal knowledge of what transpired on this occasion. But a correspondent of the New York _Tribune_, who probably was an eye-witness, gives the following account of the interview between the committee and Dr. Bailey: Clearing his throat, the leader of the committee stretched forth his hand, and thus addressed Dr. Bailey: _Mr. Radcliff_.--Sir, we have been appointed as a committee to wait upon you, by the meeting of the citizens of Washington which has assembled this evening to take into consideration the circumstances connected with the late outrage upon _our_ property, and to convey to you the result of the deliberations of that meeting. You are aware of the excitement which now prevails. It has assumed a most threatening aspect. This community is satisfied that the existence of your press among us is endangering the public peace, and they are convinced that the public interests demand its removal. We have therefore waited upon you for the purpose of inquiring whether you are prepared to remove your press by ten o'clock to-morrow morning; and we beseech you, as you value the peace of this District, to accede to our request. [Loud shouting heard at the Patent Office.] _Dr. Bailey_.--Gentlemen: I do not believe you are actuated by any unkind feelings towards me personally; but you must be aware that you are demanding of me the surrender of a great constitutional right,--a right which I have used, but not abused,--in the preservation of which you are as deeply interested as I am. How can you ask me to abandon it, and thus become a party to my own degradation? _Mr. Radcliff_.--We subscribe to all that you say. But you see the popular excitement. The consequences of your refusal are inevitable. Now, if you can avert these consequences by submitting to what the people request, although unreasonable, is it not your duty, as a good citizen, to submit? It is on account of the community we come here, obeying the popular feeling which you hear expressed in the distance, and which cannot be calmed, and, but for the course we have adopted, would at this moment be manifested in the destruction of your office. But they have consented to wait till they hear our report. We trust, then, that, as a good citizen, you will respond favorably to the wish of the people. _Another of the Committee_.--As one of the oldest citizens, I do assure you that it is in all kindness we make this request. We come here to tell you that we cannot arrest violence in any other way than by your allowing us to say that you yield to the request of the people. In kindness we tell you that if this thing commences here we know not where it may end. I am for mild measures myself. The prisoners were in my hands, but I would not allow my men to inflict any punishment on them. _Dr. Bailey_.--Gentlemen, I appreciate your kindness; but I ask, is there a man among you who, standing as I now stand, the representative of a free press, would accede to this demand, and abandon his rights as an American citizen? _One of the Committee_.--We know it is a great sacrifice that we ask of you; but we ask it to appease popular excitement. _Dr. Bailey_.--Let me say to you that I am a peace-man. I have taken no measures to defend my office, my house or myself. I appeal to the good sense and intelligence of the community, and stand upon my rights as an American citizen, looking to the law alone for protection. _Mr. Radcliff_.--We have now discharged our duty. It has come to this,--the people say it must be done, unless you agree to go to-morrow. We now ask a categorical answer,--Will you remove your press? _Dr. Bailey_.--I answer: I make no resistance, and I cannot assent to your demand. The press is there--it is undefended--you can do as you think proper. _One of the Committee_.--All rests with you. We tell you what will follow your refusal, and, if you persist, all the responsibility must fall upon your shoulders. It is in your power to arrest the arm that is raised to give the blow. If you refuse to do so by a single expression, though it might cost you much, on you be all the consequences. _Dr. Bailey_.--You demand the sacrifice of a great right. You-- _One of the Committee (interrupting him_).--I know it is a hardship; but look at the consequences of your refusal. We do not come here to express our individual opinions. I would myself leave the District to-morrow, if in your place. We now ask of you, Shall this be done? We beg you will consider this matter in the light in which we view it. _Dr. Bailey_.--I am one man against many. But I cannot sacrifice any right that I possess. Those who have sent you here may do as they think proper. _One of the Committee_.--The whole community is against you. They say here is an evil that threatens them, and they ask you to remove that evil. You say "No!" and of course on your head be all the consequences. _Dr. Bailey_.--Let me remind you that we have been recently engaged in public rejoicings. For what have we rejoiced? Because the people in another land have arisen and triumphed over the despot, who had done--what? He did not demolish presses, but he imprisoned editors. In other words, he enslaved the press. Will you then present to America and the world-- _One of the Committee (interrupting him_).--If we could stop this movement, of the people, we would do it. But you make us unable to do so. We cannot tell how far it will go. After your press is pulled down, we do not know where they will go next. It is your duty, in such a case, to sacrifice your constitutional rights. _Dr. Bailey_.--I presume, when they shall have accomplished their object-- _Mr. Radcliff (interrupting)._--We advise you to be out of the way! The people think that your press endangers their property and their lives; and they have appointed us to tell you so, and ask you to remove it to-morrow. If you say that you will do so, they will retire satisfied. If you refuse, they say they will tear it down. Here is Mr. Boyle, a gentleman of property, and one of our oldest residents. You see that we are united. If you hold out and occupy your position, the men, women and children of the District will universally rise up against you. _Dr. Bailey (addressing himself to his father, a venerable man of more than eighty years of age, who approached the doorway and commenced remonstrating with the committee)_.--You do not understand the matter, father; these gentlemen are a committee appointed by a meeting assembled in front of the Patent Office. You need not address remonstrances to them. Gentlemen, you appreciate my position. I cannot surrender my rights. Were I to die for it, I cannot surrender my rights! Tell those who sent you hither that my press and my house are undefended--they must do as they see proper. I maintain my rights, and make no resistance! The committee then retired, and Dr. Bailey reëntered his dwelling. Meanwhile, the shouts of the mob, as they received the reports of the committee, were reëchoed along the streets. A fierce yell greeted the reäppearance of Radcliff in front of the Patent Office. He announced the result of the interview with the editor of the _Era_. Shouts, imprecations, blasphemy, burst from the crowd. "Down with the _Era_!" "Now for it!" "Gut the office!" were the exclamations heard on all sides, and the mob rushed tumultuously to Seventh-street. But a body of the city police had been stationed to guard the building, and the mob finally contented themselves with passing a resolution to pull it down the next day at ten o'clock, if the press was not meanwhile removed. That same afternoon, we three prisoners had been taken before three justices, who held a court within the jail for our examination. Mr. Hall appeared as our counsel. The examination was continued till the next day, when we were, all three of us, recommitted to jail, on a charge of stealing slaves, our bail being fixed at a thousand dollars for each slave, or seventy-six thousand dollars for each of us. Meanwhile, both houses of Congress became the scenes of very warm debates, growing out of circumstances connected with our case. In the Senate, Mr. Hale, agreeably to the notice he had given, asked leave to introduce a bill for the protection of property in the District of Columbia against the violence of mobs. This bill, as was stated in the debate, was copied, almost word for word, from a law in force in the State of Maryland (and many other states have--and all ought to have--a similar law), making the cities and towns liable for any property which might be destroyed in them by mob violence. In the House the subject came up on a question of privilege, raised by Mr. Palfrey, of Massachusetts, who offered a resolution for the appointment of a select committee to inquire into the currently-reported facts that a lawless mob had assembled during the two previous nights, setting at defiance the constituted authorities of the United States, and menacing members of Congress and other persons. In both those bodies the debate was very warm, as any one interested in it will find, by reading it in the columns of the _Congressional Globe_. It was upon this occasion, during the debate in the Senate, that Mr. Foote, then a senator from Mississippi, and now governor of that state, whose speech on the French revolution has been already quoted, threatened to join in lynching Mr. Hale, if he ever set foot in Mississippi, whither he invited him to come for that purpose. This part of the debate was so peculiar and so characteristic, showing so well the spirit with which the District of Columbia was then blazing against me, that I cannot help giving the following extract from Mr. Foote's speech, as contained in the official report: "All must see that the course of the senator from New Hampshire is calculated to embroil the confederacy--to put in peril our free institutions--to jeopardize that Union which our forefathers established, and which every pure patriot throughout the country desires shall be perpetuated. Can any man be a patriot who pursues such a course? Is he an enlightened friend of freedom, or even a judicious friend of those with whom he affects to sympathize, who adopts such a course? Who does not know that such men are, practically, the worst enemies of the slaves? I do not beseech the gentleman to stop; but, if he perseveres, he will awaken indignation everywhere, and it cannot be that enlightened men, who conscientiously belong to the faction at the north of which he is understood to be the head, can sanction or approve everything that he may do, under the influence of excitement, in this body. I will close by saying that, if he really wishes glory, and to be regarded as the great liberator of the blacks,--if he wishes to be particularly distinguished in this cause of emancipation, as it is called,--let him, instead of remaining here in the Senate of the United States, or instead of secreting himself in some dark corner of New Hampshire, where he may possibly escape the just indignation of good men throughout this republic,--let him visit the good State of Mississippi, in which I have the honor to reside, and no doubt he will be received with such shouts of joy as have rarely marked the reception of any individual in this day and generation. I invite him there, and will tell him, beforehand, in all honesty, that he could not go ten miles into the interior before he would grace one of the tallest trees in the forest, with a rope around his neck, with the approbation of every virtuous and patriotic citizen; and that, if necessary, I should myself assist in the operation!" Mr. Hale's reply was equally characteristic: "The honorable Senator invites me to visit the State of Mississippi, and kindly informs me that he would be one of those who would act the assassin, and put an end to my career. He would aid in bringing me to public execution,--no, death by a mob! Well, in return for his hospitable invitation, I can only express the desire that he would penetrate into some of the dark corners of New Hampshire; and, if he do, I am much mistaken if he would not find that the people in that benighted region would be very happy to listen to his arguments, and engage in an intellectual conflict with him, in which the truth might be elicited. I think, however, that the announcement which the honorable Senator has made on this floor of the fate which awaits so humble an individual as myself in the State of Mississippi must convince every one of the propriety of the high eulogium which he pronounced upon her, the other day, when he spoke of the high position which she occupied among the states of this confederacy.--But enough of this personal matter."[A] [Footnote A: The following paragraph, which has recently been going the rounds of the newspapers, will serve to show the sort of manners which prevail in the state so fitly represented by Mr. Foote, and how these southern ruffians experience in their own families the natural effect of the blood-thirsty sentiments which they so freely avow: "THE DEATH OF MR. CARNEAL.--The Vicksburg _Sentinel_, of the 13th ult., gives the following account of the shooting of Mr. Thomas Carneal, son-in-law of Governor Foote: "We have abstained thus long from giving any notice of the sad affair which resulted in the death of Mr. Thomas Carneal, the son-in-law of the governor of our state, that we might get the particulars. It seems that the steamer E.C. Watkins, with Mr. Carneal as a passenger, landed at or near the plantation of Judge James, in Washington county. Mr. Carneal had heard that the judge was an extremely brutal man to his slaves, and was likewise excited with liquor; and, upon the judge inviting him and others to take a drink with him, Carneal replied that he would not drink with a man who abused his negroes; this the judge resented as an insult, and high words ensued. "The company took their drink, however, all but Mr. Carneal, who went out upon the bow of the boat, and took a seat, where he was sought by Judge James, who desired satisfaction for the insult. Carneal refused to make any, and asked the old gentleman if any of his sons would resent the insult if he was to slap him in the mouth; to which the judge replied that he would do it himself, if his sons would not; whereupon Mr. Carneal struck him in the month with the back of his hand. The judge resented it by striking him across the head with a cane, which stunned Mr. Carneal very much, causing the blood to run freely from the wound. As soon as Carneal recovered from the wound, he drew a bowie-knife, and attacked the judge with it, inflicting several wounds upon his person, some of which were thought to be mortal. "Some gentlemen, in endeavoring to separate the combatants, were wounded by Carneal. When Judge James arrived at his house, bleeding, and in a dying state, as was thought, his son seized a double-barrelled gun, loaded it heavily with large shot, galloped to where the boat was, hitched his horse, and deliberately raised his gun to shoot Carneal, who was sitting upon a cotton-bale. Mr. James was warned not to fire, as Carneal was unarmed, and he might kill some innocent person. He took his gun from his shoulder, raised it again, and fired both barrels in succession, killing Carneal instantly. "It is a sad affair, and Carneal leaves, besides numerous friends, a most interesting and accomplished widow, to bewail his tragical end."] Such was the savage character of the debate, that even Mr. Calhoun, who was not generally discourteous, finding himself rather hard pressed by some of Mr. Hale's arguments, excused himself from an answer, on the ground that Mr. Hale was a maniac! The slave-holders set upon Mr. Hale with all their force; but, though they succeeded in voting down his bill, it was generally agreed, and anybody may see by the report, that he had altogether the best of the argument. Mr. Palfrey's resolution was also lost; but the boldness with which Giddings and others avowed their opinions, and the freedom of speech which they used on the subject of slavery, afforded abundant proof that the gagging system which had prevailed so long in Congress had come at last to an end. These movements, though the propositions of Messrs. Hale and Palfrey were voted down, were not without their effect. The Common Council of Washington appointed an acting mayor, in place of the regular mayor, who was sick. President Polk sent an intimation to the clerks of the departments, some of whom had been active in the mobs, that they had better mind their own business and stay at home. Something was said about marines from the Navy-Yard; and from that time the riotous spirit began to subside. Meanwhile, the unfortunate people who had attempted to escape in the Pearl had to pay the penalty of their love of freedom. A large number of them, as they were taken out of jail by the persons who claimed to be their owners, were handed over to the slave-traders. The following account of the departure of a portion of these victims for the southern market was given in a letter which appeared at the time in several northern newspapers: "_Washington, April_ 22, 1848. "Last evening, as I was passing the railroad dépôt, I saw a large number of colored people gathered round one of the cars, and, from manifestations of grief among some of them, I was induced to draw near and ascertain the cause of it. I found in the car towards which they were so eagerly gazing about fifty colored people, some of whom were nearly as white as myself. A majority of them were of the number who attempted to gain their liberty last week. About half of them were females, a few of whom had but a slight tinge of African blood in their veins, and were finely formed and beautiful. The men were ironed together, and the whole group looked sad and dejected. At each end of the car stood two ruffianly-looking personages, with large canes in their hands, and, if their countenances were an index of their hearts, they were the very impersonation of hardened villany itself. "In the middle of the car stood the notorious slave-dealer of Baltimore, Slatter, who, I learn, is a member of the Methodist church, 'in good and regular standing.' He had purchased the men and women around him, and was taking his departure for Georgia. While observing this old, gray-headed villain,--this dealer in the bodies and souls of men,--the chaplain of the Senate entered the car,--a Methodist brother,--and took his brother Slatter by the hand, chatted with him for some time, and seemed to view the heart-rending scene before him with as little concern as we should look upon cattle. I know not whether he came with a view to sanctify the act, and pronounce a parting blessing; but this I do know, that he justifies slavery, and denounces anti-slavery efforts as bitterly as do the most hardened slave-dealers. "A Presbyterian minister, who owned one of the fugitives, was the first to strike a bargain with Slatter, and make merchandise of God's image; and many of these poor victims, thus manacled and destined for the southern market, are regular members of the African Methodist church of this city. I did not hear whether they were permitted to get letters of dismission from the church, and of 'recommendation to any church where God, in his providence, might cast their lot.' Probably a certificate from Slatter to the effect that they are Christians will answer every purpose. No doubt he will demand a good price for slaves of this character. Perhaps brother Slicer furnished him with testimonials of their religious character, to help their sale in Georgia. I understand that he was accustomed to preach to them here, and especially to urge upon them obedience to their masters. "Some of the colored people outside, as well as in the car, were weeping most bitterly. I learned that many families were separated. Wives were there to take leave of their husbands, and husbands of their wives, children of their parents, brothers and sisters shaking hands perhaps for the last time, friends parting with friends, and the tenderest ties of humanity sundered at the single bid of the inhuman slave-broker before them. A husband, in the meridian of life, begged to see the partner of his bosom. He protested that she was free--that she had free papers, and was torn from him, and shut up in the jail. He clambered up to one of the windows of the car to see his wife, and, as she was reaching forward her hand to him, the black-hearted villain, Slatter, ordered him down. He did not obey. The husband and wife, with tears streaming down their cheeks, besought him to let them converse for a moment. But no! a monster more hideous, hardened and savage, than the blackest spirit of the pit, knocked him down from the car, and ordered him away. The bystanders could hardly restrain themselves from laying violent hands upon the brutes. This is but a faint description of that scene, which took place within a few rods of the capitol, under _enactments_ recognized by Congress. O! what a revolting scene to a feeling heart, and what a retribution awaits the actors! Will not these wailings of anguish reach the ears of the Most High? 'Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.'" Of those sent off at this time, several, through the generosity of charitable persons at the north, were subsequently redeemed, among whom were the Edmundson girls, of whom an account is given in the "Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin." From one of the women, who was not sold, but retained at Washington, I received a mark of kindness and remembrance for which I felt very grateful. She obtained admission to the jail, the Sunday after our committal, to see some of her late fellow-passengers still confined there; and, as she passed the passage in which I was confined, she called to me and handed a Bible through the gratings. I am happy to be able to add that she has since, upon a second trial, succeeded in effecting her escape, and that she is now a free woman. The great excitement which our attempt at emancipation had produced at Washington, and the rage and fury exhibited against us, had the effect to draw attention to our case, and to secure us sympathy and assistance on the part of persons wholly unknown to us. A public meeting was held in Faneuil Hall, in Boston, on the 25th of April, at which a committee was appointed, consisting of Samuel May, Samuel G. Howe, Samuel E. Sewell, Richard Hildreth, Robert Morris, Jr., Francis Jackson, Elizur Wright, Joseph Southwick, Walter Channing, J.W. Browne, Henry I. Bowditch, William F. Channing, Joshua P. Blanchard and Charles List, authorized to employ counsel and to collect money for the purpose of securing to us a fair trial, of which, without some interference from abroad, the existing state of public feeling in the District of Columbia seemed to afford little prospect. A correspondence was opened by this committee with the Hon. Horace Mann, then a representative in Congress from the State of Massachusetts, with ex-Governor Seward, of New York, with Salmon P. Chase, Esq., of Ohio, and with Gen. Fessenden, of Maine, all of whom volunteered their gratuitous services, should they be needed. A moderate subscription was promptly obtained, the larger part of it, as I am informed, through the liberality of Gerrit Smith, now a representative in Congress from New York, whose large pecuniary contributions to all philanthropic objects, as well as his zealous efforts in the same direction both with the tongue and the pen, have made him so conspicuous. He has, indeed, a unique way of spending his large fortune, without precedent, at least in this country, and not likely to find many imitators. The committee, being thus put in funds, deputed Mr. Hildreth, one of the members of it, to proceed to Washington to make the necessary arrangements. He arrived there toward the end of the month of May, by which time the public excitement against us, or at least the exterior signs of it, had a good deal subsided. But we were still treated with much rigor, being kept locked up in our cells, denied the use of the passage, and not allowed to see anybody, except when once in a while Mr. Giddings or Mr. Hall found an access to us; but even then we were not allowed to hold any conversation, except in the presence of the jailer. It may well be imagined that the news of my capture and imprisonment, and of the danger in which I seemed to be, had thrown my family into great distress. I also had suffered exceedingly on their account, several of the children being yet too young to shift for themselves. But I was presently relieved, by the information which I received before long, that during my imprisonment my family would be provided for. Warm remonstrances had been made to the judge of the criminal court by Mr. Hall against the attempt to exclude us from communication with our friends,--a liberty freely granted to all other prisoners. The judge declined to interfere; but Mr. Mann, having agreed to act as our counsel, was thenceforth freely admitted to interviews with us, without the presence of any keeper. Books and newspapers were furnished me by friends out of doors. I presently obtained a mattress, and the liberty of providing myself with better food than the jail allows. I continued to suffer a good deal of annoyance from the capricious insolence and tyranny of the marshal, Robert Wallace; but I intend to go more at length into the details of my prison experience after having first disposed of the legal proceedings against us. The feeling against me was no doubt greatly increased by the failure of the efforts repeatedly made to induce me to give up the names of those who had coöperated with me, and to turn states-evidence against them. There was a certain Mr. Taylor, from Boston, I believe, then in Washington, the inventor of a submarine armor for diving purposes. I had formerly been well acquainted with him, and, at a time when no friend of mine was allowed access to me, he made me repeated visits at the jail, at the request, as he said, of the District Attorney, to induce me to make a full disclosure, in which case it was intimated I should be let off very easy. As Mr. Taylor did not prevail with me, one of the jailers afterwards assured me that he was authorized to promise me a thousand dollars in case I would become a witness against those concerned with me. As I turned a deaf ear to all these propositions, the resolution seemed to be taken to make me and Sayres, and even English, suffer in a way to be a warning to all similar offenders. The laws under which we were to be tried were those of the State of Maryland as they stood previous to the year 1800. These laws had been temporarily continued in force over that part of the District ceded by Maryland (the whole of the present District) at the time that the jurisdiction of the United Spates commenced; and questions of more general interest, and the embarrassment growing out of the existence of slavery, having defeated all attempts at a revised code, these same old laws of Maryland still remain in force, though modified, in some respects, by acts of Congress. In an act of Maryland, passed in the year 1796, and in force in the District, there was a section which seemed to have been intended for precisely such cases as ours. It provided "That any person or persons who shall hereafter be convicted of giving a pass to any slave, or person held to service, or shall be found to assist, by advice, donation or loan, or otherwise, the transporting of any slave or any person held to service, from this state, or by any other unlawful means depriving a master or owner of the service of his slave or person held to service, for every such offence the party aggrieved shall recover damages in an action on the case, against such offender or offenders, and such offender or offenders shall also be liable, upon indictment, and conviction upon verdict, confession or otherwise, in this state, in any county court where such offence shall happen, to be fined a sum not exceeding two hundred dollars, at the discretion of the court, one-half to the use of the master or owner of such slave, the other half to the county school, if there be any; if there be no such school, to the use of the county." Accordingly, the grand jury, under the instructions of the District Attorney, found seventy-four indictments against each of us prisoners, based on this act, one for each of the slaves found on board the vessel, two excepted, who were runaways from Virginia, and the names of their masters not known. As it would have been possible to have fined us about, fifteen thousand dollars apiece upon these indictments, besides costs, and as, by the laws of the District, there is no method of discharging prisoners from jail who are unable to pay a fine, except by an executive pardon, one would have thought that this might have satisfied. But the idea that we should escape with a fine, though we might be kept in prison for life from inability to pay it, was very unsatisfactory. It was desired to make us out guilty of a penitentiary offence at the least; and for that purpose recourse was had to an old, forgotten act of Maryland, passed in the year 1737, the fourth section of which provided "That any person or persons who, after the said tenth day of September [1737], shall steal any ship, sloop, or other vessel whatsoever, out of any place within the body of any county within this province, of seventeen feet or upwards by the keel, and shall carry the same ten miles or upwards from the place whence it shall be stolen, _or who shall steal any negro or other slave_, or who shall counsel, hire, aid, abet, or command any person or persons to commit the said offences, or who shall be accessories to the said offences, and shall be thereof legally convicted as aforesaid, or outlawed, or who shall obstinately or of malice stand mute, or peremptorily challenge above twenty, shall suffer death as a felon, or felons, and be excluded the benefit of the clergy." They would have been delighted, no doubt, to hang us under this act; but that they could not do, as Congress, by an act passed in 1831, having changed the punishment of death, inflicted by the old Maryland statutes (except in certain cases specially provided for), into confinement in the penitentiary for not less than twenty years. To make sure of us at all events, not less than forty-one separate indictments (that being the number of the pretended owners) were found against each of us for stealing slaves. Our counsel afterwards made some complaint of this great number of indictments, when two against each of us, including all the separate charges in different counts, would have answered as well. It was even suggested that the fact that a fee of ten dollars was chargeable upon each indictment toward the five-thousand-dollar salary of the District Attorney might have something to do with this large number. But the District Attorney denied very strenuously being influenced by any such motive, maintaining, in the face of authorities produced against him, that this great number was necessary. He thought it safest, I suppose, instead of a single jury on each charge against each of us, to have the chance of a much greater number, and the advantage, besides, of repeated opportunities of correcting such blunders, mistakes and neglects, as the prisoner's counsel might point out. On the 6th of July, I was arraigned in the criminal court, Judge Crawford presiding, on one of the larceny indictments, to which I pleaded not guilty; whereupon my counsel, Messrs. Hall and Mann, moved the court for a continuance till the next term, alleging the prevailing public excitement, and the want of time to prepare the defence and to procure additional counsel. But the judge could only be persuaded, and that with difficulty, to delay the trial for eighteen days. When this unexpected information was communicated to the committee at Boston, a correspondence was opened by telegraph with Messrs. Seward, Chase and Fessenden. But Governor Seward had a legal engagement at Baltimore on the very day appointed for the commencement of the trial, and the other two gentlemen had indispensable engagements in the courts of Ohio and Maine. Under these circumstances, as Mr. Hall was not willing to take the responsibility of acting as counsel in the case, and as it seemed necessary to have some one familiar with the local practice, the Boston committee retained the services of J.M. Carlisle, Esq., of the Washington bar, and Mr. Hildreth again proceeded to Washington to give his assistance. Just as the trial was about to commence, Mr. Carlisle being taken sick, the judge was, with great difficulty, prevailed upon to grant a further delay of three days. This delay was very warmly opposed, not only by the District Attorney, but by the same Mr. Radcliff whom we have seen figuring as chairman of the mob-committee to wait on Dr. Bailey, and who had been retained, at an expense of two hundred dollars, by the friends of English, as counsel for him, they thinking it safest not to have his defence mixed up in any way with that of myself and Sayres. Before the three days were out, Governor Seward, having finished his business in Baltimore, hastened to Washington; but, as the rules of the court did not allow more than two counsel to speak on one side, the other counsel being also fully prepared, it was judged best to proceed as had been arranged. The trials accordingly commenced on Thursday, the 27th of July, upon an indictment against me for stealing two slaves, the property of one Andrew Houver. The District Attorney, in opening his case, which he did in a very dogmatic, overbearing and violent manner, declared that this was no common affair. The rights of property were violated by every larceny, but this case was peculiar and enormous. Other kinds of property were protected by their want of intelligence; but the intelligence of this kind of property greatly diminished the security of its possession. The jury therefore were to give such a construction to the laws and the facts as to subject violators of it to the most serious consequences. The facts which seemed to be relied upon by the District Attorney as establishing the alleged larceny were--that I had come to Washington, and staid from Monday to Saturday, without any ostensible business, when I had sailed away with seventy-six slaves on board, concealed under the hatches, and the hatches battened down; and that when pursued and overtaken the slaves were found on board with provisions enough for a month. It is true that Houver swore that the hatches were battened down when the Pearl was overtaken by the steamer; but in this he was contradicted by every other government witness. This Houver was, according to some of the other witnesses, in a considerable state of excitement, and at the time of the capture he addressed some violent language to me, as already related. He had sold his two boys, after their recapture, to the slave-traders; but had been obliged to buy them back again, at a loss of one hundred dollars, by the remonstrances of his wife, who did not like to part with them, as they had been raised in the family. Perhaps this circumstance made him the more inveterate against me. As to the schooner being provisioned for a month, the bill of the provisions on board, purchased in Washington, was produced on the trial, and they were found to amount to three bushels of meal, two hundred and six pounds of pork, and fifteen gallons of molasses, which, with a barrel of bread, purchased in Alexandria, would make rather a short month's supply for seventy-nine persons! It was also proved, by the government witnesses, that the Pearl was a mere bay-craft, not fit to go to sea; which did not agree very well with the idea held out by the District Attorney, that I intended to run these negroes off to the West Indies, and to sell them there. But, to make up for these deficiencies, Williams, who acted as the leader of the steamer expedition, swore that I had said, while on board, that if I had got off with the negroes I should have made an independent fortune; but on the next trial he could not say whether it was I who told him so, or whether somebody else told him that I had said so. Orme and Craig, with whom I principally conversed, and who went into long details, recollected nothing of the sort; and it is very certain that, as there was no foundation for it, and no motive for such a statement on my part, I never made it. Williams, perhaps, had heard somebody guess that, if I had got off, I had slaves enough to make me independent; and that guess of somebody else he perhaps remembered, or seemed to remember, as something said by me, or reported to have been said by me; and such often, in cases producing great public excitement, is the sort of evidence upon which men's lives or liberty is sworn away. The idea, however, of an intention to run the negroes off for sale, seemed principally to rest on the testimony of a certain Captain Baker, who had navigated the steamer by which we were captured at the mouth of the Potomac, and who saw, as he was crossing over to Coan river for wood, a long, black, suspicious-looking brig, with her sails loose, lying at anchor under Point Lookout, about three miles from our vessel. This was proved, by other witnesses, to be a very common place of anchorage; in fact, that it was common for vessels waiting for the wind, or otherwise, to anchor anywhere along the shores of the bay. But Captain Baker thought otherwise; and he and the District Attorney wished the jury to infer that this brig seen by him under Point Lookout was a piratical craft, lying ready to receive the negroes on board, and to carry them off to Cuba! Besides Houver, Williams, Orme, Craig and Baker, another witness was called to testify as to the sale of the wood, and my having been in Washington the previous summer. Many questions as to evidence arose, and the examination of these witnesses consumed about two days and a half. In opening the defence, Mr. Mann commenced with some remarks on the peculiarity of his position, growing out of the unexpected urgency with which the case had been pushed to a trial, and the public excitement which had been produced by it. He also alluded to the hardship of finding against me such a multiplicity of indictments,--for what individual, however innocent, could stand up against such an accumulated series of prosecutions, backed by all the force of the nation? Some observations on the costs thus unnecessarily accumulated, and, in particular, on the District Attorney's ten-dollar fees, produced a great excitement, and loud denials on the part of that officer. Mr. Mann then proceeded to remark that, in all criminal trials which he had ever before attended or heard of, the prosecuting officer had stated and produced to the jury, in his opening, the law alleged to be violated. As the District Attorney had done nothing of that sort, he must endeavor to do it for him. Mr. Mann then proceeded to call the attention of the jury to the two laws already quoted, upon which the two sets of indictments were founded. Of both these acts charged against me--the stealing of Houver's slaves, and the helping them to escape from their master--I could not be guilty. The real question in this case was, Which had I done? To make the act stealing, there must have been--so Mr. Mann maintained--a taking _lucri causa_, as the lawyers say; that is, a design on my part to appropriate these slaves to my own use, as my own property. If the object was merely to help them to escape to a free state, then the case plainly came under the other statute. In going on to show how likely it was that the persons on board the Pearl might have desired and sought to escape, independently of any solicitations or suggestions on my part, Mr. Mann alluded to the meeting in honor of the French revolution, already mentioned, held the very night of the arrival of the Pearl at Washington. As he was proceeding to read certain extracts from the speech of Senator Foote on that occasion, already quoted, and well calculated, as he suggested, to put ideas of freedom and emancipation into the heads of the slaves, he was suddenly interrupted by the judge, when the following curious dialogue occurred: "_Judge Crawford_.--A certain latitude is to be allowed to counsel in this case; but I cannot permit any harangue against slavery to be delivered here. "_Carlisle (rising suddenly and stepping forward_).--I am sure your honor must be laboring under some strange misapprehension. Born and bred and expecting to live and die in a slave-holding community, and entertaining no ideas different from those, which commonly prevail here, I have watched the course of my associate's argument with the closest attention. The point he is making, I am sure, is most pertinent to the case,--a point it would be cowardice in the prisoner's counsel not to make; and I must beg your honor to deliberate well before you undertake to stop the mouths of counsel, and to take care that you have full constitutional warrant for doing so. "_Judge Crawford_.--I can't permit an harangue against slavery." Mr. Mann proceeded to explain the point at which he was aiming. He had read these extracts from Mr. Foote's speech, delivered to a miscellaneous collection of blacks and whites, bond and free, assembled before the _Union_ office, as showing to what exciting influences the slaves of the District were exposed, independently of any particular pains taken by anybody to make them discontented; and, with the same object in view, he proposed to read some further extracts from other speeches delivered on the same occasion. "_District Attorney_.--If this matter is put in as evidence, it must first be proved that such speeches were delivered. "_Mann_.--If the authenticity of the speeches is denied, I will call the Honorable Mr. Foote to prove it. "_District Attorney_.--What newspaper is that from which the counsel reads? "_Mann_ (_holding it up_).--The Washington _Union_, of April 19th." And, without further objection, he proceeded to read some further extracts. He concluded by urging upon the jury that this case was to be viewed merely as an attempt of certain slaves to escape from their masters, and on my part an attempt to assist them in so doing; and therefore a case under the statute of 1796, punishable with fine; and not a larceny, as charged against me in this indictment. Several witnesses were called who had known me in Philadelphia, to testify as to my good character. The District Attorney was very anxious to get out of these witnesses whether they had never heard me spoken of as a man likely to run away with slaves? And it did come out from one of them that, from the tenor of my conversation, it used sometimes to be talked over, that one day or other it "would heave up" that I had helped off some negro to a free state. But these conversations, the witness added, were generally in a jesting tone; and another witness stated that the charge of running off slaves was a common joke among the watermen. According to the practice in the Maryland criminal courts,--and the same practice prevails in the District of Columbia,--the judge does not address the jury at all. After the evidence is all in, the counsel, before arguing the case, may call upon the judge to give to the jury instructions as to the law. These instructions, which are offered in writing, and argued by the counsel, the judge can give or refuse, as he sees fit, or can alter them to suit himself; but any such refusal or alteration furnishes ground for a bill of exceptions, on which the case, if a verdict is given against the prisoner, may be carried by writ of error before the Circuit Court of the District, for their revisal. My counsel asked of the judge no less than fourteen instructions on different points of law, ten of which the judge refused to give, and modified to suit himself. Several of these related to the true definition of theft, or what it was that makes a taking larceny. It was contended by my counsel, and they asked the judge to instruct the jury, that, to convict me of larceny, it must be proved that the taking the slaves on board the Pearl was with the intent to convert them to my own use, and to derive a gain from such conversion; and that, if they believed that the slaves were received on board with the design to help them to escape to a free state, then the offence was not larceny, but a violation of the statute of 1796. This instruction, variously put, was six times over asked of the judge, and as often refused. He was no less anxious than the District Attorney to convict me of larceny, and send me to the penitentiary. But, having a vast deal more sense than the District Attorney, he saw that the idea that I had carried off these negroes to sell them again for my own profit was not tenable. It was plain enough that my intention was to help them to escape. The judge therefore, who did not lack ingenuity, went to work to twist the law so as, if possible, to bring my case within it. Even he did not venture to say that merely to assist slaves to escape was stealing. Stealing, he admitted, must be a taking, _lucri causa_, for the sake of gain; but--so he told the jury in one of his instructions--"this desire of gain need not be to convert the article taken to his--the taker's--own use, nor to obtain for the thief the value in money of the thing stolen. If the act was prompted by a desire to obtain for himself, or another even, other than the owner, a money gain, or any other inducing advantage, a dishonest gain, then the act was a larceny." And, in another instruction, he told the jury, "that if they believed, from the evidence, that the prisoner, before receiving the slaves on board, imbued their minds with discontent, persuaded them to go with him, and, by corrupt influences and inducements, caused them to come to his ship, and then took and carried them down the river, then the act was a larceny." Upon these instructions of the judge, to which bills of exceptions were filed by my counsel, the case, which had been already near a week on trial, was argued to the jury. The District Attorney had the opening and the close, and both my counsel had the privilege of speaking. For the following sketch of the argument, as well as of the legal points already noted, I am indebted to the notes of Mr. Hildreth, taken at the time: "_District Attorney_.--I shall endeavor to be very brief in the opening, reserving myself till I know the grounds of defence. It is the duty of the jury to give their verdict according to the law and evidence; and, so far as I knew public opinion, there neither exists now, nor has existed at any other time, the slightest desire on the part of a single individual that the prisoner should have otherwise than a fair trial. I think, therefore, the solemn warnings by the prisoner's counsel to the jury were wholly uncalled for. There was, no doubt, an excitement out of doors,--a natural excitement,--at such an amount of property snatched up at one fell swoop; but was that to justify the suggestion to a jury of twelve honest men that they were not to act the part of a mob? The learned counsel who opened the case for the prisoner has alluded to the disadvantage of his position from the fact that he was a stranger. I acknowledge that disadvantage, and I have attempted to remedy it, and so has the court, by extending towards him every possible courtesy. "The prisoner's counsel seems to think I press this matter too hard. But am I to sit coolly by and see the hard-earned property of the inhabitants of this District carried off, and when the felon is brought into court not do my best to secure his conviction? [The District Attorney here went into a long and labored defence of the course he had taken in preferring against the prisoner forty-one indictments for larceny, and seventy-four others, on the same state of facts, for transportation. He denied that the forty-one larcenies of the property of different individuals could be included in one indictment, and declared that if the prisoner's counsel would show the slightest authority for it he would give up the case. After going on in this strain for an hour or more, attacking the opposite counsel and defending himself, in what Carlisle pronounced 'the most extraordinary opening argument he had ever heard in his life,' the District Attorney came down at last to the facts of the case."] "In what position is the prisoner placed by the evidence? How is he introduced to the jury by his Philadelphia friends? These witnesses were examined as to his character, and the substance of their testimony is, that he is a man who would steal a negro if he got a chance. He passed for honest otherwise. But he says himself he would steal a negro to liberate him, and the court says it makes no difference whether he steals to liberate or steals to sell. Being caught in the act, he acknowledges his guilt, and says he was a deserter from his God,--a backslider,--a church-member one year--the next, in the Potomac with a schooner, stealing seventy-four negroes! Why say he took them for gain, if he did not steal them? Why say he knew he should end his days in a penitentiary? Why say if he got off with the negroes he should have realized an independent fortune? Did he not know they were slaves? He chartered the vessel to carry off negroes; and, if they were free negroes, or he supposed them to be, how was he to realize an independent fortune? He was afraid of the excitement at Washington. Why so, if the negroes were not slaves? There was the fact of their being under the hatches, concealed in the hold of the vessel,--did not that prove he meant to steal them? Add to that the other fact of his leaving at night. He comes here with a miserable load of wood; gives it away; sells it for a note; did not care about the wood, wanted only to get it out; had a longing for a cargo of negroes. The wood was a blind; besides he lied about it;--would he have ever come back to collect his note? But the prisoner's counsel says the slaves might have heard Mr. Foote's torch-light oration, and so have been persuaded to go. A likely story! They all started off, I suppose, ran straight down to the vessel and got into the hold! Seventy-four negroes all together! But was not the vessel chartered in Philadelphia to carry off negroes? This shows the excessive weakness of the defence. And how did the slaves behave after they were captured? If they had been running away, would they not have been downcast and disheartened? Would not they have said, Now we are taken? On the other hand, according to the testimony of Major Williams, on their way back they were laughing, shouting and eating molasses in large quantities. Nero fiddled when Rome was burning, but did not eat molasses. What a transition, from liberty to molasses! "Then it is proved that the bulkhead between the cabin and the hold was knocked down, and that the slaves went to Drayton and asked if they should fight. Did not that show his authority over them,--that the slaves were under his control, and that he was the master-spirit? It speaks volumes. [Here followed a long eulogy on the gallantry and humanity of the thirty-five captors. One man did threaten a little, but he was drunk.] "The substance of the law, as laid down by the judge, is this: If Drayton came here to carry off these people, and, by machinations, prevailed on them to go with him, and knew they were slaves, it makes no difference whether he took them to liberate, or took them to sell. If he was to be paid for carrying them away, that was gain enough. Suppose a man were to take it into his head that the northern factories were very bad things for the health of the factory-girls, and were to go with a schooner for the purpose of liberating those poor devils by stealing the spindles, would not he be served as this prisoner is served here? Would they not exhaust the law-books to find the severest punishment? There may be those carried so far by a miserable mistaken philanthropy as even to steal slaves for the sake of setting them at liberty. But this prisoner says he did it for gain. We might look upon him with some respect if, in a manly style, he insisted on his right to liberate them. But he avowedly steals for gain. He lies about it, besides. Even a jury of abolitionists would have no sympathy for such a man. Try him anyhow, by the word of God--by the rules of common honesty--he would be convicted, anyhow. He is presented to the world at large as a rogue and a common thief and liar. There can be no other conception of him. He did it for dishonest gain. "The prisoner must be convicted. He cannot escape. There can be no manner of doubt as to his guilt. I am at a loss, without appearing absurd in my own eyes, to conceive what kind of a defence can be made. "I have not the least sort of feeling against the wretch himself,--I desire a conviction from principle. I have heard doctrines asserted on this trial that strike directly at the rights and liberty of southern citizens. I have heard counsel seeking to establish principles that strike directly at the security of southern property. I feel no desire that this man, as a man, should be convicted; but I do desire that all persons inclined to infringe on our rights of property should know that there is a law hero to punish them, and I am happy that the law has been so clearly laid down by the court. Let it be known from Maine to Texas, to earth's widest limits, that we have officers and juries to execute that law, no matter by whom it may be violated! "_Mann_--for the prisoner--regretted to occupy any more of the jury's time with this very protracted trial. I mentioned, some days since, that the prisoner was liable, under the indictments against him, to eight hundred years imprisonment,--a term hardly to be served out by Methuselah himself; but, apart from any punishment, if his hundred and twenty-five trials are to proceed at this rate, the chance is he will die without ever reaching their termination. The District Attorney has dwelt at great length on what passed the other day, and more than once he has pointedly referred to me, in a tone and manner not to be mistaken. I have endeavored to conduct this trial according to the principles of law, and to that standard I mean to come up. My client, though a prisoner at this bar, has rights, legal, social, human; and upon those rights I mean to insist. This is the first time in my life that I ever heard a prisoner on trial, and before conviction, denounced as a liar, a thief, a felon, a wretch, a rogue. It is unjust to apply these terms to any man on trial. The law presumes him to be innocent. The feelings of the prisoner ought not to be thus outraged. He is unfortunate; he may be guilty; that is the very point you are to try. "This prisoner is charged with stealing two slaves, the property of Andrew Houver. Did he, or not? That point you are to try by the law and the evidence. Because you may esteem this a peculiarly valuable kind of property, you are not to measure out in this case a peculiar kind of justice. You have heard the evidence; the law for the purposes of this trial you are to take from the judge. But you are not to be led away with the idea that you must convict this prisoner at any rate. It is a well-established principle that it is better for an indefinite number of guilty men to escape than for one innocent man to be convicted and punished; and for the best of reasons,--for to have the very machinery established for the protection of right turned into an instrument for the infliction of wrong, strikes a more fatal blow at civil society than any number of unpunished private injuries. "Nor is there any danger that the prisoner will escape due punishment for any crimes he may have committed. Besides this and forty other larceny indictments hanging over his head, there are seventy-four transportation indictments against him. Now, he cannot be guilty of both; and which of these offences, if either, does the evidence against him prove? "Who is this man? Look at him! You see he has passed the meridian of life. You have heard about him from his neighbors. They pronounce him a fair, upright, moral man. No suspicion hitherto was ever breathed against his honesty. He was a professor of religion, and, so far as we know, had walked in all the ordinances and commands of the law blameless. Now, in all cases of doubt, a fair and exemplary character, especially in an elderly man, is a great capital to begin with. This prisoner may have been mistaken in his views as to matters of human right; but, as to violating what he believed to be duty, there is not the slightest evidence that such was his character, but abundance to the contrary. He is found under circumstances that make him amenable to the law; let him be tried,--I do not gainsay that; but let him have the common sentiments of humanity extended toward him, even if he be guilty. "The point urged against him with such earnestness--I may say vehemence--is, not that he took the slaves merely, but that he took them with design to steal. His confessions are dwelt upon, stated and overstated, as you will recollect. But consider under what circumstances these alleged confessions were made. There are circumstances which make such statements very fallacious. Consider his excitement--his state of health; for it is in evidence that he had been out of health, suffering with some disorder which required his head to be shaved. Consider the armed men that surrounded him, and the imminent peril in which he believed his life to be. It is great injustice to brand him with the foul epithet of liar for any little discrepancies, if such there were, in statements made under such circumstances. Other matters have been forced in, of a most extraordinary character, to prejudice his case in your eyes. It has been suggested--the idea has been thrown out, again and again--that, under pretence of helping them to freedom, he meant to sell these negroes. This suggestion, which outruns all reason and discretion, is founded on the simple fact of a brig seen lying at anchor in a place of common anchorage, suggesting no suspicious appearance, but as to which you are asked to infer that these seventy-six slaves were to be transported into her, and carried to Cuba or elsewhere for sale. What a monstrous imagination! What a gross libel on that brig, her officers, her crew, her owners, all of whom are thus charged as kidnappers and pirates; and all this baseless dream got up for the purpose of influencing your minds against the prisoner! It marks, indeed, with many other things, the style in which this prosecution is conducted. "Take the law as laid down by the court, and it is necessary for the government to prove, if this indictment is to be sustained, that the prisoner corrupted the minds of Houver's slaves, and induced and persuaded them to go on board his vessel. They were found on board the prisoner's vessel, no doubt; but as to how they came there we have not a particle of evidence. Here is a gap, a fatal gap, in the government's case. By what second-sight are you to look into this void space and time, and to say that Drayton enticed them to go on board? [The counsel here read from 1 _Starkie on Evidence,_ 510, &c., to the effect that the prosecution are bound by the evidence to exclude every hypothesis inconsistent with the prisoner's guilt.] Now, is it the only possible means of accounting for the presence of Houver's slaves on board to suppose that this prisoner enticed them? Might not somebody else have done it? Might they not have gone without being enticed at all? We wished to call the slaves themselves as witnesses, but the law shuts up their mouths. Can you, without any evidence, say that Drayton enticed them, and that by no other means could they come onboard? Presumptive evidence, as laid down in the book--an acknowledged and unquestioned authority--from which I have read, ought to be equally strong with the evidence of one unimpeached witness swearing positively to the fact. Are you as sure that Drayton enticed those slaves as if that fact had been positively sworn to by one witness, testifying that he stood by and saw and heard it? If you are not, then, under the law as laid down by the court, you can not find him guilty. "_Thursday, Aug_. 13. "_Carlisle_, for the prisoner.--The sun under which we draw our breath, the soil we tottle over, in childhood, the air we breathe, the objects that earliest attract our attention, the whole system of things with which our youth is surrounded, impress firmly upon us ideas and sentiments which cling to us to our latest breath, and modify all our views. I trust I am man enough always to remember this, when I hear opinions expressed and views maintained by men educated under a system different from that prevailing here, no matter how contrary those views and opinions may be to my own. "It may surprise those of you who know me,--the moral atmosphere in which I have grown up, and the opinions which I entertain,--but never have I felt so deep and hearty an interest in the defence of any case as in this. This prisoner I never saw till I came from a sick bed into this court, when I met him for the first time. I had participated strongly in the feeling which in connection with him had been excited in this community. As you well know, I have and could have no sympathy with the motives by which he may be presumed to have been actuated. Why, then, this sudden feeling in his behalf? Not, I assure you, from mercenary motives. His acquittal or his condemnation will make no difference in the compensation I receive for my services. The overpowering interest I feel in this case originates in the fact that it places at stake the reputation of this District, and, in some respects, of the country itself, of which this city is the political capital. The counsel for the government has dwelt with emphasis on the great amount and value of property placed at hazard by this prisoner. There is something, however, far more valuable than property--a fair, honorable, impartial administration of justice; and of the chivalrous race of the south it may be expected that they will do justice, though the heavens fall! God forbid that the world should point to this trial as a proof that we are so besotted by passion and interest that we cannot discern the most obvious distinctions and that on a slave question with a jury of slave-holders there is no possible chance of justice! Many, I assure you, will be ready to fasten this charge upon us. It is my hope, my ardent desire, it is your sworn duty, that no step be taken against this prisoner without full warrant of law and evidence. The duty of defence I discharge with pleasure. I could have desired that this prisoner might have been defended entirely by counsel resident in this District. It would have been my pride to have shown to the world that of our own mere motion we would do justice in any case, no matter how delicate, no matter how sore the point the prisoner had touched. "My learned friend, the District Attorney, has alluded to the courtesy which he and the court have extended to my associate in this cause. I hope he does not plume himself upon that. A gentleman of my associate's learning, ability, unexceptionable deportment, and high character among his own people, must and will be treated with courtesy wherever he goes. But, at the same time that he boasts of his courtesy, the District Attorney takes occasion to charge my associate with gross ignorance of the law. He says the forty-one charges could not have been included in one indictment, and offers to give up the case if we will produce a single authority to that effect. It were easy to produce the authority [see 1 _Chitty_, C.L. Indictment], but, unfortunately, the District Attorney has made a promise which he can't fulfil. The District Attorney is mistaken in this matter; at the same time, let me admit that in the management of this case he has displayed an ability beyond his years. This is the first prosecution ever brought, so far as we can discover, on this slave-stealing statute, either in this District or in Maryland. This statute, of the existence of which few lawyers were aware,--I am sure I was not,--has been waked up, after a slumber of more than a century, and brought to bear upon my client. It is your duty to go into the examination of this novel case temperately and carefully; to take care that no man and no court, upon review of the case, shall be able to say that your verdict is not warranted by the evidence. If the case is made out against the prisoner, convict him; but if not, as you value the reputation of the District and your own souls, beware how you give a verdict against him! "You are not a lynch-law court. It is no part of your business to inquire whether the prisoner has done wrong, and if so to punish him for it. It is your sole business to inquire if he be guilty of this, special charge set forth against him in this indictment, of stealing Andrew Houver's two slaves. The law you are not expected to judge of; to enlighten you on that matter, we have prayed instructions from the court, and those instructions, for the purpose of this trial, are to be taken as the law. The question for you is, Does the evidence in this case bring the prisoner within the law as laid down by the court? To bring him within that law, you are not to go upon imagination, but upon facts proved by witnesses; and, it seems to me, you have a very plain duty before you. This is not a thing done in a corner. Take care that you render such a verdict that you will not be ashamed to have it set forth in letters of light, visible to all the world. "There are two offences established by the statutes of Maryland, between which, in this case, it becomes your duty to distinguish. Everything depends on these statutes, because without these statutes neither act is a crime. At common law, there are no such offences as stealing slaves, or transporting slaves. Now, which of these two acts is proved against this prisoner? In some respects they are alike. The carrying the slaves away, the depriving the master of their services, is common to both. But, to constitute the stealing of slaves, according to the law as laid down by the court, there must be something more yet. There must be a corruption of the minds of the slaves, and a seducing them to leave their masters' service. And does not this open a plain path for this prisoner out of the danger of this prosecution? Where is the least evidence that the prisoner seduced these slaves, and induced them to leave their masters? Has the District Attorney, with all his zeal, pointed out a single particle of evidence of that sort? Has he done anything to take this case out of the transportation statute, and to convert it into a case of stealing? He has, to be sure, indulged in some very harsh epithets applied to this prisoner,--epithets very similar to those which Lord Coke indulged in on the trial of Sir Walter Raleigh, and which drew out on the part of that prisoner a memorable retort. My client is not a Raleigh; but neither, I must be permitted to say, is the District Attorney a Lord Coke. I should be sorry to have it go abroad that we cannot try a man for an offence of this sort without calling him a liar, a rogue, a wretch. [The District Attorney here interrupted, with a good deal of warmth. He insisted that he did not address the prisoner, but the jury, and that it was his right to call the attention of the jury to the evidence proving the prisoner to be a liar, rogue and wretch.] _Carlisle_--I do not dispute the learned gentleman's right. It is a matter of taste; but with you, gentlemen of the jury, these harsh epithets are not to make the difference of a hair. You are to look at the evidence; and where is the evidence that the prisoner seduced and enticed these slaves? "It may happen to any man to have a runaway slave in his premises, and even in his employment. It happened to me to have in my employ a runaway,--one of the best servants, by the way, I ever had. He told me he was free, and I employed him as such. If I had happened to have taken him to Baltimore, there would have been a complete similitude to the case at bar, and, according to the District Attorney's logic, I might have been indicted for stealing. Because I had him with me, I am to be presumed to have enticed him from his master! As to the particular circumstances under which he came into my employment, I might have been wholly unable to show them. Is it not possible to suppose a great number of circumstances under which these slaves of Houver left their master's service and came on board the Pearl, without any agency on the part of this prisoner? Now, the government might positively disprove and exclude forty such suppositions; but, so long as one remained which was not excluded, you cannot find a verdict of conviction. The government is to prove that the prisoner enticed and seduced these negroes, and you have no right to presume he did so unless every other possible explanation of the case is positively excluded by the testimony. Is it so extravagant a supposition that Mr. Foote's speech, and the other torch-light speeches heretofore alluded to, heard by these slaves, or communicated to them, might have so wrought upon their minds as to induce them to leave their masters? I don't say that they had any right to suppose that these declamations about universal emancipation had any reference to them. I am a southern man, and I hold to the southern doctrine. I admit that there is no inconsistency between perfect civil liberty and holding people of another race in domestic servitude. But then it is natural that these people should overlook this distinction, however obvious and important. Nor do they lack wit to apply these speeches to their own case or interest in such matters. I myself have a slave as quick to see distinctions as I am, and who would have made a better lawyer if he had had the same advantages. It came out the other day, in a trial in this court, that the colored people have debating-societies among themselves. It was an assault and battery case; one of the disputants, in the heat of the argument, struck the other; but then they have precedents for that in the House of Representatives. Is it an impossible, or improbable, or a disproved supposition, that a number of slaves, having agreed together to desert their masters, or having concerted such a plan with somebody here, Drayton was employed to come and take them away, and that he received them on board without ever having seen one of them? If his confessions are to be taken at all, they are to be taken together; and do they not tend to prove such a state of facts? Drayton says he was hired to come here,--that he was to be paid for taking them away. Does that look as if he seduced them? [The counsel here commented at length on Drayton's statements, for the purpose of showing that they tended to prove nothing more than a transportation for hire; and he threw no little ridicule on the 'phantom ship' which the District Attorney had conjured up in his opening of the case, but which, in his late speech, he had wholly overlooked.] "But, even should you find that Drayton seduced these slaves to leave their masters, to make out a case of larceny you must be satisfied that he took them into his possession. Now, what is possession of a slave? Not merely being in company with him. If I ride in a hack, I am not in possession of the driver. Possession of a slave is dominion and control; and where is the slightest evidence that this prisoner claimed any dominion or control over these slaves? The whole question in this case is, Were these slaves stolen, or were they running away with the prisoner's assistance? The mere fact of their being in the prisoner's company throws no light whatever on this matter. "The great point, however, in this case is this,--By the judge's instructions, enticement must be proved. Shall the record of this trial go forth to the world showing that you have found a fact of which there was no evidence? "I believe in my conscience there is a gap in this evidence not to be filled up except by passion and prejudice. If that is so, I hope there is no one so ungenerous, so little of a true southerner, as to blame me for my zeal in this case, or not to rejoice in a verdict of acquittal. It is bad enough that strangers should have got up a mob in this District in relation to this matter. It would, however, be a million times worse if juries cannot be found here cool and dispassionate enough to render impartial verdicts. "_District Attorney_.--I hope, gentlemen of the jury, you will rise above all out-of-door influence. Make yourselves abolitionists, if you can; but look at the facts of the case. And, looking at those facts, is it necessary for me to open my lips in reply? In a case like this, sustained by such direct testimony, such overwhelming proof, I defy any man,--however crazy on the subject of slavery, unless he be blinded by some film of interest,--to hesitate a moment as to his conclusions. [The District Attorney here proceeded at great length, and with a great air of offended dignity, to complain of having been schooled and advised by the prisoner's counsel, and to justify the use of the foul epithets he had bestowed on the prisoner.] This is not a place for parlor talk. I had chosen the English words that conveyed my meaning most distinctly. It was all very well for the prisoner's counsel to smooth things over; but was I, instead of calling him a liar, to say, he told a fib? When I call him a thief and a felon, do I go beyond the charge of the grand jury in the indictment? If this is stepping over the limits of propriety, in all similar cases I shall do the same. I do not intend to blackguard the prisoner,--I do not delight in using these epithets. My heart is not locked up; I am no Jack Ketch, prosecuting criminals for ten dollars a head. I sympathize with the wretches brought here; but when I choose to call them by their proper names I am not to be accused of bandying epithets. [The District Attorney then proceeded also at great length, and in a high key, to justify his hundred and twenty-five indictments against the prisoner, and to clear himself from the imputation of mercenary motives, on the ground that the business of the year, independently of these indictments, would furnish the utmost amount to which he was entitled. He next referred to the matter of the brig testified to by Captain Baker, which had been made the occasion of much ridicule by the prisoner's counsel. Part of the evidence which he had relied on in connection with the brig had been ruled out; and the law, as laid down by the court, according to which taking to liberate was the same as taking to steal, had made it unnecessary for him, so he said, to dwell on this part of the case. Yet he now proceeded to argue at great length, from the testimony in the case, that there must have been a connection between the brig and the schooner; that, as the schooner was confessedly unseaworthy, and could not have gone out of the bay, it must have been the intention to put the slaves on board the brig, and to carry them off to Cuba or elsewhere and sell them. The testimony to this effect he pronounced conclusive.] "The United States (said the District Attorney) have laid before you the clearest possible case. I have just gone through a pretty long term of this court; I see several familiar faces on the jury, and I rely on your intelligence. In fact, the only point of the defence is, that the United States have offered no proof that Drayton seduced and enticed these slaves to come on board the Pearl; and that the prisoner's counsel are pleased to call a gap, a chasm, which they say you can't fill up. It is the same gap which occurs in every larceny case. Where can the government produce positive testimony to the taking? That is done secretly, in the dark, and is to be presumed from circumstances. A man is found going off with a bag of chickens,--your chickens. Are you going to presume that the chickens run into his bag of their own accord, and without his agency? A man is found riding your horse. Are you to presume that the horse came to him of its own accord? and yet horses love liberty,--they love to kick up their heels and run. Yet this would be just as sensible as to suppose that these slaves came on board Drayton's vessel without his direct agency. He came here from Philadelphia for them; they are found on board his vessel; Drayton says he would steal a negro if he could; is not that enough? Then he was here some months before with an oyster-boat, pretending to sell oysters. He pretended that he came for his health. Likely story, indeed! I should like to see the doctor who would recommend a patient to come here in the fall of the year, when the fever and ague is so thick in the marshes that you can cut it with a knife. Cruising about, eating and selling oysters, at that time of the year, for his health! Nonsense! He was here, at that very time, hatching and contriving that these very negroes should go on board the Pearl. But the prisoner's counsel say he might have been employed by others simply to carry them away! Who could have employed him but abolitionists; and did he not say he had no sympathy with abolitionists. So much for that hypothesis. Then, he in fact pleads guilty,--he says he expects to die in the penitentiary. Don't you think he ought to? If there is any chasm here, the prisoner must shed light upon it. If he had employers, who were they? The prisoner's counsel have said that he is not bound to tell; and that the witnesses, if summoned here, would not be compelled to criminate themselves. But shall this prisoner be allowed to take advantage of his own wrong? "As to the metaphysics of the prisoner's counsel about possession, that is easily disposed of. Were not these slaves found in Drayton's possession, and didn't he admit that he took them? "As to the cautions given you about prejudice and passion, I do not think they are necessary. I have seen no sort of excitement here since the first detection of this affair that would prevent the prisoner having a fair trial. Is there any crowd or excitement here? The community will be satisfied with the verdict. There is no question the party is guilty. I never had anything to do with a case sustained by stronger evidence. I don't ask you to give an illegal or perjured verdict. Take the law and the evidence, and decide upon it. "N.B.--The argument being now concluded, and the jury about to go out, some question arose whether the jury should have the written instructions of the court with them; and some inquiry being made as to the practice, one of the jurors observed that in a case in which he had formerly acted as juror the jury had the instructions with them, and he proceeded to tell a funny story about a bottle of rum, told by one of the jurors on that occasion, which story caused him to remember the fact. It may be observed, by the way, that the proceedings of the United States Criminal Court for the District of Columbia are not distinguished for any remarkable decorum or dignity. The jury, in this case, were in constant intercourse, during any little intervals in the trial, with the spectators outside the bar." The case was given to the jury about three o'clock, P.M., and the court, after waiting half an hour, adjourned. When the court met, at ten o'clock the next morning, the jury were still out, having remained together all night without being able to agree. Meanwhile the District Attorney proceeded to try me on another indictment, for stealing three slaves the property of one William H. Upperman. As this trial was proceeding, about half-past two the jury in the first case came in, and rendered a verdict of GUILTY. They presented rather a haggard appearance, having been locked up for twenty-four hours, and some of them being perhaps a little troubled in their consciences. The jury, it was understood, had been divided, from the beginning, four for acquittal and eight for conviction. These four were all Irishmen, and perhaps they did not consider it consistent with their personal safety and business interests to persist in disappointing the slave-holding public of that verdict which the District Attorney had so imperiously demanded. The agreement, it was understood, had taken place only a few moments before they came in, and had been reached entirely on the strength of Williams' testimony to my having said, that had I got off I should have made an independent fortune. Now, it was a curious coincidence, that at the very moment that this agreement was thus taking place, Williams, again on the stand as a witness on the second trial, wished to take back what he had then sworn to on the first trial, stating that he could not tell whether he had heard me say this, or whether he had heard of my having said it from somebody else. After the rendition of the verdict of the other jury, the second case was again resumed. The evidence varied in only a few particulars from that which had been given in the first case. There was, in addition, the testimony of Upperman, the pretended owner of the woman and her daughters, one of fifteen, the other nine years old, whom I was charged in this indictment with stealing. This man swore with no less alacrity, and with no less falsehood, than Houver had done before him. He stated that about half-past ten, of that same night that the Pearl left Washington, while he was fastening up his house, he saw a man standing on the side-walk opposite his door, and observed him for some time. Not long after, having gone to bed, he heard a noise of somebody coming down stairs; and, calling out, he was answered by his slave-woman, who was just then going off, though he had no suspicion of it at the time. That man standing on the side-walk he pretended to recognize as me. He was perfectly certain of it, beyond all doubt and question. The object of this testimony was, to lead to a conclusion of enticement or persuasion on my part, and so to bring the case within one of the judge's instructions already stated. On a subsequent trial, Upperman was still more certain, if possible, that I was the man. But he was entirely mistaken in saying so. His house was on Pennsylvania Avenue, more than a mile from where the Pearl lay, and I was not within a mile of it that night. I dare say Upperman was sincere enough. He was one of your positive sort of men; but his case, like that of Houver, shows that men in a passion will sometimes fall into blunders. I have reason to believe that after the trials were over Upperman became satisfied of his error. The first trial had consumed a week; the second one lasted four days. The judge laid down the same law as before, and similar exceptions were taken by my counsel. The jury again remained out all night, being long divided,--nine for conviction to three for acquittal; but on the morning of August 9th they came in with a verdict of GUILTY. Satisfied for the present with these two verdicts against me, the District Attorney now proposed to pass over the rest of my cases, and to proceed to try Sayres. My counsel objected that, having been forced to proceed against my remonstrances, I was here ready for trial, and they insisted that all my cases should be now disposed of. They did not prevail, however; and the District Attorney proceeded to try Sayres on an indictment for stealing the same two slaves of Houver. In addition to the former witnesses against me, English was now put upon the stand, the District Attorney having first entered _nolle prosequi_ upon the hundred and fifteen indictments against him. But he could state nothing except the circumstances of his connection with the affair, and the coming on board of the passengers on Saturday night, as I have already related them. On the other hand, the "phantom brig" story, of which the District Attorney had made so great a handle in the two cases against me, was now ruled out, on the ground that the brig could not be brought into the case till some connection had first been shown between her and the Pearl. The trial lasted three days. The District Attorney pressed for a conviction with no less violence than he had done in my case, assuring the jury that if they did not convict there was an end of the security of slave property. But Sayres had several advantages over me. My two juries had been citizens of Washington, several of them belonging to a class of loafers who frequent the courts for the sake of the fees to be got as jurymen. Some complaints having been made of this, the officers had been sent to Georgetown and the country districts, and the present jury was drawn from those quarters. Then, again, I was regarded as the main culprit,--the only one in the secret of the transaction; and, as I was already convicted, the feeling against Sayres was much lessened. In fact, the jury in his case, after an absence of half an hour, returned a verdict of NOT GUILTY. The District Attorney, greatly surprised and vexed, proceeded to try Sayres on another indictment. This trial lasted three days and a half; but, in spite of the efforts of the District Attorney, who was more positive, longer and louder, than ever, the jury, in ten minutes, returned a verdict of NOT GUILTY. The trials had now continued through nearly four weeks of very hot weather, and both sides were pretty well worn out. Vexed at the two last verdicts, the District Attorney threatened to give up Sayres on a requisition from Virginia, which was said to have been lodged for us, some of the alleged slaves belonging there, and we having been there shortly before. Finally, it was agreed that verdicts should be taken against Sayres in the seventy-four transportation cases, he to have the advantage of carrying the points of law before the Circuit Court, and the remaining larceny indictments against him to be discontinued. Thus ended the first legal campaign. English was discharged altogether, without trial. Sayres had got rid of the charge of larceny. I had been found guilty on two indictments for stealing, upon which Judge Crawford sentenced me to twenty years imprisonment in the penitentiary; while Sayres, on seventy-four indictments for assisting the escape of slaves, was sentenced to a fine on each indictment of one hundred and fifty dollars and costs, amounting altogether to seven thousand four hundred dollars. But from these judgments an appeal had been taken to the Circuit Court, and meanwhile Sayres and I remained in prison as before. The hearing before the Circuit Court came on the 26th of November. That court consisted of Chief-Justice Cranch, an able and upright judge, but very old and infirm; and Judges Morrell and Dunlap, the latter of whom claimed to be the owner of two of the negroes found on board the Pearl. My cases were argued for me by Messrs. Hildreth, Carlisle and Mann. The District Attorney, who was much better fitted to bawl to a jury than to argue before a court, had retained, at the expense of the United States, the assistance of Mr. Bradley, one of the ablest lawyers of the District. The argument consumed not less than three days. Many points were discussed; but that on which the cases turned was the definition of larceny. It resulted in the allowance of several of my bills of exceptions, the overturn of the law of Judge Crawford on the subject of larceny, and the establishment by the Circuit Court of the doctrine on that subject contended for by my counsel; but from this opinion Judge Dunlap dissented. The case of Sayres, for want of time, was postponed till the next term. A new trial having been ordered in my two cases, everybody supposed that the charge of larceny would now be abandoned, as the Circuit Court had taken away the only basis on which it could possibly rest. But the zeal of the District Attorney was not yet satisfied; and, no longer trusting to his own unassisted efforts, he obtained (at the expense of the United States) the assistance of Richard Cox, Esq., an old and very unscrupulous practitioner, with whose aid he tried the cases over again in the Criminal Court. The two trials lasted about fourteen days. I was again defended by Messrs. Mann and Carlisle, and now with better success, as the juries, under the instructions which Judge Crawford found himself obliged to give, and notwithstanding the desperate efforts against me, acquitted me in both cases, almost without leaving their seats. Finally, the District Attorney agreed to abandon the remaining larceny cases, if we would consent to verdicts in the transportation cases on the same terms with those in the case of Sayres. This was done; when Judge Crawford had the satisfaction of sentencing me to fines and costs amounting together to ten thousand and sixty dollars, and to remain in prison until that amount was paid. There was still a further hearing before the Circuit Court on the bills of exceptions to these transportation indictments. My counsel thought they had some good legal objections; but the hearing unfortunately came on when Judge Cranch was absent from the bench, and the other two judges overruled them. By a strange construction of the laws, no criminal case, except by accident, can be carried before the Supreme Court of the United States; otherwise, the cases against us would have been taken there, including the question of the legality of slavery in the District of Columbia. Thus, after a severe and expensive struggle, I was saved from the penitentiary; but Sayres and myself remained in the Washington jail, loaded with enormous fines, which, from our total inability to pay them, would keep us there for life, unless the President could be induced to pardon us; and it was even questioned, as I shall show presently, whether he had any such power. The jail of the District of Columbia is under the charge of the Marshal of the District. That office, when I was first committed to prison, was filled by a Mr. Hunter; but he was sick at the time, and died soon after, when Robert Wallace was appointed. This Wallace was a Virginian, from the neighbor hood of Alexandria, son of a Doctor Wallace from whom he had inherited a large property, including many slaves. He had removed to Tennessee, and had set up cotton-planting there; but, failing in that business, had returned back with the small remnants of his property, and Polk provided for him by making him marshal. It was not long before I found that he had a great spite against me. It was in vain that I solicited from him the use of the passage. The light which came into my cell was very faint, and I could only read by sitting on the floor with my back against the grating of the cell door. But, so far from aiding me to read,--and it was the only method I had of passing my time,--Wallace made repeated and vexatious attempts to keep me from receiving newspapers. I should very soon have died on the prison allowance. The marshal is allowed by the United States thirty-three cents per day for feeding the prisoners. For this money they receive two meals; breakfast, consisting of one herring, corn-bread and a dish of molasses and water, very slightly flavored with coffee; and for dinner, corn-bread again, with half a pound of the meanest sort of salted beef, and a soup made of corn-meal stirred into the pot-liquor. This is the bill of fare day after day, all the year round; and, as at the utmost such food cannot cost more than eight or nine cents a day for each prisoner, and as the average number is fifty, the marshal must make a handsome profit. The diet has been fixed, I suppose, after the model of the slave allowances. But Congress, after providing the means of feeding the prisoners in a decent manner, ought not to allow them to be starved for the benefit of the marshal. Such was the diet to which I was confined in the first days of my imprisonment. But I soon contrived to make a friend of Jake, the old black cook of the prison, who, I could see as he came in to pour out my coffee, evinced a certain sympathy and respect for me. Through his agency I was able to purchase some more eatable food; and indeed the surgeon of the jail allowed me flour, under the name of medicine, it being impossible, as he said, for me to live on the prison diet. Wallace, soon after he came into office, finding a small sum in my possession, of about forty dollars, took it from me. He expressed a fear that I might corrupt old Jake, or somebody else,--especially as he found that I gave Jake my old newspapers,--and so escape from the prison. But he left the money in the hands of the jailer, and allowed me to draw it out, a dollar at a time. He presently turned out old Jake, and put in a slave-woman of his own as cook; but she was better disposed towards me than her master, and I found no difficulty in purchasing with my own money, and getting her to prepare such food as I wanted. I was able, too, after some six or eight weeks' sleeping on the stone floor of my cell, to obtain some improvement in that particular; and not for myself only, but for all the other prisoners also. The jailer was requested by several persons who came to see us to procure mattresses for us at their expense; and, finally, Wallace, as if out of pure shame, procured a quantity of husk mattresses for the use of the prisoners generally. Still, we had no cots, and were obliged to spread our mattresses on the floor. The allowance of clothing made to the prisoners who were confined without any means of supporting themselves corresponded pretty well with the jail allowance of provisions. They received shirts, one at a time, made of the very meanest kind of cotton cloth, and of the very smallest dimensions; trousers of about equal quality, and shoes. It was said that the United States paid also for jackets and caps. How that was I do not know; but the prisoners never received any. The custody of the jail was intrusted to a head jailer, assisted by four guards, or turnkeys, one of whom acted also as book-keeper. Of the personal treatment toward me of those in office, at the time I was first committed, I have no complaint to make. The rigor of my confinement was indeed great; but I am happy to say that it was not aggravated by any disposition on the part of these men to triumph over me, or to trample upon me. As they grew more acquainted with me, they showed their sense that I was not an ordinary criminal, and treated me with many marks of consideration, and even of regard, and in one of them I found a true friend. Shortly after Wallace came into office, he made several changes. He was full of caprices, and easily took offence from very small causes; and of this the keepers, as well as the prisoners, had abundant experience. The head jailer did his best to please, behaving in the most humble and submissive manner; but all to no purpose. He was discharged, as were also the others, one after another,--Wallace undertaking to act as head jailer himself. Of Wallace's vexatious conduct towards me; of his refusal to allow me to receive newspapers,--prohibiting the under jailer to lend me even the Baltimore _Sun_; of his accusation against me of bribing old Jake, whom he forbade the turnkeys to allow to come near me; of his keeping me shut up in my cell; and generally of a bitter spirit of angry malice against me,--I had abundant reason to complain during the weary fifteen months or more that I remained under his power. But his subordinates, though obliged to obey his orders and to comply with his humors, were far from being influenced by his feelings. Even his favorite among the turnkeys, a person who pretty faithfully copied his conduct towards the other prisoners, always behaved very kindly towards me, and even used to make a confidant of me, by coming to my cell to talk over his troubles. But the person whose kind offices and friendly sympathy did far more than those of any other to relieve the tediousness of my confinement, and to keep my heart from sinking, was Mr. Wood. There is no chaplain at the Washington jail, nor has Congress, so far as I am aware, made any provision of any kind for the spiritual wants or the moral and religious instruction of the inmates of it. This great deficiency Mr. Wood, a man of a great heart, though of very limited pecuniary means, being then a clerk in the Telegraph office, had taken it upon himself to supply, so far as he could; and for that purpose he was in the habit of visiting the prison on Sundays, conversing with the prisoners, and furnishing tracts and books to such as were able and disposed to read. He came to my cell, or to the grating of the passage in which I was confined, on the very first Sunday of my imprisonment, and he readily promised, at my request, to furnish me with a Bible; though in that act of kindness he was anticipated by the colored woman of whom I have already made mention, who appeared at my cell, with a Bible for me, just after Mr. Wood had left it. The kindness of Mr. Wood's heart, and the sincerity of his sympathy, was so apparent as to secure him the affectionate respect of all the prisoners. To me he proved a very considerate and useful friend. Not only was I greatly indebted to his assistance in making known my necessities and those of my family to those disposed to relieve them, but his cheerful and Christian conversation served to brighten many a dark hour, and to dispel many gloomy feelings. Were all professing Christians like my friend Mr. Wood, we should not hear so many denunciations as we now do of the church, and complaints of her short-comings. There was another person, also, whose kind attentions to me I ought not to overlook. This was Mrs. Susannah Ford, a very respectable colored woman, who sold refreshments in the lobby of the court-house, and who, in the progress of the trial, had evinced a good deal of interest in the case. As she often had boarders in the jail, who, like me, could not live on the jail fare, and whom she supplied, she was frequently there, and she seldom came without bringing with her some substantial token of her regard. Sayres and myself had looked forward to the change of administration, which resulted from the election of General Taylor, with considerable hopes of advantage from it--but, for a considerable time, this advantage was limited to a change in the marshal in whose custody we were. The turning out of Wallace gave great satisfaction to everybody in the jail, or connected with it, except the turnkeys, who held office by his appointment, and who expected that his dismissal would be followed by their own. The very day before the appointment of his successor came out, I had been remonstrating with him against the cruelty of refusing me the use of the passage; and I had even ventured to hint that I hoped he would do nothing which he would be ashamed to see spoken of in the public prints; to which he replied, "G--d d--n the public prints!--in that cell you will stay!" But in this he proved not much of a prophet. The next day, as soon as the news of his dismissal reached the jail, the turnkeys at once unlocked my cell-door and admitted me into the passage, observing that the new marshal, when he came to take possession, should at least find me there. This new marshal was Mr. Robert Wallach, a native of the District, very similar in name to his predecessor, but very different in nature; and from the time that he entered into office the extreme rigor hitherto exercised to me was a good deal abated. One thing, however, I had to regret in the change, which was the turning out of all the old guards, with whom I was already well acquainted, and the appointment of a new set. One of these thus turned out--the person to whom I have already referred to as the chief favorite of the late marshal--made a desperate effort to retain his office. But, although he solicited and obtained certificates to the effect that he was, and always had been, a good Whig, he had to walk out with the others. The new jailer appointed by Wallach, and three of the new guards, or turnkeys, were very gentlemanly persons, and neither I nor the other prisoners had any reason to complain of the change. Of the fourth turnkey I cannot say as much. He was violent, overbearing and tyrannical, and he was frequently guilty of conduct towards the prisoners which made him very unfit to serve under such a marshal, and ought to have caused his speedy removal. But, unfortunately, the marshal was under some political obligations to him, which made the turning him out not so easy a matter. This person seemed to have inherited all the feelings of hatred and dislike which the late marshal had entertained towards me, and he did his best to annoy me in a variety of ways, though, of course, his power was limited by his subordinate position. But, although I gained considerably by the new-order of things, I soon found that it had also some annoying consequences. Under the old marshal, either to make the imprisonment more disagreeable to me, or from fear lest I should corrupt the other prisoners, I had been kept in a sort of solitary confinement, no other prisoners being placed in the same passage. This system was now altered; and, although my privacy was always so far respected that I was allowed a cell by myself, I often found myself with fellow-prisoners in the same passage from whose society it was impossible for me to derive either edification or pleasure. I suffered a good deal from this cause; but at length succeeded in obtaining a remedy, or, at least, a partial one. I was allowed, during the day-time, the range of the debtors' apartments, a suite of spacious, airy and comfortable rooms, in which there were seldom more than one or two tenants. I pleaded hard to be removed to these apartments altogether,--to be allowed to sleep there, as well as to pass the days there. As it was merely for the non-payment of a sum of money that I was held, I thought I had a right to be treated as a debtor. But those apartments were so insecure, that the keepers did not care to trust me there during the night. By this change of quarters my condition was a good deal improved. I not only had ample conveniences for reading, but I improved the opportunity to learn to write, having only been able to sign my name when T was committed to the prison. But a jail, after all, is a jail; and I longed and sighed to obtain my liberty, and to enjoy again the society of my wife and children. Had it been wished to impress my mind in the strongest manner with the horrors of slavery, no better method could have been devised than this imprisonment in the Washington jail. I felt personally what it was to be restrained of my liberty; and, as many of the prisoners were runaway slaves, or slaves committed at the request of their masters, I saw a good deal of what slaves are exposed to. Of this I shall here give but a single instance. Wallace, the marshal, as I have already mentioned, had two female slaves, the last remnants of the large slave-property which he had inherited from his father. One of these was a young and very comely mulatto girl, whom Wallace had made his housekeeper, and whom he sought to make also his concubine. But, as the girl already had a child by a young white man, to whom she was attached, she steadily repelled all his advances. Not succeeding by persuasion, this scion of the aristocracy of the Old Dominion--this Virginian gentleman, and marshal of the United States for the District of Columbia--shut the girl up in the jail of the District, in hopes of thus breaking her to his will; and, as she proved obstinate, he finally sold her. He then turned his eyes on the other woman,--his property,--Jemima, our cook, already the mother of three children. But she set him at open defiance. As she wished to be sold, he had lost the greatest means of controlling her; and as she openly threatened, before all the keepers, to tear every rag of clothing off his body if he dared lay his hand upon her, he did not venture, to brave her fury. In most of the states, if not in all of them, certainly in all the free states, there is no such thing as keeping a man in prison for life merely for the non-payment of a fine which he has no means to pay. The same spirit of humanity which has abolished the imprisonment of poor debtors at the caprice of their creditors has provided means for discharging, after a short imprisonment, persons held in prison for fines which they have no means of paying. Indeed, what can be more unequal or unjust than to hold a poor man a prisoner for life for an offence which a rich man is allowed to expiate by a small part of his superfluous wealth? But this is one, among many other barbarisms, which the existence of slavery in the District of Columbia, by preventing any systematic revision of the laws, has entailed upon the capital of our model democracy. There was, as I have stated, no means by which Sayres and myself could be discharged from prison except by paying our fines (which was totally out of the question), or by obtaining a presidential pardon, which, for a long time, seemed equally hopeless. There was, indeed, a peculiarity about our case, such as might afford a plausible excuse for not extending to us any relief. Under the law of 1796, the sums imposed upon us as fines were to go one half to the owners of the slaves, and the other half to the District; and it was alleged, that although the President might remit the latter half, he could not the other. That same Mr. Radcliff whom I have already had occasion to mention volunteered his services--for a consideration--to get over this difficulty. In consequence of a handsome fee which he received, he undertook to obtain the consent of the owners of the slaves to our discharge. But, having pocketed the money, he made, so far as I could find, very little progress in the business, not having secured above five or six signers. In answer to my repeated applications, he at length proposed that my wife and youngest daughter should come on to "Washington to do the business which he had undertaken, and for which he had secured a handsome payment in advance. They came on accordingly, and, by personal application, succeeded in obtaining, in all, the signatures of twenty-one out of forty-one, the whole number. The reception which they met with from different parties was very different, showing that there is among slave-holders as much variety of character as among other people. Some signed with alacrity, saying that, as no slaves had been lost, I had been kept in jail too long already. Others required much urging. Others positively refused. Some even added insults. Young Francis Dodge, of Georgetown, would not sign, though my life had depended upon it. One wanted me hung, and another tarred and feathered. One pious church-member, lying on his death-bed, as he supposed, was persuaded to sign; but he afterwards drew back, and nothing could prevail on him to put his name to the paper. Die or live, he wholly refused. But the most curious case occurred at Alexandria, to which place my wife went to obtain the signature of a pious old lady, who had been the claimant of a youngster found among the passengers of the Pearl, and who had been sold, in consequence, for the southern market. The old lady, it appeared, was still the owner of the boy's mother, who acted as one of her domestics, and, if she was willing, the old lady professed her readiness to sign. The black woman was accordingly called in, and the nature of my wife's application stated to her. But, with much positiveness and indignation, she refused to give her consent, declaring that my wife could as well do without her husband as she could do without her boy. So imbruted and stupefied by slavery was this old woman, that she seemed to think the selling her boy away from her a perfectly humane, Christian and proper act, while all her indignation was turned against me, who had merely afforded the boy an opportunity of securing his freedom! I dare say they had persuaded the old woman that I had enticed the boy to run away; whereas, as I have already stated, I had never seen him, nor any other of the passengers, till I found them on board. As only twenty-one signers could be obtained, the matter stood very much as it did before the attempt was made. So long as President Fillmore remained a candidate for reëlection there was little ground to expect from him a favorable consideration of my case. I therefore felt sincerely thankful to the Whig convention when they passed by Mr. Fillmore, and gave the nomination to General Scott. Mr. Fillmore being thus placed in a position which enabled him to listen to the dictates of reason, justice and humanity, my hopes, and those of my friends, were greatly raised. Mr. Sumner, the Free Democratic senator from Massachusetts, had visited me in prison shortly after his arrival at Washington, and had evinced from the beginning a sincere and active sympathy for me. Some complaints were made against him in some anti-slavery papers, because he did not present to the senate some petitions in my behalf, which had been forwarded to his care. But Mr. Sumner was of opinion, and I entirely agreed with him, that if the object was to obtain my discharge from prison, that object was to be accomplished, not by agitating the matter in the senate, but by private appeals to the equity and the conscience of the President; nor did he think, nor I either, that my interests ought to be sacrificed for the opportunity to make an anti-slavery speech. There is reason in everything; and I thought, and he thought too, that I had been made enough of a martyr of already. The case having been brought to the notice of the President, he, being no longer a candidate for reëlection, could not fail to recognize the claim of Sayres and myself to a discharge. We had already been kept in jail upwards of four years, for an offence which the laws had intended to punish by a trifling pecuniary fine Nor was this all. The earlier part of our confinement had been exceedingly rigorous, and it had only been by the untiring efforts of our friends, and at a great expense to them, that we had been saved from falling victims to the conspiracy, between the District Attorney and Judge Crawford, to send us to the penitentiary. Although my able and indefatigable counsel, Mr. Mann, whose arduous labors and efforts in my behalf I shall never forget, and still less his friendly counsels and kind personal attentions, had received nothing, except, I believe, the partial reimbursement of his travelling expenses, and although there was much other service gratuitously rendered in our cases, yet it had been necessary to pay pretty roundly for the services of Mr. Carlisle; and, altogether, the expenditures which had been incurred to shield us from the effects of the conspiracy above mentioned far exceeded any amount of fine which might have been reasonably imposed under the indictments upon which we had been found guilty. Was not the enormous sum which Judge Crawford sentenced us to pay a gross violation of the provision in the constitution of the United States against excessive fines? Any fine utterly beyond a man's ability to pay, and which operates to keep him a prisoner for life, must be excessive, or else that word has no meaning. But, though our case was a strong one, there still remained a serious obstacle in the way, in the idea that, because half the fines was to go to the owners of the slaves, the President could not remit that half. Here was a point upon which Mr. Sumner was able to assist us much more effectually than by making speeches in the senate. It was a point, too, involved in a good deal of difficulty; for there were some English cases which denied the power of pardon under such circumstances. Mr. Sumner found, however, by a laborious examination of the American cases, that a different view had been taken in this country; and he drew up and submitted to the President an elaborate legal opinion, in which the right of the executive to pardon us was very clearly made out. This opinion the President referred to the Attorney General. A considerable time elapsed before he found leisure to examine it; but at last it obtained his sanction, also. Information at length reached us--the matter having been pending for two months or more--that the President had signed our pardon. It had yet, however, to pass through the office of the Secretary for the Interior, and meanwhile we were not by any means free from anxiety. The reader will perhaps recollect that among the other things which the District Attorney had held over our heads had been the threat to surrender us up to the authorities of Virginia, on a requisition which it was alleged they had made for us. The story of this requisition had been repeated from time to time, and a circumstance now occurred which, in seeming to threaten us with something of the sort, served to revive all our apprehensions. Mr. Stuart, the Secretary of the Interior, through whose office the pardon was to pass, sent word to the marshal that such a pardon had been signed, and, at the same time, requested him, if it came that day into his hands, not to act upon it till the next. As this Stuart was a Virginian, out apprehensions were naturally excited of some movement from that quarter. The pardon arrived about five o'clock that afternoon; and immediately upon receiving it the marshal told us that he had no longer any hold upon us,--that we were free men, and at liberty to go where we chose. As we were preparing to leave the jail, I observed that a gentleman, a friend of the marshal, whom I had often seen there, and who had always treated me with great courtesy, hardly returned my good-day, and looked at me as black as a thunder-cloud. Afterwards, upon inquiring of the jailer what the reason could be, I learned that this gentleman, who was a good deal of a politician, was greatly alarmed and disturbed lest the act of the President in having pardoned us should result in the defeat of the Whig party--and, though willing enough that we should be released, he did not like to have it done at the expense of his party, and his own hopes of obtaining some good office. The Whigs were defeated, sure enough; but whether because we were pardoned--though the idea is sufficiently nattering to my vanity--is more than I shall venture to decide. The black prisoners in the jail, having nothing to hope or fear from the rise or fall of parties, yielded freely to their friendly feelings, and greeted our departure with three cheers. We left the jail as privately as possible, and proceeded in a carriage to the house of a gentleman of the District, where we were entertained at supper. Our imprisonment had lasted four years and four months, lacking seven days. We did not feel safe, however, with that Virginia requisition hanging over our heads, so long as we remained in the District, or anywhere on slave-holding ground; and, by the liberality of our friends, a hack was procured for us, to carry us, that same night, to Baltimore, there, the next morning, to take the cars for Philadelphia. The night proved one of the darkest and stormiest which it had ever been my fate to encounter,--and I have seen some bad weather in my time. The rain fell in torrents, and the road was only now and then visible by the flashes of the lightning. But our trusty driver persevered, and, in spite of all obstacles, brought us to Baltimore by the early dawn. Sayres proceeded by the direct route to Philadelphia. Having still some apprehensions of pursuit and a requisition, I took the route by Harrisburg. Great was the satisfaction which I felt as the cars crossed the line from Maryland into Pennsylvania. It was like escaping out of Algiers into a free and Christian country. I shall leave it to the reader to imagine the meeting between myself and my family. They had received notice of my coming, and were all waiting to receive me. If a man wishes to realize the agony which our American slave-trade inflicts in the separation of families, let him personally feel that separation, as I did; let him pass four years in the Washington jail. When committed to the prison, I was by no means well. I had been a good deal out of health, as appeared from the evidence on the trial, for two or three years before. Close confinement, or, indeed, confinement of any sort, does not agree with persons of my temperament; and I came out of the prison a good deal older, and much more of an invalid, than when I entered it. The reader, perhaps, will inquire what good was gained by all these sufferings of myself and my family--what satisfaction I can have, as it did not succeed, in looking back to an enterprise attended with so much risk, and which involved me in so long and tedious an imprisonment? The satisfaction that I have is this: What I did, and what I attempted to do, was my protest,--a protest which resounded from one end of the Union to the other, and which, I hope, by the dissemination of this, my narrative, to renew and repeat it,--it was my protest against the infamous and atrocious doctrine that there can be any such thing as property in man! We can only do according to our power, and the capacity, gifts and talents, that we have. Others, more fortunate than I, may record their protest against this wicked doctrine more safely and comfortably for themselves than I did. They may embody it in burning words and eloquent speeches; they may write it out in books; they may preach it in sermons. I could not do that. I have as many thoughts as another, but, for want of education, I lack the power to express them in speech or writing. I have not been able to put even this short narrative on paper without obtaining the assistance of a friend. I could not talk, I could not write; but I could act. The humblest, the most uneducated man can do that. I did act; and, by my actions, I protested that I did not believe that there was, or could be, any such thing as a right of property in human beings. Nobody in this country will admit, for a moment, that there can be any such thing as property in a white man. The institution of slavery could not last for a day, if the slaves were all white. But I do not see that because their complexions are different they are any the less men on that account. The doctrine I hold to, and which I desired to preach in a practical way, is the doctrine of Jefferson and Madison, that there cannot be property in man,--no, not even in black men. And the rage exerted against me on the part of the slave-holders grew entirely out of my preaching that doctrine. Actions, as everybody knows, speak louder than words. By virtue of my actions proclaiming my opinion on that subject, I became at once, powerless as I otherwise was, elevated, in the minds of the slave-holders, to the same high level with Mr. Giddings and Mr. Hale, who they could not help believing must have been my secret confederates. If I had believed, as the slave-holders do, that men can be owned; if I had really attempted, as they falsely and meanly charged me with doing, to steal; had I actually sought to appropriate men as property to my own use; had that been all, does anybody imagine that I should ever have been pursued with such persevering enmity and personal virulence? Do they get up a debate in Congress, and a riot in the city of Washington, every time a theft is committed or attempted in the District? It was purely because I was not a thief; because, in helping men, women and children, claimed as chattels, to escape, I bore my testimony against robbing human beings of their liberty; this was the very thing that excited the slave-holders against me, just as a strong anti-slavery speech excites them against Mr. Hale, or Mr. Giddings, or Mr. Mann, or Mr. Stunner. Those gentlemen have words at command; they can speak, and can do good service by doing so. As for me, it was impossible that I should ever be able to make myself heard in Congress, or by the nation at large, except in the way of action. The opportunity occurring, I did not hesitate to improve it; nor have I ever yet seen occasion to regret having done so. 
1674	----	None 
22084	----	ORATION ON THE LIFE AND CHARACTER OF HENRY WINTER DAVIS, BY HON. JOHN A. J. CRESWELL. Delivered in the Hall of the House of Representatives, February 22, 1866. WASHINGTON: GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE. 1866. PREFACE. The death of Hon. HENRY WINTER DAVIS, for many years a distinguished Representative of one of the Baltimore congressional districts, created a deep sensation among those who had been associated with him in national legislation, and they deemed it fitting to pay to his memory unusual honors. They adopted resolutions expressive of their grief, and invited Hon. JOHN A. J. CRESWELL, a Senator of the United States from the State of Maryland, to deliver an oration on his life and character, in the hall of the House of Representatives, on the 22d of February, a day the recurrence of which ever gives increased warmth to patriotic emotions. The hall of the House was filled by a distinguished audience to listen to the oration. Before eleven o'clock the galleries were crowded in every part. The flags above the Speaker's desk were draped in black, and other insignia of mourning were exhibited. An excellent portrait of the late Hon. HENRY WINTER DAVIS was visible through the folds of the national banner above the Speaker's chair. As on the occasion of the oration on President LINCOLN by Hon. GEORGE BANCROFT, the Marine band occupied the ante-room of the reporters' gallery, and discoursed appropriate music. At twelve o'clock the senators entered, and the judges of the Supreme Court, preceded by Chief Justice Chase. Of the Cabinet Secretary Stanton and Secretary McCulloch were present. After prayer by the chaplain, the Declaration of Independence was read by Hon. EDWARD MCPHERSON, Clerk of the House. After the reading of the Declaration, followed by the playing of a dirge by the band, Hon. SCHUYLER COLFAX, Speaker of the House of Representatives, introduced the orator of the day, Hon. J. A. J. CRESWELL. REMARKS OF HON. SCHUYLER COLFAX, SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES. Hon. SCHUYLER COLFAX, Speaker of the House of Representatives, said: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN: The duty has been devolved upon me of introducing to you the friend and fellow-member, here, of HENRY WINTER DAVIS, and I shall detain you but a moment from his address, to which you will listen with saddened interest. The world always appreciates and honors courage: the courage of Christianity, which sustained martyrs in the amphitheatre, at the stake, and on the rack; the courage of Patriotism, which inspired millions in our own land to realize the historic fable of Curtius, and to fill up with their own bodies, if need be, the yawning chasm which imperiled the republic; the courage of Humanity, which is witnessed in the pest-house and the hospital, at the death-bed of the homeless and the prison-cell of the convict. But there is a courage of Statesmen, besides; and nobly was it illustrated by the statesman whose national services we commemorate to-day. Inflexibly hostile to oppression, whether of slaves on American soil or of republicans struggling in Mexico against monarchical invasion, faithful always to principle and liberty, championing always the cause of the down-trodden, fearless as he was eloquent in his avowals, he was mourned throughout a continent; and from the Patapsco to the Gulf the blessings of those who had been ready to perish followed him to his tomb. It is fitting, therefore, though dying a private citizen, that the nation should render him such marked and unusual honors in this hall, the scene of so many of his intellectual triumphs; and I have great pleasure in introducing to you, as the orator of the day, Hon. J. A. J. CRESWELL, his colleague in the thirty-eighth Congress, and now Senator from the State of Maryland. ORATION OF HON. JOHN A. J. CRESWELL. MY COUNTRYMEN: On the 22d day of February, 1732, God gave to the world the highest type of humanity, in the person of George Washington. Combining within himself the better qualities of the soldier, sage, statesman, and patriot, alike brave, wise, discreet, and incorruptible, the common consent of mankind has awarded him the incomparable title of Father of his Country. Among all nations and in every clime the richest treasures of language have been exhausted in the effort to transmit to posterity a faithful record of his deeds. For him unfading laurels are secure, so long as letters shall survive and history shall continue to be the guide and teacher of civilized men. The whole human race has become the self-appointed guardian of his fame, and the name of Washington will be ever held, over all the earth, to be synonymous with the highest perfection attainable in public or private life, and coeternal with that immortal love to which reason and revelation have together toiled to elevate human aspirations--the love of liberty, restrained and guarded by law. But in the presence of the Omnipotent how insignificant is the proudest and the noblest of men! Even Washington, who alone of his kind could fill that comprehensive epitome of General Henry Lee, so often on our lips, "First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen," was allowed no exemption from the common lot of mortals. In the sixty-eighth year of his age he, too, paid the debt of nature. The dread announcement of his demise sped over the land like a pestilence, burdening the very air with mourning, and carrying inexpressible sorrow to every household and every heart. The course of legislation was stopped in mid career to give expression to the grief of Congress, and by resolution, approved January 6, 1800, the 22d of February of that year was devoted to national humiliation and lamentation. This is, then, as well a day of sorrow as a day of rejoicing. More recent calamities also remind us that death is universal king. Just ten days ago our great historian pronounced in this hall an impartial judgment upon the earthly career of him who, as savior of his country, will be counted as the compeer of Washington. Scarce have the orator's lingering tones been mellowed into silence, scarce has the glowing page whereon his words were traced lost the impress of his passing hand, yet we are again called into the presence of the Inexorable to crown one more illustrious victim with sacrificial flowers. Having taken up his lifeless body, as beautiful as the dead Absalom, and laid it in the tomb with becoming solemnity, we have assembled in the sight of the world to do deserved honor to the name and memory of HENRY WINTER DAVIS, a native of Annapolis, in the State of Maryland, but always proudly claiming to be no less than a citizen of the United States of America. We have not convened in obedience to any formal custom, requiring us to assume an empty show of bereavement, in order that we may appear respectful to the departed. We who knew HENRY WINTER DAVIS are not content to clothe ourselves in the outward garb of grief, and call the semblance of mourning a fitting tribute to the gifted orator and statesman, so suddenly snatched from our midst in the full glory of his mental and bodily strength. We would do more than "bear about the mockery of woe." Prompted by a genuine affection, we desire to ignore all idle and merely conventional ceremonies, and permit our stricken hearts to speak their spontaneous sorrow. Here, then, where he sat for eight years as a Representative of the people; where friends have trooped about him, and admiring crowds have paid homage to his genius; where grave legislators have yielded themselves willing captives to his eloquence, and his wise counsel has moulded, in no small degree, the law of a great nation, let us, in dealing with what he has left us, verify the saying of Bacon, "Death openeth the good fame and extinguished envy." Remembering that he was a man of like passions and equally fallible with ourselves, let us review his life in a spirit of generous candor, applaud what is good, and try to profit by it; and if we find aught of ill, let us, so far as justice and truth will permit, cover it with the vail of charity and bury it out of sight forever. So may our survivors do for us. The subject of this address was born on the 16th of August, 1817. His father, Rev. Henry Lyon Davis, of the Protestant Episcopal church, was president of St. John's College at Annapolis, Maryland, and rector of St. Ann's parish. He was of imposing person, and great dignity and force of character. He was, moreover, a man of genius, and of varied and profound learning, eminently versed in mathematics and natural sciences, abounding in classical lore, endowed with a vast memory, and gifted with a concise, clear, and graceful style; rich and fluent in conversation, but without the least pretension to oratory and wholly incapable of _extempore_ speaking. He was removed from the presidency of St. John's by a board of democratic trustees because of his federal politics; and, years afterward, he gave his son his only lesson in politics at the end of a letter, addressed to him when at Kenyon College, in this laconic sentence: "My son, beware of the follies of Jacksonism." His mother was Jane Brown Winter, a woman of elegant accomplishments and of great sweetness of disposition and purity of life. It might be truthfully said of her, that she was an exemplar for all who knew her. She had only two children, Henry Winter, and Jane, who married Rev. Edward Syle. The education of Henry Winter began very early, at home, under the care of his aunt, Elizabeth Brown Winter, who entertained the most rigid and exacting opinions in regard to the training of children, but who was withal a noble woman. He once playfully said, "I could read before I was four years old, though much against my will." When his father was removed from St. John's, he went to Wilmington, Delaware, but some time elapsed before he became settled there. Meanwhile, Henry Winter remained with his aunt in Alexandria, Virginia. He afterward went to Wilmington, and was there instructed under his father's supervision. In 1827 his father returned to Maryland and settled in Anne Arundel county. After reaching Anne Arundel, Henry Winter became so much devoted to out-door life that he gave small promise of scholarly proficiency. He affected the sportsman, and became a devoted disciple of Nimrod; accompanied always by one of his father's slaves he roamed the country with a huge old fowling-piece on his shoulder, burning powder in abundance, but doing little damage otherwise. While here he saw much of slaves and slavery, and what he saw impressed him profoundly, and laid the foundation for those opinions which he so heroically and constantly defended in all his after-life. Referring to this period, he said long afterward, "My familiar association with the slaves while a boy gave me great insight into their feelings and views. They spoke with freedom before a boy what they would have repressed before a man. They were far from indifferent to their condition; they felt wronged and sighed for freedom. They were attached to my father and loved me, yet they habitually spoke of the day when God would deliver them." He subsequently went to Alexandria, and was sent to school at Howard, near the Theological Seminary, and from Howard he went to Kenyon College, in Ohio, in the fall of 1833. Kenyon was then in the first year of the presidency of Bishop McIlvaine. It was the centre of vast forests, broken only by occasional clearings, excepting along the lines of the National road, and the Ohio river and its navigable tributaries. In this wilderness of nature, but garden of letters, he remained, at first in the grammar school, and then in the college, until the 6th of September, 1837; when at twenty years of age he took his degree and diploma, decorated with one of the honorary orations of his class, on the great day of commencement. His subject was "Scholastic Philosophy." At the end of the Freshman year, a change in the college terms gave him a vacation of three months. Instead of spending it in idleness, as he might have done, and as most boys would have done, he availed himself of this interval to pursue and complete the studies of the Sophomore year, to which he had already given some attention in his spare moments. At the opening of the next session he passed the examination for the Junior class. Fortunately I have his own testimony and opinion as to this exploit, and I give them in his own language: "It was a pretty sharp trial of resolution and dogged diligence, but it saved me a year of college, and indurated my powers of study and mental culture into a habit, and perhaps enabled me to stay long enough to graduate. I do not recommend the example to those who are independently situated, for learning must fall like the rain in such gentle showers as to sink in if it is to be fruitful; when poured on the richest soil in torrents, it not only runs off without strengthening vegetation, but washes away the soil itself." His college life was laborious and successful. The regular studies were prosecuted with diligence, and from them he derived great profit, not merely in knowledge, but in what is of vastly more account, the habit and power of mental labor. These studies were wrought into his mind and made part of the intellectual substance by the vigorous collisions of the societies in which he delighted. For these mimic conflicts he prepared assiduously, not in writing, but always with a carefully deduced logical analysis and arrangement of the thoughts to be developed in the order of argument, with a brief note of any quotation, or image, or illustration, on the margin at the appropriate place. From that brief he spoke. And this was his only method of preparation for all the great conflicts in which he took part in after life. He never wrote out his speeches beforehand. Speaking of his feelings at the end of his college life, he sadly said: "My father's death had embittered the last days of the year 1836, and left me without a counsellor. I knew something of books, nothing of men, and I went forth like Adam among the wild beasts of the unknown wilderness of the world. My father had dedicated me to the ministry, but the day had gone when such dedications determined the lives of young men. Theology as a grave topic of historic and metaphysical investigation I delighted to pursue, but for the ministry I had no calling. I would have been idle if I could, for I had no ambition, but I had no fortune and I could not beg or starve." All who were acquainted with his temperament can well imagine what a gloomy prospect the future presented to him, when its contemplation wrung from his stoical taciturnity that touching confession. The truth is, that from the time he entered college he was continually cramped for want of money. The negroes ate everything that was produced on the farm in Anne Arundel, a gastronomic feat which they could easily accomplish, without ever having cause to complain of a surfeit. His aunt, herself in limited circumstances, by a careful husbandry of her means, managed to keep him at college. Kenyon was then a manual-labor institution, and the boys were required to sweep their own rooms, make their own beds and fires, bring their own water, black their own boots, if they ever were blacked, and take an occasional turn at grubbing in the fields or working on the roads. There was no royal road to learning known at Kenyon in those days. Through all this Henry Winter Davis passed, bearing his part manfully; and knowing how heavily he taxed the slender purse of his aunt, he denied himself with such rigor that he succeeded, incredible as it may appear, in bringing his total expenses, including boarding and tuition, within the sum of eighty dollars per annum. His father left an estate consisting only of some slaves, which were equally apportioned between himself and sister. Frequent applications were made to purchase his slaves, but he never could be induced to sell them, although the proceeds would have enabled him to pursue his studies with ease and comfort. He rather sought and obtained a tutorship, and for two years he devoted to law and letters only the time he could rescue from its drudgery. In a letter, written in April, 1839, replying to the request of a relative who offered to purchase his slave Sallie, subject to the provisions of his father's will, which manumitted her if she would go to Liberia, he said: "But if she is under my control." (he did not know that she had been set to his share,) "I will _not consent to the sale_, though he wishes to purchase her subject to the will." And so Sallie was not sold, and Henry Winter Davis, the tutor, toiled on and waited. He never would hold any of his slaves under his authority, never would accept a cent of their wages, and tendered each and all of them a deed of absolute manumission whenever the law would allow. Tell me, was that man sincere in his opposition to slavery? How many of those who have since charged him with being selfish and reckless in his advocacy of emancipation would have shown equal devotion to principle? Not one; not one. Ah! the man who works and suffers for his opinions' sake places his own flesh and blood in pledge for his integrity. Notwithstanding his irksome and exacting duties, he kept his eye steadily on the University of Virginia, and read, without assistance, a large part of its course. He delighted especially in the pungent pages of Tacitus and the glowing and brilliant, dignified and elevated epic of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. These were favorites which never lost their charm for him. When recently on a visit at my house, he stated in conversation that he often exercised himself in translating from the former, and in transferring the thoughts of the latter into his own language, and he contended that the task had dispelled the popular error that Gibbon's style is swollen and declamatory; for he alleged that every effort at condensation had proved a failure, and that at the end of his labors the page he had attempted to compress had always expanded to the eye, when relieved of the weighty and stringent fetters in which the gigantic genius of Gibbon had bound it. About this time--the only period when doubts beset him--he was tempted by a very advantageous offer to settle in Mississippi. He determined to accept; but some kind spirit interposed to prevent the despatch of the final letter, and he remained in Alexandria. At last his aunt--second mother as she was--sold some land and dedicated the proceeds to his legal studies. He arrived at the University of Virginia in October, 1839. From that moment he entered actively and unremittingly on his course of intellectual training. While a boy he had become familiar, under the guidance of his father, with the classics of Addison, Johnson, Swift, Cowper, and Pope, and he now plunged into the domain of history. He had begun at Kenyon to make flanking forays into the fields of historic investigation which lay so invitingly on each side of the regular march of his college course. As he acquired more information and confidence, these forays became more extensive and profitable. It was then the transition period from the shallow though graceful pages of Gillies, Rollin, Russel, and Tytler, and the rabbinical agglomerations of Shuckford and Prideaux to the modern school of free, profound, and laborious investigation, which has reared immortal monuments to its memory in the works of Hallam, Macaulay, Grote, Bancroft, Prescott, Motley, Niebuhr, Bunsen, Schlosser, Thiers, and their fellows. But of the last-named none except Niebuhr's History of Rome and Hallam's Middle Ages were accessible to him in the backwoods of Ohio. Cousin's Course of the History of Modern Philosophy was just glittering in the horizon, and Gibbon shone alone as the morning star of the day of historic research, which he had heralded so long. The French Revolution he had seen only as presented in Burke's brilliant vituperation and Scott's Tory diatribe. A republican picture of the great republican revolution, the fountain of all that is now tolerable in Europe, had not then been presented on any authentic and comprehensive page. Not only these, but all historical works of value which the English, French, and German languages can furnish, with an immense amount of other intellectual pabulum, were eagerly gathered, consumed with voracious appetite, and thoroughly digested. Supplied at last with the required means, he braced himself for a systematic curriculum of law, and pursued it with marked constancy and success. While at the university he also took up the German and French languages and mastered them, and he perfected his scholarship in Latin and Greek. Until his death he read all these languages with great facility and accuracy, and he always kept his Greek Testament lying on his table for easy reference. After a thorough course at the university, Mr. DAVIS entered upon the practice of the law in Alexandria, Virginia. He began his profession without much to cheer him; but he was not the man to abandon a pursuit for lack of courage. His ability and industry attracted attention, and before long he had acquired a respectable practice, which thenceforth protected him from all annoyances of a pecuniary nature. He toiled with unwearied assiduity, never appearing in the trial of a cause without the most elaborate and exhaustive preparation, and soon became known to his professional brethren as a valuable ally and a formidable foe. His natural aptitude for public affairs made itself manifest in due time, and some articles which he prepared on municipal and State politics gave him great reputation. He also published a series of newspaper essays, wherein he dared to question the divinity of slavery; and these, though at the time thought to be not beyond the limits of free discussion, were cited against him long after as evidence that he was a heretic in pro-slavery Virginia and Maryland. On the 30th of October, 1845, he married Miss Constance T. Gardiner, daughter of William C. Gardiner, Esq., a most accomplished and charming young lady, as beautiful and as fragile as a flower. She lived to gladden his heart for but a few years, and then, "Like a lily drooping, She bowed her head and died." In 1850 he came to Baltimore, and immediately a high position, professional, social, and political, was awarded him. His forensic efforts at once commanded attention and enforced respect. The young men of most ability and promise gathered about him, and made him the centre of their chosen circle. He became a prominent member of the whig party, and was everywhere known as the brilliant orator and successful controvertist of the Scott campaign of 1852. The whig party, worn out by its many gallant but unsuccessful battles, was ultimately gathered to its fathers, and Mr. DAVIS led off in the American movement. He was elected successively to the thirty-fourth, thirty-fifth, and thirty-sixth Congresses by the American party from the fourth district of Maryland. He supported with great ability and zeal Mr. Fillmore for the Presidency in 1856, and in 1860 accepted John Bell as the candidate of his party, though he clearly divined and plainly announced that the great battle was really between Abraham Lincoln, as the representative of the national sentiment on the one hand, and secession and disunion, in all their shades and phases, on the other. To his seat in the thirty-eighth Congress he was elected by the Unconditional Union party. Since the adjournment of the thirty-eighth Congress he has been profoundly concerned in the momentous public questions now pressing for adjustment, and he did not fail on several fitting occasions to give his views at length to the public. Nevertheless, he frequently alluded to his earnest desire to retreat for awhile from the perplexing annoyances of public life. He had determined upon a long visit to Europe in the coming spring, and had almost concluded the purchase of a delightful country-seat, where he hoped to recruit his weary brain for years to come from the exhaustless riches of nature. When the thirty-ninth Congress met, and he read of his old companions in the work of legislation again gathering in their halls and committee-rooms, I think, for at least a day or two, he felt a longing to be among them. During the second week of the session he again entered this hall, but only as a spectator. The greeting he received--so general, spontaneous, and cordial--from gentlemen on both sides of the House, touched his heart most sensibly. The crowd that gathered about him was go great that the party was obliged to retire to one of the larger ante-rooms for fear of interrupting the public business. A delightful interview among old friends was the reward. He was charmed with his reception, and mentioned it to me with intense satisfaction. Little did you, gentlemen, then think that between you and a beloved friend the curtain that shrouds eternity was so soon to be interposed. His sickness was of about a week's duration. Until the morning of the day preceding his death, his friends never doubted his recovery. Later in the day very unfavorable symptoms appeared, and all then realized his danger. In the evening his wife spoke to him of a visit, for one day, which he had projected, to his old friend, Mrs. S. F. Du Pont, when he replied, in the last words he ever uttered, "It shows the folly of making plans even for a day." He continued to fail rapidly in strength until two o'clock on the afternoon of Saturday, the 30th of December, when HENRY WINTER DAVIS, in the forty-ninth year of his age, appeared before his God. His death confirmed the opinion of Sir Thomas Browne, who declared, "Marshaling all the horrors of death, and contemplating the extremities thereof, I find not anything therein able to daunt the _courage_ of a _man_, much less a _well-resolved Christian_." He passed away so quietly that no one knew the moment of his departure. His was-- "A death, life sleep; A gentle wafting to immortal life." Mr. DAVIS left a widow, Mrs. Nancy Davis, a daughter of John B. Morris, Esq., of Baltimore, and two little girls, who were the idols of his heart. He was married a second time on the 26th of January, 1857. His nearest surviving collateral relation is the Hon. David Davis, associate justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, who is his only cousin-german. To all these afflicted hearts may God be most gracious. Thus has the country lost one of the most able, eloquent, and fearless of its defenders. Called from this life at an age when most men are just beginning to command the respect and confidence of their fellows, he has left, nevertheless, a fame as wide as our vast country. He died nineteen years younger than Washington and eight years younger than Lincoln. At forty-eight years of age Washington had not seen the glories of Yorktown even in a vision, nor had Lincoln dreamed of the presidential chair; and if they had died at that age they would have been comparatively unknown in history. Doubtless God would have raised up other leaders, if they had been wanting, to conduct the great American column, which He has chosen to be the bodyguard of human rights and hopes, onward among the nations and the centuries; but in that event the 12th and 22d days of February would not be, as they now are, held sacred in our calendar. Mr. DAVIS had gathered into his house the literary treasures of four languages, and had reveled in spirit with the wise men of the ages. He had conned his books as jealously as a miner peering for gold, and had not left a panful of earth unwashed. He had collected the purest ore of truth and the richest gems of thought, until he was able to crown himself with knowledge. Blessed with a felicitous power of analysis and a prodigious memory, he ransacked history, ancient and modern, sacred and profane; science, pure, empirical, and metaphysical; the arts, mechanical and liberal; the professions, law, divinity, and medicine; poetry and the miscellanies of literature; and in all these great departments of human lore he moved as easily as most men do in their particular province. His habit was not only to read but to reread the best of his books frequently, and he was continually supplying himself with better editions of his favorites. In current, playful conversation with friends he quoted right and left, in brief and at length, from the classics, ancient and modern, and from the drama, tragic and comic. In his speeches, on the contrary, he quoted but little, and only when he seemed to run upon a thought already expressed by some one else with singular force and appositeness. He was the best scholar I ever met for his years and active life, and was surpassed by very few, excepting mere book-worms. He has for many years been engaged in collecting extracts from newspapers, containing the leading facts and public documents of the day; but he never commonplaced from books. His thesaurus was his head. I have but little personal knowledge of Mr. DAVIS as a lawyer. It was never my good fortune to be associated with him in the trial of a cause; nor have I ever been present when he was so engaged. But at the time of his death he filled a high position at the bar, and was chosen to lead against the most distinguished of his brethren. On public and constitutional questions, as distinguished from those involving only private rights, he was a host, and in the argument of the cases which grew out of the adoption of the new constitution of Maryland he won golden laurels, and drew extraordinary encomiums even from his opponents in that angry litigation. He was thoroughly read in the decisions of the federal courts, and especially in those declaring and defining constitutional principles. Possessed of a mind of remarkable power, scope, and activity; with an immense fund of precious information, ready to respond to any call he might make upon it, however sudden; wielding a system of logic formed in the severest school, and tried by long practice; gifted with a rare command of language and an eloquence well nigh superhuman; and withal graced with manners the most accomplished and refined, and a person unusually handsome, graceful, and attractive. Mr. DAVIS entered public life with almost unparalleled personal advantages. Having boldly presented himself before the most rigorous tribunal in the world, he proved himself worthy of its favor and attention. He soon rose to the front rank of debaters, and whenever he addressed the House all sides gave him a delighted audience. I shall not attempt a review of the topics discussed in the thirty-fourth and thirty-fifth Congresses. The day was fast coming when contests for the Speakership and battles over appropriation bills, ay, even the fierce struggle over Kansas, would sink into insignificance, and Mr. DAVIS, with that political prescience for which he was always remarkable, seemed to discern the first sign of the coming storm. The winds had been long sown, and now the whirlwind was to be reaped. The thirty-sixth Congress, which had opened so inauspiciously, and which his vote had saved from becoming a perpetuated bedlam, met for its second session on the 3d of December, 1860, with the clouds of civil war fast settling down upon the nation. In the hope that war might yet be averted, on the fourth day of the session, the celebrated committee of thirty-three was raised, with the lamented Corwin, of Ohio, as chairman, and Mr. DAVIS as the member from Maryland. When the committee reported, Mr. DAVIS sustained the majority report in an able speech, in which, after urging every argument in favor of the report, he boldly proclaimed his own views, and the duties of his State and country. In his speech of 7th February, 1861, he said: "I do not wish to say one word which will exasperate the already too much inflamed state of the public mind; but I will say that the Constitution of the United States, and the laws made in pursuance thereof, _must be enforced_; and they who stand across the path of that enforcement must either _destroy_ the _power_ of the _United States_, or it will _destroy them_." For such utterances only a small part of the people of his State was on that day prepared. Seduced by the wish, they still believed that the Union could be preserved by fair and mutual concessions. They were on their knees praying for peace, ignorant that bloody war had already girded on his sword. His language was then deemed too harsh and unconciliatory, and hundreds, I among the number, denounced him in unmeasured terms. Before the expiration of three months events had demonstrated his wisdom and our folly, and other paragraphs from that same speech became the fighting creed of the Union men of Maryland. He further said, on that occasion: "But, sir, there is one State I can speak for, and that is the State of Maryland. Confident in the strength of this great government to protect every interest, grateful for almost a century of unalloyed blessings, she has fomented no agitation; she has done no act to disturb the public peace; she has rested in the consciousness that if there be wrong the Congress of the United States will remedy it; and that none exists which revolution would not aggravate. "Mr. Speaker, I am here this day to speak, and I say that I do speak, for the people of Maryland, who are loyal to the United States; and that when my judgment is contested, I appeal to the people for its accuracy, and I am ready to maintain it before them. "In Maryland we are dull, and cannot comprehend the right of secession. We do not recognize the right to make a revolution by a vote. We do not recognize the right of Maryland to repeal the Constitution of the United States, and if any convention there, called by whatever authority, under whatever auspices, undertake to inaugurate revolution in Maryland, their authority will be resisted and defied in arms on the soil of Maryland, in the name and by the authority of the Constitution of the United States." In January, 1861, the ensign of the Republic, while covering a mission of mercy, was fired on by traitors. In February Jefferson Davis said, at Stevenson, Alabama, "We will carry war where it is easy to advance, where food for the sword and torch await our armies in the densely populated cities." In March the thirty-sixth Congress, after vainly passing conciliatory resolutions by the score, among other things recommending the repeal of all personal liberty bills, declaring that there was no authority outside of the States where slavery was recognized to interfere with slaves or slavery therein, and proposing by two-thirds votes of both houses an amendment of the Constitution prohibiting any future amendment giving Congress power over slavery in the States, adjourned amid general terror and distress. Abraham Lincoln, having passed through the midst of his enemies, appeared at Washington in due time and delivered his inaugural, closing with these memorable words: "In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow countrymen, and not in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The government will not assail you. "You can have no conflict without being yourselves the aggressors. You can have no oath registered in heaven to destroy the government, while I shall have the most solemn one to 'preserve, protect, and defend' it. "I am loth to close. We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break, our bonds of affection. "The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living hearth and hearth-stone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely as they will be, by the better angels of our nature." Words which, if human hearts do not harden into stone, through the long ages yet to come, "Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking off." The appeal was spurned; and, in the face of its almost godlike gentleness, they who already gloried in their anticipated saturnalia of blood inhumanly and falsely stigmatized it as a declaration of war. The long-patient North, slow to anger, in its agony still cried, "My brother; oh, my brother!" It remained for that final, ineradicable infamy of Sumter to arouse the nation to arms! At last, to murder at one blow the hopes we had nursed so tenderly, they impiously dragged in the dust the glorious symbol of our national life and majesty, heaping dishonor upon it, and, like the sneering devil at the crucifixion, crying out, "Come and deliver thyself!" and then no man, with the heart of a man, who loved his country and feared his God, dared longer delay to prepare for that great struggle which was destined to rock the earth. Poor Maryland! cursed with slavery, doubly cursed with traitors! Mr. DAVIS had said that Maryland was loyal to the United States, and had pledged himself to maintain that position before the people. The time soon came for him to redeem his pledge. On the morning of the 15th of April the President issued his proclamation calling a special session of Congress, which made an extra election necessary in Maryland. Before the sun of that day had gone down, this card was promulgated: _To the voters of the fourth congressional district of Maryland:_ I hereby announce myself as a candidate for the House of Representatives of the 37th Congress of the United States of America, upon the basis of the _unconditional maintenance of the Union_. Should my fellow-citizens of _like views_ manifest their preference for a different candidate on _that basis_, it is not my purpose to embarrass them. H. WINTER DAVIS. APRIL 15, 1861. But dark days were coming for Baltimore. A mob, systematically organized in complicity with the rebels at Richmond and Harper's Ferry, seized and kept in subjection an unsuspecting and unarmed population from the 19th to the 24th of April. For six days murder and treason held joint sway; and at the conclusion of their tragedy of horrid barbarities they gave the farce of holding an election for members of the house of delegates. To show the spirit that moved Mr. DAVIS under this ordeal, I cite from his letter, written on the 28th, to Hon. William H. Seward, the following: "I have been trying to collect the persons appointed scattered by the storm, and to compel them to take their offices or to decline. "I have sought men of undoubted courage and capacity for the places vacated. "We must show the secessionists that we are not frightened, but are resolved to maintain the government in the exercise of all its functions in Maryland. "We have organized a guard, who will accompany the officers and hold the public buildings against all the secessionists in Maryland. "A great reaction has set in. If we _now_ act promptly the day is ours and the State is safe." These matters being adjusted, he immediately took the field for Congress on his platform against Mr. Henry May, conservative Union, and in the face of an opposition which few men have dared to encounter, he carried on, unremittingly from that time until the election on the 13th of June, the most brilliant campaign against open traitors, doubters, and dodgers, that unrivalled eloquence, courage, and activity could achieve. Everywhere, day and night, in sunshine and storm, in the market-houses, at the street corners, and in the public halls, his voice rang out clear, loud, and defiant for the "unconditional maintenance" of the Union. He was defeated, but he sanctified the name of _unconditional union_ in the vocabulary of every true Marylander. He gathered but 6,000 votes out of 14,000, yet the result was a triumph which gave him the real fruits of victory; and he exclaimed to a friend, with laudable pride, "With six thousand of the workingmen of Baltimore on my side, won in such a contest, I defy them to take the State out of the Union." Though not elected, he never ceased his efforts. With us it was a struggle for homes, hearths, and lives. He said at Brooklyn: "You see the conflagration from a distance; it blisters me at my side. You can survive the integrity of the nation; we in Maryland would live on the side of a gulf, perpetually tending to plunge into its depths. It is for us life and liberty; it is for you greatness, strength, and prosperity." Nothing appalled him; nothing deterred him. He said, at Baltimore, in 1861: "The War Department has been taught by the misfortune at Bull Run, which has broken no power nor any spirit, which bowed no State nor made any heart falter, which was felt as a humiliation that has brought forth wisdom." He also said, speaking of the rebels, and foretelling his own fate, if they succeeded in Maryland: "They have inaugurated an era of confiscations, proscriptions, and exiles. Read their acts of greedy confiscation, their law of proscriptions by the thousands. Behold the flying exiles from the unfriendly soil of Virginia, Tennessee, and Missouri." And so he worked on, never abating one jot of his uncompromising devotion to the Union, like a second Peter the Hermit, preaching a cause, as he believed, truly represented by insignia as sacred as the Cross, and for which no sacrifice, not even death, was too great. But his crowning glory was his leadership of the emancipation movement. The rebels, notwithstanding "My Maryland's" bloody welcome at South Mountain and Antietam, claimed that she must belong to their confederacy because of the homogeneousness of her institutions. They contended that the fetters of slavery formed a chain that stretched across the Potomac, and held in bondage not only 87,000 slaves, but 600,000 white people also. Their constant theme was "the deliverance" of Maryland. We resolved to break that last tie, and to take position unalterably on the side of the Union and freedom, and thus to deal the final blow to the cause and support of rebellion. We organized our little band, almost ridiculous from its want of numbers, early in 1863. A Sibley tent would have held our whole army. Our enemies laughed us to scorn, and the politicians would not accept our help on any terms, but denied us as earnestly as Peter denied his Lord. Mr. DAVIS was our acknowledged leader, and it was in the heat and fury of the contest which followed that our hearts were welded into permanent friendship. He was the platform maker, and he announced it in a few lines: "A hearty support of the entire policy of the national administration, including immediate emancipation by constitutional means." It was very short, but it covered all the ground. The campaign opened by the publication of an address, written by Mr. DAVIS, to the people of Maryland, which, I venture to say, is unsurpassed by any state paper published in this age of able state papers for the warmth and vigor of its diction, and the lucidity and conclusiveness of its argumentation. It is a pamphlet of twenty pages, glowing throughout with the unmistakable marks of his genius and patriotism, and closing with these words of stirring cheer: "We do not doubt the result, and expect, freed from the trammels which now bind her, to see Maryland, at no distant day, rapidly advancing in a course of unexampled prosperity with her sister _free_ States of the _undivided_ and _indivisible_ Republic." Mr. DAVIS was ubiquitous. He was the life and soul of the whole contest. He arranged the order of battle, dictated the correspondence, wrote the important articles for the newspapers, and addressed all the concerted meetings. In short, neither his voice nor his pen rested in all the time of our travail. He would have no compromise; but rejected all overtures of the enemy short of unconditional surrender. On the Eastern Shore he spoke with irresistible power at Elkton, Easton, Salisbury, and Snow Hill, at each of the three last-named towns with a crowd of wondering "American citizens of African descent" listening to him from afar, and looking upon him as if they believed him to be the seraph Abdiel. His last appointment, in extreme southern Maryland, he filled on Friday, after which, bidding me a cordial God-speed, he descended from the stand, sprang into an open wagon awaiting him, travelled eighty miles through a raw night-air, reached Cambridge by daylight, and then crossed the Chesapeake, sixty miles, in time to close the campaign with one of his ringing speeches in Monument square, Baltimore, on Saturday night. In this, our first contest, we were completely victorious. But we had yet a weary way before us. The legislature had then to pass a law calling a convention. That law had to be approved by a majority of the people. Members of the convention had then to be elected in all parts of the State, and the Constitution which they adopted had to be carried by a majority of the popular vote. He allowed himself no reprieve from labor until all this had been accomplished. And when the rest of us, worn out by incessant toil, gladly sought rest, he went before the court of appeals to maintain everything that had been done against all comers, and did so triumphantly. Let free Maryland never forget the debt of eternal gratitude she owes to HENRY WINTER DAVIS. If oratory means the power of presenting thoughts by public and sustained speech to an audience in the manner best adapted to win a favorable decision of the question at issue, then Mr. DAVIS assuredly occupied the highest position as an orator. He always held his hearers in rapt attention until he closed, and then they lingered about to discuss with one another what they had heard. I have seen a promiscuous assembly, made up of friends and opponents, remain exposed to a beating rain for two hours rather than forego hearing him. Those who had heard him most frequently were always ready to make the greatest effort to hear him again. Even his bitterest enemies have been known to stand shivering on the street corners for a whole evening, charmed by his marvelous tongue. His stump efforts never fell below his high standard. He never condescended to a mere attempt to amuse. He always spoke to instruct, to convince, and to persuade through the higher and better avenues to favor. I never heard him deliver a speech that was not worthy of being printed and preserved. As a stump orator he was unapproachable, in my estimation, and I say that with a clear recollection of having heard, when a boy, that wonder of Yankee birth and southern development, S. S. Prentiss. Mr. DAVIS'S ripe scholarship promptly tendered to his thought the happiest illustrations and the most appropriate forms of expression. His brain had become a teeming cornucopia, whence flowed in exhaustless profusion the most beautiful flowers and the most substantial fruits; and yet he never indulged in excessive ornamentation. His taste was almost austerely chaste. His style was perspicuous, energetic, concise, and withal highly elegant. He never loaded his sentences with meretricious finery, or high-sounding, supernumerary words. When he did use the jewelry of rhetoric, he would quietly set a metaphor in his page or throw a comparison into his speech which would serve to light up with startling distinctness the colossal proportions of his argument. Of humor he had none; but his wit and sarcasm at times would glitter like the brandished cimeter of Saladin, and, descending, would cut as keenly. The pathetic he never attempted; but when angered by a malicious assault his invective was consuming, and his epithets would wound like pellets of lead. Although gallant to the graces of expression, he always compelled his rhetoric to act as handmaid to his dialectics. Style may sometimes be an exotic; but when it is, it is sure to partake more and more, as years increase, of the peculiarities of the soil wherein it is nurtured. But the style of Mr. DAVIS was indigenous and strongly marked by his individuality. Although he doubtless admired, and perhaps imitated, the condensation and dignity of Gibbon, yet it is certain that he carefully avoided the monotonous stateliness and the elaborate and ostentatious art of that most erudite historian. I look in vain for his model in the skeptical Gibbon, the cynical Bolingbroke, or the gorgeous Burke. These were all to him intellectual giants; but giants of false belief and practice. Not even from Tacitus, upon whom he looked with the greatest favor, could he have acquired his burning and impressive diction. HENRY WINTER DAVIS was a man of faith, and believed in Christ and his fellow-man. His heart and mind were both nourished into their full dimensions under the fostering influences of our free institutions; so that, being reared a freeman, he thought and spake as became a freeman. No other land could have produced such dauntless courage and such heroic devotion to honest conviction in a public man; and even our land has produced but few men of his stamp and ability. His implicit faith in God's eternal justice, and his grand moral courage, imparted to him his proselyting zeal, and gave him that amazing, kindling power which enabled him to light the fires of enthusiasm wherever he touched the public mind. To show his power in extemporaneous debate, as well as his determined patriotism, I will introduce a passage from his speech of April 11, 1864, delivered in the House of Representatives. You will remember that the end of the rebellion had not then appeared. Grant, with his invincible legions, had not started to execute that greatest military movement of modern times, by which, after months of bloody persistence, hurling themselves continually against what seemed the frowning front of destiny, they finally drove the enemy from his strongholds, made Fortune herself captive, and, binding her to their standards, held her there until the surrender of every rebel in arms closed the war amid the exultant plaudits of men and angels. Our hopes had not then grown into victory, and we looked forward anxiously to the terrible march from the Rappahannock to Richmond. Thinking that perhaps our army stood appalled before the great duty required of it, and that the people might be diverted from their purpose to crush the rebellion when they saw that it could only be accomplished at the cost of an ocean of human blood, a call was made on the floor of the American Congress for a recognition of the southern confederacy. Speaking for the nation, Mr. DAVIS said: "But, Mr. Speaker, if it be said that a time may come when the question of recognizing the southern confederacy will have to be answered, I admit it. * * * * When the people, exhausted by taxation, weary of sacrifices, drained of blood, betrayed by their rulers, deluded by demagogues into believing that peace is the way to union, and submission the path to victory, shall throw down their arms before the advancing foe; when vast chasms across every State shall make it apparent to every eye, when too late to remedy it, that division from the south is anarchy at the north, and that peace without union is the end of the Republic; _then_ the independence of the south will be an accomplished fact, and gentlemen may, without treason to the dead Republic, rise in this migratory house, wherever it may then be in America, and declare themselves for recognizing their masters at the south rather than exterminating them. Until that day, in the name of the American nation; in the name of every house in the land where there is one dead for the holy cause; in the name of those who stand before us in the ranks of battle; in the name of the liberty our ancestors have confided to us, I devote to eternal execration the name of him who shall propose to destroy this blessed land rather than its enemies. "But until that time arrive it is the judgment of the American people there shall be no compromise; that ruin to ourselves or ruin to the southern rebels are the only alternatives. It is only by resolutions of this kind that nations can rise above great dangers and overcome them in crises like this. It was only by turning France into a camp, resolved that Europe might exterminate but should not subjugate her, that France is the leading empire of Europe to-day. It is by such a resolve that the American people, coercing a reluctant government to draw the sword and stake the national existence on the integrity of the Republic, are now anything but the fragments of a nation before the world, the scorn and hiss of every petty tyrant. It is because the people of the United States, rising to the height of the occasion, dedicated this generation to the sword, and pouring out the blood of their children as of no account, and vowing before high Heaven that there should be no end to this conflict but ruin absolute or absolute triumph, that we now are what we are; that the banner of the Republic, still pointing onward, floats proudly in the face of the enemy; that vast regions are reduced to obedience to the laws, and that a great host in armed array now presses with steady step into the dark regions of the rebellion. It is only by the earnest and abiding resolution of the people that, whatever shall be our fate, it shall be grand as the American nation, worthy of that Republic which first trod the path of empire and made no peace but under the banners of victory, that the American people will survive in history. And that will save us. We shall succeed, and not fail. I have an abiding confidence in the firmness, the patience, the endurance of the American people; and, having vowed to stand in history on the great resolve to accept of nothing but victory or ruin, victory is ours. And if with such heroic resolve we fall, we fall with honor, and transmit the name of liberty, committed to our keeping, untarnished, to go down to future generations. The historian of our decline and fall, contemplating the ruins of the last great Republic, and drawing from its fate lessons of wisdom on the waywardness of men, shall drop a tear as he records with sorrow the vain heroism of that people who dedicated and sacrificed themselves to the cause of freedom, and by their example will keep alive her worship in the hearts of men till happier generations shall learn to walk in her paths. Yes, sir, if we must fall, let our last hours be stained by no weakness. If we must fall, let us stand amid the crash of the falling Republic and be buried in its ruins, so that history may take note that men lived in the middle of the nineteenth century worthy of a better fate, but chastised by God for the sins of their forefathers. Let the ruins of the Republic remain to testify to the latest generations our greatness and our heroism. And let Liberty, crownless and childless, sit upon these ruins, crying aloud in a sad wail to the nations of the world, 'I nursed and brought up children and they have rebelled against me.'" Mr. DAVIS'S most striking characteristics were his devotion to principle and his indomitable courage. There never was a moment when he could be truthfully charged with trimming or insincerity. His views were always clearly avowed and fearlessly maintained. He hated slavery, and he did not attempt to conceal it. He remembered the lessons of his youth, and his heart rebelled against the injustice of the system. His antipathy was deeply grounded in his convictions, and he could not be dissuaded, nor frightened, nor driven from expressing it. He was not a great captain, nor a mighty ruler; he was only one of the people, but, nevertheless, a hero. Born under the flag of a nation which claimed for its cardinal principle of government, that all men are created free, yet held in abject slavery four millions of human beings; which erected altars to the living God, yet denied to creatures, formed in the image of God and charged with the custody of immortal souls, the common rights of humanity; he declared that the hateful inconsistency should cease to defile the prayers of Christians and stultify the advocates of freedom. No dreamer was he, no mere theorist, but a worker, and a strong one, who did well the work committed to him. He entered upon his self-imposed task when surrounded by slaves and slave-owners. He stood face to face with the iniquitous superstition, and to their teeth defied its worshipers. To make proselytes he had to conquer prejudices, correct traditions, elevate duty above interest, and induce men who had been the propagandists of slavery to become its destroyers. Think you his work was easy? Count the long years of his unequal strife; gather from the winds, which scattered them, the curses of his foes; suffer under all the annoyances and insults which malice and falsehood can invent, and you will then understand how much of heart and hope, of courage and self-relying zeal, were required to make him what he was, and to qualify him to do what he did. And what did he? When the rough hand of war had stripped off the pretexts which enveloped the rebellion, and it became evident that slavery had struck at the life of the Republic, unmindful of consequences to himself, he, among the first, arraigned the real traitor and demanded the penalty of death. The denunciations that fell upon him like a cloud wrapped him in a mantle of honor, and more truthfully than the great Roman orator he could have exclaimed, "_Ego hoc animo semperfui, ut invidiam virtute partam, gloriam non invidiam putarem_." This man, so stern and inflexible in the execution of a purpose, so rigorous in his demands of other men in behalf of a principle, so indifferent to preferment and all base objects of pursuit, had a monitor to whom he always gave an open ear and a prompt assent. It was no demon like that which attended Socrates, no witch like that invoked by Saul, no fiend like that to which Faust resigned himself. A vision of light and life and beauty flitted ever palpably before him, and wooed him to the perpetual service of the good and true. The memory of a pious and beloved mother permeated his whole moral being, and kept warm within him the tenderest affection. Hear how he wrote of her: "My mother was a lady of graceful and simple manners, fair complexion, blue eyes, and auburn hair, with a rich and exquisite voice, that still thrills my memory with the echo of its vanished music. She was highly educated for her day, when Annapolis was the focus of intellect and fashion for Maryland, and its fruits shone through her conversation, and colored and completed her natural eloquence, which my father used to say would have made her an orator, if it had not been thrown away on a woman. She was the incarnation of all that is Christian in life and hope, in charity and thought, ready for every good work, herself the example of all she taught." It was the force of her precept and example that formed the man, and supplied him with his shield and buckler. His private life was spotless. His habits were regular and abstemious, and his practice in close conformity with the Episcopal church, of which he was a member. He invariably attended divine service on Sunday, and confined himself for the remainder of the day to a course of religious reading. If from his father he drew a courage and a fierce determination before which his enemies fled in confusion, from his mother he inherited those milder qualities that won for him friends as true and devoted as man ever possessed. Some have said he was hard and dictatorial. They had seen him only when a high resolve had fired his breast, and when the gleam of battle had lighted his countenance. His friends saw deeper, and knew that beneath the exterior he assumed in his struggles with the world there beat a heart as pure and unsullied, as confiding and as gentle, as ever sanctified the domestic circle, or made loved ones happy. His heart reminded me of a spring among the hills of the Susquehanna, to which I often resorted in my youth; around a part of it we boys had built a stone wall to protect it from outrage, while on the side next home we left open a path, easily traveled by familiar feet, and leading straight to the sweet and perennial waters within. He lived to hear the salvos that announced, after more than two centuries of bondage, the redemption of his native State. He lived to vote for that grand act of enfranchisement that wiped from the escutcheon of the nation the leprous stain of slavery, and to know that the Constitution of the United States no longer recognized and protected property in man. He lived to witness the triumph of his country in its desperate struggle with treason, and to behold all its enemies, either wanderers, like Cain, over the earth, or suppliants for mercy at her feet. He lived to catch the first glimpse of the coming glory of that new era of progress that matchless valor had won through the blood and carnage of a thousand battle-fields. He lived, through all the storm of war, to see, at last, America rejuvenated, rescued from the grasp of despotism, and rise victorious, with her garments purified and her brow radiant with the unsullied light of liberty. He lived to greet the return of "meek-eyed peace," and then he gently laid his head upon her bosom, and breathed out there his noble spirit. The sword may rust in its scabbard, and so let it; but free men, with free thought and free speech, will wage unceasing war until truth shall be enthroned and sit empress of the world. Would to God that he had been spared to complete a life of three score and ten years, for the sake of his country and posterity. When I think of the good he would have accomplished had he survived for twenty years, I can say, in the language of Fisher Ames, "My heart, penetrated with the remembrance of the man, grows liquid as I speak, and I could pour it out like water." At the portals of his tomb we may bid farewell to the faithful Christian, in the full assurance that a blessed life awaits him beyond the grave. Serenely and trustfully he has passed from our sight and gone down into the dark waters. "So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky." From this hall, where as scholar, statesman, and orator he shone so brightly, he has disappeared forever. Never again will he, answering to the roll-call from this desk, respond for his country and the rights of man. No more shall we hear his fervid eloquence in the day of imminent peril, invoking us, who hold the mighty power of peace and war, to dedicate ourselves, if need be, to the sword, but to accept no end of the conflict save that of absolute triumph for our country. He has gone to answer the great roll-call above, where the "brazen throat of war" is voiceless in the presence of the Prince of Peace. Let us habitually turn to his recorded words, and gather wisdom as from the testament of a departed sage; and since we were witnesses of his tireless devotion to the cause of human freedom, let us direct that on the monument which loving hearts and willing hands will soon erect over his remains, there shall be deeply engraved the figure of a bursting shackle, as the emblem of the faith in which he lived and died. For the Christian, scholar, statesman, and orator, all good men are mourners; but what shall I say of that grief which none can share--the grief of sincere friendship? Oh, my friend! comforted by the belief that you, while living, deemed me worthy to be your companion, and loaded me with the proofs of your esteem, I shall fondly treasure, during my remaining years, the recollection of your smile and counsel. Lost to me is the strong arm whereon I have so often leaned; but in that path which in time past we trod most joyfully together, I shall continue, as God shall give me to see my duty, with unfaltering though perhaps with unskilful steps, right onward to the end. Admiring his brilliant intellect and varied acquirements, his invincible courage and unswerving fortitude, glorying in his good works and fair renown, but, more than all, _loving the man_, I shall endeavor to assuage the bitterness of grief by applying to him those words of proud, though tearful, satisfaction, from which the faithful Tacitus drew consolation for the loss of that noble Roman whom he delighted to honor: "Quidquid ex Agricola amavimus, quidquid mirati sumus, manet mansurumque est, in animis hominum, in æternitate temporum, fama rerum." Transcriber's Note Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. The writer uses some archaic spelling which has been kept as printed. 
10986	----	Proofreading Team [Illustration] FREDERICK DOUGLASS 1899 Charles Chesnutt The Beacon biographies of eminent Americans. Includes bibliographical references (p.). Preface Frederick Douglass lived so long, and played so conspicuous a part on the world's stage, that it would be impossible, in a work of the size of this, to do more than touch upon the salient features of his career, to suggest the respects in which he influenced the course of events in his lifetime, and to epitomize for the readers of another generation the judgment of his contemporaries as to his genius and his character. Douglass's fame as an orator has long been secure. His position as the champion of an oppressed race, and at the same time an example of its possibilities, was, in his own generation, as picturesque as it was unique; and his life may serve for all time as an incentive to aspiring souls who would fight the battles and win the love of mankind. The average American of to-day who sees, when his attention is called to it, and deplores, if he be a thoughtful and just man, the deep undertow of race prejudice that retards the progress of the colored people of our own generation, cannot, except by reading the painful records of the past, conceive of the mental and spiritual darkness to which slavery, as the inexorable condition of its existence, condemned its victims and, in a less measure, their oppressors, or of the blank wall of proscription and scorn by which free people of color were shut up in a moral and social Ghetto, the gates of which have yet not been entirely torn down. From this night of slavery Douglass emerged, passed through the limbo of prejudice which he encountered as a freeman, and took his place in history. "As few of the world's great men have ever had so checkered and diversified a career," says Henry Wilson, "so it may at least be plausibly claimed that no man represents in himself more conflicting ideas and interests. His life is, in itself, an epic which finds few to equal it in the realms of either romance or reality." It was, after all, no misfortune for humanity that Frederick Douglass felt the iron hand of slavery; for his genius changed the drawbacks of color and condition into levers by which he raised himself and his people. The materials for this work have been near at hand, though there is a vast amount of which lack of space must prevent the use. Acknowledgment is here made to members of the Douglass family for aid in securing the photograph from which the frontispiece is reproduced. The more the writer has studied the records of Douglass's life, the more it has appealed to his imagination and his heart. He can claim no special qualification for this task, unless perhaps it be a profound and in some degree a personal sympathy with every step of Douglass's upward career. Belonging to a later generation, he was only privileged to see the man and hear the orator after his life-work was substantially completed, but often enough then to appreciate something of the strength and eloquence by which he impressed his contemporaries. If by this brief sketch the writer can revive among the readers of another generation a tithe of the interest that Douglass created for himself when he led the forlorn hope of his race for freedom and opportunity, his labor will be amply repaid. Charles W. Chesnutt Cleveland, October, 1899 CHRONOLOGY 1817 Frederick Douglass was born at Tuckahoe, near Easton, Talbot County, Maryland. 1825 Was sent to Baltimore to live with a relative of his master. 1833 _March._ Was taken to St. Michaels, Maryland, to live again with his master. 1834 _January._ Was sent to live with Edward Covey, slave-breaker, with whom he spent the year. 1835-36 Hired to William Freeland. Made an unsuccessful attempt to escape from slavery, Was sent to Baltimore to learn the ship-calkers trade. 1838 _May_. Hired his own time and worked at his trade. _September 3_. Escaped from slavery and went to New York City. Married Miss Anna Murray. Went to New Bedford, Massachusetts. Assumed the name of "Douglass." 1841 Attended anti-slavery convention at New Bedford and addressed the meeting. Was employed as agent of the Massachusetts Anti-slavery Society. 1842 Took part in Rhode Island campaign against the Dorr constitution. Lectured on slavery. Moved to Lynn, Massachusetts. 1843 Took part in the famous "One Hundred Conventions" of the New England Anti-slavery Society. 1844 Lectured with Pillsbury, Foster, and others. 1845 Published _Frederick Douglass's Narrative_. 1845-46 Visited Great Britain and Ireland. Remained in Europe two years, lecturing on slavery and other subjects. Was presented by English friends with money to purchase his freedom and to establish a newspaper. 1847 Returned to the United States. Moved with his family to Rochester, New York. Established the _North Star_, subsequently renamed _Frederick Douglass's Paper_. Visited John Brown at Springfield, Massachusetts. 1848 Lectured on slavery and woman suffrage. 1849 Edited newspaper. Lectured against slavery. Assisted the escape of fugitive slaves. 1850 _May 7._ Attended meeting of Anti-slavery Society at New York City. Running debate with Captain Rynders. 1852 Supported the Free Soil party. Elected delegate from Rochester to Free Soil convention at Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. Supported John P. Hale for the Presidency. 1853 Visited Harriet Beecher Stowe at Andover, Massachusetts, with reference to industrial school for colored youth. 1854 Opposed repeal of Missouri Compromise. _June 12._ Delivered commencement address at Western Reserve College, Hudson, Ohio. 1855 Published _My Bondage and My Freedom_. _March_. Addressed the New York legislature. 1856 Supported Fremont, candidate of the Republican party. 1858 Established _Douglass's Monthly_. Entertained John Brown at Rochester. 1859 _August 20_. Visited John Brown at Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. _May 12 [October]._ Went to Canada to avoid arrest for alleged complicity in the John Brown raid. _November 12._ Sailed from Quebec for England. Lectured and spoke in England and Scotland for six months. 1860 Returned to the United States. Supported Lincoln for the Presidency. 1862 Lectured and spoke in favor of the war and against slavery. 1863 Assisted in recruiting Fifty-fourth and Fifty-fifth Massachusetts colored regiments. Invited to visit President Lincoln. 1864 Supported Lincoln for re-election. 1866 Was active in procuring the franchise for the freedmen. _September._ Elected delegate from Rochester to National Loyalists' Convention at Philadelphia. 1869 [1870] Moved to Washington, District of Columbia. Established [Edited and then bought] the _New National Era_. 1870 Appointed secretary of the Santo Domingo Commission by President Grant. 1872 Appointed councillor of the District of Columbia. [Moved family there after a fire (probably arson) destroyed their Rochester home and Douglass's newspaper files.] Elected presidential elector of the State of New York, and chosen by the electoral college to take the vote to Washington. 1876 Delivered address at unveiling of Lincoln statue at Washington. 1877 Appointed Marshal of the District of Columbia by President Hayes. 1878 Visited his old home in Maryland and met his old master. 1879 Bust of Douglass placed in Sibley Hall, of Rochester University. Spoke against the proposed negro exodus from the South. 1881 Appointed recorder of deeds for the District of Columbia. 1882 _January._ Published _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_, the third and last of his autobiographies. _August 4._ Mrs. Frederick Douglass died. 1884 _February 6._ Attended funeral of Wendell Phillips. _February 9._ Attended memorial meeting and delivered eulogy on Phillips. Married Miss Helen Pitts. 1886 _May 20._ Lectured on John Brown at Music Hall, Boston. _September 11._ Attended a dinner given in his honor by the Wendell Phillips Club, Boston. _September._ Sailed for Europe. Visited Great Britain, France, Italy, Greece, and Egypt, 1886-87. 1888 Made a tour of the Southern States. 1889 Appointed United States minister resident and consul-general to the Republic of Hayti and _chargé d'affaires_ to Santo Domingo. 1890 _September 22._ Addressed abolition reunion at Boston. 1891 Resigned the office of minister to Hayti. 1893 Acted as commissioner for Hayti at World's Columbian Exposition. 1895 _February 20._ Frederick Douglass died at his home on Anacostia Heights, near Washington, District of Columbia. In a few places in the text of _Frederick Douglass_, bracketed words have been inserted to indicate possible typographical errors, other unclear or misleading passages in the 1899 original edition, and identifications that were not needed in 1899 but may be needed in the twenty-first century. I. If it be no small task for a man of the most favored antecedents and the most fortunate surroundings to rise above mediocrity in a great nation, it is surely a more remarkable achievement for a man of the very humblest origin possible to humanity in any country in any age of the world, in the face of obstacles seemingly insurmountable, to win high honors and rewards, to retain for more than a generation the respect of good men in many lands, and to be deemed worthy of enrolment among his country's great men. Such a man was Frederick Douglass, and the example of one who thus rose to eminence by sheer force of character and talents that neither slavery nor caste proscription could crush must ever remain as a shining illustration of the essential superiority of manhood to environment. Circumstances made Frederick Douglass a slave, but they could not prevent him from becoming a freeman and a leader among mankind. The early life of Douglass, as detailed by himself from the platform in vigorous and eloquent speech, and as recorded in the three volumes written by himself at different periods of his career, is perhaps the completest indictment of the slave system ever presented at the bar of public opinion. Fanny Kemble's _Journal of a Residence on a Georgian Plantation_, kept by her in the very year of Douglass's escape from bondage, but not published until 1863, too late to contribute anything to the downfall of slavery, is a singularly clear revelation of plantation life from the standpoint of an outsider entirely unbiased by American prejudice. _Frederick Douglass's Narrative_ is the same story told from the inside. They coincide in the main facts; and in the matter of detail, like the two slightly differing views of a stereoscopic picture, they bring out into bold relief the real character of the peculiar institution. _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ lent to the structure of fact the decorations of humor, a dramatic plot, and characters to whose fate the touch of creative genius gave a living interest. But, after all, it was not Uncle Tom, nor Topsy, nor Miss Ophelia, nor Eliza, nor little Eva that made the book the power it proved to stir the hearts of men, but the great underlying tragedy then already rapidly approaching a bloody climax. Frederick Douglass was born in February, l8l7,--as nearly as the date could be determined in after years, when it became a matter of public interest,--at Tuckahoe, near Easton, Talbot County, on the eastern shore of Maryland, a barren and poverty-stricken district, which possesses in the birth of Douglass its sole title to distinction. His mother was a negro slave, tall, erect, and well-proportioned, of a deep black and glossy complexion, with regular features, and manners of a natural dignity and sedateness. Though a field hand and compelled to toil many hours a day, she had in some mysterious way learned to read, being the only person of color in Tuckahoe, slave or free, who possessed that accomplishment. His father was a white man. It was in the nature of things that in after years attempts should be made to analyze the sources of Douglass's talent, and that the question should be raised whether he owed it to the black or the white half of his mixed ancestry. But Douglass himself, who knew his own mother and grandmother, ascribed such powers as he possessed to the negro half of his blood; and, as to it certainly he owed the experience which gave his anti-slavery work its peculiar distinction and value, he doubtless believed it only fair that the credit for what he accomplished should go to those who needed it most and could justly be proud of it. He never knew with certainty who his white father was, for the exigencies of slavery separated the boy from his mother before the subject of his paternity became of interest to him; and in after years his white father never claimed the honor, which might have given him a place in history. Douglass's earliest recollections centered around the cabin of his grandmother, Betsey Bailey, who seems to have been something of a privileged character on the plantation, being permitted to live with her husband, Isaac, in a cabin of their own, charged with only the relatively light duty of looking after a number of young children, mostly the offspring of her own five daughters, and providing for her own support. It is impossible in a work of the scope of this to go into very elaborate detail with reference to this period of Douglass's life, however interesting it might be. The real importance of his life to us of another generation lies in what he accomplished toward the world's progress, which he only began to influence several years after his escape from slavery. Enough ought to be stated, however, to trace his development from slave to freeman, and his preparation for the platform where he secured his hearing and earned his fame. Douglass was born the slave of one Captain Aaron Anthony, a man of some consequence in eastern Maryland, the manager or chief clerk of one Colonel Lloyd, the head for that generation of an old, exceedingly wealthy, and highly honored family in Maryland, the possessor of a stately mansion and one of the largest and most fertile plantations in the State. Captain Anthony, though only the satellite of this great man, himself owned several farms and a number of slaves. At the age of seven Douglass was taken from the cabin of his grandmother at Tuckahoe to his masters residence on Colonel Lloyd's plantation. Up to this time he had never, to his recollection, seen his mother. All his impressions of her were derived from a few brief visits made to him at Colonel Lloyd's plantation, most of them at night. These fleeting visits of the mother were important events in the life of the child, now no longer under the care of his grandmother, but turned over to the tender mercies of his master's cook, with whom he does not seem to have been a favorite. His mother died when he was eight or nine years old. Her son did not see her during her illness, nor learn of it until after her death. It was always a matter of grief to him that he did not know her better, and that he could not was one of the sins of slavery that he never forgave. On Colonel Lloyd's plantation Douglass spent four years of the slave life of which his graphic description on the platform stirred humane hearts to righteous judgment of an unrighteous institution. It is enough to say that this lad, with keen eyes and susceptible feelings, was an eye-witness of all the evils to which slavery gave birth. Its extremes of luxury and misery could be found within the limits of one estate. He saw the field hand driven forth at dawn to labor until dark. He beheld every natural affection crushed when inconsistent with slavery, or warped and distorted to fit the necessities and promote the interests of the institution. He heard the unmerited strokes of the lash on the backs of others, and felt them on his own. In the wild songs of the slaves he read, beneath their senseless jargon or their fulsome praise of "old master," the often unconscious note of grief and despair. He perceived, too, the debasing effects of slavery upon master and slave alike, crushing all semblance of manhood in the one, and in the other substituting passion for judgment, caprice for justice, and indolence and effeminacy for the more virile virtues of freemen. Doubtless the gentle hand of time will some time spread the veil of silence over this painful past; but, while we are still gathering its evil aftermath, it is well enough that we do not forget the origin of so many of our civic problems. When Douglass was ten years old, he was sent from the Lloyd plantation to Baltimore, to live with one Hugh Auld, a relative of his master. Here he enjoyed the high privilege, for a slave, of living in the house with his master's family. In the capacity of house boy it was his duty to run errands and take care of a little white boy, Tommy Auld, the son of his mistress for the time being, Mrs. Sophia Auld. Mrs. Auld was of a religious turn of mind; and, from hearing her reading the Bible aloud frequently, curiosity prompted the boy to ask her to teach him to read. She complied, and found him an apt pupil, until her husband learned of her unlawful and dangerous conduct, and put an end to the instruction. But the evil was already done, and the seed thus sown brought forth fruit in the after career of the orator and leader of men. The mere fact that his master wished to prevent his learning made him all the more eager to acquire knowledge. In after years, even when most bitter in his denunciation of the palpable evils of slavery, Douglass always acknowledged the debt he owed to this good lady who innocently broke the laws and at the same time broke the chains that held a mind in bondage. Douglass lived in the family of Hugh Auld at Baltimore for seven years. During this time the achievement that had the greatest influence upon his future was his learning to read and write. His mistress had given him a start. His own efforts gained the rest. He carried in his pocket a blue-backed _Webster's Spelling Book_, and, as occasion offered, induced his young white playmates, by the bribes of childhood, to give him lessons in spelling. When he was about thirteen, he began to feel deeply the moral yoke of slavery and to seek for knowledge of the means to escape it. One book seems to have had a marked influence upon his life at this epoch. He obtained, somehow, a copy of _The Columbian Orator_, containing some of the choicest masterpieces of English oratory, in which he saw liberty praised and oppression condemned; and the glowing periods of Pitt and Fox and Sheridan and our own Patrick Henry stirred to life in the heart of this slave boy the genius for oratory which did not burst forth until years afterward. The worldly wisdom of denying to slaves the key to knowledge is apparent when it is said that Douglass first learned from a newspaper that there were such people as abolitionists, who were opposed to human bondage and sought to make all men free. At about this same period Douglass's mind fell under religious influences. He was converted, professed faith in Jesus Christ, and began to read the Bible. He had dreamed of liberty before; he now prayed for it, and trusted in God. But, with the shrewd common sense which marked his whole life and saved it from shipwreck in more than one instance, he never forgot that God helps them that help themselves, and so never missed an opportunity to acquire the knowledge that would prepare him for freedom and give him the means of escape from slavery. Douglass had learned to read, partly from childish curiosity and the desire to be able to do what others around him did; but it was with a definite end in view that he learned to write. By the slave code it was unlawful for a slave to go beyond the limits of his own neighborhood without the written permission of his master. Douglass's desire to write grew mainly out of the fact that in order to escape from bondage, which he had early determined to do, he would probably need such a "pass," as this written permission was termed, and could write it himself if he but knew how. His master for the time being kept a ship-yard, and in this and neighboring establishments of the same kind the boy spent much of his time. He noticed that the carpenters, after dressing pieces of timber, marked them with certain letters to indicate their positions in the vessel. By asking questions of the workmen he learned the names of these letters and their significance. He got up writing matches with sticks upon the ground with the little white boys, copied the italics in his spelling-book, and in the secrecy of the attic filled up all the blank spaces of his young master's old copy-books. In time he learned to write, and thus again demonstrated the power of the mind to overleap the bounds that men set for it and work out the destiny to which God designs it. II. It was the curious fate of Douglass to pass through almost every phase of slavery, as though to prepare him the more thoroughly for his future career. Shortly after he went to Baltimore, his master, Captain Anthony, died intestate, and his property was divided between his two children. Douglass, with the other slaves, was part of the personal estate, and was sent for to be appraised and disposed of in the division. He fell to the share of Mrs. Lucretia Auld, his masters daughter, who sent him back to Baltimore, where, after a month's absence, he resumed his life in the household of Mrs. Hugh Auld, the sister-in-law of his legal mistress. Owing to a family misunderstanding, he was taken, in March, 1833, from Baltimore back to St. Michaels. His mistress, Lucretia Auld, had died in the mean time; and the new household in which he found himself, with Thomas Auld and his second wife, Rowena, at its head, was distinctly less favorable to the slave boy's comfort than the home where he had lived in Baltimore. Here he saw hardships of the life in bondage that had been less apparent in a large city. It is to be feared that Douglass was not the ideal slave, governed by the meek and lowly spirit of Uncle Tom. He seems, by his own showing, to have manifested but little appreciation of the wise oversight, the thoughtful care, and the freedom from responsibility with which slavery claimed to hedge round its victims, and he was inclined to spurn the rod rather than to kiss it. A tendency to insubordination, due partly to the freer life he had led in Baltimore, got him into disfavor with a master easily displeased; and, not proving sufficiently amenable to the discipline of the home plantation, he was sent to a certain celebrated negro-breaker by the name of Edward Covey, one of the poorer whites who, as overseers and slave-catchers, and in similar unsavory capacities, earned a living as parasites on the system of slavery. Douglass spent a year under Coveys ministrations, and his life there may be summed up in his own words: "I had neither sufficient time in which to eat nor to sleep, except on Sundays. The overwork and the brutal chastisements of which I was the victim, combined with that ever-gnawing and soul-destroying thought, 'I am a slave,--a slave for life,' rendered me a living embodiment of mental and physical wretchedness." But even all this did not entirely crush the indomitable spirit of a man destined to achieve his own freedom and thereafter to help win freedom for a race. In August, 1834, after a particularly atrocious beating, which left him wounded and weak from loss of blood, Douglass escaped the vigilance of the slave-breaker and made his way back to his own master to seek protection. The master, who would have lost his slave's wages for a year if he had broken the contract with Covey before the year's end, sent Douglass back to his taskmaster. Anticipating the most direful consequences, Douglass made the desperate resolution to resist any further punishment at Covey's hands. After a fight of two hours Covey gave up his attempt to whip Frederick, and thenceforth laid hands on him no more. That Covey did not invoke the law, which made death the punishment of the slave who resisted his master, was probably due to shame at having been worsted by a negro boy, or to the prudent consideration that there was no profit to be derived from a dead negro. Strength of character, re-enforced by strength of muscle, thus won a victory over brute force that secured for Douglass comparative immunity from abuse during the remaining months of his year's service with Covey. The next year, 1835, Douglass was hired out to a Mr. William Freeland, who lived near St. Michael's, a gentleman who did not forget justice or humanity, so far as they were consistent with slavery, even in dealing with bond-servants. Here Douglass led a comparatively comfortable life. He had enough to eat, was not overworked, and found the time to conduct a surreptitious Sunday-school, where he tried to help others by teaching his fellow-slaves to read the Bible. III. The manner of Douglass's escape from Maryland was never publicly disclosed by him until the war had made slavery a memory and the slave-catcher a thing of the past. It was the theory of the anti-slavery workers of the time that the publication of the details of escapes or rescues from bondage seldom reached the ears of those who might have learned thereby to do likewise, but merely furnished the master class with information that would render other escapes more difficult and bring suspicion or punishment upon those who had assisted fugitives. That this was no idle fear there is abundant testimony in the annals of the period. But in later years, when there was no longer any danger of unpleasant consequences, and when it had become an honor rather than a disgrace to have assisted a distressed runaway, Douglass published in detail the story of his flight. It would not compare in dramatic interest with many other celebrated escapes from slavery or imprisonment. He simply masqueraded as a sailor, borrowed a sailors "protection," or certificate that he belonged to the navy, took the train to Baltimore in the evening, and rode in the negro car until he reached New York City. There were many anxious moments during this journey. The "protection" he carried described a man somewhat different from him, but the conductor did not examine it carefully. Fear clutched at the fugitive's heart whenever he neared a State border line. He saw several persons whom he knew; but, if they recognized him or suspected his purpose, they made no sign. A little boldness, a little address, and a great deal of good luck carried him safely to his journey's end. Douglass arrived in New York on September 4, 1838, having attained only a few months before what would have been in a freeman his legal majority. But, though landed in a free State, he was by no means a free man. He was still a piece of property, and could be reclaimed by the law's aid if his whereabouts were discovered. While local sentiment at the North afforded a measure of protection to fugitives, and few were ever returned to bondage compared with the number that escaped, yet the fear of recapture was ever with them, darkening their lives and impeding their pursuit of happiness. But even the partial freedom Douglass had achieved gave birth to a thousand delightful sensations. In his autobiography he describes this dawn of liberty thus: "A new world had opened up to me. I lived more in one day than in a year of my slave life. I felt as one might feel upon escape from a den of hungry lions. My chains were broken, and the victory brought me unspeakable joy." But one cannot live long on joy; and, while his chains were broken, he was not beyond the echo of their clanking. He met on the streets, within a few hours after his arrival in New York, a man of his own color, who informed him that New York was full of Southerners at that season of the year, and that slave-hunters and spies were numerous, that old residents of the city were not safe, and that any recent fugitive was in imminent danger. After this cheerful communication Douglass's informant left him, evidently fearing that Douglass himself might be a slave-hunting spy. There were negroes base enough to play this role. In a sailor whom he encountered he found a friend. This Good Samaritan took him home for the night, and accompanied him next day to a Mr. David Ruggles, a colored man, the secretary of the New York Vigilance Committee and an active antislavery worker. Mr. Ruggles kept him concealed for several days, during which time the woman Douglass loved, a free woman, came on from Baltimore; and they were married. He had no money in his pocket, and nothing to depend upon but his hands, which doubtless seemed to him quite a valuable possession, as he knew they had brought in an income of several hundred dollars a year to their former owner. Douglass's new friends advised him to go to New Bedford, Massachusetts, where whaling fleets were fitted out, and where he might hope to find work at his trade of ship-calker. It was believed, too, that he would be safer there, as the anti-slavery sentiment was considered too strong to permit a fugitive slave's being returned to the South. When Douglass, accompanied by his wife, arrived in New Bedford, a Mr. Nathan Johnson, a colored man to whom he had been recommended, received him kindly, gave him shelter and sympathy, and lent him a small sum of money to redeem his meagre baggage, which had been held by the stage-driver as security for an unpaid balance of the fare to New Bedford. In his autobiography Douglass commends Mr. Johnson for his "noble-hearted hospitality and manly character." In New York Douglass had changed his name in order the better to hide his identity from any possible pursuer. Douglass's name was another tie that bound him to his race. He has been called "Douglass" by the writer because that was the name he took for himself, as he did his education and his freedom; and as "Douglass" he made himself famous. As a slave, he was legally entitled to but one name,--Frederick. From his grandfather, Isaac Bailey, a freeman, he had derived the surname Bailey. His mother, with unconscious sarcasm, had called the little slave boy Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey. The bearer of this imposing string of appellations had, with a finer sense of fitness, cut it down to Frederick Bailey. In New York he had called himself Frederick Johnson; but, finding when he reached New Bedford that a considerable portion of the colored population of the city already rejoiced in this familiar designation, he fell in with the suggestion of his host, who had been reading Scott's _Lady of the Lake_, and traced an analogy between the runaway slave and the fugitive chieftain, that the new freeman should call himself Douglass, after the noble Scot of that name [Douglas]. The choice proved not inappropriate, for this modern Douglass fought as valiantly in his own cause and with his own weapons as ever any Douglass [Douglas] fought with flashing steel in border foray. Here, then, in a New England town, Douglass began the life of a freeman, from which, relieved now of the incubus of slavery, he soon emerged into the career for which, in the providence of God, he seemed by his multiform experience to have been especially fitted. He did not find himself, even in Massachusetts, quite beyond the influence of slavery. While before the law of the State he was the equal of any other man, caste prejudice prevented him from finding work at his trade of calker; and he therefore sought employment as a laborer. This he found easily, and for three years worked at whatever his hands found to do. The hardest toil was easy to him, the heaviest burdens were light; for the money that he earned went into his own pocket. If it did not remain there long, he at least had the satisfaction of spending it and of enjoying what it purchased. During these three years he was learning the lesson of liberty and unconsciously continuing his training for the work of an anti-slavery agitator. He became a subscriber to the _Liberator_, each number of which he devoured with eagerness. He heard William Lloyd Garrison lecture, and became one of his most devoted disciples. He attended every anti-slavery meeting in New Bedford, and now and then spoke on the subject of slavery in humble gatherings of his own people. IV In 1841 Douglass entered upon that epoch of his life which brought the hitherto obscure refugee prominently before the public, and in which his services as anti-slavery orator and reformer constitute his chief claim to enduring recollection. Millions of negroes whose lives had been far less bright than Douglass's had lived and died in slavery. Thousands of fugitives under assumed names were winning a precarious livelihood in the free States and trembling in constant fear of the slave-catcher. Some of these were doing noble work in assisting others to escape from bondage. Mr. Siebert, in his _Underground Railroad_, mentions one fugitive slave, John Mason by name, who assisted thirteen hundred others to escape from Kentucky. Another picturesque fugitive was Harriet Tubman, who devoted her life to this work with a courage, skill, and success that won her a wide reputation among the friends of freedom. A number of free colored men in the North, a few of them wealthy and cultivated, lent their time and their means to this cause. But it was reserved for Douglass, by virtue of his marvellous gift of oratory, to become pre-eminently the personal representative of his people for a generation. In 1841 the Massachusetts Anti-slavery Society, which had been for some little time weakened by faction, arranged its differences, and entered upon a campaign of unusual activity, which found expression in numerous meetings throughout the free States, mainly in New England. On August 15 of that year a meeting was held at Nantucket, Massachusetts. The meeting was conducted by John A. Collins, at that time general agent of the society, and was addressed by William Lloyd Garrison and other leading abolitionists. Douglass had taken a holiday and come from New Bedford to attend this convention, without the remotest thought of taking part except as a spectator. The proceedings were interesting, and aroused the audience to a high state of feeling. There was present in the meeting a certain abolitionist, by name William C. Coffin, who had heard Douglass speak in the little negro Sunday-school at New Bedford, and who knew of his recent escape from slavery. To him came the happy inspiration to ask Douglass to speak a few words to the convention by way of personal testimony. Collins introduced the speaker as "a graduate from slavery, with his diploma written upon his back." Douglass himself speaks very modestly about this, his first public appearance. He seems, from his own account, to have suffered somewhat from stage fright, which was apparently his chief memory concerning it. The impressions of others, however, allowing a little for the enthusiasm of the moment, are a safer guide as to the effect of Douglass's first speech. Parker Pillsbury reported that, "though it was late in the evening when the young man closed his remarks, none seemed to know or care for the hour.... The crowded congregation had been wrought up almost to enchantment during the whole long evening, particularly by some of the utterances of the last speaker [Douglass], as he turned over the terrible apocalypse of his experience in slavery." Mr. Garrison bore testimony to "the extraordinary emotion it exerted on his own mind and to the powerful impression it exerted upon a crowded auditory." "Patrick Henry," he declared, "had never made a more eloquent speech than the one they had just listened to from the lips of the hunted fugitive." Upon Douglass and his speech as a text Mr. Garrison delivered one of the sublimest and most masterly efforts of his life; and then and there began the friendship between the fugitive slave and the great agitator which opened the door for Douglass to a life of noble usefulness, and secured to the anti-slavery cause one of its most brilliant and effective orators. At Garrison's instance Collins offered Douglass employment as lecturer for the Anti-slavery Society, though the idea of thus engaging him doubtless occurred to more than one of the abolition leaders who heard his Nantucket speech. Douglass was distrustful of his own powers. Only three years out of slavery, with little learning and no experience as a public speaker, painfully aware of the prejudice which must be encountered by men of his color, fearful too of the publicity that might reveal his whereabouts to his legal owner, who might reclaim his property wherever found, he yielded only reluctantly to Mr. Collins's proposition, and agreed at first upon only a three months' term of service. Most of the abolitionists were, or meant to be, consistent in their practice of what they preached; and so, when Douglass was enrolled as one of the little band of apostles, they treated him literally as a man and a brother. Their homes, their hearts, and their often none too well-filled purses were open to him. In this new atmosphere his mind expanded, his spirit took on high courage, and he read and studied diligently, that he might make himself worthy of his opportunity to do something for his people. During the remainder of 1841 Douglass travelled and lectured in Eastern Massachusetts with George Foster, in the interest of the two leading abolition journals, the _Anti-slavery Standard_ and the _Liberator_, and also lectured in Rhode Island against the proposed Dorr constitution, which sought to limit the right of suffrage to white male citizens only, thus disfranchising colored men who had theretofore voted. With Foster and Pillsbury and Parker[1] and Monroe[2] and Abby Kelly [Kelley][3] he labored to defeat the Dorr constitution and at the same time promote the abolition gospel. The proposed constitution was defeated, and colored men who could meet the Rhode Island property qualification were left in possession of the right to vote. [Footnote 1: Editor's Note to Dover Edition: Reverend Theodore Parker (1810-1860) was a Unitarian minister who graduated from the Harvard Divinity School and was active in the Boston area.] [Footnote 2: Editor's Note to Dover Edition: James Monroe (1821-1898), a New Englander with a Quaker mother; in 1839 he became an Abolitionist lecturer instead of enrolling in college.] [Footnote 3: Editor's Note to Dover Edition: Abigail Kelley Foster (1811-1887), who married another Abolitionist, Stephen Foster, in 1845, was a Quaker orator and organizer on behalf of the abolition of slavery and for women's right to vote.] Douglass had plunged into this new work, after the first embarrassment wore off, with all the enthusiasm of youth and hope. But, except among the little band of Garrisonians and their sympathizers, his position did not relieve him from the disabilities attaching to his color. The feeling toward the negro in New England in 1841 was but little different from that in the State of Georgia to-day. Men of color were regarded and treated as belonging to a distinctly inferior order of creation. At hotels and places of public resort they were refused entertainment. On railroads and steamboats they were herded off by themselves in mean and uncomfortable cars. If welcomed in churches at all, they were carefully restricted to the negro pew. As in the Southern States to-day, no distinction was made among them in these respects by virtue of dress or manners or culture or means; but all were alike discriminated against because of their dark skins. Some of Douglass's abolition friends, among whom he especially mentions Wendell Phillips and two others of lesser note, won their way to his heart by at all times refusing to accept privileges that were denied to their swarthy companion. Douglass resented proscription wherever met with, and resisted it with force when the odds were not too overwhelming. More than once he was beaten and maltreated by railroad conductors and brakemen. For a time the Eastern Railroad ran its cars through Lynn, Massachusetts, without stopping, because Douglass, who resided at that time in Lynn, insisted on riding in the white people's car, and made trouble when interfered with. Often it was impossible for the abolitionists to secure a meeting-place; and in several instances Douglass paraded the streets with a bell, like a town crier, to announce that he would lecture in the open air. Some of Douglass's friends, it must be admitted, were at times rather extreme in their language, and perhaps stirred up feelings that a more temperate vocabulary would not have aroused. None of them ever hesitated to call a spade a spade, and some of them denounced slavery and all its sympathizers with the vigor and picturesqueness of a Muggletonian or Fifth Monarchy man of Cromwell's time execrating his religious adversaries. And, while it was true enough that the Church and the State were, generally speaking, the obsequious tools of slavery, it was not easy for an abolitionist to say so in vehement language without incurring the charge of treason or blasphemy,--an old trick of bigotry and tyranny to curb freedom of thought and freedom of speech. The little personal idiosyncrasies which some of the reformers affected, such as long hair in the men and short hair in the women,--there is surely some psychological reason why reformers run to such things,--served as convenient excuses for gibes and unseemly interruptions at their public meetings. On one memorable occasion, at Syracuse, New York, in November, 1842, Douglass and his fellows narrowly escaped tar and feathers. But, although Douglass was vehemently denunciatory of slavery in all its aspects, his twenty years of training in that hard school had developed in him a vein of prudence that saved him from these verbal excesses,--perhaps there was also some element of taste involved,--and thus made his arguments more effective than if he had alienated his audiences by indiscriminate attacks on all the institutions of society. No one could justly accuse Frederick Douglass of cowardice or self-seeking; yet he was opportunist enough to sacrifice the immaterial for the essential, and to use the best means at hand to promote the ultimate object sought, although the means thus offered might not be the ideal instrument. It was doubtless this trait that led Douglass, after he separated from his abolitionist friends, to modify his views upon the subject of disunion and the constitutionality of slavery, and to support political parties whose platforms by no means expressed the full measure of his convictions. In 1843 the New England Anti-slavery Society resolved, at its annual meeting in the spring, to stir the Northern heart and rouse the national conscience by a series of one hundred conventions in New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania. Douglass was assigned as one of the agents for the conduct of this undertaking. Among those associated in this work, which extended over five months, were John A. Collins, the president of the society, who mapped out the campaign; James Monroe; George Bradburn; William A. White; Charles L. Remond, a colored orator, born in Massachusetts, who rendered effective service in the abolition cause; and Sidney Howard Gay, at that time managing editor of the _National Anti-slavery Standard_ and later of the New York _Tribune_ and the New York _Evening Post._ The campaign upon which this little band of missionaries set out was no inconsiderable one. They were not going forth to face enthusiastic crowds of supporters, who would meet them with brass bands and shouts of welcome. They were more likely to be greeted with hisses and cat-calls, sticks and stones, stale eggs and decayed cabbages, hoots and yells of derision, and decorations of tar and feathers. In some towns of Vermont slanderous reports were made in advance of their arrival, their characters were assailed, and their aims and objects misrepresented. In Syracuse, afterward distinguished for its strong anti-slavery sentiment, the abolitionists were compelled to hold their meetings in the public park, from inability to procure a house in which to speak; and only after their convention was well under way were they offered the shelter of a dilapidated and abandoned church. In Rochester they met with a more hospitable reception. The indifference of Buffalo so disgusted Douglass's companions that they shook the dust of the city from their feet, and left Douglass, who was accustomed to coldness and therefore undaunted by it, to tread the wine-press alone. He spoke in an old post-office for nearly a week, to such good purpose that a church was thrown open to him; and on a certain Sunday, in the public park, he held and thrilled by his eloquence an audience of five thousand people. On leaving Buffalo, Douglass joined the other speakers, and went with them to Clinton County, Ohio, where, under a large tent, a mass meeting was held of abolitionists who had come from widely scattered points. During an excursion made about this time to Pennsylvania to attend a convention at Norristown, an attempt was made to lynch him at Manayunk; but his usual good fortune served him, and he lived to be threatened by higher powers than a pro-slavery mob. When the party of reformers reached Indiana, where the pro-slavery spirit was always strong, the State having been settled largely by Southerners, their campaign of education became a running fight, in which Douglass, whose dark skin attracted most attention, often got more than his share. His strength and address brought him safely out of many an encounter; but in a struggle with a mob at Richmond, Indiana, he was badly beaten and left unconscious on the ground. A good Quaker took him home in his wagon, his wife bound up Douglass's wounds and nursed him tenderly,--the Quakers were ever the consistent friends of freedom,--but for the lack of proper setting he carried to the grave a stiff hand as the result of this affray. He had often been introduced to audiences as "a graduate from slavery with his diploma written upon his back": from Indiana he received the distinction of a post-graduate degree. V. It can easily be understood that such a man as Douglass, thrown thus into stimulating daily intercourse with some of the brightest minds of his generation, all animated by a high and noble enthusiasm for liberty and humanity,--such men as Garrison and Phillips and Gay and Monroe and many others,--should have developed with remarkable rapidity those reserves of character and intellect which slavery had kept in repression. And yet, while aware of his wonderful talent for oratory, he never for a moment let this knowledge turn his head or obscure the consciousness that he had brought with him out of slavery of some of the disabilities of that status. Naturally, his expanding intelligence sought a wider range of expression; and his simple narrative of the wrongs of slavery gave way sometimes to a discussion of its philosophy. His abolitionist friends would have preferred him to stick a little more closely to the old line,--to furnish the experience while they provided the argument. But the strong will that slavery had not been able to break was not always amenable to politic suggestion. Douglass's style and vocabulary and logic improved so rapidly that people began to question his having been a slave. His appearance, speech, and manner differed so little in material particulars from those of his excellent exemplars that many people were sceptical of his antecedents. Douglass had, since his escape from slavery, carefully kept silent about the place he came from and his master's name and the manner of his escape, for the very good reason that their revelation would have informed his master of his whereabouts and rendered his freedom precarious; for the fugitive slave law was in force, and only here and there could local public sentiment have prevented its operation. Confronted with the probability of losing his usefulness, as the "awful example," Douglass took the bold step of publishing in the spring of 1845 the narrative of his experience as a slave, giving names of people and places, and dates as nearly as he could recall them. His abolitionist friends doubted the expediency of this step; and Wendell Phillips advised him to throw the manuscript into the fire, declaring that the government of Massachusetts had neither the power nor the will to protect him from the consequences of his daring. The pamphlet was widely read. It was written in a style of graphic simplicity, and was such an _exposé_ of slavery as exasperated its jealous supporters and beneficiaries. Douglass soon had excellent reasons to fear that he would be recaptured by force or guile and returned to slavery or a worse fate. The prospect was not an alluring one; and hence, to avoid an involuntary visit to the scenes of his childhood, he sought liberty beyond the sea, where men of his color have always enjoyed a larger freedom than in their native land. In 1845 Douglass set sail for England on board the _Cambria_, of the Cunard Line, accompanied by James N. Buffum, a prominent abolitionist of Lynn, Massachusetts. On the same steamer were the Hutchinson family, who lent their sweet songs to the anti-slavery crusade. Douglass's color rendered him ineligible for cabin passage, and he was relegated to the steerage. Nevertheless, he became quite the lion of the vessel, made the steerage fashionable, was given the freedom of the ship, and invited to lecture on slavery. This he did to the satisfaction of all the passengers except a few young men from New Orleans and Georgia, who, true to the instincts of their caste, made his strictures on the South a personal matter, and threatened to throw him overboard. Their zeal was diminished by an order of the captain to put them in irons. They sulked in their cabins, however, and rushed into print when they reached Liverpool, thus giving Douglass the very introduction he needed to the British public, which was promptly informed, by himself and others, of the true facts in regard to the steamer speech and the speaker. VI. The two years Douglass spent in Great Britain upon this visit were active and fruitful ones, and did much to bring him to that full measure of development scarcely possible for him in slave-ridden America. For while the English government had fostered slavery prior to the Revolution, and had only a few years before Douglass's visit abolished it in its own colonies, this wretched system had never fastened its clutches upon the home islands. Slaves had been brought to England, it is true, and carried away; but, when the right to remove them was questioned in court, Lord Chief Justice Mansfield, with an abundance of argument and precedent to support a position similar to that of Justice Taney in the Dred Scott case, had taken the contrary view, and declared that the air of England was free, and the slave who breathed it but once ceased thereby to be a slave. History and humanity have delivered their verdict on these two decisions, and time is not likely to disturb it. A few days after landing at Liverpool, Douglass went to Ireland, where the agitation for the repeal of the union between Great Britain and Ireland was in full swing, under the leadership of Daniel O'Connell, the great Irish orator. O'Connell had denounced slavery in words of burning eloquence. The Garrisonian abolitionists advocated the separation of the free and slave States as the only means of securing some part of the United States to freedom. The American and Irish disunionists were united by a strong bond of sympathy. Douglass was soon referred to as "the black O'Connell," and lectured on slavery and on temperance to large and enthusiastic audiences. He was introduced to O'Connell, and exchanged compliments with him. A public breakfast was given him at Cork, and a soiree by Father Matthew, the eminent leader of the great temperance crusade which at that time shared with the repeal agitation the public interest of Ireland. A reception to Douglass and his friend Buffum was held in St. Patricks Temperance Hall, where they were greeted with a special song of welcome, written for the occasion. On January 6, 1846, a public breakfast was given Douglass at Belfast, at which the local branch of the British and Foreign Anti-slavery Society presented him with a Bible bound in gold. After four months in Ireland, where he delivered more than fifty lectures, Douglass and his friend Buffum left Ireland, on January 10, 1846, for Scotland, where another important reform was in progress. It was an epoch of rebellion against the established order of things. The spirit of revolt was in the air. The disruption movement in the Established Church of Scotland, led by the famous Dr. Chalmers, had culminated in 1843 in the withdrawal of four hundred and seventy ministers, who gave up the shelter and security of the Establishment for the principle that a congregation should choose its own pastor, and organized themselves into the Free Protesting Church, commonly called the Free Kirk. An appeal had been issued to the Presbyterian churches of the world for aid to establish a sustentation fund for the use of the new church. Among the contributions from the United States was one from a Presbyterian church in Charleston, South Carolina. Just before this contribution arrived a South Carolina judge had condemned a Northern man to death for aiding the escape of a female slave. This incident had aroused horror and indignation throughout Great Britain. Lord Brougham had commented on it in the House of Lords, and Lord Chief Justice Denham had characterized it "in the name of all the judges of England" as a "horrible iniquity." O'Connell had rejected profferred contributions from the Southern States, and an effort was made in Scotland to have the South Carolina money sent back. The attempt failed ultimately; but the agitation on the subject was for a time very fierce, and gave Douglass and his friends the opportunity to strike many telling blows at slavery. He had never minced his words in the United States, and he now handled without gloves the government whose laws had driven him from its borders. From Scotland Douglass went to England, where he found still another great reform movement nearing a triumphant conclusion. The Anti-corn Law League, after many years of labor, under the leadership of Richard Cobden and John Bright, for the abolition of the protective tariff on wheat and other kinds of grain for food, had brought its agitation to a successful issue; and on June 26, 1846, the Corn Laws were repealed. The generous enthusiasm for reform of one kind or another that pervaded the British Islands gave ready sympathy and support to the abolitionists in their mission. The abolition of slavery in the colonies had been decreed by Parliament in 1833, but the old leaders in that reform had not lost their zeal for liberty. George Thompson, who with Clarkson and Wilberforce had led the British abolitionists, invited Garrison over to help reorganize the anti-slavery sentiment of Great Britain against American slavery; and in August, 1846, Garrison went to England, in that year evidently a paradise of reformers. During the week beginning May 17, 1846, Douglass addressed respectively the annual meeting of the British and Foreign Anti-slavery Society, a peace convention, a suffrage extension meeting, and a temperance convention, and spoke also at a reception where efforts were made to induce him to remain in England, and money subscribed to bring over his family. As will be seen hereafter, he chose the alternative of returning to the United States. On August 7, 1846, Douglass addressed the World's Temperance Convention, held at Covent Garden Theatre, London. There were many speakers, and the time allotted to each was brief; but Douglass never lost an opportunity to attack slavery, and he did so on this occasion over the shoulder of temperance. He stated that he was not a delegate to the convention, because those whom he might have represented were placed beyond the pale of American temperance societies either by slavery or by an inveterate prejudice against their color. He referred to the mobbing of a procession of colored temperance societies in Philadelphia several years before, the burning of one of their churches, and the wrecking of their best temperance hall. These remarks brought out loud protests and calls for order from the American delegates present, who manifested the usual American sensitiveness to criticism, especially on the subject of slavery; but the house sustained Douglass, and demanded that he go on. Douglass was denounced for this in a letter to the New York papers by Rev. Dr. Cox, one of the American delegates. Douglass's reply to this letter gave him the better of the controversy. He sometimes expressed the belief, founded on long experience, that doctors of divinity were, as a rule, among the most ardent supporters of slavery. Dr. Cox, who seems at least to have met the description, was also a delegate to the Evangelical Alliance, which met in London, August 19, 1846, with a membership of one thousand delegates from fifty different evangelical sects throughout the world. The question was raised in the convention whether or not fellowship should be held with slaveholders. Dr. Cox and the other Americans held that it should, and their views ultimately prevailed. Douglass made some telling speeches at Anti-slavery League meetings, in denunciation of the cowardice of the Alliance, and won a wide popularity. Douglass remained in England two years. Not only did this visit give him a great opportunity to influence British public opinion against slavery, but the material benefits to himself were inestimable. He had left the United States a slave before the law, denied every civil right and every social privilege, literally a man without a country, and forced to cross the Atlantic among the cattle in the steerage of the steamboat. During his sojourn in Great Britain an English lady, Mrs. Ellen Richardson, of Newcastle, had raised seven hundred and fifty dollars, which was paid over to Hugh Auld, of Maryland, to secure Douglass's legal manumission; and, not content with this generous work, the same large-hearted lady had raised by subscription about two thousand five hundred dollars, which Douglass carried back to the United States as a free gift, and used to start his newspaper. He had met in Europe, as he said in a farewell speech, men quite as white as he had ever seen in the United States and of quite as noble exterior, and had seen in their faces no scorn of his complexion. He had travelled over the four kingdoms, and had encountered no sign of disrespect. He had been lionized in London, had spoken every night of his last month there, and had declined as many more invitations. He had shaken hands with the venerable Clarkson, and had breakfasted with the philosopher Combe, the author of _The Constitution of Man_. He had won the friendship of John Bright, had broken bread with Sir John Bowring, had been introduced to Lord Brougham, the brilliant leader of the Liberal party, and had listened to his wonderful eloquence. He had met Douglas Jerrold, the famous wit, and had been entertained by the poet William Howitt, who made a farewell speech in his honor. Everywhere he had denounced slavery, everywhere hospitable doors had opened wide to receive him, everywhere he had made friends for himself and his cause. A slave and an outcast at home, he had been made to feel himself a gentleman, had been the companion of great men and good women. Urged to remain in this land of freedom, and offered aid to establish himself in life there, his heart bled for his less fortunate brethren in captivity; and, with the God-speed of his English friends ringing in his ears, he went back to America,--to scorn, to obloquy, to ostracism, but after all to the work to which he had been ordained, and which he was so well qualified to perform. VII. Douglass landed April 20, 1847. He returned to the United States with the intention of publishing the newspaper for which his English friends had so kindly furnished the means; but his plan meeting with opposition from his abolitionist friends, who thought the platform offered him a better field for usefulness, he deferred the enterprise until near the end of the year. In the mean time he plunged again into the thick of the anti-slavery agitation. We find him lecturing in May in the Broadway Tabernacle, New York, and writing letters to the anti-slavery papers. In June he was elected president of the New England Anti-slavery Convention. In August and September he went on a lecturing tour with Garrison and others through Pennsylvania and Ohio. On this tour the party attended the commencement exercises of Oberlin College, famous for its anti-slavery principles and practice, and spoke to immense meetings at various places in Ohio and New York. Their cause was growing in popular favor; and, in places where formerly they had spoken out of doors because of the difficulty of securing a place of meeting, they were now compelled to speak in the open air, because the churches and halls would not contain their audiences. On December 3, 1847, the first number of the _North Star_ appeared. Douglass's abolitionist friends had not yet become reconciled to this project, and his persistence in it resulted in a temporary coldness between them. They very naturally expected him to be guided by their advice. They had found him on the wharf at New Bedford, and given him his chance in life; and they may easily be pardoned for finding it presumptuous in him to disregard their advice and adopt a new line of conduct without consulting them. Mr. Garrison wrote in a letter to his wife from Cleveland, "It will also greatly surprise our friends in Boston to hear that in regard to his prospect of establishing a paper here, to be called the North Star, he never opened his lips to me on the subject nor asked my advice in any particular whatever." But Samuel May Jr., in a letter written to one of Douglass's English friends, in which he mentions this charge of Garrison, adds, "It is only common justice to Frederick Douglass to inform you that this is a mistake; that, on the contrary, he did speak to Mr. Garrison about it, just before he was taken ill at Cleveland." The probability is that Douglass had his mind made up, and did not seek advice, and that Mr. Garrison did not attach much importance to any casual remark Douglass may have made upon the subject. In a foot-note to the _Life and Times of Garrison_ it is stated:-- "This enterprise was not regarded with favor by the leading abolitionists, who knew only too well the precarious support which a fifth anti-slavery paper, edited by a colored man, must have, and who appreciated to the full Douglass's unrivalled powers as a lecturer in the field ... As anticipated, it nearly proved the ruin of its projector; but by extraordinary exertions it was kept alive, not, however, on the platform of Garrisonian abolitionism. The necessary support could only be secured by a change of principles in accordance with Mr. Douglass's immediate (political abolition) environment." Douglass's own statement does not differ very widely from this, except that he does not admit the mercenary motive for his change of principles. It was in deference, however, to the feelings of his former associates that the _North Star_ was established at Rochester instead of in the East, where the field for anti-slavery papers was already fully occupied. In Rochester, then as now the centre of a thrifty, liberal, and progressive population, Douglass gradually won the sympathy and support which such an enterprise demanded. The _North Star_, in size, typography, and interest, compared favorably with the other weeklies of the day, and lived for seventeen years. It had, however, its "ups and downs." At one time the editor had mortgaged his house to pay the running expenses; but friends came to his aid, his debts were paid, and the circulation of the paper doubled. In _My Bondage and My Freedom_ Douglass gives the names of numerous persons who helped him in these earlier years of editorial effort, among whom were a dozen of the most distinguished public men of his day. After the _North Star_ had been in existence several years, its name was changed to _Frederick Douglass's Paper_, to give it a more distinctive designation, the newspaper firmament already scintillating with many other "Stars." In later years Douglass speaks of this newspaper enterprise as one of the wisest things he ever undertook. To paraphrase Lord Bacon's famous maxim, much reading of life and of books had made him a full man, and much speaking had made him a ready man. The attempt to put facts and arguments into literary form tended to make him more logical in reasoning and more exact in statement. One of the effects of Douglass's editorial responsibility and the influences brought to bear upon him by reason of it, was a change in his political views. Until he began the publication of the _North Star_ and for several years thereafter, he was, with the rest of the Garrisonians, a pronounced disunionist. He held to the Garrisonian doctrine that the pro-slavery Constitution of the United States was a "league with death and a covenant with hell," maintained that anti-slavery men should not vote under it, and advocated the separation of the free States as the only means of preventing the utter extinction of freedom by the ever-advancing encroachments of the slave power. In Rochester he found himself in the region where the Liberty party, under the leadership of James G. Birney, Salmon P. Chase, Gerrit Smith, and others, had its largest support. The Liberty party maintained that slavery could be fought best with political weapons, that by the power of the ballot slavery could be confined strictly within its constitutional limits and prevented from invading new territory, and that it could be extinguished by the respective States whenever the growth of public opinion demanded it. One wing of the party took the more extreme ground that slavery was contrary to the true intent and meaning of the Constitution, and demanded that the country should return to the principles of liberty upon which it was founded. Though the more radical abolitionists were for a time bitterly opposed to these views, yet the Liberty party was the natural outgrowth of the abolition agitation. Garrison and Phillips and Douglass and the rest had planted, Birney and Gerrit Smith and Chase and the rest watered, and the Union party, led by the great emancipator, garnered the grain after a bloody harvest. Several influences must have co-operated to modify Douglass's political views. The moral support and occasional financial aid given his paper by members of the Liberty party undoubtedly predisposed him favorably to their opinions. His retirement as agent of the Anti-slavery Society and the coolness resulting therefrom had taken him out of the close personal contact with those fervent spirits who had led the van in the struggle for liberty. Their zeal had been more disinterested, perhaps, than Douglass's own; for, after all, they had no personal stake in the outcome, while to Douglass and his people the abolition of slavery was a matter of life and death. Serene in the high altitude of their convictions, the Garrisonians would accept no halfway measures, would compromise no principles, and, if their right arm offended them, would cut it off with sublime fortitude and cast it into the fire. They wanted a free country, where the fleeing victim of slavery could find a refuge. Douglass perceived the immense advantage these swarming millions would gain through being free in the States where they already were. He had always been minded to do the best thing possible. When a slave, he had postponed his escape until it seemed entirely feasible. When denied cabin passage on steamboats, he had gone in the steerage or on deck. When he had been refused accommodation in a hotel, he had sought it under any humble roof that offered. It would have been a fine thing in the abstract to refuse the half-loaf, but in that event we should have had no Frederick Douglass. It was this very vein of prudence, keeping always in view the object to be attained, and in a broad, non-Jesuitical sense subordinating the means to the end, that enabled Douglass to prolong his usefulness a generation after the abolition of slavery. Douglass in his _Life and Times_ states his own case as follows: "After a time, a careful reconsideration of the subject convinced me that there was no necessity for dissolving the union between the Northern and Southern States; that to seek this dissolution was no part of my duty as an abolitionist; that to abstain from voting was to refuse to exercise a legitimate and powerful means for abolishing slavery; and that the Constitution of the United States not only contained no guarantees in favor of slavery, but, on the contrary, was in its letter and spirit an anti-slavery instrument, demanding the abolition of slavery as a condition of its own existence, as the supreme law of the land." This opinion was not exactly the opinion of the majority of the Liberty party, which did not question the constitutionality of slavery in the slave States. Neither was it the opinion of the Supreme Court, which in the Dred Scott case held that the Constitution guaranteed not only the right to hold slaves, but to hold them in free States. Nevertheless, entertaining the views he did, Douglass was able to support the measures which sought to oppose slavery through political action. In August, 1848, while his Garrisonian views were as yet unchanged, he had been present as a spectator at the Free Soil Convention at Buffalo. In his Life and Times he says of this gathering: "This Buffalo Convention of Free Soilers, however low their standard, did lay the foundation of a grand superstructure. It was a powerful link in the chain of events by which the slave system has been abolished, the slave emancipated, and the country saved from dismemberment." In 1851 Douglass announced that his sympathies were with the voting abolitionists, and thenceforth he supported by voice and pen Hale, Fremont, and Lincoln, the successive candidates of the new party. Douglass's political defection very much intensified the feeling against him among his former coadjutors. The Garrisonians, with their usual plain speaking, did not hesitate to say what they thought of Douglass. Their three papers, the _Liberator_, the _Standard_, and the _Freeman_, assailed Douglass fiercely, and charged him with treachery, inconsistency, ingratitude, and all the other crimes so easily imputed to one who changes his opinions. Garrison and Phillips and others of his former associates denounced him as a deserter, and attributed his change of heart to mercenary motives. Douglass seems to have borne himself with rare dignity and moderation in this trying period. He realized perfectly well that he was on the defensive, and that the burden devolved upon him to justify his change of front. This he seems to have attempted vigorously, but by argument rather than invective. Even during the height of the indignation against him Douglass disclaimed any desire to antagonize his former associates. He simply realized that there was more than one way to fight slavery,--which knew a dozen ways to maintain itself,--and had concluded to select the one that seemed most practical. He was quite willing that his former friends should go their own way. "No personal assaults," he wrote to George Thompson, the English abolitionist, who wrote to him for an explanation of the charges made against him, "shall ever lead me to forget that some, who in America have often made me the subject of personal abuse, are in their own way earnestly working for the abolition of slavery." In later years, when political action had resulted in abolition, some of these harsh judgments were modified, and Douglass and his earlier friends met in peace and harmony. The debt he owed to William Lloyd Garrison he ever delighted to acknowledge. His speech on the death of Garrison breathes in every word the love and honor in which he held him. In one of the last chapters of his _Life and Times_ he makes a sweeping acknowledgment of his obligations to the men and women who rendered his career possible. "It was my good fortune," he writes, "to get out of slavery at the right time, to be speedily brought in contact with that circle of highly cultivated men and women, banded together for the overthrow of slavery, of which William Lloyd Garrison was the acknowledged leader. To these friends, earnest, courageous, inflexible, ready to own me as a man and a brother, against all the scorn, contempt, and derision of a slavery-polluted atmosphere, I owe my success in life." VIII. Events moved rapidly in the decade preceding the war. In 1850 the new Fugitive Slave Law brought discouragement to the hearts of the friends of liberty. Douglass's utterances during this period breathed the fiery indignation which he felt when the slave-driver's whip was heard cracking over the free States, and all citizens were ordered to aid in the enforcement of this inhuman statute when called upon. This law really defeated its own purpose. There were thousands of conservative Northern men, who, recognizing the constitutional guarantees of slavery and the difficulty of abolishing it unless the South should take the initiative, were content that it should be preserved intact so long as it remained a local institution. But when the attempt was made to make the North wash the South's dirty linen, and transform every man in the Northern States into a slave-catcher, it wrought a revulsion of feeling that aroused widespread sympathy for the slave and strengthened the cause of freedom amazingly. Thousands of escaped slaves were living in Northern communities. Some of them had acquired homes, had educated their children, and in some States had become citizens and voters. Already social pariahs, restricted generally to menial labor, bearing the burdens of poverty and prejudice, they now had thrust before them the spectre of the kidnapper, the slave-catcher with his affidavit, and the United States [Supreme] Court, which was made by this law the subservient tool of tyranny. This law gave Douglass and the other abolitionists a new text. It was a set-back to their cause; but they were not entirely disheartened, for they saw in it the desperate expedients by which it was sought to bolster up an institution already doomed by the advancing tide of civilization. The loss of slaves had become a serious drain upon the border States. The number of refugees settled in the North was, of course, largely a matter of estimate. Runaway slaves were not apt to advertise their status, but rather to conceal it, so that most estimates were more likely to be under than over the truth. Henry Wilson places the number in the free States at twenty thousand. There were in Boston in 1850, according to a public statement of Theodore Parker, from four to six hundred; and in other New England towns, notably New Bedford, the number was large. Other estimates place the figures much higher. Mr. Siebert, in his _Underground Railroad_, after a careful calculation from the best obtainable data, puts the number of fugitives aided in Ohio alone at forty thousand in the thirty years preceding 1860, and in the same period nine thousand in the city of Philadelphia alone, which was one of the principal stations of the underground railroad and the home of William Still, whose elaborate work on the _Underground Railroad_ gives the details of many thrilling escapes. In the work of assisting runaway slaves Douglass found congenial employment. It was exciting and dangerous, but inspiring and soul-satisfying. He kept a room in his house always ready for fugitives, having with him as many as eleven at a time. He would keep them over night, pay their fare on the train for Canada, and give them half a dollar extra. And Canada, to her eternal honor be it said, received these assisted emigrants, with their fifty cents apiece, of alien race, debauched by slavery, gave them welcome and protection, refused to enter into diplomatic relations for their rendition to bondage, and spoke well of them as men and citizens when Henry Clay and the other slave [pro-slavery] leaders denounced them as the most worthless of their class. The example of Canada may be commended to those persons in the United States, of little faith, who, because in thirty years the emancipated race have not equalled the white man in achievement, are fearful lest nothing good can be expected of them. In the stirring years of the early fifties Douglass led a busy life. He had each week to fill the columns of his paper and raise the money to pay its expenses. Add to this his platform work and the underground railroad work, which consisted not only in personal aid to the fugitives, but in raising money to pay their expenses, and his time was very adequately employed. In every anti-slavery meeting his face was welcome, and his position as a representative of his own peculiar people was daily strengthened. When Uncle Tom's Cabin, in 1852, set the world on fire over the wrongs of the slave,--or rather the wrongs of slavery, for that wonderful book did not portray the negro as the only sufferer from this hoary iniquity,--Mrs. Stowe, in her new capacity as a champion of liberty, conceived the plan of raising a fund for the benefit of the colored race, and in 1853 invited Douglass to visit her at Andover, Massachusetts, where she consulted with him in reference to the establishment of an industrial institute or trades school for colored youth, with a view to improving their condition in the free States. Douglass approved heartily of this plan, and through his paper made himself its sponsor. When, later on, Mrs. Stowe abandoned the project, Douglass was made the subject of some criticism, though he was not at all to blame for Mrs. Stowes altered plans. In our own time the value of such institutions has been widely recognized, and the success of those at Hampton and Tuskegee has stimulated anew the interest in industrial education as one important factor in the elevation of the colored race. In the years from 1853 to 1860 the slave power, inspired with divine madness, rushed headlong toward its doom. The arbitrary enforcement of the Fugitive Slave Act; the struggle between freedom and slavery in Kansas; the Dred Scott decision, by which a learned and subtle judge, who had it within his power to enlarge the boundaries of human liberty and cover his own name with glory, deliberately and laboriously summarized and dignified with the sanction of a court of last resort all the most odious prejudices that had restricted the opportunities of the colored people; the repeal of the Missouri Compromise; the John Brown raid; the [1855] assault on [Massachusetts antislavery U.S. Senator] Charles Sumner,--each of these incidents has been, in itself, the subject of more than one volume. Of these events the Dred Scott decision was the most disheartening. Douglass was not proof against the universal gloom, and began to feel that there was little hope of the peaceful solution of the question of slavery. It was in one of his darker moments that old Sojourner Truth, whose face appeared in so many anti-slavery gatherings, put her famous question, which breathed a sublime and childlike faith in God, even when his hand seemed heaviest on her people: "Frederick," she asked, "is God dead?" The orator paused impressively, and then thundered in a voice that thrilled his audience with prophetic intimations, "No, God is not dead; and therefore it is that slavery must end in blood!" During this period John Brown stamped his name indelibly upon American history. It was almost inevitable that a man of the views, activities, and prominence of Douglass should become acquainted with John Brown. Their first meeting, however, was in 1847, more than ten years before the tragic episode at Harpers Ferry. At that time Brown was a merchant at Springfield, Massachusetts, whither Douglass was invited to visit him. In his _Life and Times_ he describes Brown as a prosperous merchant, who in his home lived with the utmost abstemiousness, in order that he might save money for the great scheme he was already revolving. "His wife believed in him, and his children observed him with reverence. His arguments seemed to convince all, his appeals touched all, and his will impressed all. Certainly, I never felt myself in the presence of stronger religious influence than while in this man's house." There in his own home, where Douglass stayed as his guest, Brown outlined a plan which in substantially the same form he held dear to his heart for a decade longer. This plan, briefly stated, was to establish camps at certain easily defended points in the Allegheny Mountains; to send emissaries down to the plantations in the lowlands, starting in Virginia, and draw off the slaves to these mountain fastnesses; to maintain bands of them there, if possible, as a constant menace to slavery and an example of freedom; or, if that were impracticable, to lead them to Canada from time to time by the most available routes. Wild as this plan may seem in the light of the desperate game subsequently played by slavery, it did not at the time seem impracticable to such level-headed men as Theodore Parker and Thomas Wentworth Higginson. Douglass's views were very much colored by his association with Brown; but, with his usual prudence and foresight, he pointed out the difficulties of this plan. From the time of their first meeting the relations of the two men were friendly and confidential. Captain Brown had his scheme ever in mind, and succeeded in convincing Douglass and others that it would subserve a useful purpose,--that, even if it resulted in failure, it would stir the conscience of the nation to a juster appreciation of the iniquity of slavery. The Kansas troubles, however, turned Brown's energies for a time into a different channel. After Kansas had been secured to freedom, he returned with renewed ardor to his old project. He stayed for three weeks at Douglass's house at Rochester, and while there carried on an extensive correspondence with sympathizers and supporters, and thoroughly demonstrated to all with whom he conversed that he was a man of one all-absorbing idea. In 1859, very shortly before the raid at Harpers Ferry, Douglass met Brown by appointment, in an abandoned stone quarry near Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. John Brown was already an outlaw, with a price upon his head; for a traitor had betrayed his plan the year before, and he had for this reason deferred its execution for a year. The meeting was surrounded by all the mystery and conducted with all the precautions befitting a meeting of conspirators. Brown had changed the details of his former plan, and told Douglass of his determination to take Harpers Ferry. Douglass opposed the measure vehemently, pointing out its certain and disastrous failure. Brown met each argument with another, and was not to be swayed from his purpose. They spent more than a day together discussing the details of the movement. When the more practical Douglass declined to take part in Brown's attempt, the old man threw his arms around his swarthy friend, in a manner typical of his friendship for the dark race, and said: "Come with me, Douglass, I will defend you with my life. I want you for a special purpose. When I strike, the bees will begin to swarm, and I shall want you to help hive them." But Douglass would not be persuaded. His abandonment of his old friend on the eve of a desperate enterprise was criticised by some, who, as Douglass says, "kept even farther from this brave and heroic man than I did." John Brown went forth to meet a felon's fate and wear a martyr's crown: Douglass lived to fight the battles of his race for years to come. There was room for both, and each played the part for which he was best adapted. It would have strengthened the cause of liberty very little for Douglass to die with Brown. It is quite likely, however, that he narrowly escaped Brown's fate. When the raid at Harpers Ferry had roused the country, Douglass, with other leading Northern men, was indicted in Virginia for complicity in the affair. Brown's correspondence had fallen into the hands of the Virginia authorities, and certain letters seemed to implicate Douglass. A trial in Virginia meant almost certain death. Governor Wise, of Virginia, would have hung him with cheerful alacrity, and publicly expressed his desire to do so. Douglass, with timely warning that extradition papers had been issued for his arrest, escaped to Canada. He had previously planned a second visit to England, and the John Brown affair had delayed his departure by some days. He sailed from Quebec, November 12, 1859. After a most uncomfortable winter voyage of fourteen days Douglass found himself again in England, an object of marked interest and in very great demand as a speaker. Six months he spent on the hospitable shores of Great Britain, lecturing on John Brown, on slavery and other subjects, and renewing the friendships of former years. Being informed of the death of his youngest daughter, he cut short his visit, which he had meant to extend to France, and returned to the United States. So rapid had been the course of events since his departure that the excitement over the John Brown raid had subsided. The first Lincoln campaign was in active progress; and the whole country quivered with vague anticipation of the impending crisis which was to end the conflict of irreconcilable principles, and sweep slavery out of the path of civilization and progress. Douglass plunged into the campaign with his accustomed zeal, and did what he could to promote the triumph of the Republican party. Lincoln was elected, and in a few short months the country found itself in the midst of war. God was not dead, and slavery was to end in blood. IX. Ever mindful of his people and seeking always to promote their welfare, Douglass was one of those who urged, in all his addresses at this period, the abolition of slavery and the arming of the negroes as the most effective means of crushing the rebellion. In 1862 he delivered a series of lectures in New England under the auspices of the recently formed Emancipation League, which contended for abolition as a military necessity. The first or conditional emancipation proclamation was issued in September, 1862; and shortly afterward Douglass published a pamphlet for circulation in Great Britain, entitled _The Slave's Appeal to Great Britain_, in which he urged the English people to refuse recognition of the independence of the Confederate States. He always endeavored in his public utterances to remove the doubts and fears of those who were tempted to leave the negroes in slavery because of the difficulty of disposing of them after they became free. Douglass, with the simple, direct, primitive sense of justice that had always marked his mind, took the only true ground for the solution of the race problems of that or any other epoch,-that the situation should be met with equal and exact justice, and that his people should be allowed to do as they pleased with themselves, "subject only to the same great laws which apply to other men." He was a conspicuous figure at the meeting in Tremont Temple, Boston, on January 1, 1863, when the Emancipation Proclamation, hourly expected by an anxious gathering, finally flashed over the wires. Douglass was among the first to suggest the employment of colored troops in the Union army. In spite of all assertions to the contrary, he foresaw in the war the end of slavery. He perceived that by the enlistment of colored men not only would the Northern arms be strengthened, but his people would win an opportunity to exercise one of the highest rights of freemen, and by valor on the field of battle to remove some of the stigma that slavery had placed upon them. He strove through every channel at his command to impress his views upon the country; and his efforts helped to swell the current of opinion which found expression, after several intermediate steps, in the enlistment of two colored regiments by Governor Andrew, the famous war governor of Massachusetts, a State foremost in all good works. When Mr. Lincoln had granted permission for the recruiting of these regiments, Douglass issued through his paper a stirring appeal, which was copied in the principal journals of the Union States, exhorting his people to rally to this call, to seize this opportunity to strike a blow at slavery and win the gratitude of the country and the blessings of liberty for themselves and their posterity. Douglass exerted himself personally in procuring enlistments, his two sons [his youngest and his oldest], Charles and Lewis, being [among] the first in New York to enlist; for the two Massachusetts regiments were recruited all over the North. Lewis H. Douglass, sergeant-major in the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts, was among the foremost on the ramparts at Fort Wagner. Both these sons of Douglass survived the war, and are now well known and respected citizens of Washington, D.C. The Fifty-fourth Massachusetts, under the gallant but ill-fated Colonel Shaw, won undying glory in the conflict; and the heroic deeds of the officers and men of this regiment are fittingly commemorated in the noble monument by St. Gaudens, recently erected on Boston Common, to stand as an inspiration of freedom and patriotism for the future and as testimony that a race which for generations had been deprived of arms and liberty could worthily bear the one and defend the other. Douglass was instrumental in persuading the government to put colored soldiers on an equal footing with white soldiers, both as to pay and protection. In the course of these efforts he was invited to visit President Lincoln. He describes this memorable interview in detail in his _Life and Times_. The President welcomed him with outstretched hands, put him at once at his ease, and listened patiently and attentively to all that he had to say. Douglass maintained that colored soldiers should receive the same pay as white soldiers, should be protected and exchanged as prisoners, and should be rewarded, by promotion, for deeds of valor. The President suggested some of the difficulties to be overcome; but both he and Secretary of War Stanton, whom Douglass also visited, assured him that in the end his race should be justly treated. Stanton, before the close of the interview with him, promised Douglass a commission as assistant adjutant to General Lorenzo Thomas, then recruiting colored troops in the Mississippi Valley. But Stanton evidently changed his mind, since the commission, somewhat to Douglass's chagrin, never came to hand. When McClellan had been relieved by Grant, and the new leader of the Union forces was fighting the stubbornly contested campaign of the Wilderness, President Lincoln again sent for Douglass, to confer with him with reference to bringing slaves in the rebel States within the Union lines, so that in the event of premature peace as many slaves as possible might be free. Douglass undertook, at the President's suggestion, to organize a band of colored scouts to go among the negroes and induce them to enter the Union lines. The plan was never carried out, owing to the rapid success of the Union arms; but the interview greatly impressed Douglass with the sincerity of the President's conviction against slavery and his desire to see the war result in its overthrow. What the colored race may have owed to the services, in such a quarter, of such an advocate as Douglass, brave, eloquent, high-principled, and an example to Lincoln of what the enslaved race was capable of, can only be imagined. That Lincoln was deeply impressed by these interviews is a matter of history. Douglass supported vigorously the nomination of Lincoln for a second term, and was present at his [March 4] inauguration. And a few days later, while the inspired words of the inaugural address, long bracketed with the noblest of human utterances, were still ringing in his ears, he spoke at the meeting held in Rochester to mourn the death of the martyred President, and made one of his most eloquent and moving addresses. It was a time that wrung men's hearts, and none more than the strong-hearted man's whose race had found its liberty through him who lay dead at Washington, slain by the hand of an assassin whom slavery had spawned. X. With the fall of slavery and the emancipation of the colored race the heroic epoch of Douglass's career may be said to have closed. The text upon which he so long had preached had been expunged from the national bible; and he had been a one-text preacher, a one-theme orator. He felt the natural reaction which comes with relief from high mental or physical tension, and wondered, somewhat sadly, what he should do with himself, and how he should earn a living. The same considerations, in varying measure, applied to others of the anti-slavery reformers. Some, unable to escape the reforming habit, turned their attention to different social evils, real or imaginary. Others, sufficiently supplied with this worlds goods for their moderate wants, withdrew from public life. Douglass was thinking of buying a farm and retiring to rural solitudes, when a new career opened up for him in the lyceum lecture field. The North was favorably disposed toward colored men. They had acquitted themselves well during the war, and had shown becoming gratitude to their deliverers. The once despised abolitionists were now popular heroes. Douglass's checkered past seemed all the more romantic in the light of the brighter present, like a novel with a pleasant ending; and those who had hung thrillingly upon his words when he denounced slavery now listened with interest to what he had to say upon other topics. He spoke sometimes on Woman Suffrage, of which he was always a consistent advocate. His most popular lecture was one on "Self-made Men." Another on "Ethnology," in which he sought a scientific basis for his claim for the negro's equality with the white man, was not so popular--with white people. The wave of enthusiasm which had swept the enfranchised slaves into what seemed at that time the safe harbor of constitutional right was not, after all, based on abstract doctrines of equality of intellect, but on an inspiring sense of justice (long dormant under the influence of slavery, but thoroughly awakened under the moral stress of the war), which conceded to every man the right of a voice in his own government and the right to an equal opportunity in life to develop such powers as he possessed, however great or small these might be. But Douglass's work in direct behalf of his race was not yet entirely done. In fact, he realized very distinctly the vast amount of work that would be necessary to lift his people up to the level of their enlarged opportunities; and, as may be gathered from some of his published utterances, he foresaw that the process would be a long one, and that their friends might weary sometimes of waiting, and that there would be reactions toward slavery which would rob emancipation of much of its value. It was the very imminence of such backward steps, in the shape of various restrictive and oppressive laws promptly enacted by the old slave States under President Johnson's administration, that led Douglass to urge the enfranchisement of the freedmen. He maintained that in a free country there could be no safe or logical middle ground between the status of freeman and that of serf. There has been much criticism because the negro, it is said, acquired the ballot prematurely. There seemed imperative reasons, besides that of political expediency, for putting the ballot in his hands. Recent events have demonstrated that this necessity is as great now as then. The assumption that negroes--under which generalization are included all men of color, regardless of that sympathy to which kinship at least should entitle many of them--are unfit to have a voice in government is met by the words of Lincoln, which have all the weight of a political axiom: "No man can be safely trusted to govern other men without their consent." The contention that a class who constitute half the population of a State shall be entirely unrepresented in its councils, because, forsooth, their will there expressed may affect the government of another class of the same general population, is as repugnant to justice and human rights as was the institution of slavery itself. Such a condition of affairs has not the melodramatic and soul-stirring incidents of chattel slavery, but its effects can be as far-reaching and as debasing. There has been some manifestation of its possible consequences in the recent outbreaks of lynching and other race oppression in the South. The practical disfranchisement of the colored people in several States, and the apparent acquiescence by the Supreme Court in the attempted annulment, by restrictive and oppressive laws, of the war amendments to the Constitution, have brought a foretaste of what might be expected should the spirit of the Dred Scott decision become again the paramount law of the land. On February 7, 1866, Douglass acted as chief spokesman of a committee of leading colored men of the country, who called upon President Johnson to urge the importance of enfranchisement. Mr. Johnson, true to his Southern instincts, was coldly hostile to the proposition, recounted all the arguments against it, and refused the committee an opportunity to reply. The matter was not left with Mr. Johnson, however; and the committee turned its attention to the leading Republican statesmen, in whom they found more impressionable material. Under the leadership of Senators Sumner, Wilson, Wade, and others, the matter was fully argued in Congress, the Democratic party being in opposition, as always in national politics, to any measure enlarging the rights or liberties of the colored race. In September, 1866, Douglass was elected a delegate from Rochester to the National Loyalists' Convention at Philadelphia, called to consider the momentous questions of government growing out of the war. While he had often attended anti-slavery conventions as the representative of a small class of abolitionists, his election to represent a large city in a national convention was so novel a departure from established usage as to provoke surprise and comment all over the country. On the way to Philadelphia he was waited upon by a committee of other delegates, who came to his seat on the train and urged upon him the impropriety of his taking a seat as a delegate. Douglass listened patiently, but declined to be moved by their arguments. He replied that he had been duly elected a delegate from Rochester, and he would represent that city in the convention. A procession of the members and friends of the convention was to take place on its opening day. Douglass was solemnly warned that, if he walked in the procession, he would probably be mobbed. But he had been mobbed before, more than once, and had lived through it; and he promptly presented himself at the place of assembly. His reception by his fellow-delegates was not cordial, and he seemed condemned to march alone in the procession, when Theodore Tilton, at that time editor of the _Independent_, paired off with him, and marched by his side through the streets of the Quaker City. The result was gratifying alike to Douglass and the friends of liberty and progress. He was cheered enthusiastically all along the line of march, and became as popular in the convention as he had hitherto been neglected. A romantic incident of this march was a pleasant meeting, on the street, with a daughter of Mrs. Lucretia Auld, the mistress who had treated him kindly during his childhood on the Lloyd plantation. The Aulds had always taken an interest in Douglass's career,--he had, indeed, given the family a wide though not altogether enviable reputation in his books and lectures,--and this good lady had followed the procession for miles, that she might have the opportunity to speak to her grandfather's former slave and see him walk in the procession. In the convention "the ever-ready and imperial Douglass," as Colonel Higginson describes him, spoke in behalf of his race. The convention, however, divided upon the question of negro suffrage, and adjourned without decisive action. But under President Grant's administration the Fourteenth Amendment was passed, and by the solemn sanction of the Constitution the ballot was conferred upon the black men upon the same terms as those upon which it was enjoyed by the whites. XI. It is perhaps fitting, before we take leave of Douglass, to give some estimate of the remarkable oratory which gave him his hold upon the past generation. For, while his labors as editor and in other directions were of great value to the cause of freedom, it is upon his genius as an orator that his fame must ultimately rest. While Douglass's color put him in a class by himself among great orators, and although his slave past threw around him an element of romance that added charm to his eloquence, these were mere incidental elements of distinction. The North was full of fugitive slaves, and more than one had passionately proclaimed his wrongs. There were several colored orators who stood high in the councils of the abolitionists and did good service for the cause of humanity. Douglass possessed, in large measure, the physical equipment most impressive in an orator. He was a man of magnificent figure, tall, strong, his head crowned with a mass of hair which made a striking element of his appearance. He had deep-set and flashing eyes, a firm, well-moulded chin, a countenance somewhat severe in repose, but capable of a wide range of expression. His voice was rich and melodious, and of great carrying power. One writer, who knew him in the early days of his connection with the abolitionists, says of him, in Johnson's _Sketches of Lynn_: "He was not then the polished orator he has since become, but even at that early date he gave promise of the grand part he was to play in the conflict which was to end in the destruction of the system that had so long cursed his race.... He was more than six feet in height; and his majestic form, as he rose to speak, straight as an arrow, muscular yet lithe and graceful, his flashing eye, and more than all his voice, that rivalled Webster's in its richness and in the depth and sonorousness of its cadences, made up such an ideal of an orator as the listeners never forgot. And they never forgot his burning words, his pathos, nor the rich play of his humor." The poet William Howitt said of him on his departure from England in 1847, "He has appeared in this country before the most accomplished audiences, who were surprised, not only at his talent, but at his extraordinary information." In Ireland he was introduced as "the black O'Connell,"--a high compliment; for O'Connell was at that time the idol of the Irish people. In Scotland they called him the "black Douglass [Douglas]," after his prototype in _The Lady of the Lake_, because of his fìre and vigor. In Rochester he was called the "swarthy Ajax," from his indignant denunciation and defiance of the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850, which came like a flash of lightning to blast the hopes of the anti-slavery people. Douglass possessed in unusual degree the faculty of swaying his audience, sometimes against their maturer judgment. There is something in the argument from first principles which, if presented with force and eloquence, never fails to appeal to those who are not blinded by self-interest or deep-seated prejudice. Douglass's argument was that of the Declaration of Independence,--"that _all_ men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. That, to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the _consent of the governed_." The writer may be pardoned for this quotation; for there are times when we seem to forget that now and here, no less than in ancient Rome, "eternal vigilance is the price of liberty." Douglass brushed aside all sophistries about Constitutional guarantees, and vested rights, and inferior races, and, having postulated the right of men to be free, maintained that negroes were men, and offered himself as a proof of his assertion,--an argument that few had the temerity to deny. If it were answered that he was only half a negro, he would reply that slavery made no such distinction, and as a still more irrefutable argument would point to his friend, Samuel R. Ward, who often accompanied him on the platform,--an eloquent and effective orator, of whom Wendell Phillips said that "he was so black that, if he would shut his eyes, one could not see him." It was difficult for an auditor to avoid assent to such arguments, presented with all the force and fire of genius, relieved by a ready wit, a contagious humor, and a tear-compelling power rarely excelled. "As a speaker," says one of his contemporaries, "he has few equals. It is not declamation, but oratory, power of description. He watches the tide of discussion, and dashes into it at once with all the tact of the forum or the bar. He has art, argument, sarcasm, pathos,--all that first-rate men show in their master efforts." His readiness was admirably illustrated in the running debate with Captain Rynders, a ward politician and gambler of New York, who led a gang of roughs with the intention of breaking up the meeting of the American Anti-slavery Society in New York City, May 7, 1850. The newspapers had announced the proposed meeting in language calculated to excite riot. Rynders packed the meeting with rowdies, and himself occupied a seat on the platform. Some remark by Mr. Garrison, the first speaker, provoked a demonstration of hostility. When this was finally quelled by a promise to permit one of the Rynders party to reply, Mr. Garrison finished his speech. He was followed by a prosy individual, who branded the negro as brother to the monkey. Douglass, perceiving that the speaker was wearying even his own friends, intervened at an opportune moment, captured the audience by a timely display of wit, and then improved the occasion by a long and effective speech. When Douglass offered himself as a refutation of the last speaker's argument, Rynders replied that Douglass was half white. Douglass thereupon greeted Rynders as his half-brother, and made this expression the catchword of his speech. When Rynders interrupted from time to time, he was silenced with a laugh. He appears to have been a somewhat philosophic scoundrel, with an appreciation of humor that permitted the meeting to proceed to an orderly close. Douglass's speech was the feature of the evening. "That gifted man," said Garrison, in whose _Life and Times_ a graphic description of this famous meeting is given, "effectually put to shame his assailants by his wit and eloquence." A speech delivered by Douglass at Concord, New Hampshire, is thus described by another writer: "He gradually let out the outraged humanity that was laboring in him, in indignant and terrible speech.... There was great oratory in his speech, but more of dignity and earnestness than what we call eloquence. He was an insurgent slave, taking hold on the rights of speech, and charging on his tyrants the bondage of his race." In Holland's biography of Douglass extracts are given from letters of distinguished contemporaries who knew the orator. Colonel T.W. Higginson writes thus: "I have hardly heard his equal, in grasp upon an audience, in dramatic presentation, in striking at the pith of an ethical question, and in single [signal] illustrations and examples." Another writes, in reference to the impromptu speech delivered at the meeting at Rochester on the death of Lincoln: "I have heard Webster and Clay in their best moments, Channing and Beecher in their highest inspirations. I never heard truer eloquence. I never saw profounder impression." The published speeches of Douglass, of which examples may be found scattered throughout his various autobiographies, reveal something of the powers thus characterized, though, like other printed speeches, they lose by being put in type. But one can easily imagine their effect upon a sympathetic or receptive audience, when delivered with flashing eye and deep-toned resonant voice by a man whose complexion and past history gave him the highest right to describe and denounce the iniquities of slavery and contend for the rights of a race. In later years, when brighter days had dawned for his people, and age had dimmed the recollection of his sufferings and tempered his animosities, he became more charitable to his old enemies; but in the vigor of his manhood, with the memory of his wrongs and those of his race fresh upon him, he possessed that indispensable quality of the true reformer: he went straight to the root of the evil, and made no admissions and no compromises. Slavery for him was conceived in greed, born in sin, cradled in shame, and worthy of utter and relentless condemnation. He had the quality of directness and simplicity. When Collins would have turned the abolition influence to the support of a communistic scheme, Douglass opposed it vehemently. Slavery was the evil they were fighting, and their cause would be rendered still more unpopular if they ran after strange gods. When Garrison pleaded for the rights of man, when Phillips with golden eloquence preached the doctrine of humanity and progress, men approved and applauded. When Parker painted the moral baseness of the times, men acquiesced shamefacedly. When Channing preached the gospel of love, they wished the dream might become a reality. But, when Douglass told the story of his wrongs and those of his brethren in bondage, they felt that here indeed was slavery embodied, here was an argument for freedom that could not be gainsaid, that the race that could produce in slavery such a man as Frederick Douglass must surely be worthy of freedom. What Douglass's platform utterances in later years lacked of the vehemence and fire of his earlier speeches, they made up in wisdom and mature judgment. There is a note of exultation in his speeches just after the war. Jehovah had triumphed, his people were free. He had seen the Red Sea of blood open and let them pass, and engulf the enemy who pursued them. Among the most noteworthy of Douglass's later addresses were the oration at the unveiling of the Freedmen's Monument to Abraham Lincoln in Washington in 1876, which may be found in his _Life and Times_; the address on Decoration Day, New York, 1878; his eulogy on Wendell Phillips, printed in Austin's _Life and Times of Wendell Phillips_; and the speech on the death of Garrison, June, 1879. He lectured in the Parker Fraternity Course in Boston, delivered numerous addresses to gatherings of colored men, spoke at public dinners and woman suffrage meetings, and retained his hold upon the interest of the public down to the very day of his death. XII. With the full enfranchisement of his people, Douglass entered upon what may be called the third epoch of his career, that of fruition. Not every worthy life receives its reward in this world; but Douglass, having fought the good fight, was now singled out, by virtue of his prominence, for various honors and emoluments at the hands of the public. He was urged by many friends to take up his residence in some Southern district and run for Congress; but from modesty or some doubt of his fitness--which one would think he need not have felt--and the consideration that his people needed an advocate at the North to keep alive there the friendship and zeal for liberty that had accomplished so much for his race, he did not adopt the suggestion. In 1860 [1870] Douglass moved to Washington, and began [took over] the publication of the _New National Era_, a weekly paper devoted to the interests of the colored race. The venture did not receive the support hoped for; and the paper was turned over to Douglass's two [oldest] sons, Lewis and Frederick, and was finally abandoned [in 1874], Douglass having sunk about ten thousand dollars in the enterprise. Later newspapers for circulation among the colored people have proved more successful; and it ought to be a matter of interest that the race which thirty years ago could not support one publication, edited by its most prominent man, now maintains several hundred newspapers which make their appearance regularly. In 1871 Douglass was elected president of the Freedmans Bank. This ill-starred venture was then apparently in the full tide of prosperity, and promised to be a great lever in the uplifting of the submerged race. Douglass, soon after his election as president, discovered the insolvency of the institution, and insisted that it be closed up. The negro was in the hands of his friends, and was destined to suffer for their mistakes as well as his own. Other honors that fell to Douglass were less empty than the presidency of a bankrupt bank. In 1870 he was appointed by President Grant a member of the Santo Domingo Commission, the object of which was to arrange terms for the annexation of the mulatto republic to the Union. Some of the best friends of the colored race, among them Senator Sumner, opposed this step; but Douglass maintained that to receive Santo Domingo as a State would add to its strength and importance. The scheme ultimately fell through, whether for the good or ill of Santo Domingo can best be judged when the results of more recent annexation schemes [1898: Puerto Rico, Guam, the Philippines, Hawaii, and _de facto_ Cuba] become apparent. Douglass went to Santo Domingo on an American man-of-war, in the company of three other commissioners. In his _Life and Times_ he draws a pleasing contrast between some of his earlier experiences in travelling, and the terms of cordial intimacy upon which, as the representative of a nation which a few years before had denied him a passport, he was now received in the company of able and distinguished gentlemen. On his return to the United States Douglass received from President Grant an appointment as member of the legislative council, or upper house of the legislature, of the District of Columbia, where he served for a short time, until other engagements demanded his resignation, [one of] his son[s] being appointed to fill out his term. To this appointment Douglass owed the title of "Honorable," subsequently applied to him. In 1872 Douglass presided over and addressed a convention of colored men at New Orleans, and urged them to support President Grant for renomination. He was elected a presidential elector for New York, and on the meeting of the electoral college in Albany, after Grant's triumphant re-election, received a further mark of confidence and esteem in the appointment at the hands of his fellow-electors to carry the sealed vote to Washington. Douglass sought no personal reward for his services in this campaign, but to his influence was due the appointment of several of his friends to higher positions than had ever theretofore been held in this country by colored men. When R. B. Hayes was nominated for President, Douglass again took the stump, and received as a reward the honorable and lucrative office of Marshal of the United States for the District of Columbia. This appointment was not agreeable to the white people of the District, whose sympathies were largely pro-slavery; and an effort was made to have its confirmation defeated in the Senate. The appointment was confirmed, however; and Douglass served his term of four years, in spite of numerous efforts to bring about his removal. In 1879 the hard conditions under which the negroes in the South were compelled to live led to a movement to promote an exodus of the colored people to the North and West, in the search for better opportunities. The white people of the South, alarmed at the prospect of losing their labor, were glad to welcome Douglass when he went among them to oppose this movement, which he at that time considered detrimental to the true interests of the colored population. Under the Garfield administration Douglass was appointed in May, 1881, recorder of deeds for the District of Columbia. He held this very lucrative office through the terms of Presidents Garfìeld and Arthur and until removed by President Cleveland in 1886, having served nearly a year after Cleveland's inauguration. In 1889 he was appointed by President Harrison as minister resident and consul-general to the Republic of Hayti, in which capacity he acted until 1891, when he resigned and returned permanently to Washington. The writer has heard him speak with enthusiasm of the substantial progress made by the Haytians in the arts of government and civilization, and with indignation of what he considered slanders against the island, due to ignorance or prejudice. When it was suggested to Douglass that the Haytians were given to revolution as a mode of expressing disapproval of their rulers, he replied that a four years' rebellion had been fought and two Presidents assassinated in the United States during a comparatively peaceful political period in Hayti. His last official connection with the Black Republic was at the World's Columbian Exposition at Chicago in 1893, where he acted as agent in charge of the Haytian Building and the very creditable exhibit therein contained. His stately figure, which age had not bowed, his strong dark face, and his head of thick white hair made him one of the conspicuous features of the Exposition; and many a visitor took advantage of the occasion to recall old acquaintance made in the stirring anti-slavery days. In 1878 he revisited the Lloyd plantation in Maryland, where he had spent part of his youth, and an affecting meeting took place between him and Thomas Auld, whom he had once called master. Once in former years he had been sought out by the good lady who in his childhood had taught him to read. Nowhere more than in his own accounts of these meetings does the essentially affectionate and forgiving character of Douglass and his race become apparent, and one cannot refrain from thinking that a different state of affairs might prevail in the Southern States if other methods than those at present in vogue were used to regulate the relations between the two races and their various admixtures that make up the Southern population. In June, 1879, a bronze bust of Douglass was erected in Sibley Hall of Rochester University as a tribute to one who had shed lustre on the city. In 1882 occurred the death of Douglass's first wife, whom he had married in New York immediately after his escape from slavery, and who had been his faithful companion through so many years of stress and struggle. In the same year his _Life and Times_ was published. In 1884 he married Miss Helen Pitts, a white woman of culture and refinement. There was some criticism of this step by white people who did not approve of the admixture of the races, and by colored persons who thought their leader had slighted his own people when he overlooked the many worthy and accomplished women among them. But Douglass, to the extent that he noticed these strictures at all, declared that he had devoted his life to breaking down the color line, and that he did not know any more effectual way to accomplish it; that he was white by half his blood, and, as he had given most of his life to his mothers race, he claimed the right to dispose of the remnant as he saw fit. The latter years of his life were spent at his beautiful home known as Cedar Hill, on Anacostia Heights, near Washington, amid all "that which should accompany old age, As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends." He possessed strong and attractive social qualities, and his home formed a Mecca for the advanced and aspiring of his race. He was a skilful violinist, and derived great pleasure from the valuable instrument he possessed. A wholesome atmosphere always surrounded him. He had never used tobacco or strong liquors, and was clean of speech and pure in life. He died at his home in Washington, February 20, 1895. He had been perfectly well during the day, and was supposed to be in excellent health. He had attended both the forenoon and afternoon sessions of the Women's National Council, then in session at Washington, and had been a conspicuous figure in the audience. On his return home, while speaking to his wife in the hallway of his house, he suddenly fell, and before assistance could be given he had passed away. His death brought forth many expressions from the press of the land, reflecting the high esteem in which he had been held by the public for a generation. In various cities meetings were held, at which resolutions of sorrow and appreciation were passed, and delegations appointed to attend his funeral. In the United States Senate a resolution was offered reciting that in the person of the late Frederick Douglass death had borne away a most illustrious citizen, and permitting the body to lie in state in the rotunda of the Capitol on Sunday. The immediate consideration of the resolution was asked for. Mr. Gorman, of Maryland, the State which Douglass honored by his birth, objected; and the resolution went over. Douglass's funeral took place on February 25, 1895, at the Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church in Washington, and was the occasion of a greater outpouring of colored people than had taken place in Washington since the unveiling of the Lincoln emancipation statue in 1878. The body was taken from Cedar Hill to the church at half-past nine in the morning; and from that hour until noon thousands of persons, including many white people, passed in double file through the building and viewed the body, which was in charge of a guard of honor composed of members of a colored camp of the Sons of Veterans. The church was crowded when the services began, and several thousands could not obtain admittance. Delegations, one of them a hundred strong, were present from a dozen cities. Among the numerous floral tributes was a magnificent shield of roses, orchids, and palms, sent by the Haytian government through its minister. Another tribute was from the son of his old master. Among the friends of the deceased present were Senators Sherman and Hoar, Justice Harlan of the Supreme Court, Miss Susan B. Anthony, and Miss May Wright Sewall, president of the Women's National Council. The temporary pall-bearers were ex-Senator B. K. Bruce and other prominent colored men of Washington. The sermon was preached by Rev. J. G. Jenifer. John E. Hutchinson, the last of the famous Hutchinson family of abolition singers, who with his sister accompanied Douglass on his first voyage to England, sang two requiem solos, and told some touching stories of their old-time friendship. The remains were removed to Douglass's former home in Rochester, where he was buried with unusual public honors. In November, 1894, a movement was begun in Rochester, under the leadership of J. W. Thompson, with a view to erect a monument in memory of the colored soldiers and sailors who had fallen during the Civil War. This project had the hearty support and assistance of Douglass; and upon his death the plan was changed, and a monument to Douglass himself decided upon. A contribution of one thousand dollars from the Haytian government and an appropriation of three thousand dollars from the State of New York assured the success of the plan. September 15, 1898, was the date set for the unveiling of the monument; but, owing to delay in the delivery of the statue, only a part of the contemplated exercises took place. The monument, complete with the exception of the statue which was to surmount it, was formally turned over to the city, the presentation speech being made by Charles P. Lee of Rochester. A solo and chorus composed for the occasion were sung, an original poem read by T. Thomas Fortune, and addresses delivered by John C. Dancy and John H. Smyth. Joseph H. Douglass, a talented grandson of the orator, played a violin solo, and Miss Susan B. Anthony recalled some reminiscences of Douglass in the early anti-slavery days. In June, 1899, the bronze statue of Douglass, by Sidney W. Edwards, was installed with impressive ceremonies. The movement thus to perpetuate the memory of Douglass had taken rise among a little band of men of his own race, but the whole people of Rochester claimed the right to participate in doing honor to their distinguished fellow-citizen. The city assumed a holiday aspect. A parade of military and civic societies was held, and an appropriate programme rendered at the unveiling of the monument. Governor Roosevelt of New York delivered an address; and the occasion took a memorable place in the annals of Rochester, of which city Douglass had said, "I shall always feel more at home there than anywhere else in this country." In March, 1895, a few weeks after the death of Douglass, Theodore Tilton, his personal friend for many years, published in Paris, of which city he was then a resident, a volume of _Sonnets to the Memory of Frederick Douglass_, from which the following lines are quoted as the estimate of a contemporary and a fitting epilogue to this brief sketch of so long and full a life: "I knew the noblest giants of my day, And _he_ was _of_ them--strong amid the strong: But gentle too: for though he suffered wrong, Yet the wrong-doer never heard him say, 'Thee also do I hate.' ... A lover's lay-- No dirge--no doleful requiem song-- Is what I owe him; for I loved him long; As dearly as a younger brother may. Proud is the happy grief with which I sing; For, O my Country! in the paths of men There never walked a grander man than he! He was a peer of princes--yea, a king! Crowned in the shambles and the prison-pen! The noblest Slave that ever God set free!" Bibliography The only original sources of information concerning the early life of Frederick Douglass are the three autobiographies published by him at various times; and the present writer, like all others who have written of Mr. Douglass, has had to depend upon this personal record for the incidents of Mr. Douglass's life in slavery. As to the second period of his life, his public career as anti-slavery orator and agitator, the sources of information are more numerous and varied. The biographies of noted abolitionists whose lives ran from time to time in parallel lines with his make very full reference to Douglass's services in their common cause, the one giving the greatest detail being the very complete and admirable _Life and Times of William Lloyd Garrison_, by his sons, which is in effect an exhaustive history of the Garrisonian movement for abolition. The files of the _Liberator_, Mr. Garrison's paper, which can be found in a number of the principal public libraries of the country, constitute a vast storehouse of information concerning the labors of the American Anti-slavery Society, with which Douglass was identified from 1843 to 1847, the latter being the year in which he gave up his employment as agent of the society and established his paper at Rochester. Many letters from Mr. Douglass's pen appeared in the _Liberator_ during this period. Mr. Douglass's own memories are embraced in three separate volumes, published at wide intervals, each succeeding volume being a revision of the preceding work, with various additions and omissions. I. _Narrative of Frederick Douglass_. Writen by himself. (Boston, 1845: The American Anti-slavery Society.) Numerous editions of this book were printed, and translations published in Germany and in France. II. _My Bondage and My Freedom_. (New York and Auburn, 1855: Miller, Orton & Mulligan.) This second of Mr. Douglass's autobiographies has a well-written and appreciative introduction by James M'Cune Smith and an appendix containing extracts from Mr. Douglass's speeches on slavery. III. _Recollections of the Anti-slavery Conflict_. By Samuel J. May. (Boston, 1869: Fields, Osgood & Co.) Collected papers by a veteran abolitionist; contains an appreciative sketch of Douglass. IV. _History of the Rise and Fall of the Slave Power in America_. By Henry Wilson. 3 vols. (Boston, 1872: James R. Osgood & Co.) The author presents an admirable summary of the life and mission of Mr. Douglass. V. _William Lloyd Garrison and His Times_. By Oliver Johnson. (Boston, 1881: Houghton, Mifflin & Co.) One of the best works on the anti-slavery agitation, by one of its most able, active and courageous promoters. VI. _Century Magazine_, November, 1881, "My Escape from Slavery." By Frederick Douglass. VII. _Life and Times of Frederick Douglass_. Written by himself. (Hartford, 1882: Park Publishing Company.) VIII. _History of the Negro Race in America_. By George W. Williams. 2 vols. (New York, 1883: G. P. Putnam's Sons.) This exhaustive and scholarly work contains an estimate of Douglass's career by an Afro-American author. IX. _The Life and Times of Wendell Phillips_. By George Lowell Austin. (Boston, 1888: Lee & Shepard.) Contains a eulogy on Wendell Phillips by Mr. Douglass. X. _Life and Times of William Lloyd Garrison_. By his children. 4 vols. (New York, 1889: The Century Company. London: T. Fisher Unwin.) Here are many details of the public services of Mr. Douglass,--his relations to the Garrisonian abolitionists, his political views, his oratory, etc. XI. _The Cosmopolitan_, August, 1889. "Reminiscences." By Frederick Douglass. In "The Great Agitation Series." XII. _Frederick Douglass, the Colored Orator_. By Frederick May Holland. (New York, 1891: Funk & Wagnalls.) This volume is one of the series of "American Reformers," and with the exception of his own books is the only comprehensive life of Douglass so far published. It contains selections from many of his best speeches and a full list of his numerous publications. XIII. _Our Day_, August, 1894. "Frederick Douglass as Orator and Reformer." By W. L. Garrison [(1838-1909), the first son and namesake of the Abolitionist leader (1805-1879)]. XIV. _The Underground Railroad_. By William H. Siebert. With an introduction by Albert Bushnell Hart. (New York, 1898: The Macmillan Company.) Contains many references to Mr. Douglass's services in aiding the escape of fugitive slaves. 
2050	----	OLD JOHN BROWN THE MAN WHOSE SOUL IS MARCHING ON by WALTER HAWKINS PREFACE This book is for busy people who have not the time to read at large upon the subject. Those who would adequately master all the bearings of the story here briefly told must read American history, for which facilities are rapidly increasing. As to John Brown himself, his friend F. B. Sanborn's LIFE AND LETTERS is a mine of wealth. To its pages the present writer is greatly indebted, and he commends them to others. W. H. Kilburn, May 1913. CONTENTS I. WHY WE WRITE OUR STORY II. CHILDWOOD AND THE VOW III. THE LONG WAITING-TIME IV. HOW THE CALL CAME V. BIBLE AND SWORD VI. THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY VII. HARPER'S FERRY VIII. THE HALT OF THE BODY AND THE MARCH OF THE SOUL CHAPTER I WHY WE WRITE OUR STORY There are few who have not a dim notion of John Brown as a name bound up with the stirring events of the United States in the period which preceded the Civil War and the emancipation of the slave. Many English readers, however, do not get beyond the limits of the famous couplet, John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave, But his soul is marching on. That statement is authentic in both its clauses, but it is interesting to learn what he did with the body before it commenced a dissolution which seems to have been regarded as worth recording. Carlyle says in his grimly humorous way of the gruesome elevation of the head of one of his patriotic heroes on Temple Bar, 'It didn't matter: he had quite done with it.' And we might say the same of the body which was hanged at Charlestown in 1859. In his devoutly fatalistic way John Brown had presented his body a living sacrifice to the cause of human freedom, and had at last slowly reached the settled opinion that it was worth more to the cause dead than alive. Such a soul, so masterful in its treatment of the body, was likely to march on without it. And it did in the years that followed, This Abolitionist raider, with a rashness often sublime in its devotion, precipitated the national crisis which issued in the Civil War and Emancipation. There are lives of brave men which set us thinking for the most part of human power and skill: we watch bold initiators of some wise policy carrying their enterprise through with indomitable courage and in-exhaustible patience, and we are lost in admiration of the hero. But there are other brave lives which leave us thinking more of unseen forces which impelled them than of their own splendid qualities. They never seem masters of destiny, but its intrepid servants. They shape events while they hardly know how or why; they seem to be rather driven by fate than to be seeking fame or power. They go out like Abraham, 'not knowing whither they go,' only that, like him, they have heard a call. Sometimes they sorely tax the loyalty of their admirers with their eccentricities and their defiance of the conventions of their age. Wisdom is only justified of these, her strange children, in the next generation. Prominent among such lives is that of John Brown. The conscience of the Northern States on the question of slavery needed but some strong irritant to arouse it to vigorous action, and, the hanging of John Brown sufficed. The institution of slavery became both ridiculous and hateful to multitudes because so good a man must be done to death to preserve it. The verdict of Victor Hugo, 'What the South slew last December was not John Brown, but slavery,' found an echo in many minds. And when the long, fierce conflict, through which Emancipation came, was begun, the quaint lines, John Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave, But his soul is marching on, became one of the mightiest of the battle-songs which urged the Federal hosts to victory. His name kindled the flame of that passion for freedom which made the cause of the North triumphant, and there was awe mingled with the love they bore his memory. Perhaps no man had been oftener called with plausible reason a fool; but those who knew the single-hearted devotion to a great cause of this ready victim of the gallows came reverently to think of him as 'God's fool.' When they sang 'John Brown died that the slave might be free' they were singing more than a record of John Brown's generous motive; it was a record of one of God's strange counsels. 'For God chose the foolish things of the world that He might put to shame the things that are strong, and the base things of the world, and the things that are despised, did God choose, yea, and the things that are not, that He might bring to nought the things that are, that no flesh should glory before God.' Verily, then, it might seem worth while to set the story of John Brown in such a plain, brief form as to make it available for busy folk who have no time to read longer accounts of him. If it sets some thinking of the ways of God rather than admiring John Brown, that will be just what he would have ardently wished who desired always that God should be magnified in his body, whether in the fighting which he never loved and never shirked, or the hanging which he often foresaw and never feared. CHAPTER II CHILDHOOD AND THE VOW The birth of John Brown is recorded in the following laconic style by his father in a little autobiography he wrote for his children in the closing days of his life. 'In 1800, May 8, John was born one hundred years after his great-grandfather; nothing else very uncommon.' In the year mentioned the family were living at Torrington, Connecticut, whence they shortly removed to Ohio, then the haunt of the Red Indian. They were of the pioneer farming class, which has supplied so many of the shapers of American history. The one great honour in their pedigree was that they descended from a man of the MAYFLOWER--Peter Brown, a working carpenter who belonged to that famous ship's company. We might say, indeed, that the story of John Brown flows from the events of 1620, the year of the MAYFLOWER. Two landings on the American coast that year were destined to be memorable. In August a Dutch vessel disembarked the first cargo of imported slaves--twenty of them; and that day Slavery struck deep root in the new land. And in November of that same year the MAYFLOWER, with her very different cargo of brave freemen, dropped anchor in Cape Cod Bay. The stream of ill results from that first landing and the stream of Puritan blood, generous in its passion for liberty, that flowed unimpoverished from Peter Brown through generations of sturdy ancestors--these are the streams destined to meet turbulently and to supply us with our story. Owen Brown, the father of John, thus testifies to his own fidelity to the tradition of liberty. 'I am an Abolitionist. I know we are not loved by many. I wish to tell how I became one. Our neighbour lent my mother a slave for a few days. I used to go out into the field with him, and he used to carry me on his back, and I fell in love with him.' There we have the clue to the history of the household of the Browns for the next two generations. They FELL IN LOVE With the despised negro, and this glorious trait passed like an heritage from generation to generation. There is a letter extant which supplies us with the best information on John Brown's own boyhood. It was written for a lad in a wealthy home where he stayed in later days, who had asked him many questions about his experiences in early life. He humorously calls it a 'short story of a certain boy of my acquaintance I will call John.' A few extracts will reveal his character in the forming. Here, for instance, you may trace the conscientiousness (often morbid) which was so marked a feature in his later days. 'I cannot tell you of anything in the first four years of John's life worth mentioning save that at that early age he was tempted by three large brass pins belonging to a girl who lived in the family, and stole them. In this he was detected by his mother; and after having a full day to think of the wrong, received from her a thorough whipping.' He adds, 'I must not neglect to tell you of a very foolish and bad habit to which John was somewhat addicted. I mean, telling lies, generally to screen himself from blame or from punishment. He could not well endure to be reproached, and now I think had he been oftener encouraged to be entirely frank, by MAKING FRANKNESS A KIND OF ATONEMENT for some of his faults, he would not have had to struggle so long with this mean habit.' A story is told of John's schooldays which is an amusing and quite characteristic instance of his ethical eccentricities. For a short time he and his younger brother Salmon were at a school together, and Salmon was guilty of some offence which was condoned by the master. John had serious concern for the effect this might have upon his brother's morals, and he sought the lenient teacher and informed him that the fault was much deprecated by their father at home, and he was sure castigation there would have been inevitable. He therefore desired it should be duly inflicted, as otherwise he should feel compelled to act as his father's proxy. Finding discipline was still lax, he proceeded with paternal solemnity to administer it himself. His brother acknowledged that this was done with reluctant fidelity! Truly the moral instincts of the family were worthy of their Puritan ancestry. Although naturally self-conscious and shy, his precociousness in boyhood, bringing him into association, as it did, with much older folk, bred a somewhat arrogant manner. The rule he exercised over younger members of the family also made him somewhat domineering, a fault which he diligently sought to correct in later life. At fifteen he had become a miniature man of business and was driving cattle on long journeys with all the confidence of mid-age. The letter from which we have already quoted has one or two more passages which may enlighten us as to his rearing. Still writing in the third person, he says, 'John had been taught from earliest childhood to fear God and keep His commandments, and though quite sceptical he had always by turns felt much doubt as to his future well being. He became to some extent a convert to Christianity, and ever after a firm believer in the divine authenticity of the Bible. With this book he became very familiar, and possessed a most unusual memory of its entire contents.' Here are hints as to his early pursuits: 'After getting to Ohio in 1805, he was for some time rather afraid of the Indians and their rifles, but this soon wore off, and he used to hang about them quite as much as was consistent with good manners and learned a trifle of their talk. His father learned to dress deer-skins, and at six years old John was installed a young Buck-skin. He was, perhaps, rather observing, as he ever after remembered the entire process of deer-skin dressing, so that he could at any time dress his own leather, such as squirrel, racoon, cat, wolf, and dog skins, and also learned to make whiplashes, which brought him some change at times, and was of considerable service in many ways. He did not become much of a scholar. He would always choose to stay at home and work hard rather than be sent to school, and during the warm season might generally be seen barefooted and bareheaded, with buck-skin breeches suspended often with one leather strap over his shoulder, but sometimes with two. To be sent off through the wilderness alone to very considerable distances was particularly his delight; in this he was often indulged, so that by the time he was twelve years old he was sent off more than a hundred miles with companies of cattle. He followed up with tenacity whatever he set about so long as it answered his general purpose, and thence he rarely failed in some good degree to effect the things he undertook.' 'From fifteen years and upward he felt a good deal of anxiety to learn, but could only read and study a little, both for want of time and on account of inflammation of the eyes. He managed by the help of books, however, to make himself tolerably well acquainted with common arithmetic and surveying, which he practised more or less after he was twenty years old.' 'John began early in life to discover a great liking to fine cattle, horses, sheep, and swine; and as soon as circumstances would enable him, he began to be a practical shepherd--it being a calling for which, in early life, he had a kind of enthusiastic longing, together with the idea that as a business it bade fair to afford him the means of CARRYING OUT HIS GREATEST OR PRINCIPAL OBJECT.' Here we touch the keynote of this life of manifold outward occupations, but of one consuming desire. That PRINCIPAL OBJECT filled his horizon even in childhood. He loved to tell how, like his father before him, he fell captive to the slave's dumb plea and pledged his whole strength to the chivalrous task of breaking his fetters. It happened on this wise. In those long journeys he was allowed to take, he was the 'business guest' of a slave-owner, who was pleased with his resourcefulness at such an age. He was the object of curious attention, and was treated as 'company' at table. On the estate was a young negro just his own age, and as intelligent as he. Young John struck up an acquaintance with him, and could not fail to contrast the fashion in which he himself was pampered with the way the young darkie was coarsely treated with scant fare and ill-housing. His frequent thrashings seemed to bruise young John's spirit as much as they did his flesh. They were not always administered with the orthodox whip, but with a shovel or anything else that came first to hand. Young John pondered long upon this contrast, and tells us how the iniquity of slavery was borne in upon his young heart, and he was drawn to this little coloured playmate, who had neither father nor mother known to him. The Bible was the final court of appeal in the Brown family, and the verdict of that court was that they two--the slave and the guest--were brothers, so henceforth the instinct of fraternal loyalty drew young John to 'swear eternal war with slavery.' That vow, never recanted or forgotten, became the text of his life. It interprets all his vagaries and reconciles what else were hopeless inconsistencies. It was a devout obsession which made him a wanderer all his days, and in the end carried him to prison and to death. To a child a great call had come, and a child's voice had replied, 'Speak, Lord, Thy servant heareth.' And ears and heart tingled at messages that seemed to come from the Unseen. CHAPTER III THE LONG WAITING-TIME For over thirty years did this man both 'hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord' to come for the slaves of his land. The interval is full of interest for those who care to watch the development of a life-purpose. Only for three, or four years was he destined to figure in the eyes of the world. Those years, as we shall hereafter see, were crowded with events; but for a generation he felt an abiding conviction of impending destiny. There is something fateful about the constant indications of this spirit of readiness. His commercial pursuits were multifarious, but none of them was greatly successful. At Hudson, Ohio, till 1825, and afterwards at Richmond, Pennsylvania, he was tanner, land-surveyor, and part of the time postmaster. He became skilful at his father's business of tanning, but is a typical Yankee in the facility with which he turns his hand to anything. From 1835 to 1839 he was at Franklin, Ohio, where we find him adding to his former occupations the breeding of horses, and also dabbling in land speculation, with the result that he became bankrupt. But when he failed in business he set to work to pay his debts in full. His death found him still striving to achieve that end. He was regarded as whimsical and stubborn, yet through years of struggle, endeavour, and even failure he was known as trusty and honourable. From 1841 to 1846 he lived at Richfield, Ohio, where he took to shepherding and wool-dealing, which he continued in 1849 at Springfield, Massachusetts. He seems to have developed much capacity for wool-testing. When he came to England with a cargo of wool, some English dealers sought to practise a fraudulent joke upon his quick fingers. They stripped a poodle of the best of his fleece and handed it to the oracular Yankee with the inquiry, 'What would you do with that wool?' But there was wisdom in him down to the finger-ends, for he rolled it there, and in a moment handed it back with the confounding retort, 'Gentlemen, if you have any machinery in England for working up dog's hair I would advise you to put this into it.' Had he known how to sell wool as well as he knew how to test it; had he known how to sell his sheep as well as he knew hundreds of sheep faces apart, and like a diviner could interpret their inarticulate language; had he been as apt upon the market as he was upon the farm, he might have made money. As it was, there was never more than enough for the wants of a severely plain household life. But this business record was (and herefrom its frequent misfortune may have largely proceeded) in no wise the history of John Brown. We must catch, if we can, indications of the unfolding of his soul, and of the inward preparation for what he felt was his divine destiny; and these may best be gathered as we watch the simple home life of the family. At an early age, while residing at Hudson, Ohio, he married his first wife, Dianthe Lusk; and though he was but twenty years of age, his was no rash choice. A description by one who had been brought up with her may be fitly quoted: 'Plain but attractive, because of a quiet amiable disposition, sang beautifully, almost always sacred music; she had a place in the wood not far from the house where she used to go alone to pray.' John Brown, servant as he already accounted himself of the Invisible Powers, is drawn to one who thus communes with the Unseen. She will have sympathy with his moral aims and a source of strength when he may be absent from her in pursuit of them. The sketch proceeds, 'She was pleasant but not funny; she never said what she did not mean.' Here, truly, was the wife for a man in dead earnest and who could keep a boyish oath even unto death. For twelve years she proved a good comrade, and of the seven children of this marriage five survived, from whom testimonies concerning the domestic life are forthcoming. The wife who succeeded her (Mary Ann Day) seems to have been no less a help-meet in his enterprises. Thirteen children, many of whom died young, were the off-spring of this second marriage, so that in a hereditary sense the soul of John Brown may be said to have marched on. He infected all his children with his passionate love of liberty. Many are his cares for their spiritual welfare. Some of them sorely tried his patience by their aloofness from the Christian conventions that were dear to him; he yearns over their souls as he fears their experience of the inner working of grace is not as his own, but they swerved not in their allegiance to the cause of the slave. Let us avail ourselves of some of their memories of their remarkable father. How early the house became a city of refuge for the runaway negro we learn from the eldest son, who tells us he can just recollect a timid knock at the door of the log cabin where they lived. A fugitive slave and his wife were there, for they had heard that there were a couple residing in the house who loved the negro and would lend him a rescuing hand. They were speedily made to know they were welcome, and the negress, relieved of her last fear, takes young John in a motherly fashion upon her knee and kisses him. He almost instinctively scampers off to rub the black from his face. Returning, he watches his mother giving them supper. Presently father's extraordinarily quick ear detects the sound of horsehoofs half a mile away; weapons are thrust into the hands of the terrified pair, and they are taken out to the woody swamps behind the house to lie in hiding. Father then returns, only to discover that it is a false alarm, whereupon he sallies forth to bring them into shelter and warmth once more, and tells the assembled family on their arrival how he had difficulty in the dark in recognizing the hiding-place and really discovered them at length by hearing the beating of their frightened hearts. No wonder. Quick as any faculty he had was that of hearing a slave's heart beat. Had it not been for that keen instinct there would have been no tale to tell of John Brown. The daughter says her earliest memory is of her father's great arms about her as he sang to her his favourite hymn: Blow ye the trumpet, blow The gladly solemn sound: Let all the nations know To earth's remotest bound. The year of Jubilee is come, Return, ye ransomed sinners, home. Then, ceasing, he would tell her with heart brimming with tenderness of poor little black children who were slaves. What were slaves? she wanted to know. And he was ready enough to tell her of those who were riven from father and mother and sold for base coin, whom in some States it was illegal to teach their A B C, but quite lawful to flog; and then the daughter would be asked, by way of application to his moving discourse, if she would like some of them to come some time and share her home and food. Thus continually to that rising family there was unfolded the horror of the slavery system. That horror had faded in the minds of many in the Northern States whose ancestry had held freedom dear; while in the Southern States, for the most part, the possession of your fellow creatures as if they were so much farm stock had become too familiar a feature of common life to evoke any conscientious misgiving, much less shame. The enormous additions to the cotton trade had made slave labour increasingly gainful, and the capital invested in this living property was immense. Careful rearing of slaves for the market as well as their purchase brought wealth to many, and fierce was the resentment when any one publicly criticized the institution. There was by no means an absence of humane regard far the wellbeing of the negroes; a kind of patriarchal tenderness towards them was distinctly 'good form.' But there was the deadly fact that they were human goods and chattels, with no civil rights worth mentioning--for laws in their defence were practically worthless, seeing they could not appear as witnesses in the court. Public whipping-houses were provided for the expeditious correction of the refractory, and a mere suspicion of intent to escape was legal justification for the use of the branding-irons upon their flesh. If they did contrive to escape there were dogs bred on purpose to hunt them down. If the slave resisted his master's will he might be slain, and the law would not graze the master's head. Domestic security he had none, for wife might be wrenched from husband or child from mother according to the state of the market. And, strangest of all to our ears, the pulpits of the South extolled slavery as appointed of Heaven, and solemnly quoting the prophecy that Ham should be the servant of his brethren, the pulpiteer would ask who would dare to resist the will of God Most High? Not content to hold their views tenaciously, the slave-holders and their followers dealt out threatenings and slaughter to all who by lip or pen opposed them. The household of Brown pondered all this invasion of the great natural right of freedom, and with one accord pined for the opportunity of checking, or, it might be, ending it. It is on record how they were taught to repeat their father's vow. It was in 1839, when they were living at Franklin, Ohio, that he called them around him, and on bended knee declared the secret mission with which, he believed, High Heaven had charged him--to labour by word or sword, by any means opportunity might offer, for the overthrow of slavery, which he believed to be the very citadel of evil in America. 'Swear, children, swear,' said he; and from that little group in the log house there went up an appeal for a blessing upon their oath--an oath which they could truly protest was likely to bring nought to them but peril, disaster, and, perchance, death, but which they were well assured must bring glory to Eternal God. And so their oath was registered in heaven. For many years it was only in indirect ways they could promote their end. Early they gave themselves to help the tentative endeavours that were often on foot to educate those slaves who did make good their escape, and especially to train them to independent agriculture, so that evidence might be afforded that they could use their liberty to good purpose, and become useful citizens. The Browns were always active in promoting such apprenticeship to freedom. Two scenes reveal the temper of this united house. The first is at Franklin, where in the Congregational Church there are revival services being conducted, in which the Episcopalians and Methodists are uniting with their neighbours under the guidance of a fervent evangelist. The folk are greatly wrought upon, and are looking for an outpouring of divine grace. Among the large assemblies are many coloured folk, some free and some runaway slaves. The darkies are directed by judicious deacons to seats reserved for them near the door, where they will not vex the eyes of the worshipping whites. John Brown has swift argument within him as in his boyish days: 'Has God--their Father and ours--set any line betwixt His children? Is He a respecter of persons? And, if not, can we expect reasonably an outpouring of His grace while in this ungracious manner we are thwarting Him? We shall bar the blessing we seek.' Rising to his feet, he denounces the distinction in God's House, then, turning to his own family, who were accustomed to obey him, and whom he knew agreed with him, he bade them rise and take the seats near the door while the negroes came and took theirs near the front. Nothing loth, both parties did as they were told, to the confusion of the pious community. Next day pastor and deacons waited upon the refractory member--John Brown--to 'labour with him,' as the old church chronicle has it, upon his grave indecorum. But they found themselves belaboured with passages from Old Testament and New, and sundry stout doctrines of the Christian faith, till they retired discomfited, in their hearts delivering him to Satan that he might learn not to blaspheme. But Satan would have none of him, we are sure. Another instance of the same devotion to the cause of freedom belongs to rather later days when they had removed to Springfield, Massachusetts. There they lived with their wonted simplicity, but it had been the fond design of mother and daughter to furnish the parlour in due course. The moment had arrived when the domestic finances seemed to allow of this modest luxury, but already John Brown had designs of another removal to North Elba, New York, where an estate was being occupied by escaped slaves under the patronage of Gerrit Smith, a wealthy Abolitionist. At this juncture he calls his family together and asks for their mind as to whether they should now furnish the parlour with their savings or retain them for the help of these black settlers who require clothes and other equipment as they start their new life of independence. The blood of the Browns flows as one stream, and the ready response of all is 'Save the money, father.' His favourite books were well known by the children--JOSEPHUS, Plutarch's LIVES, NAPOLEON AND HIS MARSHALS, LIFE OF OLIVER CROMWELL, Baxter's SAINTS' REST, Bunyan's PILGRIM'S PROGRESS, and Henry ON MEEKNESS. What a significant medley of peace and war--the wolf and the lamb--Napoleon and Henry on Meekness side by side! But dearest ever was the Book which had been the oracle in his father's house--itself the Book of battles and yet the gospel of peace, the sacred charter of man's liberties and yet the holy statute book for man's government--the Bible. Swift paternal correction was there for any misquotation from that Book; it was a Book not to be lightly paraphrased, but LEARNED AND OBEYED. In his own Bible there are pencillings that reveal at once the secret springs of his strange, and to outward seeming, erratic life. Thus these passages are marked: 'Remember them that are in bonds, as bound with them.' 'Whoso stoppeth his ear at the cry of the poor, he also shall cry and shall not be heard.' 'Whoso mocketh the poor reproacheth his Maker.' 'He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord.' Above all passages, perhaps, was this quoted--Isa. lviii. 6: 'Is not this the fast that I have chosen, to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke? Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house?' If ever man kept that chivalrous fast before the Lord it was John Brown. The last stage in what we may call the long preparation of John Brown for the prominent labours of his life reveals still further how the passionate love of the cause of liberty burned as a fire in the bones of this family. They were attracted by the proposal of Gerrit Smith, to celebrate the passing of West Indian Emancipation with the offer of 100,000 acres of his wild land in the north of New York State for coloured families to settle upon. Eager for the success of the experiment, Brown and his sons were prepared to start pioneering in the new region, so as to be near at hand to encourage and assist the new settlers. Prepared to choose their location as they deemed the exigencies of the great cause demanded, they settled at North Elba in what was then a wilderness in Essex county, and commenced to live a life of sterner simplicity than before, hewing in the forests, and clearing with axe and fire the land which they then proceeded to cultivate, obtaining food and clothes as those must who have neither store nor tailor near. There, with one room beneath that served by day, and two rooms overhead that served by night, they lived, and not discontentedly, for if there was little space or grandeur within there was plenty without; and John Brown, who was no mere conqueror of Nature, but a lover of her beauty, revelled in the glories of that untamed land, with its mountains wooded to their summits, with its frowning gorges and rushing torrents and its richly scented air. Best of all there were black settlers around whom they could help and thus forward their life-work, proving that the race they vowed should be free could appreciate and justify the boon. CHAPTER IV HOW THE CALL CAME Thus, then, did this family live their life of preparation. But eventful days were at hand, and John Brown felt that his real life-work had yet to come. 'I have never,' he said, 'for twenty years made any business arrangement that would prevent me at any time from answering the call of the Lord. I have kept my affairs in such a condition that in two weeks I could wind them up and be ready to obey that call, permitting nothing to stand in the way of duty, neither wife, children, nor worldly goods; whenever the time should come, I was ready.' Now truly it seemed as if 'God's judgements' were to be abroad in the earth, as if He was 'travelling in the greatness of His strength, mighty to save' the oppressed; as if 'the Day of Vengeance' were in His heart, and the 'Year of His redeemed was come'; and, said John Brown's heart, 'He shall find one loyal henchman; I am ready.' John Brown's call seemed to come after this wise. The enrolment of each New State in the Union was the occasion of fierce contention as to whether the territories should be free or whether slavery should be permitted. Each party had sought at such junctures to score an advantage, for the balance was often a very fine one between them. The spirit of compromise had from the earliest days prevailed upon the thorny question. Washington was against slavery. Statesmen like Adams, Franklin, Madison, and Munroe had opposed it; but others had been willing to purchase the preservation of Union by concessions to the South, and toleration had been their consistent policy. The Missouri compromise in 1820 had apparently settled the question as to the new State of Kansas, for all future States north of the latitude 36d 30m were to be free. But at the enrolment of Kansas the slave party circumvented this statute, and ensured local option for the State upon this matter. In 1854 the new State of Kansas proceeded to determine for itself once for all by popular election the grave question whether she was to be a Slave or a Free State. But in these young States, which were being almost daily reinforced by new residents, each at once entitled to vote, the slave party saw a rare opportunity for the manufacture of faggot votes. What was to hinder the inhabitants of Missouri, the neighbouring State--who were slavery men--from going over in a body and voting! Couldn't men migrate and change their minds? Scandalous, you say. It was. But the scandal was actually perpetrated. None other than the acting Vice-President of the United States advised this course, and he found many ready to improve upon his instructions. One official stated: 'To those who have qualms of conscience as to violating laws, State or National, I say the time has come when such impositions must be disregarded, since your rights and property are at stake. And I advise you one and all to enter every election district in Kansas and vote at the point of the bowie-knife and, the revolver.' Thus, a thousand strong, with two cannon in their procession, the armed ruffians went to vote at an election out of their own State. If brave election judges protested--and some did, in spite of cocked pistols at their heads (like true lawyers ready to die for justice' sake)--and required the mob to establish their claims, they were overpowered; the ruffians seized the ballot-boxes, and in the end there were 4,908 votes cast, though there were only 1,410 genuine voters in the State. Such was the deliberate report of a committee years after. The Legislature thus elected met and were suffered to make a Statute Book for the young State. Penalties of imprisonment and death were liberally appointed for all who should dare to resist the institution of slavery. With such legislation to shield their lawlessness, ruffians belonging to the class of 'mean whites' commenced a series of barbarous outrages in the interests of the slave-holders--a series sickening to contemplate. Two instances may be quoted which are typical: A ruffian bets that he will scalp an Abolitionist in true Indian fashion, and rides out in search of his prey. A gentleman known to be opposed to slavery is met in a gig and shot; and, taking his scalp, the drunken fiend rides back, and producing the promised spoil, claims his due. Another leader of the Free-State men is surrounded by these desperate ruffians, and his skull and brain are cloven with a hatchet. In fiendish glee they dance upon the almost breathless man, who vainly pleads, 'Do not abuse me, I am dying.' The only response is a shower of tobacco juice from their filthy lips into his pleading eyes. With his last breath he says, 'It is in a good cause,' and so dies--slaughtered because he dared to say others should share in his right of liberty. True, dying man, the cause is good and will triumph, though thou and many others die first! Such scenes roused the ire of the long-suffering Free-State men of Kansas. Redress there was none, save in their own right arm, for, as Emerson says, 'A plundered man might take his case to the court and find the ring-leader who has robbed him dismounting from his own horse and unbuckling his knife to sit as judge.' They were not without allies. There might be no government aid from Washington, but throughout the North were men who loved the cause of Abolition better than their own ease, and they came in ever-increasing numbers. Amongst them were several of Brown's upgrown sons, followed by their father, ready to settle in this new State, where they might turn the tide of public opinion in favour of Freedom. Thus slowly the ranks of the righteous lovers of liberty were replenished, and they began to form into bands for mutual protection, farming and soldiering by turns as necessity dictated. Some of John Brown's Northern friends, who knew the stuff of which he was made, and saw that if Freedom had no blow struck on her behalf she would be driven by outrage-mongers out of Kansas, equipped him with money and rifles, or, as they had come to be called, 'Beecher Bibles'--a tribute to Henry Ward Beecher's ardent championship of advanced views upon the slavery question. On October 6, 1855, he arrived at Osawatomie, and we find him writing cheery words to his brave second wife and their family whom he had left, telling them to hope in God and comfort one another, humbly trusting they may meet again on God's earth, and if not--for his vow is 'to the death'--that they may meet in God's heaven. Of that second wife--heroine in obscurity, sharer of the oath which ever knit the household in one, mother of thirteen children--we might say much, but her spirit breathes in these words she speaks concerning her solitary days: 'That was the time in my life when all my religion, all my philosophy, and all my faith in God's goodness were put to the test. My husband was away from home, prostrated by sickness; I was helpless from illness; in one week three of my little ones died of dysentery--this but three months before the birth of another child. Three years after this sad time another little one, eighteen months old, was burned to death. Yet even in these trials God upheld me.' Such was the wife who, while John Brown fought for liberty, grudged him not to such a cause, and patiently trained others who should bear his name worthily in days to come. CHAPTER V BIBLE AND SWORD John Brown was now at his work; no longer the mere fingers, but the soul of him had found a task. He set before himself this object, to free Kansas from the slave-holders' grip. The Free-State men had met and agreed to pay no taxes to a Legislature illegally elected. They organized a rival government, and brought themselves into violent antagonism to the Federal Authorities at Washington--for President Pierce and his Cabinet, which included the renowned Jefferson Davis, backed the pro-slavery Legislature and its following of ruffians. The town of Lawrence, which the Free Staters held, was taken and pillaged by a wild mob under the leadership of the United States Marshal, and we find the Browns in a company marching to its relief. There was much skirmishing, during which two of Brown's sons were taken prisoners. Only the constant vigilance and undaunted courage of a few desperately bold men kept heart in the lovers of liberty. But they (often led by John Brown) escaped the government officials who sought to arrest them and sped to the help of those who were marked as the victims of the marauders. So slowly did the Federal Authorities awake to the situation that for a time there seemed little protection to be expected for persecuted lovers of liberty. We must now form some estimate of the two sides in this irregular warfare in which John Brown all through the summer of 1856 was so prominently engaged. On the one hand were those whom the slave-holders relied upon for the most part to do their dirty work--ruffians, many of them from the neighbouring State; men who did not work, but who lived a wild life--not cultivating a tract of land around their rude dwelling-place like honest settlers, but fishing, shooting, and thieving for a living--preferring the atmosphere of a Slave State as more favourable to their life of lawlessness and plunder, and finding inspiration in the whisky-bottle for such deeds of devilry as have been described. Upon the other side, waging a guerilla warfare--for little else was possible against enemies who preferred sneaking outrages to pitched battles--were little companies of some score or two. Captain John Brown's company was ever to the fore. He felt that outrage had gone far enough unchecked, and that it was time honest men took the aggressive and struck terror into cowards' hearts. They were not without fierceness, but it was the fruit of honest anger. Rifles in their judgement went not ill with Bible-reading and prayer--but we have heard of such before. Armed Roundheads and Scotch Covenanters combined prayer with sword exercise. In this camp, morning and evening prayers were an institution; uncivil treatment of prisoners was a gross offence; no intoxicating liquors were permitted. One by-law runs: 'All profane, vulgar, or ungentlemanly talk shall be discountenanced.' What! do these rough men set themselves up to be gentlemen! Yes, according to Emerson's own meaning when he says of Brown's supporters: 'All gentlemen, of course, are on his side. I do not mean by "gentlemen" people of scented hair and perfumed handkerchiefs, but men of gentle blood and generosity, "fulfilled with all nobleness," who, like the Cid, give the outcast leper a share of their bed; like the dying Sidney, pass the cup of cold water to the wounded soldier who needs it more. For what is the oath of gentle blood and knighthood! What but to protect the weak and lowly against the strong oppressor! Nothing is more absurd than to complain of this sympathy, or to complain of a party of men united in opposition to slavery. As well complain of gravity or the ebb of the tide. Who makes the Abolitionist! The slave-holder. The sentiment of mercy is the natural recoil which the laws of the universe provide to protect mankind from destruction by savage passions. And our blind statesmen go up and down, with committees of vigilance and safety, hunting for the origin of this new heresy. They will need a very vigilant committee, indeed, to find its birthplace, and a very strong force to root it up. For the arch-abolitionist, older than Brown, and older than the Shenanndoah Mountains, is Love, whose other name is Justice--which was before Alfred, before Lycurgus, before Slavery, and will be after it.' John Brown and, at one time, six of his sons were in the company. Many were rejected who offered for service, not for lack of physical stature, but moral. 'I would rather,' said John Brown, 'have the smallpox, yellow fever, and cholera all together in my camp than a man without principles. It is a mistake to think that bullies are the best fighters. Give me God-fearing men--men who respect themselves; and with a dozen of them, I will oppose a hundred of these ruffians.' These are the men, then, who were found in Kansas woods, with bare heads and unkempt locks, in red-topped boots and blue shirts, taking their hasty meals or fitful sleep, their horses tied to the tree-trunks ready for swift mounting at the first signal of danger. No sounds of revelry betray their hiding-place; the spirit of the man in their midst, with Puritan nobility in his rugged face, and a strange, awe-inspiring unworldliness in his talk, has entered into them. No novice is he in the affairs of either world--this or the Unseen. At night he will look up to the stars that glitter above the still camp and talk like a theologian, moralizing upon the fact that while God's stars are unerring in their courses God's human creatures are so erratic. But he is no mere dreamer; you may see him, when the enemy is known to be near, sleeping in his saddle, with his gun across it, that he may be no sooner awake than ready. One who knew not of this habit was once imprudent enough to touch him in his sleep, as he wanted to speak to him; he had only time to knock up the swiftly pointed barrel with his hand and John Brown's bullet grazed the intruder's shoulder. One of the first deeds in this campaign, and the one that certainly first turned the tide and caused the pro-slavery ruffians to feel that they had need to look to their own safety, and would not be suffered with impunity to murder whom they chose and fire honest men's houses like fiends let loose, was the midnight massacre at Pottawatomie. Along a certain creek there lived five of these incendiaries and outrage-mongers who were specially notorious. A report reached Brown that they were sworn to sweep the neighbourhood clear of Abolitionists, not forgetting 'those Browns.' That they were to be kept in terror by such a gang seemed to Brown an unrighteous state of things, and he formed the desperate design of visiting them first. But he loved not slaughter for slaughter's sake. Not only could he strike upon occasion, but he could be just in his rough-and-ready fashion. He argued within himself, 'I shall be right in killing these men if I am sure they intend these murders, but I will not act upon mere report.' Disguising himself, he started with two men to carry a surveyor's chain, and one to carry a flag. No coward was this man. He would put his life in peril rather than act on mere suspicion. So he ran his lines past the houses of these five men, and they naturally came out to see what this surveying business was. Brown told them, as he looked through his instrument and waved the flagman to this side or that, 'Yours is a grand country. Are there many Abolitionists about here?' In his pocket-book he jotted down the answer 'Yes,' and, swearing great oaths, they told him that they meant to sweep the region clear of them in a week. 'Are there some called Brown?' 'Yes,' and man by man they swore the Browns should be killed by their hands. Back he went saying to himself, 'If I understand the Book these are murderers, they have committed murder in their hearts.' Ere many nights were passed eight men were requisitioned from the camp. They stole forth armed with short cutlasses, and next morning the ghastly news spread abroad that five corpses had been found by that creek. John Brown, jun., said, 'The only statement that I ever heard my father make in regard to this was "I did not myself kill any of those men at Pottawatomie, but I am as fully responsible as if I did."' It was a terrible act; we cannot wonder that it came as a great shock to many who had the cause of liberty at heart, but when questioned about it the old man was always reticent, and would only say, 'God is my Judge.' The result was unmistakable. From that moment John Brown's name became a terror to the evildoers of that quarter. The free settlers felt there was another fate than extermination for them, and the impotent administration at Washington first began to see that this hitherto submissive majority of free settlers must be reckoned with. A writer said years after, 'It was like a clap of thunder from a clear sky.' There are acts that can only be morally estimated by a careful consideration of the prevailing circumstances, and in this case they are such as we, well housed and protected folk, thank God, know not. Those who knew this man through and through were swift to testify, 'Whatever may be thought of John Brown's acts, John Brown himself was right.' No personal end had he to serve; his harvest was privation, suffering, death. He had no personal vengeance to wreak, and when revengeful words were spoken in his hearing he soon lifted the conversation to a sublime level. 'That,' said he, 'is not a Christian spirit. If I thought I had one bit of the spirit of revenge I would never lift my hand. I do not make war on slave-holders, but on slavery.' Henceforth John Brown's little band was famous. A few days after the Pottawatomie tragedy we find him engaging a company under Captain Fate, who professed, with doubtful authority, to be the emissary of the Government. Hearing after prayer meeting one Sunday they are in the neighbourhood, he is quickly in pursuit as soon as night has set in, and in the morning with a handful of men he is exchanging brisk fire with the enemy. Presently Fred Brown, a wild-looking man of the woods, who has been left in charge of the horses, comes riding upon a pony none too large for its ungainly burden. He waves his long arms, shouting, 'Come on, boys, we've got 'em surrounded and cut off their communications.' The enemy are scared at the apparition, and their captain, thinking there is no fathoming the plots of these Browns, sends a lieutenant forward with a flag of truce. John Brown asks, 'Are you captain!' 'No.' 'I will talk with him, not with you.' Captain Fate advances with much parley. 'Any proposition to make?' impatiently asks John Brown. 'No.' Then he (John Brown) has one--unconditional surrender; and with eight men he has soon secured twenty prisoners. So all through that summer Brown was wellnigh ubiquitous in harassing the enemy, and their dispatches betray their terror of him by ludicrous exaggerations of his achievements. But it is certain he lived as nearly up to his terrible reputation as he could. At Franklin, at Washington Creek, and at Osawatomie we find him in evidence. Here are extracts from his letters in reference to the attack made by the pro-slavery men at the last-mentioned place. 'On the morning of August 30 an attack was made by the ruffians on Osawatomie, numbering some 400, by whose scouts our dear Frederick was shot dead.' (This was his son, and it was by a Methodist preacher's rifle he was killed. Such was the support which the pulpit sometimes gave in those turbulent days to the slavery cause.) 'At this time I was about three miles off, where I had some fourteen or fifteen men over-night that had just enlisted under me. These I collected with some twelve or fifteen more, and in about three-quarters of an hour I attacked them from a wood with thick undergrowth. 'With this force we threw them into confusion for about fifteen or twenty minutes, during which time we killed or wounded from seventy to eighty of the enemy--as they say--and then we escaped as we could with one killed, two or three wounded, and as many more missing. Jason (another son) fought bravely by my side. I was struck by a partly spent shot which bruised me some, but did not injure me seriously. "Hitherto the Lord has helped me, notwithstanding my afflictions."' Later there was a futile attack upon Lawrence by 2,700 Of the Border ruffians, and while the governor claimed afterwards the credit for the failure of the attack, it is certain that his dilatory intervention had less to do with the result than the prompt action of a couple of hundred defenders of the place who made a dash outwards towards the advancing rabble. Mounted on a grocer's box in the main street, John Brown thus addressed them before action: 'If they come up and attack don't yell, but remain still. Wait till they get within twenty-five yards of you: get a good object: be sure you see the hind sight of your gun--then fire. A great deal of powder and lead is wasted on aiming too high. You had better aim at their legs than at their heads. In either case, be sure of the hind sights of your guns. It is from the neglect of this that I myself have so many times escaped; for if all the bullets that have ever been aimed at me had hit, I should have been as full of holes as a riddle.' All these skirmishes from a military point of view were trivial, but from a political standpoint they were crucial. They saved Kansas, and made free election at length possible. Brown and his men were 'incarnate earnestness,' says one writer, and it was that fervent devotion which made all that followed possible. It became impossible for a government to wink at arson and murder. 'Take more care to end life well than to live long,' the old man used to say, and he exemplified his doctrine. His reckless bravery was proverbial. After one of their successful skirmishes a wounded Missourian wished greatly to see the redoubtable John Brown before he died. The captain went to the wagon where he lay and said, 'Here I am; take a good look at me; we wish you all no harm. Stay at home, leave us alone, and we shall be friends. I wish you well.' The dying man looked at him from head to foot, and, reaching out his hand, said, 'I don't see as you are so bad. You don't look or talk like it. I thank you.' Clasping his hand, the old captain said, 'God bless you,' and his tears were the Amen. Thus tender was he ever with his prisoners, despite his fierceness. At length the United States Government saw the free settlers were in no abject mood, and stepped in to their relief. John Brown saw the dawn of better days, and then travelled away northward, worn and sick, with a fugitive slave as a kind of trophy hidden in his wagon. Before long he found security and peace for a while at North Elba, New York, at the house of Gerrit Smith. CHAPTER VI THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY We now find John Brown busy for a while in the Northern States addressing Abolitionist meetings, collecting funds for the cause, and co-operating with the Anti-slavery Committees, of which there were several thousands. In many homes where the friends of freedom lived he was a welcome guest, not least welcomed by the children, who always seemed to refresh his weary heart. 'Out of the mouths of children,' as the psalmist says (according to one version), 'God gives strength to true men.' You might often have seen him holding up a little two-year-old child, saying, 'When John Brown is hanged as a traitor she can say she used to stand on John Brown's hand.' He was no false prophet! Now also he was able to revisit, after two years' absence, the old homestead where his wife and children were awaiting him, down to the little one whom he had left an infant in the cradle. 'Come,' says the strange father to the little prattler, 'I have sung it to all of them; I must sing it to you.' Blow ye the trumpet, blow The gladly solemn sound: Let all the nations know To earth's remotest bound. The year of Jubilee is come, Return, ye ransomed sinners, home. In strains to which a soul on fire gave enchantment and a tunefulness of their own he sang that song of Moses and the Lamb, telling of the Jewish charter of Liberty to which Christ in His turn gave larger meaning; and the little eyes in the room beheld a transfigured face which they remembered when he had ceased blowing the trumpet of Jubilee, and when they sang the same hymn as they laid him beneath the sod outside that cabin door. But not long could he stay at home. The year of Jubilee for all these bondmen was his one thought, and he found friends who regarded him as a tried man and were prepared to trust him implicitly. Such men as Beecher and Theodore Parker gave him help spiritual; men like the wealthy Stearns gave him help financial to the extent of many thousand dollars, and were content to know that John Brown, however he spent it (and concerning his plans he was always reticent), would have but one object--liberty to the captive. One way in which it was spent was in the working of what was then known as the underground railway. The opportunist statesman--Henry Clay--had led many Northern voters to tolerate the passing of the Fugitive Slave Law, under which the Federal Government facilitated the enforced return of fugitive slaves found in free states to the plantations of the South. And the Abolitionists in the North, as a set-off against this detested legislation, gave themselves with much zest to aid the runaway slave. If a slave could escape to the swamps or the forest and elude the bloodhounds on his track, he knew that at certain points he would find those who were prepared to house him, and, passing him on secretly from station to station, ensure his arrival at a terminus where he would be safe for life. That was Canada, the country where the Union Jack waves--the flag of 'Britons' who 'never shall be slaves' and are prepared to grant to all the priceless boon they claim themselves. This escape was called 'shaking the paw of the lion.' May that British lion never be transformed into a sleek tiger; may his paw ever be outreached to a runaway slave, and his roar be a terror to all who would market in human flesh and blood! This chain of well-known houses and locations was called the underground railway; and, spite of penalties of imprisonment oft inflicted, it never lacked porters or guards; and if the trains did not always run to time it was because they were very cautious against accident. Some 30,000 passengers were probably conveyed on this line. You will not be surprised to find John Brown an active 'guard,' and under the name of 'Shubel Morgan' or 'Hawkins' he did good service there. See him making his way with twelve fugitive slaves from Missouri, through Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, and Michigan to Canada. It is the dead of winter, and the rough wagons travel heavily and slowly along the drifted roads. There is a price on his head in these Southern States--3,250 dollars offered conjointly by the Governor of Missouri and President Pierce--and the stations are sometimes thirty miles apart. They come to a creek, and there is the State Marshal awaiting them with eighty armed men--for he thought he had better have a good force, as he heard it was John Brown he might encounter. John puts his host of twenty-three men all told into battle array in front of the wagons, and gives the laconic order, 'Now go straight at 'em, boys, they are sure to run.' Into the water his men charge--but the baptism of water is all they are fated to pass through; there is no baptism of fire to follow, for, scared at the impulsive charge, and filled with vague terror at that irrepressible John Brown, the Marshal springs upon his horse and skedaddles. His men scramble to their horses. Some cannot untie them from the shrubs quickly enough; several animals carry two men, and, to complete the ludicrousness of the scene, one man, fearing he might be too late, grips fast the tail of the steed to which the proper rider has just set spurs, and, vainly trying to spring on behind, is seen with his feet off the ground, being whirled through the air. A few prisoners are speedily added to Brown's little company, who, thinking it is perhaps prudent to keep men off horseback who were so prone to flight, orders them to walk. But he has ideas of courtesy, has this rough old warrior, and says he means them no unkindness and will walk with them. Such a favourable opportunity must in no wise be missed, so the old soldier-prophet gives them his mind upon the wickedness of slave-holding and the meanness of slave-hunting, which discourse, let us hope, is not wholly unfruitful. When he has held them for one night he thinks they have been brought far enough from their haunts to prevent further mischief, and sets them free. That one night spent with him they are not likely to forget. He would not so much as allow them the privilege of swearing. 'No taking of God's name in vain gentlemen; if there is a God you will gain nothing, and if there is none you are fools indeed.' Such is the old man's plain argument. One of them, a harum-scarum young physician, is taken specially under charge by John Brown. Before retiring Brown desires him to pray. 'I can't pray,' he says, with an oath. 'What, did your mother never teach you?' asks Brown. 'Oh yes,' he replies; 'but that was a long time ago.' 'Well, you still remember the prayer she taught you?' continued Brown. 'Yes,' is the answer. 'Say that for want of a better,' is the order. Then, to the amusement of all, the poor doctor repeats the rhyme: And now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Said the young doctor after he was released, 'John Brown knows more about religion than any man I ever met. He never used harsh language; we were treated like gentlemen; we shared food with them. Only it went against the grain to be guarded by niggers.' Thus the journey proceeds. As they get farther north there is more bark than bite about the opposition they encounter. In the street at one town where they are sheltered, Brown strolls alone and finds a champion of slavery haranguing the crowd and denouncing Brown as a reckless, bloody outlaw, a coward who skulked and would never fight in the open. Warming to a climax the orator proclaims, 'If I could get a sight of him I would shoot him on the spot; I would never give him a chance to steal any more slaves.' 'My friend,' says a plain-looking countryman--no other than John Brown himself--on the outskirts of the throng, 'you talk very brave; and as you will never have a better opportunity to shoot old Brown than right here and now, you can have a chance.' But his powder was damped--or his courage! Now the journey is over. The twelve fugitives have become thirteen, for a little infant has been born on the march, never to know, thank God, the horrors the mother has left behind. The child is named after his deliverer 'John Brown,' who conducts them safely across the ferry and places them under the shelter of the Union Jack on the Canadian shore. Then the old man reverently pronounces his 'Nunc dimittis,' 'Lord, now lettest thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation.' 'I could not brook the thought that any ill should befall them, least of all that they should be taken back to slavery. The arm of Jehovah has protected us.' Before many months those rescued ones were weeping at the news that John Brown was condemned to die, and were saying 'Would that we could die instead.' CHAPTER VII HARPER'S FERRY John Brown now prepared for his final effort, for the enterprise he had espoused and the sacrifice he had sworn to make for it were to be completed by his death. 'There is no way of deliverance but by blood,' had become his settled conviction upon this slavery question. And truly it seemed so. The Slave States were waxing fiercer in their unholy enterprise. The reopening of the market for freshly imported slaves from Africa was openly advocated--indeed, prices were offered for the best specimens, as if it were a mere cattle trade. 'For sale, 400 negroes just landed,' was placarded in Southern streets; and to complete the grim situation a prize was proposed for the best sermon in defence of the slave trade. Surely the Lord gave not 'the word,' but 'great was the company of the preachers' who were prepared to publish it. John Brown felt that the fullness of time was come for a desperate stroke. Desperate indeed it was. From a military point of view it was madness. He resolved to hire a farm in Maryland, near to the great armoury at Harper's Ferry in the Slave State of Virginia, and there diligently and silently to store arms. Then with a small company he would seize Harper's Ferry. Having possessed himself of its stores, he would retreat to the mountains, where he hoped there would be considerable rallying to his standard. Holding his own amid mountain fastnesses of which he had acquired an intimate knowledge, he thought he might at last become strong enough to make terms with the Government. We next find him passing as Isaac Smith, a Maryland farmer--known to his neighbours as a demure, somewhat eccentric, son of the soil. Three of his sons, true to the vow, were with him. Little thought the farmers around that hard by that farmhouse a few thousand weapons were stored and that a little band of mysterious strangers was gathering there, but so it was. To the last there was much opposition to Brown's impulsive scheme. Once, indeed, he resigned leadership, but the little group passed a horrible five minutes of bereavement and then re-elected him with many promises of support. Sublime old madman!--if mad indeed he was! Had he not made them all feel like himself, 'that they have but one life and once to die; and if they lose their lives perchance it will do more for the cause than their lives would be worth in any other way?' One reluctant darkie, rescued by him from slavery, was challenged to say what he would do. He hesitated--looked at his shaggy old benefactor, and then, with heart surcharged with gratitude, said, 'I believe I'll go wid de ole man.' Ah! the old man's soul had entered into them--it kept them 'marching on.' In the dark, wet night of October 16, 1859, they mustered quietly. The captain addressed them, and he was no reckless destroyer of human life who thus spake: 'Gentlemen, let me press this one thing on your minds. You all know how dear life is to you, and how dear your lives are to your friends; and in remembering that, consider that the lives of others are as dear. Do not therefore take the life of any one if you can possibly avoid it, but if it is necessary to take life in order to save your own, then make sure work of it.' Two of them were deputed to hasten, when the town was in their hands, to Colonel Washington's house, four miles distant--to seize him, free his slaves, and take the relic of the house, the famed sword of his illustrious ancestor George Washington, that with this in hand John Brown might head the campaign. That feat they actually performed, and for one brief day their leader bore that sword. Silently marched that little band of about a score under shelter of the darkness. They had their plans complete, even a Constitution ready framed, should they be successful. The telegraph wires were cut. They contrived to terrify all on guard without firing a shot, and as the sun rose, Harper's Ferry, arsenal, armoury, and rifle works, and many prisoners were in the hands of John Brown. The day wore on, but the expected reinforcements came not; the spreading news, however, brought hostile troops around the captured place, and they hourly increased. Brown took not his one chance of escape to the mountains--why, it is difficult to say. In prison afterwards he said his weakness in yielding to the entreaties of his prisoners ruined him. 'It was the first time I ever lost command of myself, and now I am punished for it,' he added. At another time when questioned he gave fatalistic answers, and said it was 'ordained so ages before the world was made.' By afternoon he was on the defensive within the armoury, and a fierce fight ensued. Even then his simple notions of justice were uppermost, and to the last as his men fired from the portholes he would be heard saying of some one passing in the street, 'That man is unarmed don't shoot.' Two of his sons--Watson and Oliver Brown--were pierced with bullets. As he straightened out the limbs of the second, he said, 'This is the third son I have lost in the cause.' Always the cause! The night fell and the fight was in abeyance, but in the morning he was summoned to surrender, and refused, saying he would die there. At length the engine-house, their last resort, held stubbornly, was captured, and Brown fell, wounded by the sword of a young lieutenant who had marked him for his stroke. One of his prisoners who was by says truly of his last fight, 'Almost any other man who saw his sons fall would have exacted life for life, but he spared all of us who were in his power.' Of the force of twenty-two men, ten were killed, seven captured and hanged, and five escaped. On the other side six were killed and eight wounded. He was now a captive, suffered to recover from his wounds that he might die a felon's death. Many were those who, from various motives, came to see the wounded prisoner, and from many interviews reported at the time we may take a few extracts: Q. Can you tell us who furnished money for your expedition? A. I furnished most of it myself. I cannot implicate others. It is by my own folly I have been taken. I could have saved myself had I not yielded to my feelings. Q. If you would tell us who sent you, who provided means, it would be valuable information. A. I will answer freely and faithfully about what concerned myself, anything I can with honour, but not about others. It was my own prompting and that of my Maker or the devil--whichever you please to ascribe it to--I acknowledge no master in human form. Q. Why came you here? A. To liberate the slaves--the cry of the oppressed is my only reason. I respect the rights of the poorest coloured folk as much as those of the most wealthy and powerful. Q. How do you justify your acts? A. I think, my friend, you are guilty of a great wrong against God and humanity--I say it without wishing to be offensive and it would be perfectly right for any one to free those you wickedly hold in bondage. I am not here to gratify revenge, but because I pity those who have none to help them. Q. Do you consider this a religious movement? A. The greatest service man can render to God. Q. Do you consider yourself an instrument in the hands of Providence? A. I do. Q. Brown, suppose you had every nigger in the United States, what would you do with them? A. Set them free. Said Governor Wise of Virginia, 'Mr. Brown, the silver of your hair is reddened by the blood of crime, and you should eschew these hard words and think of eternity. You are committing felony by these sentiments.' Brown replied, 'Governor, I have by all appearances not more than fifteen or twenty years the start of you in the journey to eternity, and whether my time has to be long or short I am equally prepared to go. There is an eternity behind and an eternity before, and this speck in the centre, however long, is but comparatively a minute. The difference between your tenure and mine is trifling, and you have all of you a heavy responsibility and it behoves you to prepare more than it does me.' The Governor's public testimony was: 'They are mistaken who took Brown to be a madman. He is a bundle of the best nerves I ever saw. He is a man of clear head, of courage, fortitude, and simple ingenuousness. He is cool, collected, and indomitable; and it is but just to him to say that he was humane to his prisoners, and he inspired me with great trust in his integrity as a man of truth. He is a fanatic, vain and garrulous, but firm, truthful, and intelligent. He professes to be a Christian in communion with the Congregational Church of the North, and openly preaches his purpose of universal emancipation, and the negroes themselves were to be the agents, by means of arms, led on by white commanders. Colonel Washington says that he was the coolest and firmest man he ever saw in defying danger and death. With one son dead by his side, and another shot through, he felt the pulse of his dying son with one hand, held his rifle with the other, and commanded his men with the utmost composure, encouraging them to be firm, and to sell their lives as dearly as they could.' The trial for treason and murder took place in the Virginian Court on October 27-31, ere he had recovered. He pleaded for delay till his health allowed him to give more attention to his defence, but the request was refused. So, weak and wounded, he had to lie upon his pallet with a blanket thrown over him. His words were few, and to the same effect as those we have quoted. There was only one verdict possible in that court--GUILTY--and he was sentenced to be hanged. Technically there was no other course possible. The calm verdict of the CAMBRIDGE MODERN HISTORY upon the raid is correct: 'It was the mad folly of an almost crazed fanatic . . . the stain still upon him of the bloodiest of the lawless work done in the name of Freedom; a terrible outlaw because an outlaw for conscience' sake; intense to the point of ungovernable passion--heeding nothing but his own will and sense of right; a revolutionist upon principle; a lawless incendiary, and yet seeking nothing for himself.' But while we feel the veracity of these words there comes to our mind one of Charles Kingsley's impulsive sayings: 'Get hold of one truth, let it blaze in your sky like a Greenland sun, never setting day or night. See it in everything, and everything in it. The world will call you a bigot and fanatic, and then fifty years after will wonder how it was the bigot and fanatic managed to do so much more than all the sensible men round about him.' John Brown vindicated that opinion. CHAPTER VIII THE HALT OF THE BODY AND THE MARCH OF THE SOUL The journeys of John Brown's body were now at an end. Only his soul was free to travel, and it found its vehicle in letters which carried thoughts that breathed and words that burned far and wide. This condemned prisoner had five weeks left of mortal life, and they were the most fruitful he ever spent. The greatest achievement of his life was the marvellous advocacy of the cause conducted from his prison. His friend F. B. Sanborn says: 'Here was a defeated, dying old man, who had been praying and fighting and pleading and toiling for years, to persuade a great people that their national life was all wrong, suddenly converting millions to his cause by the silent magnanimity or the spoken wisdom of his last days as a fettered prisoner.' He had spoken of a Samson's victory as possibly the great triumph in store for him. Even so it was, and in his death and by the manner of it he mortally wounded his old enemy, Slavery. As the great continent watched from afar his last days, a thrill passed through it that made Emancipation a triumphant cause. Efforts to save Brown's life might be in vain, but Brown's death was helping to save the life of the nation. His letters from the prison were many and widely circulated. All he has to say of himself is that he knows no degradation. 'I can trust God with the time and manner of my death, believing that for me now to seal my testimony with my life will do vastly more for the Cause than all I have done before. Dear wife and children, do not feel degraded on my account.' Humorously he remarks, 'I am worth inconceivably more to hang than for any other purpose.' 'Say to my poor boys never to grieve for one moment on my account; and should many of you live to see the time when you will not blush to own your relation to old John Brown, it will not be more strange than many things that have happened.' '"He shall BEGIN to deliver Israel out of the hand of the Philistines." This,' said he, 'I think is true of my commission from God and my work.' The scaffold had no terrors for him. His trust, he averred, was firm in that Redeemer who, to European and Ethiopian, bond and free alike, had brought a year of Jubilee and a great salvation. But though he asked no pity for himself, he pleaded in every letter for those who, as he said, were on the 'under-hill' side. 'Weep not for me,' he wrote home, 'but for the crushed millions who have no comforter.' The old text was continually repeated, 'Remember them that are in bonds as bound with them,' and he bade them abhor with undying hatred that 'sum of all villanies--slavery.' His only cause of agitation in the prison was the intrusive ministration of certain pro-slavery parsons. He refused to let a man who 'had the blood of the slaves on his skirts' minister to him. 'I respect you as a gentleman, but a HEATHEN gentleman,' he would say. 'Don't let such go with me to the scaffold,' he asked. 'I would rather have an escort of barefooted, bareheaded, ragged slave boys and girls led by some old grey-headed slave mother.' A sculptor who had conceived a great admiration for the brave old man was ambitious to execute a marble bust of him. He applied to Mrs. Stearns--Brown's old wealthy supporter--to aid him in his enterprise. She readily promised to supply all funds, but, said she, 'You will have a vain journey for the measurements. He will just say, "Nonsense; give the money to the poor." You will then say, "Mr. Brown, posterity will want to know what you looked like," and he will reply, "No consequence to posterity how I looked; better give the money to the poor." But go if you will and use my name.' And off went the eager artist. With some difficulty he procured an interview with the prisoner. But woman is far-sighted; sure enough the answer came, 'Nonsense; give the money to the poor.' But the artist pleaded, 'Posterity will want to see what you were like.' Said the man who longed that his work rather than his memory should live, 'No consequence to posterity how I looked; give the money to the poor.' However, the name of Mrs. Steams prevailed at last, and with a thankful look he said, 'She must have what she desires; take the measurements.' The day of execution, December 2, 1859, drew near. Excitement increased, and for the first time in the history of the Union the passport system was introduced by the State Government of Virginia, and was maintained during the last eight days of Brown's life, lest haply aid from the North should be organized. Troops were present to the number of 3,000, around the scaffold at Charlestown, when he was carried forth to die. Rumour alleged that he had on the way to the scaffold taken a slave child from its mother's arms and kissed it. But, credible as it may have been to many, those who were present knew he was too closely pinioned and guarded for it to be possible. He had little to say--only one word of the glory of the surrounding scenery, for he was a true son of Nature to the last. He had placed in an official's hands a slip of paper with the following words upon it: 'I, John Brown, am now quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood. I had, as I now think vainly, flattered myself that without very much bloodshed it might be done.' Upon the scaffold he only bade them be quick, as he was quite ready. Ready! Yes, he had been ready many a year, and it was no unwilling victim that swung mid-air that December morning. They carried his body to the old log-house he occupied at North Elba, where it was buried upon the farm. That farm has been recently purchased for a public park; and the grave, with the big boulder upon it, forms a conspicuous feature. Thousands approach it with reverent feet, not so much because of the body which lies mouldering there, but for the sake of the soul which is marching on. They had sung in Northern streets a grim ditty during those days of suspense before his execution, with the refrain, addressed to the Southerner: And Old Brown, Osawatomie Brown, May trouble you more than ever When you've nailed his coffin down. It contains a true word of prophecy. Says an American writer: soon after, 'I meet him at every turn. John Brown is not dead; he is more alive than ever he was.' As that same year the Northern States gird themselves for the great Presidential contest, determined that at length a thorough Abolitionist named Abraham Lincoln shall tenant the White House, it is evident that John Brown's soul is marching on. When at length fierce civil war breaks out, and those same Northern States month by month are brought to the sure conviction that Freedom as certainly as Union is the cause for which they fight, and as through long disappointment and suspense, lavish effusion of blood, generous sacrifice of their bravest sons they steadily press to victory under the ever-patient, dogged leadership of President Lincoln and General Grant, it is evident that John Brown's soul is marching on. In the tramp of ten thousands of armed men, in the strains of that grand old battle-hymn of the Republic, I hear the march of his soul: Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible, swift sword: His truth is marching on. Glory, glory, hallelujah, &c. He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgement-seat; Oh, be swift, my soul! to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; His day is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me: As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free! While God is marching on. When Lincoln's first Emancipation Decree (made necessary by the fact that so many blacks belonging to the disloyal were fighting for the Union), that all slaves in the Rebel States from New Year's Day, 1863, shall be free, is promulgated; and when, two years later, the Constitution is amended so as to forbid slavery all through the Republic, now again united; when the nation generously provides food, shelter, and education for the emancipated; and when the freed bondmen greet their liberty-loving President in Southern streets with shouts of gratitude and cries of 'Father Abraham'--you may know that John Brown's soul is marching on. There in America and elsewhere it continues its march. Wherever the swift cruiser speeds in pursuit of the infamous slave-ship, in every heart-beat of the brave seamen who feel they are on a righteous errand and will overhaul her in the King's--aye, in God's--name, we hear the march of John Brown's soul. When a nation of free men rises up in wrath at the issue of some official document that seems to be couched in temporizing language on this supreme subject, or at some government that has tolerated conditions that approximate slavery, and will have none of it, we know the old hero's soul is marching on. Whenever in secret council the ambassador of a free people negotiates a treaty, and, backed by the most sacred impulses of those he represents, urges an anti-slavery clause, we know John Brown's soul is on the march. And march it shall, while nations learn to prize liberty as God's great chartered right to every man, while they read the shining letters of the Golden Rule, while they remember that God made all men of one blood and that all are redeemed by the blood of One. While God looks down from His heaven and sees the distressed face, or hears the piercing cry of the oppressed, and can turn the hearts of men to fight His battles upon earth, the soul of John Brown will be marching still. 
11454	----	A VISIT TO THE UNITED STATES IN 1841 BY JOSEPH STURGE 1842 BOSTON: DEXTER S. KING, NO. 1 CORNHILL. "'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it. All constraint, Except what wisdom lays on evil men, Is evil; hurts the faculties, impedes Their progress in the road of science; blinds The eyesight of discovery; and begets, In those that suffer it, a sordid mind." COWPER. Preface to the American Edition Preface to the English Edition A Visit, &c. General Observations Appendix A: ANTI-SLAVERY EPISTLE OF "FRIENDS" IN GREAT BRITAIN. Appendix B: EARLY EFFORTS OF "FRIENDS" IN BEHALF OF NEGRO Appendix C: Report of the Committee of the Yearly Meeting of Friends, &c. Appendix D: ELISHA TYSON. Appendix E: THE "AMISTAD CAPTIVES" Appendix F: Extract from an Essay by WILLIAM JAY Appendix G: OPIUM WAR WITH CHINA. Appendix H: LETTER OF A.L. PENNOCK. Appendix I: GERRIT SMITH'S SLAVES. Appendix K: The Society of Friends in America and the Colonization Society Appendix L: Memorial of citizens of Boston, United States, to the Lords of the Admiralty, Great Britain. PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. Within a few years past, several of our visitors from the other side of the Atlantic, have published their views of our country and her institutions. Basil Hall, Hamilton and others, in their attempts to describe the working of the democratic principle in the United States, have been unfavorably influenced by their opposite political predilections. On the other hand, Miss Martineau, who has strong republican sympathies, has not, at all times, been sufficiently careful and discriminating in the facts and details of her spirited and agreeable narrative. The volume of Mr. Sturge, herewith presented, is unlike any of its predecessors. Its author makes no literary pretensions. His style, like his garb, is of the plainest kind; shorn of every thing like ornament, it has yet a truthful, earnest simplicity, as rare as it is beautiful. The reader will look in vain for those glowing descriptions of American scenery, and graphic delineations of the peculiarities of the American character with which other travellers have endeavored to enliven and diversify their journals. Coming among us on an errand of peace and good will--with a heart oppressed and burdened by the woes of suffering humanity--he had no leisure for curious observations of men and manners, nor even for the gratification of a simple and unperverted taste for the beautiful in outward nature. His errand led him to the slave-jail of the negro-trafficker--the abodes of the despised and persecuted colored man--the close walls of prisons. His narrative, like his own character, is calm, clear, simple; its single and manifest aim, _to do good_. Although this volume is mainly devoted to the subject of emancipation, and to his intercourse with the religious Society of which he is a member, yet the friends of peace, of legal reform, and of republican institutions, will derive gratification from its perusal. The liberal spirit of Christian philanthropy breathes through it. The author's deep and settled detestation of our slavery, and of the hypocrisy which sustains and justifies it, does not render him blind to the beauty of the republican principle of popular control, nor repress in any degree his pleasure in recording its beneficent practical fruits in the free States. The labors of Mr. Sturge in the cause of emancipation have given him the appellation of the "Howard of our days." The author of the popular "History of Slavery," page 600, thus notices his arduous personal investigations of the state of things in the West India Islands, under the apprenticeship system. "The idea originated with Joseph Sturge, of Birmingham, a member of that religious body, the FRIENDS, who have ever stood pre-eminent in noiseless but indefatigable exertions in the cause of the negro; and who seem to possess a more thorough practical understanding than is generally possessed by statesmen and politicians, of the axiom that the shortest communication between two given points, is a straight line. While others were speculating, and hoping that the worst reports from the West Indies might not be true, and that the evils would work their own cure, this generous and heroic philanthropist, resolved to go himself and ascertain the facts and the remedy required." On his return, Mr. Sturge, with his companion, Thomas Harvey, published a full account of their investigations into the working of the apprenticeship system; and his testimony before the Parliamentary Committee, occupied seven days. His disclosures sealed the fate of the apprenticeship system. Such a demonstration of popular sentiment was called forth against it, that the Colonies, one after another, felt themselves under the necessity of abandoning it for unconditional emancipation. It was a remark of Brougham, in the House of Lords, that the abolition of the apprenticeship was the work of one man, and that man was Joseph Sturge. Mr. Sturge's benevolent labors have not been confined to the abolition of slavery. He is a prominent member of the Anti-corn Law League. He is an active advocate of the cause of universal peace. He has given all his influence to the cause of the oppressed and laboring classes of his own countrymen: and his name is at this moment, the rallying-word of millions, as the author and patron of the "Suffrage Declaration," which is now in circulation in all parts of the United Kingdom, pledging its signers to the great principle of universal suffrage--a full, fair and free representation of the people. It was reserved for the untitled Quaker of Birmingham to take the lead in the great and good work of uniting, for the first time, the middle and the working classes of his countrymen, and in so doing, to infuse hope and newness of life into the dark dwellings of the English peasant and artisan. The Editor of the London Non-Conformist, speaking of this movement of Mr. Sturge, says: "The Declaration is put forth by a man, who, perhaps, in a higher degree than any other individual, has the confidence of both the middle class and the working men. The former can trust to his prudence; the latter have faith in his sincerity." Such is the man, who, prompted by his untiring benevolence, visited our shores during the past year. This volume is the brief record of his visit, and of the impressions produced upon his mind by our conflicting interests and institutions. It is now republished, in the belief that the opinions of its author will be received with candor and respect by all classes of our citizens, and that they are calculated to make a permanent and salutary impression, in favor of the great cause of universal freedom. Boston, May, 1842. PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION. In visiting the United States, the objects which preferred the chief claim to my attention were the _universal abolition of slavery_, and _the promotion of permanent international peace_. Deeply impressed with the conviction that the advancement of these is intimately connected with the progress of right views among professing Christians in that country, it was my desire not only to inform myself of the actual state of feeling and opinion among this important class, but if possible, to contribute my mite of encouragement and aid to those who are bearing the burden and heat of the day, in an arduous contest, on whose issue the alternative of a vast amount of human happiness or misery depends. This general outline of my motives included several specific, practical objects, which will be found detailed in the ensuing pages. For obvious reasons, _the abolition of slavery in the United States_ is the most prominent topic in my narrative; but I have freely interspersed observations on other subjects of interest and importance, as they came under consideration. Short notices are introduced of some of the prominent abolitionists of America; and, though sensible how imperfectly I have done justice to exertions, which, either in degree or kind, have scarcely a parallel in the annals of self-denying benevolence, I fear I shall occasionally have hurt the feelings of the individuals referred to, by what they may deem undeserved or unseasonable praise; yet I trust they will pardon the act for the sake of the motive, which is to introduce the English anti-slavery reader to a better acquaintance with his fellow laborers in the United States. My short stay, and the limited extent of my visit, prevented my becoming acquainted with many who are equally deserving of notice. Less than twelve months have elapsed since I embarked on this "visit;" and though, with the help of steam by sea and land, an extensive journey may now be performed in a comparatively short time, yet, during this brief interval, my own engagements would have prevented my placing the following narrative so early before the public without assistance. It is right to state that a large portion of the work has been prepared for the press from a rough transcript of my journal, from my correspondence, and other documents, by the friend who accompanied me on a former journey to the West Indies, and who then compiled the account of our joint labors. Nearly the whole of the narrative portion of this publication has been sent to America, to different individuals who were concerned in, or present at the transactions related, and has been returned to me with their verification of the facts; so that the reader has the strongest guaranty for their accuracy. The inferences and comments I am solely responsible for, and I leave them to rest on their own merits. In undertaking this journey, I was careful not to shackle my individual liberty by appearing as the representative of any society, whether religious or benevolent; and, on the other hand, none of those friends, who kindly furnished me with letters of introduction, are in any way responsible for my proceedings in the United States, or for any thing which this volume contains. In conclusion,--should these pages come under the notice of any, who, though well wishers to their species, are not yet identified with anti-slavery effort, I would entreat such to "come over and help us." If they are ambitious of a large and quick return for their outlay of money, of time, of labor,--for their painful sympathies and self-denying prayers,--where will they find a cause where help is more needed, or where it would be rewarded more surely and abundantly? Let them reflect on what has been effected, within a few short years, in the British West Indies, so recently numbered among "the dark places of the earth, full of the habitations of cruelty,"--but now scenes of light, gladness, and prosperity, temporal and spiritual. To show what remains to be accomplished for the universal abolition of slavery--a field in which the laborers are few indeed, in proportion to its extent--I may be allowed to quote the following comprehensive statement, from the preface to one of the most important volumes that ever issued from the press on the subject of slavery:[A] [Footnote A: "Proceedings of the London Anti-Slavery Convention."] "The extent of these giant evils may be gathered from a brief statement of facts. In the United States of America, the slave population is estimated to be 2,750,000; in Brazil, 2,500,000; in the Spanish Colonies, 600,000; in the French Colonies, 265,000; in the Dutch Colonies, 70,000; in the Danish and Swedish Colonies, 30,000; and in Texas, 25,000; besides those held in bondage by Great Britain, in the East Indies, and the British Settlements of Ceylon, Malacca, and Penang; and by France, Holland, and Portugal, in various parts of Asia and Africa; amounting in all to several millions more; and exclusive also of those held in bondage by the native powers of the East, and other parts of the world, of whose number it is impossible to form a correct estimate. "To supply the slave-markets of the Western world, 120,000 native Africans are, on the most moderate calculation, annually required; whilst the slave-markets of the East require 50,000 more. In procuring these victims of a guilty traffic, to be devoted to the rigors of perpetual slavery, it is computed that 280,000 perish in addition, and under circumstances the most revolting and afflicting. "But this is not all. In the Southern section of the United States, and in British India, a vast internal slave-trade is carried on, second only in horror and extent to that which has so long desolated and degraded Africa. "These facts exhibit, also, the magnitude of the responsibility which devolves upon abolitionists; in view of it they may well be allowed to disclaim, as they do, all sectarian motive, all party feeling: 'Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good will to man,' is their aim: consistently with the blessed character of this gospel anthem, they recognize no means as allowable for them, in the prosecution of their holy enterprise, than those which are of a moral, religious, and pacific nature; in the diligent use of these means, and trusting in God, they cherish the hope that, under His blessing, they may be permitted to accomplish the great work to which they are devoted; and thus be made instrumental in advancing the sacred cause of freedom, and its attendant blessings, civilization and religion, throughout the earth." J.S. Edgbaston, near Birmingham, Second Month, 1st, 1842. A VISIT, &c. I embarked at Portsmouth, on board the British Queen steam packet, commanded by Captain Franklin, on the 10th of the 3d Month, (March,) 1841. During the first two or three days, the weather was unusually fine for the season of the year, and gave us the prospect of a quick and prosperous voyage. The passengers, about seventy in number, were of various nations, including English, French, German and American. The very objectionable custom of supplying the passengers with intoxicating liquors without limit and without any additional charge, thus compelling the temperate or abstinent passenger to contribute to the expenses of the intemperate, was done away. Each individual paid for the wine and spirits he called for, a circumstance which greatly promoted sobriety in the ship; but I am sorry to say three or four, and these my own countrymen, were not unfrequently in a state of intoxication. On one occasion, after dinner, one of these addressed an intelligent black steward, who was waiting, by the contemptuous designation of "blackey;" the man replied to him in this manner:--"My name is Robert; when you want any thing from me please to address me by my name; there is no gentleman on board who would have addressed me as you have done; we are all the same flesh and blood; I did not make myself; God made me." This severe and public rebuke commended itself to every man's conscience, and my countryman obtained no sympathy even from the most prejudiced slaveholder on board. Several of my fellow passengers stood in this relation; and I found I could freely converse with a native American slaveholder not only with less risk of giving offence, but that he was more ready to admit the inherent evils of slavery than the Europeans who had become inured to the system by residence in the Southern States of America, or than the American merchants residing in the Northern cities, whose participation in the commerce of the Slave States had imbued them with pro-slavery views and feelings. One of them, a French merchant of New Orleans, went so far as to assure me, that in his opinion it would be as reasonable to class the negroes with monkeys, as to place them on an equality with the whites. On the nights of the 14th and 15th the Aurora Borealis was very beautiful and vivid, which is said to be, in these latitudes, an indication of stormy weather. Accordingly on the 16th the weather became less favorable, with an increased swell in the sea, wind more ahead, and occasional squalls. On the night of the 18th we encountered one of the most awful hurricanes ever witnessed by the oldest sailor on board; and from this date to the 24th inst. we experienced a succession of storms of indescribable violence and severity, which at some intervals caused great and I believe very just alarm for the safety of the ship. The President steamer, coming in the opposite direction, is known to have encountered the same weather, and was doubtless lost, not having since been heard of. Our escape, under Divine Providence, must be attributed to the great strength of the vessel, which had been thoroughly repaired since her last voyage, and to the skill and indefatigable attention of the Captain. On the 25th the wind abated, and the greater number of the floats or propelling boards of the paddle wheels having been carried away, and our stock of coals very much reduced, the Captain decided to make for Halifax, Nova Scotia, where we arrived on the evening of the 30th. After a stay of twenty-four hours, for repairs and supplies, we again left for New York, where we arrived safely on the night of 4th Month, (April,) 3d. The following day, being the first of the week, I landed about the time of the gathering of the different congregations, and inquired my way to the meeting of the orthodox section of the Society of Friends, and afterwards took up my abode at the Carlton Hotel. Here I met, for the first time, my friend J.G. Whittier, whom I had been anxious to associate with myself in my future movements, and who kindly consented to be my companion as far as his health would permit. The next morning, on returning to the vessel to get my luggage passed, a custom-house officer manifested his disapproval of my character and objects as an abolitionist, by giving me much unnecessary trouble, and by being the means of my paying duty on a small machine for copying letters for my own private use, and other articles which I believe are usually passed free. Ordinarily at this port, the luggage of respectable passengers is passed with little examination, on an assurance that it comprises no merchandise. This was almost the only instance of discourteous treatment I met with in the United States. We remained in New York from the 4th to the 10th of this month, which time was occupied in visiting different friends of the anti-slavery cause, and in receiving calls at our hotel. I had much pleasure and satisfaction in my intercourse here with several individuals distinguished in the anti-slavery cause, some of whom I had met in 1837, during a short visit to New York on my way from the West Indies. Among these, ought particularly to be mentioned the brothers Arthur and Lewis Tappan. The former was elected president of the American Anti-Slavery Society on its formation, and remained at its head until the division which took place last year, when he became president of the American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society. His name is not more a byeword of reproach, than a watchword of alarm throughout the slave states; and the slave holders have repeatedly set a high price upon his head by advertisement in the public papers. In the just estimation of the pro-slavery party, Arthur Tappan is abolition personified; and truly the cause needs not to be ashamed of its representative, for a more deservedly honored and estimable character it would be difficult to find. In personal deportment he is unobtrusive and silent; his sterling qualities are veiled by reserve, and are in themselves such as make the least show--clearness and judgment, prudence and great decision. He is the head of an extensive mercantile establishment, and the high estimation in which he is held by his fellow citizens, notwithstanding the unpopularity of his views on slavery, is the result of a long and undeviating career of public spirit and private integrity, and of an uninterrupted succession of acts of benevolence. During a series of years of commercial prosperity, his revenues were distributed with an unsparing hand through the various channels which promised benefit to his fellow creatures; and in this respect, his gifts, large and frequent though they were, were probably exceeded in usefulness by the influence of his example as a man and a Christian. His brother Lewis, with the same noble and disinterested spirit in the application of his pecuniary resources, possesses the rare faculty of incessant labor; which, when combined, as in his case, with great intellectual and physical capacity, eminently qualifies for a leading position in society. He unites in a remarkable degree, the apparently incompatible qualities of versatility and concentration; and his admirable endowments have been applied in the service of the helpless and the oppressed with corresponding success. He has been from the beginning one of the most active members of the central Anti-Slavery Committee in New York, a body that has directed the aggressive operations against slavery, on a national scale, with a display of resources, and an untiring and resolute vigor, that have attracted the admiration of all, who, sympathizing in their object, have had the privilege of watching their proceedings. Of those who have impressed the likeness of their own character on these proceedings, Lewis Tappan is one of the chief; and he has shared with his brother the most virulent attacks from the pro-slavery party. Some years ago he had the ear of a negro sent to him by post, in an insulting anonymous letter. During the past year, though marked by a severe domestic affliction, in addition to his engagements as a merchant, in partnership with his brother Arthur, and his various public and private duties as a man and as a citizen, in the performance of which I believe he is punctual and exemplary, he has edited, almost without assistance, the American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Reporter, and has also been one of the most active members of a committee of benevolent individuals formed to watch over the interest of the Amistad captives. Besides superintending the maintenance, education, and other interests of these Africans, it was necessary to defend their cause against the whole power of the United States' Government, to raise funds for these objects, to interest foreign Governments in their welfare, and more than all, to keep them constantly before the public, not only for their own sakes, but that a portion of the sympathy and right feeling which was elicited in their favor might be reflected towards the native slave population of the country, whose claim to freedom rests upon the same ground of natural and indefeasible right. With what success this interesting cause has been prosecuted is well expressed in a single sentence by a valued transatlantic correspondent of mine, who, writing at the most critical period of the controversy, says:--"We, or rather Lewis Tappan, has made the whole nation look the captives in the face." Joshua Leavitt, proprietor and editor of the New York Emancipator, a large weekly abolition newspaper, and secretary of the American and Foreign Anti-slavery Society, is another remarkable man, clear and sound in judgment, and efficient in action. He is justly regarded by American abolitionists as one of their ablest supporters. La Roy Sunderland, member of the Executive Committee, and editor of "Zion's Watchman," a Methodist, religious, and anti-slavery newspaper, with his slight figure, dark intellectual face, and earnest manner, is pointed out to the anti-slavery visitor from the Old World as the most prominent advocate of emancipation among the Wesleyans. His boldness and faithfulness have combined against him the leading influences of his denomination, but notwithstanding he has been several times tried by ecclesiastical councils, they have always failed to substantiate the charges against him, and his vindication has been complete. Theodore S. Wright, member of the committee, is a colored presbyterian preacher in this city--an amiable man, much and deservedly respected. All the above mentioned individuals, who have from an early period been among the most zealous and laborious members of the anti-slavery committee, found themselves placed by the events of last year in the position of seceders from the American Anti-Slavery Society, though their opinions had undergone no change. They now belong to the American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, or as it is technically called the "new organization," a distinction which will be afterwards explained. James M'Cune Smith, a young colored physician, I had known in England, where he studied for his profession, having been shut out of the colleges of his own country by the prejudice against his complexion. Notwithstanding this prejudice he is now practising, I understand, with success, and has fair prospects. I had a pleasant interview with Isaac T. Hopper, whom also I had met in 1837. He belongs to the American Anti-Slavery Society, or "old organization," and has been a zealous and fearless abolitionist for half a century. He has been recently disowned by the "Hicksite Friends" for his connection with the newspaper called the "National Anti-Slavery Standard." Early on the morning of the 10th, we left for Burlington by railroad, where we were most kindly received by our venerable friends Stephen Grellett and his wife. On the following day, we took tea with John Cox, residing about three miles from Burlington, at a place called Oxmead, where formerly that eminent minister of the Society of Friends, George Dillwin, resided. J.C. is now in his eighty-seventh year, enjoying a green and cheerful old age, and feeling all the interest of his youth in the anti-slavery cause. It was cheering and animating to witness the serene spirit of this venerable man, and deeply were we interested in the reminiscences of his youth. He well remembered John Woolman, whose former residence, Mount Holly, is within a few miles of Oxmead, and of whom he related various particulars characteristic of the simplicity, humanity, and great circumspection of his life and conversation. When John Woolman first brought the subject of slavery before the yearly meeting of the Society of Friends at Philadelphia, at a time when its members were deeply implicated both in slave-holding and in slave-dealing, he stood almost alone in his anti-slavery testimony, which he expressed in few and appropriate words. Some severe remarks were made by others in reply, on this and on successive similar occasions, when he introduced the subject, but such treatment provoked no rejoinder from John Woolman, who would quietly resume his seat and weep in silent submission. He was not deterred by this discouraging reception from again and again bringing the subject before the next Yearly Meeting, and finally his unwearied efforts, always prosecuted in the "meekness of wisdom," resulted in the Society of Friends entirely wiping away the reproach of this abomination. The great qualification of John Woolman for pleading the cause of the oppressed was the same which has been ascribed with equal truth and beauty to his contemporary and co-worker, Anthony Benezet: "a peculiar capacity for being profoundly sensible of their wrongs." The biographer of the latter has described another occurrence in the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting at a subsequent stage of this momentous controversy, which may prove an interesting counterpart to the foregoing relation. "On one occasion during the annual convention of the Society at Philadelphia, when that body was engaged on the subject of slavery, as it related to its own members, some of whom had not wholly relinquished the practice of keeping negroes in bondage, a difference of sentiment arose as to the course which ought to be pursued. For a moment it appeared doubtful which opinion would preponderate. At this critical juncture Benezet left his seat, which was in an obscure part of the house, and presented himself weeping at an elevated door in the presence of the whole congregation, whom he thus addressed--'Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto God.' He said no more: under the solemn impression which succeeded this emphatic quotation, the proposed measure received the united sanction of the assembly."[A] [Footnote A: Life of Anthony Benezet, by Roberts Vaux.] Even the passing observer is aware how closely the Society of Friends is identified with the anti-slavery cause, and if such an one were to make this fact the subject of historical investigation, he would probably find it one of considerable interest.--He would learn that some years before the call of Thomas Clarkson in his early manhood, by a series of distinct and remarkable Providences, into this field of labor, this Society in America had been pervaded by a noiseless agitation on the subject of slavery, which resulted in the abandonment of the slave-trade, in the liberation of their slaves, and in the adoption of a rule of discipline excluding slaveholders from religious fellowship; so that for many years past, the sins in question have been not so much as to be named among them, or the possibility of their commission hinted at, by any one bearing the name and professing the principles of a "Friend." The change described, was effected, not by "pressure from without," but by the constraining influence of the love of Christ. The chief instruments in the hands of Divine Providence in bringing about so remarkable a reformation, were John Woolman and Anthony Benezet, of whom the former was the earlier in the field and broke up the fallow ground, under circumstances of the greatest discouragement, of which the instance above related is an example. The life of this ever-memorable man was a pattern of apostolic Christianity--pure, patient, self-denying, meek. Love was the element he breathed. His heart not only yearned towards the oppressed of the human family, but his compassion extended to the brute creation, under whose sufferings in the service of man, to use his own expression, "creation at this day doth loudly groan." Though dependent on his own labor for a livelihood, he was careful in a most exemplary degree, "not to entangle himself with affairs of this life, that he might please Him who had called him to be a soldier;" and the reader of his life will find that this unworldly man took similar pains to avoid wealth, which others do to acquire it. Perhaps I may be excused for dwelling a moment on this theme, when I state that one of the latest public acts of my beloved and lamented father-in-law, James Cropper, was to cause John Woolman's auto-biography and writings to be re-edited, and a large and cheap edition to be struck off, which has appeared since his decease.[A] This work is well known to the Society of Friends, but should any other reader be induced by these desultory remarks to peruse it, he will find himself richly repaid. In the picturesque simplicity of its style, refined literary taste has found an inimitable charm,[B] but the spiritually minded reader will discover beauties of a far higher order. [Footnote A: A Journal of the Life, Gospel Labors, and Christian Experience, &c. &c. of John Woolman. Warrington, Thomas Hurst.] [Footnote B: See Charles Lamb's Works.] Taking leave for the present of our venerable friends at Oxmead and Burlington, we proceeded on the 12th to Philadelphia, where we remained several days, at the Union Hotel. During this brief stay, we received visits from a large number of the friends of the anti-slavery cause, and made some calls in return. Among others, I had the pleasure of seeing James Forten, an aged and opulent man of color, whose long career has been marked by the display of capacity and energy of no common kind. The history of his life is interesting and instructive, affording a practical demonstration of the absurdity, as well as injustice, of that prejudice which would stamp the mark of intellectual inferiority on his complexion and race. I returned to New York on the 15th, in company with several anti-slavery friends. One of these, Dr. Bartholomew Fussell, resided on the borders of the State of Maryland, and had afforded relief and aid to many negroes escaping from slavery. He had kept no account of the number thus assisted till last year, when there were thirty-four, being fewer he thought than the average of several years preceding. The same individual related some interesting particulars of the late Elisha Tyson, of Baltimore, an abolitionist of the old school, who had rescued many negroes from illegal bondage. Dr. Fussell was an eye witness of the following occurrence: A poor woman had been seized by the agents of Woolfolk, the notorious Maryland slave dealer, and was carried along the street in which Elisha Tyson lived. When they arrived opposite his house, she demanded to see "Father Tyson." A crowd collected about the party, and she so far moved their pity, that they insisted that her wish should be complied with. One of the men hereupon went to inform his employer, who galloped off, pistol in hand, and found Elisha Tyson standing at his own door. Woolfolk with an oath declared he would "send him to hell for interfering with his _property_." Elisha Tyson coolly exposed his breast, telling him that he dared not shoot, and that he (Woolfolk) "was in hell already, though he did not know it." An investigation followed; the poor woman was proved to be illegally detained, and was set at liberty.[A] It is generally allowed that so bold and uncompromising an advocate of the negroes' right as Elisha Tyson does not now remain in the slave States. [Footnote A: See Appendix D for a brief account of this ancient philanthropist.] As the old school of abolitionists has been mentioned, and will occasionally be referred to hereafter, the following historical statement of its rise and decline, and of the commencement of the present abolition movement, will probably be interesting to the anti-slavery reader on this side of the Atlantic. It is from the pen of my valued coadjutor John G. Whittier. "The old Anti-Slavery Societies, established about the period of the American Revolution, and of which the late Judge Jay, Benjamin Franklin, Dr. Rush, and other distinguished statesmen were members, were composed mainly of the Religious Society of Friends. These societies were for many years active and energetic in their labors for the slave, and the free people of color; and little, if any, serious opposition was made to their exertions, which indeed seem to have been confined to the particular states in which they were located. They rendered essential service in promoting the gradual abolition of slavery in New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. "In 1819 commenced the discussion of what is now known as the 'Missouri Question.' The Anti-Slavery Societies took ground against the admission into the Union of the territory of Missouri as a slave state. They succeeded in arousing the public attention; and for two sessions the subject was warmly debated in Congress; the slave-holders finally carrying their point by working upon the fears of a few Northern members, by means of that old threat of dissolving the Union, which in the very outset of the Government had extorted from the Convention which framed the Constitution, a clause legalizing the Foreign Slave Trade for twenty years. The admission of Missouri as a slave State was a fatal concession to the South: the abolitionists became disheartened: their societies lingered on a few years longer, and nearly all were extinct previous to 1830. The colonization scheme had in the mean time, in despite of the earnest and almost unanimous rejection of it by the colored people, obtained a strong hold on the public mind, and had especially enlisted the favorable regard of some of the leading influences of the Society of Friends. Here and there over the country, might be found still a faithful laborer, like Elisha Tyson, of Baltimore, Thomas Shipley, of Philadelphia, and Moses Brown, of Rhode Island, holding up the good old testimony against prejudice and oppression in the midst of a wide spread apostacy. I should mention in this connection, Benjamin Lundy, a member of the Society of Friends, who devoted his whole life to the cause of freedom, travelling on foot thousands of miles, visiting every part of the slave States, Mexico and the Haytian Republic. About the year 1828, he visited Boston, and enlisted the sympathies of William Lloyd Garrison, then a very young man. Not long after, he was joined by the latter as an associate editor of _The Genius of Universal Emancipation_, an anti-slavery paper which he had established at Baltimore. After a residence in Baltimore of about six months, Garrison was thrown into prison for an alledged libel upon a northern slave-trader, whence he was liberated on the payment of his fine by the benevolent Arthur Tappan. Lundy continued his paper some time longer in Baltimore, where he was subjected to brutal personal violence from the notorious Woolfolk, the great slave-dealer of that city. He afterwards removed it to Philadelphia; and in 1834 made a tour through the South Western States and Texas, in which he encountered great dangers, and suffered extreme hardships from sickness and destitution. This journey was deemed by many an unprofitable and hazardous experiment, but it proved of great importance. He collected an immense amount of facts, developing beforehand the grand slave-holding conspiracy for revolutionizing Texas, and annexing it to the American Union, as a slave territory. These he published to the world on his return; and it has justly been said of him, by John Quincy Adams, that his exertions alone, under Providence, prevented the annexation of Texas to the United States. This bold and single-hearted pioneer died not long since in the State of Illinois, whither he repaired to take the place of the lamented Lovejoy, who was murdered by a mob in that State, in 1837. "In 1831, Wm. Lloyd Garrison commenced, under great difficulties and discouragements, the publication of the _Liberator_, in Boston; and by the energy and earnestness of his appeals, roused the attention of many minds to the subject of slavery. Shortly after, a society was formed in Boston in favor of immediate emancipation. It consisted at first, if I remember right, of only twelve members. Previous to this, however, a society, embracing very similar principles, had been formed in Pennsylvania. In 1833, upwards of sixty delegates from several of the free States, met at Philadelphia; among them were Elizur Wright and Beriah Green, (who had been compelled to give up their Professorships in Western Reserve [Ohio] College, for their attachment to freedom,) Lewis Tappan, William Lloyd Garrison, Charles W. Denison, Arnold Buffum, Amos A. Phelps, and John G. Whittier. This Convention organized the American Anti-Slavery Society, proposing to make use of the common instrumentalities afforded by the Government and laws, for the abolition of slavery; at the same time, disavowing a design to use any other than peaceful and lawful measures." In some of the Southern States there are professing Christian churches who permit slave-holding, but disallow the selling of slaves, except with their own consent. Dr. Fussell informed me how this fair-seeming rule of discipline was frequently evaded. First, a church member wishing to turn his negroes into cash, begins by making their yoke heavier, and their life a burden. Next they are thrown in the way of decoy slaves, belonging to Woolfolk, or some other dealer, who introduce themselves to the intended victims, for the purpose of expatiating on the privileges enjoyed by the slaves of so indulgent a master as theirs; and thus the poor unhappy dupes would be persuaded to go and petition to be sold, and so the rule of discipline, above cited, would be _literally_ complied with. So great, generally, is the dread of being sold to the South, that my informant said the larger number of runaways escape when the price is high, as the danger of being sold is then most imminent. The greater proportion of those who thus emancipate themselves are domestics, owing to their superior intelligence, and their opportunities of ascertaining the best mode of escape. On the 16th, I met the Executive Committee of the American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, at their office, No. 128 Fulton street, New York. The chair was taken by the President of the Society. The subject under discussion was the best time and place of holding another Convention of the friends of the anti-slavery cause from all parts of the world. After deliberate consideration, the following resolutions were unanimously adopted. _Resolved_,--"That this Committee fully recognise and adopt the principles upon which the General Anti-Slavery Convention, held in London last year, was convened, and upon which it acted; that we feel greatly encouraged by the results of its meetings, and that we would strongly recommend our transatlantic friends to summon a second Convention in London, at about the same period in 1842; and that in the event of their doing so, we will use our best exertions to promote a good representation of American abolitionists on the occasion." _Resolved_,--"That we deeply sympathize with the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, in their noble efforts for the abolition of slavery and the slave-trade; that we assure them of our hearty co-operation in their well devised plans and energetic labors; and that so long as the slave question--in connection with the promotion of the rights of the free people of color--and nothing else, is admitted to a place in anti-slavery meetings, they may expect the co-operation of all true-hearted abolitionists throughout the world, in carrying forward the great objects of our associations to a glorious consummation." I returned to Philadelphia on the afternoon of the 17th, but before leaving my hotel in New York, informed one of the proprietors that I intended being in that city on the week of the anniversaries of the Religious and Benevolent Institutions; that as I took a lively interest in the anti-slavery question, it was probable some of my friends among the people of color would call upon me, and that if he, or any of his southern customers objected to this, I would go elsewhere; he answered that he had no objection, and even intimated his belief that public opinion was undergoing a favorable change in reference to this prejudice. Although I did not arrive in Philadelphia till near midnight, I found my kind friends, Samuel Webb and wife waiting to receive me, whose hospitable dwelling I made my home, whenever I afterwards lodged in this city. Samuel Webb is one of the few on whose shoulders the burden of the anti-slavery cause mainly rests in Philadelphia. He is a practical man, conversant with business, thoroughly acquainted with the anti-slavery subject in all its phases, and a strenuous advocate for bringing political influence to bear upon the question. He was one of the most active in promoting the erection of Pennsylvania Hall, a beautiful edifice designed to be open to the use of the anti-slavery societies; which was no sooner so appropriated than it was destroyed by a mob in the 5th Month, (May,) 1838. The fire-scathed ruin of this building yet stands a conspicuous token that the principles of true liberty, though loudly vaunted, are neither understood nor enjoyed in this Capital of a _free_ republic. If freedom of thought, of speech, of the press, and the right of petition had been _realities_ in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Hall would have been yet standing. Samuel Webb has since taken the chief labor of an appeal to the legal tribunals for compensation for this infamous destruction of property, and a jury have at length awarded damages, though to a very inadequate amount. During the ensuing week I was chiefly occupied in attending the Philadelphia Friends' Yearly Meeting. In the intervals of the sittings, I had many opportunities of meeting "Friends" from whom I received much kindness, and many more invitations than it was possible for me to accept. There are many "Friends" of this city who take a deep interest in the anti-slavery cause; among whom I may mention Thomas Wistar, an aged and influential individual, who, like his venerable contemporary, John Cox, has been an abolitionist from his youth up, and a member of the original society; and one who has been accustomed to bear his testimony on behalf of the oppressed, on suitable occasions, in the presence of his brethren in religious fellowship, and whose communications of this kind, are always weighty, solemn, and impressive. Dr. Caspar Wistar, son of Thomas Wistar, is a warm hearted, active abolitionist, a liberal contributor of his pecuniary means, and deeply solicitous that "Friends" in the United States should be induced to engage earnestly in the cause of emancipation. Edward Needles, a kind and open hearted man, a native of Maryland, and President of the "old Abolition Society," is a devoted friend to the anti-slavery cause. The subject of slavery was introduced in the Yearly Meeting by the reading of certain minutes of the Meeting for Sufferings, from which it appeared that meeting, (the executive Committee of the Society,) had taken up the question of the foreign slave-trade, but had not yet entertained the consideration of the slavery and internal slave-trade of their own country. On the subject of the latter, a very faithful minute from the Meeting for Sufferings in London was received and read. As this term will sometimes occur in the ensuing pages, it may be necessary to state for the information of the general reader, that the Society of Friends is distributed into various "Yearly Meetings," of which there are several on the Continent of North America. Within the compass of each an annual assembly is held to regulate all the affairs and discipline of that section of the body. There is also in each Yearly Meeting a permanent committee called the "Meeting for Sufferings" for administering the affairs of the Societies, in the intervals of its annual assemblies. The technical name of this committee is an expressive memorial of those times of trial, when its chief employment was to record "sufferings" and persecutions, and to afford such succor and alleviation as circumstances admitted. An address from the Yearly Meeting of London on slavery was also read,[A] which was followed by observations from several, which evinced great exercise of mind on the subject. Three thousand copies of it were ordered to be printed for distribution among Friends of Pennsylvania, and the whole subject of slavery and the slave-trade was referred to their Meeting for Sufferings, with a recommendation that an account should be drawn up and printed of the former abolition of slavery within the limits of the Society of Friends. I need hardly state how much these measures were in unison with my own feelings, and that I heartily rejoiced at signs of an awakening zeal in my American brethren. Let them but ask for the ancient ways, and follow in the footsteps of their predecessors, whose memorials are their precious inheritance, and once more shall they be made a blessing to mankind, and messengers of mercy and deliverance to the oppressed.[B] [Footnote A: See Appendix A.] [Footnote B: See Appendix B.] It will be interesting to some of my English readers to be informed, that both the sale and use of spirituous liquors come within the scope of discipline among "Friends" in America. In this Yearly Meeting it is required that the subordinate meetings should report the number of their members, who continue to sell, use, or give ardent spirits. If I remember rightly the number of cases reported was fifty-nine. At present the moderate use of spirits subjects to admonition, but it was discussed at this time whether the rule of discipline should not be rendered more stringent, and this practice made a disownable offence. Finally it was resolved to make no alteration at present, but to recommend the local meetings of Friends to use further labor in the line of reproof and persuasion. I am informed that some of the American Yearly Meetings of Friends go still farther on this subject. It will scarcely be questioned that public sentiment both in the United States, and in England, condemns even the moderate use of ardent spirits as a beverage, though some difference of opinion will exist as to the propriety of a religious society making it a cause of disownment or exclusion. In this case of the Philadelphia Meeting, however, it may be remarked, that in a community of many thousand members, the practice may be regarded as almost eradicated by the milder methods of persuasion. It is a fact deserving of notice, that the same worthies of the last century, Woolman, Benezet, and others, who raised the standard of anti-slavery testimony, also by the same process of independent thinking, and single-minded, unhesitating obedience to convictions of duty, anticipated the verdict of public opinion on this subject. Woolman found that even the most moderate use of ardent spirits, was unfavorable to that calm religious meditation, which was the habit of his mind, and has left his views on record in various characteristic passages. I shall also, I trust, be excused for introducing the following anecdote of two of his contemporaries. "Jacob Lindley, to adopt his own designation of himself was a 'stripling' when he attended a Yearly Meeting of Friends held at Philadelphia; his mind had been for some time much afflicted with an observation of the pernicious effects of spirituous liquors, and he was anxious that the religious society to which he belonged, should cease to use, and prevent any of its members from being instrumental in manufacturing or vending them. He therefore rose and developed his feelings to the assembly, in the energetic and pathetic manner for which he was peculiarly remarkable. When the meeting adjourned, he observed a stranger pressing through the crowd towards him, who took him by the hand in the most affectionate manner, and said, 'My dear young friend, I was very glad to hear thy voice on the subject of spirituous liquors; I have much unity with thy concern, and hope that no discouragement may have been received from its not being farther noticed; and now I want thee to go home, and take dinner with me, having something farther to say to thee on the subject.' Lindley accepted the invitation, and after they had dined, Benezet introduced his young guest into a little room used as a study, where he produced a manuscript work on the subject of spirituous liquors, in an unfinished state; he opened the book and laid it on a table before them, saying, 'This is a treatise which I have been for some time engaged in writing, on the subject of thy concern in meeting to-day; and now if thou hast a mind to sit down, and write a paragraph or two, I will embody it in the work, and have it published.'"[A] [Footnote A: Life of Anthony Benezet, p. 107-109.] These eminent men, John Woolman and Anthony Benezet, had much in common; yet their characters were as unlike as opposite temperaments, and as alike as similarity of views, could make them. So marked was their coincidence of sentiment in opposition to the prevailing opinions and practices of that day, that it might be surmised one was a disciple of the other, yet there is no reason to suppose such was the case. Each had the single eye; both learned in the same school, and sat at the feet of the same Divine Master. It is an interesting fact that on the subject last noticed, their labors should have been comparatively fruitless, and for a long interval almost forgotten, while their views on slavery rapidly spread, and produced extensive and permanent results. Does not this illustrate the lesson long ago taught by a great master of wisdom: "In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thy hand; for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they shall both be alike good." May we not infer from this, that even those labors, rightly undertaken, which do not immediately prosper, are yet owned and accepted in the Divine sight? To return from this digression to our attendance of the Yearly Meeting in Philadelphia: one interesting part of the business was the annual report on education; from which it appeared, that the whole number of children, of an age for education, within the compass of this Yearly Meeting, was eighteen hundred and fourteen, and of these ninety-eight were temporarily absent, though most of them had been receiving instruction during part of the year. I was also deeply interested in the statements made relative to the wicked expatriation of the Indians living within this Yearly Meeting's limits, by the United States Government, from lands which had been secured to them by treaty in the most solemn manner, to the Western wilderness, under plea of a fraudulently obtained cession of their lands, by a few of their number. What greatly aggravates the case is the fact, that these Indians were making rapid progress in civilization, and from a nation of hunters had generally become an agricultural people. Their whole history is a reproach and blot on the American Government, and shews either that public and private virtue amongst the people is at a low ebb, or that "the wicked bear rule." On behalf of this injured people, "Friends" appear to have made strenuous efforts, but have failed in producing any decidedly favorable impression on the Government. The report on this subject, embodied a very affecting letter from the chiefs of this tribe, describing their grief and distress at the prospect of a cruel removal from the homes of their ancestors.[A] [Footnote A: See Appendix C.] During this week, my valued friends, John and Maria Candler, arrived from Hayti, after a stay of many months in Jamaica. At the close of the Yearly Meeting, a meeting was held, and attended by about three hundred "Friends," to whom John Candler gave much interesting information, detailing the results of emancipation in that Island, from his own extensive observations and inquiries. At the request of some individuals present I added a few observations at the close, on the principles and objects of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society. I visited at this time the celebrated Schuylkill waterworks, which are beautifully situated on the river of that name. The water is raised to large reservoirs, at a higher level than the tops of the houses, by pumps worked by the current of the river. The supply not only suffices for the domestic use of the inhabitants, but is abundant for every public purpose of ornament or utility. My kind host, Samuel Webb, who accompanied me, pointed out a plot of land, presented by William Penn to a friend, to enable him to keep a cow, which is now worth many hundred thousand dollars for building purposes. He also showed me a mansion, the late proprietor of which had received a large accession of wealth from the quantities of plate which had been shipped to him in coffee barrels from St. Domingo, on the eve of the revolution in that Island, and whose owners are supposed to have subsequently perished, as they never appeared, with one solitary exception, to claim their property. It will be necessary, in order to make certain passages of the succeeding narrative intelligible to my readers in this country, that some account should be given of the schism which has recently taken place in the once united and compact organizations of the abolitionists. The American Anti-Slavery Society, whose origin has been already described, acted with great unity and efficiency for several years; auxiliaries were formed in all the free States; it scattered its publications over the land like the leaves of autumn, and at times had thirty or forty lecturers in the field. It kept a steady and vigilant eye upon the movements of the pro-slavery party, and wherever a vulnerable point was discovered, it directed its attacks. In its executive committee were such men as Judge Jay, Arthur and Lewis Tappan, La Roy Sunderland, Simeon S. Jocelyn, (the early laborer on behalf of the free colored people,) Joshua Leavitt, Henry B. Stanton, and the late Dr. Follen, a German political refugee, equally distinguished for his literary attainments and his love of liberty. Until the last three or four years, entire union of purpose and concert of action existed among the American abolitionists. This harmony was first disturbed by the course pursued in the Boston Liberator. The editor of that paper, William Lloyd Garrison, whose early anti-slavery career has already been alluded to, and who was deservedly honored by the great body of the abolitionists, for his sufferings in their cause, and for his triumphant exposure of the oppressive tendencies of the colonization scheme, had always refused to share with any society or committee, the editorial responsibility of his journal. About the time referred to, several pieces were inserted in the _Liberator_, questioning the generally received opinions on the first day of the week. These were followed by others on other subjects, and he continued to keep his readers apprised of the new views of ethics and theology, which from time to time were presented to his own mind. His paper was not the special organ of any anti-slavery society, yet it was regarded, by general consent of the friends and enemies of the cause, as the organ of the anti-slavery movement. The discussion in its columns of new and startling doctrines, on subjects unconnected with slavery, occasioned many of the former much uneasiness and embarrassment, while it furnished the latter with new excuses for their enmity, and with the pretence that under cover of _abolition_, lurked a design of assailing institutions and opinions justly held in regard throughout the Christian world. In the summer of 1837, Sarah and Angelina Grimke visited New England for the purpose of advocating the cause of the slave, with whose condition they were well acquainted, being natives of South Carolina, and having been themselves at one time implicated in the system. Their original intention was to confine their public labors to audiences of their own sex, but they finally addressed promiscuous assemblies. Their intimate knowledge of the true character of slavery; their zeal, devotion, and gifts as speakers, produced a deep impression, wherever they went. They met with considerable opposition from colonizationists, and also from a portion of the New England clergy, on the ground of the impropriety of their publicly addressing mixed audiences. This called forth in the Liberator, which at that time, I understand, was under the patronage, though I believe not under the control of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, a discussion of the abstract question of the entire equality of the rights and duties of the two sexes. Here was a new element of discord. In 1838, at the annual New England convention of abolitionists, a woman was for the first time placed on committees with men, an innovation upon the general custom of the community, which excited much dissatisfaction in the minds of many. About this time the rightfulness of civil and church government began to be called in question, through the columns of the Liberator, by its editor and correspondents. These opinions were concurrently advocated with the doctrine of non-resistance. Those who hold these opinions, while they deny that civil and ecclesiastical government are of divine authority, are yet passively submissive to the authority of the former, though they abstain from exercising the political rights of citizenship. There were not wanting those, among the opponents of abolition, to charge the anti-slavery body at large with maintaining these views, and in consequence serious embarrassments were thrown in the way of a successful prosecution of the cause. The executive committee of the Society at New York were placed in a difficult position, but as far as I am able to judge, they endeavored to hold on the steady tenor of their way, without, on the one hand, countenancing the introduction of extraneous matters upon the anti-slavery platform; or, on the other hand, yielding to the clamor of the pro-slavery party, whether in church or state. In subsequent anti-slavery meetings in Boston, New York, and elsewhere, it became manifest that there was a radical difference of opinion on the subject of political action; the non-resistant and no-government influence, operating decidedly against the employment of the elective franchise in the anti-slavery cause; and the agitation of this question, as well as that of the rights of women, in their meetings, gave to them a discordant and party character, painfully contrasting with the previous peaceful and harmonious action of the societies. That some of both parties began to overlook the great subject of the slaves' emancipation, in zealous advocacy of, or opposition to, these new measures, I cannot well doubt, judging from the testimony of those, who, not fully sympathizing with either, endeavored to bring all back to the single object of the anti-slavery association. In addition to these intestine troubles, the pro-slavery party made strenuous exertions to fasten upon the society the responsibility of the opinions and proceedings of its non-resistant and no-government members. Under these circumstances it is easy to understand the interruption, for a season, of the unity of feeling and action which had previously characterized the assemblies of the abolitionists. The actual separation in the societies took place in the Spring of 1840. The members of the executive committee at New York, with one exception, seceded and became members of the committee of the "new organization," under the name of the "American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society." There are, therefore, now two central or national anti-slavery societies; the "old organization," retaining the designation of the "American Anti-Slavery Society." The State Societies have, for the most part, taken up a position of neutrality, or independence of both. It is important to add that the division took place on the "women's rights" question, and that this is the only one of the controverted points which the American Anti-Slavery Society has officially affirmed; and it is argued, on behalf of their view of this question, that since, in the original "constitution" of the society, the term, describing its members, officers, et cet., is "persons," that women are plainly invested with the same eligibility to appointments, and the same right to vote and act as the other sex. I need not say how this "constitutional" argument is met on the other side. The other new views are held by comparatively few persons, and neither anti-slavery society in America is responsible for them. In conclusion, I rejoice to be able to add, that the separation, in its effects, appears to have been a healing measure; a better and kinder feeling is beginning to pervade all classes of American abolitionists; the day of mutual crimination seems to be passing away, and there is strong reason to hope that the action of the respective societies will henceforward harmoniously tend to the same object. That such may be the result is my sincere desire. It is proper in this connection to state that a considerable number of active and prominent abolitionists do not entirely sympathize with either division of the anti-slavery society; and there are comparatively few who make their views, for or against the question on which the division took place, a matter of conscience. I have now given a brief, and I trust an impartial account of the origin of these dissensions. Some may possibly regard the views and proceedings above referred to, as the natural growth of abolitionism, but as well might the divisions among the early reformers be charged upon the doctrines of the Reformation, or the "thirty years' war" upon the preaching of Luther. On the evening of the 14th instant, we met at a social party the leading abolitionists of Philadelphia of the "old organization." There were present all but one of the delegates from Pennsylvania to the London Convention. I availed myself of the opportunity of briefly and distinctly stating the unanimous conclusion of the London Anti-Slavery Committee, in which I entirely concurred, on the points at issue. I observed, in substance, that in the struggle for the liberation of the slaves in the British Colonies, one great source of our moral strength was, the singleness of our object, and our not allowing any other subject, however important or unexceptionable, to be mixed up with it; that though the aid of our female coadjutors had been of vital importance to the success of the anti-slavery enterprize, yet that their exertions had been uniformly directed by separate committees of their own sex, and that the abolitionists of Europe had no doubt that their united influence was most powerful in this mode of action: that the London Committee being convinced that no female delegate had crossed the Atlantic, under the belief that the "call" or invitation was intended to include women, felt themselves called upon, without in the slightest degree wishing to interfere with private opinion on this, or any other subject, to withhold their assent to the reception of such delegates, as members of the Convention, and that their decision, when appealed against, had been ratified in the Convention itself, by an overwhelming majority, after a protracted discussion: finally, that those whose views I represented, could not be parties to the introduction, in any future convention, of this or any other question, which we deemed foreign to our cause, and therefore that for those with whom it was a point of conscience to carry out what they deemed "women's rights," I saw no alternative but a separate organization, in which I wished that their efforts on behalf of the oppressed colored race, might be crowned with the largest measure of success. I observed, in conclusion, that my object was simply to state the decision of those with whom I acted in Great Britain, and that I must decline discussion, being fully convinced that it was better that the now separate societies should aim at the common object, in a spirit of kind and friendly co-operation, each in its own sphere, rather than that they should waste their energies in mutual contentions, and in the unprofitable discussion of topics not legitimately belonging to the great question of the abolition of slavery. Although I had to address a company almost unanimously opposed on these points to myself, my communication was received in a kind and friendly spirit, and I was courteously informed that it would be taken into consideration at the next meeting of the Committee. My friend, Daniel Neall, at whose house this interview took place, is a venerable looking man, a native of Delaware, and son-in-law of the excellent Warner Mifflin. He has been an abolitionist from his boyhood. Two years ago, he was dragged from the house of a friend in Delaware, and tarred and feathered, and otherwise mal-treated by a mob of slave-holders and their abettors; he mildly told those near him that if they would call at his house at Philadelphia, he would treat them in a very different manner. He was president of the Pennsylvania Hall Association, and in the terrible mobs of 1838, manifested a calm, quiet courage, as rare as it is commendable. I remained in Philadelphia until the morning of the 28th, and during this interval paid many visits, and obtained much information, on the state of the anti-slavery feeling in this city, and more particularly amongst the members of the religious community to which I belong. On one occasion an esteemed individual kindly invited a number of "Friends" to meet me at his house, including some who object to uniting in anti-slavery effort with those of other denominations. I was introduced by the reading of a certificate of membership from the monthly meeting to which I belong, and also a document from a number of "Friends" in England, well known to those in America, commending me, and the cause in which I was engaged, to their kind and favorable consideration. I then briefly related the leading objects of my visit to America, and that it was my anxious wish the members of my own religious society in this land, could see it their place to take the same active and prominent part in the anti-slavery cause, as their brethren in England had done, especially as the principles on which the British and Foreign and the American and Foreign Societies were founded, were entirely in accordance with the views of the Society of Friends. Those who spoke in reply mostly vindicated the course pursued in the United States. From this interview, as well as from others of a more private nature, with leading "Friends," I came to the conclusion, that a number of these would continue, by their influence and advice, to oppose their fellow members joining anti-slavery societies, though it is not probable that any disciplinary proceedings would be taken against such who might act in opposition to this counsel, so long as the recognized principles of the Society were not compromised. On this, to me, painfully interesting subject, I could dwell at length, but I will simply remark that, while it is evident that anti-slavery feeling is at too low an ebb among "Friends" here, yet doubtless, many of those who thus excuse themselves from active and effective service in the cause, still deeply sympathize with their oppressed fellow-men, and are not quite at ease in view of the apathy and inaction of the body to which they belong. On the 28th we arrived at Baltimore; during a stay of two or three days, we found several persons who were friendly to our cause. There are computed to be five thousand slaves in this city, but of course slavery does not obtrude itself on the casual observer. Here, as in other countries, he who would see it as it is, must view it on the plantations. The free people of color in Baltimore, are alive to the importance of education. One individual told us, that in distributing about two hundred and fifty religious books, which had been sent to be gratuitously supplied to the poor of this class, he found only five or six families, in which the children were not learning to read and write. While in Baltimore, the inquiries I made respecting Elisha Tyson, fully confirmed the impression I have attempted to convey of his extraordinary character; perhaps no one has so good a claim to be considered the Granville Sharp of North America, and I have inserted in another place some particulars drawn from his biography, which will be found full of interest.[A] I am glad also to state, that if there is no one citizen of Baltimore on whom his mantle rests, there are yet some who are active in preventing the illegal detention of negroes, and of bringing such cases before the proper tribunal. One of these related the following case of recent occurrence. A woman, who was the wife of a free man, and the mother of four children, and who had long believed herself legally free, was claimed by the heir of her former master. The case was tried, and his right of property in her and her children affirmed. He then sold the family to a slave dealer for a thousand dollars; of whom the husband of the woman re-purchased them, (his _own_ wife and children,) for eleven hundred dollars, to repay which he bound himself to labor for the person from whom it was borrowed, for twelve years. Yet this is but a mitigated instance of oppression in this _Christian_ country. [Footnote A: See Appendix D.] The religious public of this city appear to be doing nothing collectively, to abolish or ameliorate slavery, and with the exception of "Friends," and the body who have lately seceded from them, I fear that all are more or less implicated in its actual guilt. I was informed not long since, even the Roman Catholics, who are more free from the contamination than many other religious bodies, had, in some part of the State, sold several of their own church members, and applied the proceeds to the erection of a place of worship. We called upon the Roman Catholic Bishop to inquire into the truth of this, but he was from home. When at Philadelphia afterwards, in conversation with a priest, I gave the particulars, and said I should be glad to be furnished with the means of contradicting it. I have not heard from him since. I am informed that the Yearly Meeting of "Friends" has advised its members not to unite with the anti-slavery societies, and has latterly discontinued petitioning the legislature for the abolition of the internal slave trade, and the amelioration of the slave code; such is the prevailing influence of a pro-slavery atmosphere. The code in question has of late years been rendered more severe, and the legal emancipation of slaves more difficult; yet I was pleased to learn that public opinion has in this respect counteracted legislative tyranny; that slavery has in fact become milder, and the number of manumissions has not lessened. The mischievous influence of the Colonization Society is very extensive among professing Christians in Baltimore, and is paramount in the legislature of the State. The _American_ slave trade is carried on in the most open manner in this city. We paid a visit to the establishment of an extensive slave dealer, a large new building in one of the principal streets. The proprietor received us with great courtesy, and permitted us to inspect the premises. Cleanliness and order were every where visible, and, might we judge from the specimens of food shewn us, the animal wants of the slaves are not neglected. There were only five or six negroes _in stock_, but the proprietor told us he had sometimes three or four hundred there, and had shipped off a cargo to New Orleans a few days before. That city is the market where the highest price is generally obtained for them. The premises are strongly secured with bolts and bars, and the rooms in which the negroes are confined, surround an open court yard, where they are permitted to take the air. We were accompanied and kindly introduced by an individual who has often been engaged in preventing negroes from being illegally enslaved; and the proprietor of the establishment expressed his approval of his efforts, and that when such cases come before himself in the way of trade, he was accustomed to send them to our friend for investigation; he added that slaves would often come to him, and ask him to purchase them, and that he was the means of transferring them from worse masters to better; that he never parted families, though of course he could not control their fate, either before they came into his hands, or after they left him. He said he frequently left his concerns for weeks together, under the care of his head slave, whose wife he had made free, and promised the same boon to him, if he conducted himself well a few years longer. I thought it right to intimate my view of the nature of slavery and the slave trade, and that I deemed it wholly inconsistent with the plain precept "do unto others as ye would they should do unto you." This he did not attempt to controvert, yet he stated in extenuation, that the law permitted the trade in slaves, though he should be as willing as any one to have the system abolished, if the State would grant them compensation for their property. He farther said, that he was born in a slave State, that his mother had been for fifty years a member of the Wesleyan body, and that though he had not joined a Christian church himself, he had never sworn an oath, nor committed an immoral act in his life. He also shewed, I think, convincingly, that dealing in slaves was not worse than slave holding. On leaving the premises, we found the door of his office had been locked upon us during this conference. I subsequently learned that this person, though living in considerable style, was not generally received in respectable society, and that a lady whom he had lately married, was shunned by her former acquaintance. Such is the testimony of the slave-holders of Baltimore against slave dealing, by which they condemn themselves in the sight of God and man, and add the guilt of hypocrisy to their own sin. Some time afterwards I addressed the following letter to this individual, which was published in many of the American papers: "To HOPE H. SLAUGHTER, _Slave Trader, Baltimore_: "Since thou courteously allowed me, in company with my friend, J.G. Whittier, to visit thy slave establishment in the city of Baltimore, some weeks since, I have often felt a desire to address a few lines to thee. I need not, perhaps, say that my feelings were painfully exercised in looking over thy buildings, fitted up with bolts and bars, for the reception of human beings for sale. A sense of the misery and suffering of the unfortunate slaves, who have been from time to time confined there--of their separation from home and kindred--and of the dreary prospect before them of a life of unrequited toil in the South and South West--rested heavily upon me. I could there realize the true nature of the system of slavery. I was in a market-house for human flesh, where humanity is degraded to a level with the brute; and where children of our common Father in Heaven, and for whom our blessed Redeemer offered up the atoning sacrifice of his blood, were bargained for and sold like beasts that perish. And when I regarded thee as the merchant in this dreadful traffic, and heard thee offer remarks, which might in some degree be considered as an apology for thy business, calling our attention to the cleanly state of the apartments, the wholesome provisions, et cet.; and especially when I heard thee declare that thou hadst been educated by a pious mother--that thou wast never addicted to swearing or other immoralities--and that thy business was a legalized one--that thou didst nothing contrary to law--and that, while in thy possession, the poor creatures were treated kindly--that families were not separated,[A] et cet.,--I was glad to perceive some evidence that the nature of thy employment had not extinguished the voice of conscience within thee. In thy sentiments, and in the manner of their utterance, I thought I could see that truth had not left itself without a witness in thy breast, and that a sense of the wrongfulness of thy occupation still disturbed thee. [Footnote A: "The latter remark, of course, applies only to the time they remained with thee. For, on the day we visited thy establishment, a friend with whom I was dining informed me, that a few days before a woman and child had been sold to thee, whose husband and father was a free man, who, in his distress, had been offering to bind himself for a term of years, in order to raise the sum (I think $800) demanded for them; but, as he had been unable to do so, my friend had no doubt they had been sent off with the very lot of slaves, which, we were told by thyself had just been forwarded to New Orleans from thy prison. _Who_ is most guilty in this atrocious transaction--the slave owner, who sold thee the woman and child at Baltimore--_thou_, the transporter of them for ever from their husband and parent--_the purchasers_ of the mother and child at New Orleans, where they may be for ever separated from each other--or the _citizen_ who, by his vote and influence, creates and upholds enactments which legalize this monstrous system, is known only to Him before whom the secrets of all hearts are unfolded."] "To thy remark that thy business was necessary to the system of slavery, and an essential part of it--and if slave-_holding_ were to be justified at all, the slave-_trade_ must be also--I certainly can offer no valid objection; for I have never been able to discover any moral difference between the planter of Virginia and the slave dealer of Baltimore, Richmond, and Washington. Each has his part to act in the system, and each is necessary to the other. And if the matter were not, in all its bearings, painfully serious, it would be amusing to witness the absurd contempt with which the slave owner of Maryland or Virginia professes to look upon the trader, whose purchase of his surplus slaves alone enables him to retain the residue in his possession; for it seems very evident that the only profitable part of the system in those States, at the present time, is the sale of the annual increase of the slaves. "In passing from thy premises, we looked in upon the Triennial Convention of the Baptists of the United States, then in session in the city of Baltimore, where I found slave-holding ministers of high rank in the church, urging successfully the exclusion from the Missionary Board of that Society, of all those who, in principle and practice, were known to be decided abolitionists; and the results of their efforts satisfied me that the darkest picture of slavery is not to be found in the jail of the slave-trader, but rather in a convocation of professed ministers of the Gospel of Christ, expelling from the Board of a Society formed to enlighten the heathen of other nations, all who consistently labor for the overthrow of a system which denies a knowledge of the Holy Scriptures to near three millions of heathen at home! "But allow me, in a spirit, as I trust, of Christian kindness, to entreat thee not to seek excuses for thy own course in the evil conduct of others. Thou hast already reached the middle period of life--the future is uncertain. By thy hopes of peace here and hereafter, let me urge thee to abandon this occupation. It is not necessary to argue its intrinsic wickedness, for thou knowest it already. I would therefore beseech thee to listen to that voice which, I am persuaded, sometimes urges thee to 'put away the evil of thy doings,' to 'do justice and love mercy,' and thus cease to draw upon thyself the curse which fell upon those merchants of Tyre, who 'traded in the persons of men.' That these warnings of conscience may not longer be neglected on thy part, is the sincere wish of one who, while he abhors thy occupation, feels nothing but kindness and good will towards thyself. "Thy friend, "JOSEPH STURGE. "_New York, 6th Month 30th, 1841._" The Baptist Convention alluded to in the foregoing letter was one whose proceedings I regarded with considerable interest, for it had been generally understood that the ministers delegated from the South, as well as some of those from the Northern States, intended to exclude abolitionists from every office on the missionary board, and especially to remove my friend, Elon Galusha, a distinguished Baptist minister, from the station of vice-president, for the offence of attending the London Anti-Slavery Convention, and more particularly for supporting the following resolutions of that assembly: "1. That it is the deliberate and deeply-rooted conviction of this Convention, which it thus publicly and solemnly expresses to the world, that slavery, in whatever form, or in whatever country it exists, is contrary to the eternal and immutable principles of justice, and the spirit and precepts of Christianity; and is, therefore a sin against God, which acquires additional enormity when committed by nations professedly Christian, and in an age when the subject has been so generally discussed, and its criminality so thoroughly exposed. "2. That this Convention cannot but deeply deplore the fact, that the continuance and prevalence of slavery are to be attributed in a great degree to the countenance afforded by many Christian churches, especially in the Western world, which have not only withheld that public and emphatic testimony against the crime which it deserves, but have retained in their communion, without censure, those by whom it is notoriously perpetrated. "3. That this Convention, while it disclaims the intention or desire of dictating to Christian communities the terms of their fellowship, respectfully submits that it is their incumbent duty to separate from their communion all those persons who, after they have been faithfully warned in the spirit of the gospel, continue in the sin of enslaving their fellow-creatures, or holding them in slavery--a sin, by the commission of which, with whatever mitigating circumstances it may be attended in their own particular instance, they give the support of their example to the whole system of compulsory servitude, and the unutterable horrors of the slave trade. "4. That it be recommended to the Committee of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, in the name of this Convention, to furnish copies of the above resolutions to the ecclesiastical authorities of the various Christian churches throughout the world." On entering the meeting, we found the question was already before them, previous to balloting for the officers for the ensuing three years. The pro-slavery party were anxious to prevent all discussion, but some on the other side proposed questions which compelled their notice. Among the rest it was plainly asked, if the southern delegates did not come pledged against the re-election of Elon Galusha. This was denied, but certain resolutions which had appeared in the public papers were appealed to in proof of the fact. The inquiry becoming more searching, an expedient was resorted to, which, though quite novel to me, was, I am told, not unfrequently adopted when discussions assume a shape not quite satisfactory to the controlling powers of a synod. It was proposed that they should pray, and then proceed at once to the ballot. The ministers called upon were R. Fuller and Elon Galusha, who were considered to represent the opposite sides of the discussion. The former individual is a large slave-holder, an influential leader in his denomination, and had canvassed and condemned Elon Galusha's views and conduct in the public newspapers. I must avow, this whole proceeding was little calculated to remove my objection to the practice of calling upon any individual to offer supplication in a public assembly. After prayer had been offered, they proceeded to the ballot, and we left the meeting, deeply impressed with the profanation of employing the most solemn act of devotion to serve the exigencies of controversy. In the evening I met a number of the anti-slavery members of the Convention, from whom I learned that the vote had excluded Elon Galusha and all other known abolitionists from official connection with the board, by an hundred and twenty-four to an hundred and seventeen, which being a much smaller majority than was expected, they considered the result a triumph rather than a defeat. On the 1st of the 5th Month, (May) we returned to Wilmington, in Delaware, where we remained at the hospitable residence of our friend Samuel Hilles, till the 3d instant, and met a number of "Friends," and others, who treated us with great kindness and hospitality, inspected one of the flour mills on the Brandywine river, and the process of drying Indian corn before it is ground; these are some of the oldest flour mills in the State. A. large peach orchard of one of my friends in the neighborhood, was beautifully in bloom. Great quantities of this delicious fruit are raised in Delaware, New Jersey, and Maryland. Here, as in other parts of the States, much money, has been lost by a silk, or rather mulberry tree, mania. Young mulberry trees rose to a dollar and a quarter each, though they can be multiplied almost without limit in a single year. As might have been expected, a re-action took place, many parties were ruined, and berry trees may now be had for the trouble of digging them up. The number of slaves in this small State is now reduced to four or five thousand, and from all the information I could collect, I feel convinced that if those who are friendly to emancipation were to exert themselves, they would succeed, without much difficulty, in procuring the abolition of slavery within its limits. My friend, John G. Whittier, being, from increase of indisposition, unable to go forward, I left Wilmington alone, and arrived in New York in time to be present at a Baptist Anti-Slavery Convention, which I had been invited to attend, and at which I was called upon to make a few observations on the present state of the question. Several important resolutions were unanimously adopted, containing a cordial approval of the principles of proceeding of the London Convention, a recommendation that another Convention should be held at the same place in 1842, and an assurance that exertions should be used to promote a good delegation from the Baptist anti-slavery body. On that respecting Christian fellowship with slave-holding churches, Dr. Brisbane spoke in a touching manner, and said he must support it, though his friends and relations were in the South, and some of those dearest to him still countenanced slavery, or were themselves slave-holders. On the 6th I returned to Philadelphia, and that evening attended, by invitation, a meeting of the Juvenile Anti-Slavery Society, but took no part in the proceedings. This Society is one of the most efficient in the State; it is entirely confined to young men. I also received a formal invitation to attend other meetings about to be held, which I felt under the necessity of declining, from a belief that I could not participate in the discussions of the meetings with advantage to the cause which we all had at heart, and from the fact that previous to receiving the invitation I had made other arrangements which would occupy most of my time. The present organized anti-slavery societies in Pennsylvania insist upon the mixed action of men and women in committees, et cet. Those who do not hold with their views have either silently withdrawn, avoid participating in measures which they disapprove, or do not attend meetings when it is expected any such measures will be brought forward. Among such measures may be reckoned the censures which in a few instances have been passed on the London Convention, and the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society; censures sometimes more decided in sentiment than temperate in expression. My own inclination would have led me to attend several of these meetings, when my other engagements would have permitted, if I could have done so as an ordinary spectator and hearer; but on considering that I might appear on the one hand to give a tacit sanction to acts and sentiments which I disapproved, or on the other hand, that I might be drawn into controversy by explaining my objections, I concluded to forego the gratification which the proceedings might have afforded me, and I subsequently saw no reason to repent the decision I came to. During this visit to Philadelphia, I made calls upon various individuals who are deeply interested in the anti-slavery cause, but who have not joined any anti-slavery society. Among these I must instance Professor Charles D. Cleveland, an excellent individual, of the Presbyterian persuasion, a man of fine talents and an accomplished scholar, who is the editor of a paper called the American Intelligencer, in which he has reprinted a very large edition of J.J. Gurney's "Letters from the West Indies," and has extensively distributed it through the post office. This effort of judicious zeal, will probably make hundreds of emancipationists, and disarm hostility and rouse indifference to a great extent. No impartial and benevolent mind can read these authentic details of the results of emancipation in the British Colonies, and remain unconvinced of its safety and blessed fruits to every class of the community. The Professor has published and circulated Dr. Channing's "Emancipation," in the same shape. I also called upon the late Governor of Illinois, Edward Coles, who was born in a slave State, but in early life, while at college, from a conviction of the sinfulness of slave-holding, he resolved upon liberating the negroes which would come into his possession on the death of his father. This he faithfully performed, removed the people to Illinois, and presented them; with lands for their subsistence. He himself soon removed there and became Governor of the territory. It was owing to his determined and vigorous efforts that slavery was made unconstitutional in that State. He was a friend of President Jefferson, and corresponded with him on the subject of slavery. All his liberated slaves prospered, all learned to read and write, two are now ministers of the gospel, and one is the Governor's agent, and a man of property. The number thus freed were between thirty and forty, and their value amounted to half his property; but a, blessing has followed the sacrifice, and he has now retired to Philadelphia with a handsome competence. In the course of conversation, the Governor spoke of the prejudice, against color prevailing here as much stronger than in the slave States, I may add, from my own observation, and much concurring testimony, that Philadelphia appears to be the metropolis of this odious prejudice, and that there is probably no city in the known world, where dislike, amounting to hatred of the colored population, prevails more than in the city of brotherly love! Among the proofs of this, and of the same feeling in the State at large, it may be noticed that two or three years since, a convention was called for amending the State constitution, which among other changes, formally deprived men of color of the elective franchise. Practically this was of little importance, for it was taking away a right, the exercise of which, if attempted, would have roused popular indignation to the peril of their lives. A yet more obvious sign to the stranger in Philadelphia, are the ruins of "Pennsylvania Hall," which most of my readers are probably aware was destroyed by a pro-slavery mob in the spring of 1838. It stood near the centre of the city, and was sixty-two feet front by one hundred deep, and fifty-two feet to the eaves: the large saloon in the second story with its galleries being capable of holding three thousand persons. On the occasion of its opening, a large number of the friends of emancipation assembled in the city, to attend the anniversary of the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society, and some other meetings connected with the cause. Letters of congratulation on the opening of the hall were received by the managers from ex-president Adams, William Slade and Francis James, members of Congress, Thomas Morris of the U.S. Senate, Judge Jay, Gerritt Smith, and other distinguished friends of equal rights. The letter of the venerable ex-president is written with his characteristic energy, and I quote an extract from it in further proof of the sentiments already expressed on the state of feeling in the land of Penn and Benezet, Pemberton and Franklin, on the subject of slavery. "The right of discussion upon slavery, and an indefinite extent of topics connected with it, is banished from one-half the States of this Union. It is _suspended_ in both houses of Congress; opened and closed at the pleasure of the slave representation; opened for the promulgation of nullification sophistry; closed against the question, What is slavery? at the sound of which the walls of the capitol staggered like a drunken man. "For this suppression of the freedom of speech and press, and the right of petition, the people of the _free_ States of this Union are responsible, and the _people of Pennsylvania most of all_. Of this responsibility, I say it with a pang, sharper than language can express, _the city of Philadelphia must take herself the largest share_." The meetings of the first day passed without disturbance. On the evening of the second day, a meeting of the Female Anti-Slavery Society was held in the hall, the proceedings of which were greatly disturbed by a mob of from 1500 to 2000 persons, assembled without. The windows on all sides were beaten in by stones and other missiles, and one or two persons severely injured. The next day the mob lingered about the building, no effort being made by the pro-slavery authorities to disperse them. In the evening the building was attacked, the doors burst open, and fire communicated to the interior; and in the midst of at least 20,000 persons, the noble and costly hall was consumed, with the exception of its bare walls. My friend John G. Whittier, who was present at the time, states that the most dreadful threats were uttered by the rioters against the prominent abolitionists. The house of Samuel Webb was particularly marked for destruction; and as the mob assembled nightly for several days, it is scarcely possible to conceive a more trying situation than that in which the abolitionists were placed. The "Friends" asylum for colored orphans, a small but useful institution, was attacked by a portion of the mob, and the next day the association to which it belongs publicly disclaimed any connection with the abolition societies. One of the daily papers also contained the following, headed "Communication." "An opinion having become prevalent that a considerable number of the society of Orthodox Friends were present at the late meetings in Pennsylvania Hall, taking an active part in the proceedings, and that they still uphold the principles in relation to slavery and the colored race there promulgated, it is but justice to this respectable body of people to correct public opinion in relation to the subject, by observing that _very few_ if any attended the meetings; that among the society it is doubtful whether twenty individuals are to be found in this city who embrace their doctrines, and that they, as a body, are opposed to the indiscreet course which has been taken by the ultra abolitionists. Had their views been understood in relation to the subject, their property in Thirteenth street would, no doubt, have been spared the violence it has suffered, being in no way connected with abolitionism, but merely designed as a shelter for an unfortunate class of children who have large claims upon the community; and who, upon application made in their behalf for the purposes for which this asylum was designed, even to the _mob_, I have no hesitation in saying that, as _human beings_, they would not oppose it." While other portions of the community were in like manner propitiating the mob, the few but faithful abolitionists of the city calmly but firmly maintained their principles, even at the peril of life and estate. On the morning after the burning of the Hall, the State Anti-Slavery Society, pursuant to adjournment, met at the ruins of the Hall, and, amidst the smoking walls, and with the mob lingering about them, they proceeded to their business--Abraham L. Pennock, the Vice President of the Society, presiding. The editor of the Pennsylvania Freeman, John G. Whittier, whose publication office and papers had been destroyed by the mob, in his next paper published the following editorial article, which I have copied simply to show that while the abolitionists on this occasion maintained their sentiments in a clear and unequivocal manner, they did not indulge in the language of revenge or anger. "We perhaps need offer no apology to our distant readers, for the want of variety in our present number. Ours must be this week a record of violence--a story of persecution and outrage. We hardly dare trust ourselves to speak upon this matter. It is our desire to do so, if at all, in a tone of calmness,--to hold ourselves aloof, as far as possible, from the present excitement,--to utter our abiding testimony, now dearer than ever to our hearts, not in the language of passion, but firmly and decidedly. "Our readers will gather from the statements made in the different extracts in our paper, and especially from the Address of the Executive Committee of the State Anti-Slavery Society, the leading facts of the outrage. Of the course pursued by the civil authorities, we leave the community to judge. Our own reliance for protection has been upon that Providence whose mercy is over all,--in the justice of our cause, and in our conscious innocence of heart and integrity of purpose. We rejoice, and in so doing, the abolitionists of Pennsylvania unite with us, that human life was not sacrificed in defence of our Hall, our persons, and our property. We know, indeed, that had the attack been made upon the United States Bank, or any similar institution in this city, the civil authorities would have met its fury, not as now, with a speech only, but with loaded firelocks and fixed bayonets. We know, it is true, that the mob were in a great measure left free to work their mischievous will upon us. But if those in authority have, _upon their own principles_, treated us with neglect in the hour of our peril, upon them let the responsibility rest. We have thus far survived the onset. Under God, for to him alone are we indebted for protection, we are still left to bear our testimony to the truth. Our consciences are in this matter void of offence. In cheerful serenity of spirit, and not in the tone of menace or boasting, we declare our faith in the principles of emancipation unfaltering--our zeal undiminished--our determination to persevere unaltered. Our confidence in the triumphant and glorious issue of the present struggle remains firm. 'Truth smote to Earth revives again; The eternal years of God are hers-- But error wounded, shrieks with pain, And dies among her worshippers.' "From this time henceforward, Pennsylvania must become the great battle-field of opinion on the subject of slavery. The light of that evening's sacrifice has reached already every portion of our State. Men are every where inquiring why the sacrifice was made? Why a mighty city was convulsed with violence? Why a noble hall was burned by incendiaries in the view of gazing thousands? Why the 'shelter for orphan children' was set on fire, and why the houses of our citizens were surrounded by a ruffian mob? They may be told now by the perpetrators of these outrages, that all has been occasioned by the conduct of the abolitionists. But the delusion cannot last. Truth will make its way to the abused ear of the community; and it will be known that the scenes which have disgraced our city, are directly attributable to the influence of southern slavery. The spirit of free inquiry, now fairly awakened, will never again slumber in this state. Like the Greek fire, it will blaze with fiercer intensity for every attempt to extinguish it." The proceedings of the authorities and the public at large, consequent upon this act of incendiarism and outrageous violence, were truly characteristic. It is supposed that the destruction of the Hall was planned beforehand, and there is some evidence to show that strangers from the South were implicated in the conspiracy; but, as usual, the old drama of the wolf accusing the lamb was enacted over again, and a pretext was laid hold of, that, in the peculiar state of feeling existing in the community, was almost deemed a justification of all that had happened; though, in truth, it was in the last degree ridiculous. It was asserted that colored men had been seen walking arm in arm with white ladies, and that white men had handed colored females out of their carriages at the door of the Hall, as politely as if they had not belonged to the proscribed class. In several instances, if not in all, these reports were untrue in point of fact, and originated in the existing paradox, that colored men and women are sometimes white, and that white gentlemen and ladies are not unfrequently of dark complexion. As an illustration, I quote the following scene from a letter addressed to me by Robert Purvis, an intelligent and educated man of color, and the son-in-law of James Forten, a wealthy and venerable colored citizen of Philadelphia, recently deceased. "In regard to my examination before the jury in the Pennsylvania Hall case, I have to say, that it was both a painful and ludicrous affair. At one time the fulness of an almost bursting heart was ready to pour forth in bitter denunciation--then the miserable absurdity of the thing, rushing into my mind, would excite my risible propensities. You know the county endeavored to defend itself against the award of damages, by proving that the abolitionists were the cause of the destruction of the building, in promoting promiscuous intermingling, in doors and out, of blacks and whites, thereby exciting public feeling, &c. A witness, whose name I now forget, in proof of this point, stated, that upon a certain day, hour, &c., a '_negress_' approached the Hall, in a carriage, when a white man assisted her in getting out, offered his arm, which was instantly accepted, and he escorted her to the saloon of the building! In this statement he was collected, careful, and solemn--minutely describing the dress, appearance of the parties, as well as the carriage, the exact time, &c.--the clerks appointed for the purpose taking down every word, and the venerable jurors looking credulous and horror-stricken. Upon being called to _rebut_ the testimony I, in truth and simplicity, confirmed his testimony in every particular!! The attorney, on our behalf, David Paul Brown, Esq., a gentleman, scholar, and philanthropist, in a tone of irony peculiarly severe, demanded, 'whether I had the unblushing impudence, in broad day-light, to offer my arm to my wife?' I replied, in deep affectation of the criminality involved, that the only palliation I could offer, for conduct so outrageous was, that it was unwittingly done, it seemed so natural. This, as you might well suppose, produced some merriment at the expense of the witness for the county, and of all others, whose gullibility and prejudice had given credit to what would have been considered, had I been what is called a white man, an awful story." The proceedings in the case are, I believe, still pending. My friend, Samuel Webb, in a letter dated "11th Month 16th, 1841," says: "Last 7th day, after several years incessant struggle, we brought the case of the Pennsylvania Hall before the Court of Criminal Sessions. George M. Dallas, Counsel for the County, in opposing the award of the appraisers, (thirty-three thousand dollars, not one-third of what it ought to have been,) spoke for about one hour--the purport of his speech was--that here was no mob at all, (!) that the jury appointed to ascertain the facts had reported to the Court, that the mob, if mob it might be called, was composed of orderly, respectable citizens; and of, course, orderly, respectable citizens could not be a mob. After this I should not be surprised to hear it doubted whether there ever was such a building, or if there was, whether it was ever destroyed; but unluckily the ruined walls are still standing, and if I had my way, _there they should stand_, until slavery shall be abolished, which it will be, soon after your East India possessions can grow cotton for six cents per lb. by free labor." To resume the narrative: I paid a visit to the widow of Joseph Lancaster, who, with her three children by a former husband, are living in great obscurity in the suburbs of this city. I returned to New York on the 10th, for the purpose of being in the city at the time when the religious and benevolent anniversaries are held, and of meeting parties who attend them. Here I had the pleasure of meeting with several warm-hearted abolitionists from distant parts of the country. The first meeting I attended was the anniversary of the American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, which, though held at a distance from the centre of the city, in consequence of the pre-engagement of the New York Tabernacle, was well attended, and I believe gave general satisfaction. I was present also at two other of its meetings. I attended several adjourned sittings of a convention called for the purpose of organizing a political "Liberty party," on the grand principle of the abolition of slavery. The chief business in hand was to nominate a President and Vice President of the United States, for the next election, and the choice fell upon my friend James G. Birney, for President, and Thomas Morris, late United States Senator from Ohio, for Vice President. A plan was arranged for putting in nomination abolition candidates for every office in the free States, down to that of constable. I listened to the discussions that took place with considerable interest, as there are some valuable friends to the cause, men, whose opinions justly carry great weight, who do not think this the best means of bringing political influence to bear upon the question, but who would prefer voting for such anti-slavery candidates, as might be nominated by either of the two great parties already existing, or in the absence of any such candidate would decline voting at all. My own bias was in favor of this course, since it was the one pursued in Great Britain, and which had been so eminently successful in the general election of 1833. I became convinced, however, that the "third party" has strong reasons in its favor, and that in various important respects the abolitionists of the United States are differently circumstanced in regard to elections from those of my own country; and it must not be forgotten that many of the men who pledged themselves on the hustings in England were not faithful at the time of trial. At the last sitting of the Convention, I stated the advantage we had found in England, when we wished to carry any specific measure, of a personal interview with the members of the legislature, who might state facts to them and answer their objections. It was immediately suggested to send a deputation to Albany, where the senate and assembly of the State of New York were then in session, to promote the repeal of two iniquitous laws affecting people of color, and which were to be brought before the consideration of the Houses. One of them is known as the "nine months law." By its provisions a slave-holder could bring his negro "with his own consent" into this _free_ State, and keep him there in slavery for nine months! At the expiration of the time it was of course very easy by a short journey to a neighboring State, to obtain a new license, and thus perpetuate slave-holding in the State of New York. The other law was an act restricting the elective franchise of men of color, to those possessing a fixed amount of property, no such restriction existing in the case of white men. This suggestion was adopted by the Convention, and a deputation appointed, with what success will be seen hereafter. In order to give a general idea of the course pursued by the "Liberty party," I subjoin a statement of the plan of operation issued by a Philadelphia committee. "PLAN OF OPERATION. "A national committee to meet at Utica, to have a general care and oversight of the cause throughout the nation, and to act as a central corresponding committee.--State committees, to perform similar duties, in their States.--County committees, the same in their respective counties.--City and district committees, the same in their respective cities and districts.--Township and ward committees, to have the particular charge of their respective townships or wards. "This duty may be performed by their appointing a sub-committee, to consist of one member for each block, square, section, sub-division, or neighborhood, whose duty it will be to endeavor to abolitionize his sub-division; or, at least, ascertain, as far as practicable, how many of the legal voters will vote the Liberty ticket, and transmit the number to his city or county committee, which is to forward the number of voters in their city or county to their Stale committee, and the State committee is to forward the number of voters in their State to the national committee; and also to distribute, or cause to be distributed, in his sub-division, such tracts, circulars, notices, tickets, &c., as shall be furnished by his superior committee for that purpose. "Each committee is to communicate with its next superior committee once a year, or oftener, if required, and to meet at such time and place not less than once a month, as shall be agreed upon between it and its superior committee." I afterwards was present at one of a series of meetings, held for the purpose of introducing to the public the Amistad captives, Africans of the Mendi country, who had recently regained their freedom. The case of these people is so singularly interesting, that, though some of my readers may be already well acquainted with it, I venture to introduce a brief statement of their history in the Appendix.[A] [Footnote A: See Appendix E.] On this occasion a very crowded and miscellaneous assembly attended, to see and hear the Mendians, although the admission had been fixed as high as half a dollar, with the view of raising a fund, to carry them to their native country. Fifteen of them were present, including one little boy and three girls. Cinque their chief, spoke with great fluency in his native language; and his action and manner were very animated and graceful. Not much of his speech was translated, yet he greatly interested his audience. The little boy could speak our language with facility; and each of them read without hesitation one or two verses in the New Testament. It was impossible for any one to go away with the impression, that in native intellect these people were inferior to the whites. The information which I privately received, from their tutor and others who had full opportunities of appreciating their capacities and attainments, fully confirmed my own very favorable impressions. One evening during my stay, I took tea with twelve or fifteen colored gentlemen, at the house of a colored family. The refined manners and great intelligence of many of them would have done credit to any society. The whites have a monopoly of prejudice, but not a monopoly of intellect; nor of education and accomplishments; nor even of those more trivial, yet fascinating graces, which throw the charm of elegance and refinement over social life. I found from the conversation I had with my colored friends, on different occasions, that the prejudice against them was steadily, and not very slowly, giving way; yet several instances were mentioned, of recent occurrence, which show that it is still strong: I will quote one only. A colored gentleman informed me that last winter a near female relative being about to take a journey by railway to Philadelphia, she was compelled, though in delicate health, to travel in the comfortless, exposed car, expressly provided for negroes, though he offered to pay double fare for a place in the regular carriage. A lady, not of the proscribed class, who has long resided in New York, mentioned to me as a marked indication of a favorable change in regard to color, the holding of such meetings as those at which the Amistad captives were introduced. Such an exhibition, instead of causing a display of benevolent interest among all classes, would, some years ago, have excited the malignant passions of the multitude, and probably caused a popular out-break. Another sign of the times was, that white and colored children might be seen walking in procession without distinction, on the anniversaries of the charity schools. The same lady, in whose veracity I place full confidence, informed me that there is now residing in this city, a native of Cuba, formerly a slave-holder at the Havana, who had narrowly escaped assassination from a negro. He had threatened the slave with punishment the following day, but the desperate man concealed himself in his master's room, and in the night, stabbed and killed his mistress by mistake, instead of his master. Three negroes were executed as principal and accessories; but their intended victim was so terrified that he left Havana for New York. His fears, not his conscience, were alarmed, for he still carries on his diabolical traffic between Africa and Cuba, and is reported to have gained by it, last year, one hundred thousand dollars. He lives in great splendor, and has the character of a liberal and generous man, but with the most implacable hatred to the blacks. "One murder makes a villain, thousands a hero." How wide the distinction between this man and the wretches who paid the forfeit of their lives for a solitary murder![A] [Footnote A: Sir F. Buxton has shown that two lives at least are sacrificed for every slave carried off from Africa.] On the evening of the 17th, in company with several of my abolition friends, I started for Albany, where the State legislature was then in session. The distance from New York is about a hundred and fifty-five miles, and is frequently performed by the steamers, on the noble river Hudson, in nine hours and a half up the stream, and in eight hours down. On these steamers there is accommodation for several hundred passengers to lodge, and the fare is only one dollar, with an extra charge for beds and meals. For an additional dollar, two persons may secure a state room to themselves. As night drew on, and the deck began to be cleared, I observed a well-dressed black man and woman sitting apart, and supposing they could obtain no berths on account of their color, I went and spoke to them. I told them I and several others on board were abolitionists. The man then informed us they were escaping from slavery, and had left their homes little more than two days before. They appeared very intelligent, though they could neither read nor write, and described to us how they had effected their escape. They had obtained leave to go to a wedding, from which they were not expected to return till the evening of the day following. Having procured forged certificates of freedom, for which they paid twenty-five dollars, each, they came forward with expedition by railway and steam boat. They had heard of emancipation in the British West Indies, and the efforts of the abolitionists in the States, but they were unacquainted with the existence of vigilance committees, to facilitate the escape of runaway slaves. We assisted them to proceed to the house of a relative of one of our party, out of the track of the pursuer, should they be followed. There is little doubt that they have safely reached Canada, for I was told at Albany, public opinion had become so strong in favor of self-emancipation, that if a runaway were seized in the city, it is probable he would be rescued by the people. I would also point attention to the fact, which is brought to light by this relation, that the slave-holders have not only to contend with the honest and open-handed means which the abolitionists most righteously employ,[A] to facilitate the escape of slaves, but with the mercenary acts of members of their own community, who live by the manufacture and sale of forged free papers. [Footnote A: See Deut. xxiii, 15, 16.] During my stay in Albany, I waited upon William H. Seward, the Governor, and on Luther Bradish, the Lieutenant Governor of the State of New York. It will, I trust, be considered no breach of confidence, if I state that I found their sentiments on the true principles of liberty, worthy of the enlightened legislators and first magistrates of a free republic. They concur in the general sentiment that public opinion in this metropolitan State is making rapid progress in favor of full and impartial justice to the people of color, a movement to which their own example in the high stations which they adorn has given a powerful impulse. I attended part of the sittings of the Senate and Assembly, and conversed with a number of members of both houses. The public business was transacted with at least as much order and decorum as in the Lords and Commons of Great Britain. I left Albany the same evening, and had the satisfaction of hearing, a few days afterwards, that the repeal of "the nine months law" had passed both houses, and was ratified by the Governor; and that in the Assembly upwards of fifty members had voted for it, although it was thought not ten would have done so two years since. By this change of the law any slave brought by his master within the limits of the State, even with his own consent, is not obliged to return to slavery. I proceeded by way of New York to Hartford in Connecticut, in order to be present at an anti-slavery meeting of the State Society, to which I had been invited. On my arrival, on the afternoon of the 19th, I found the meeting assembled, and in the chair my friend J.T. Norton, a member of the Connecticut legislature, a munificent and uncompromising friend to the anti-slavery cause, and one of the delegates to the London Convention. A black minister of religion addressed the meeting in an able and interesting manner. Soon after the close of his speech, a circumstance, quite unexpected to me, introduced a discussion on the right of women to vote and publicly act, conjointly with men. The chairman decided that the motion in favor of it was negatived, but the minority required the names on both sides to be taken down; this consumed much time, and disturbed the harmony of the meeting. I attended in the evening a committee of the legislature, which was sitting at the court house, to hear the speeches of persons who were allowed to address the committee in support of a petition that the word "white" should be expunged from the constitution of Connecticut. This change would of course give equal rights to the colored class. When I entered, the same colored minister I had heard in the afternoon, was addressing the committee. He was listened to with great attention, not only by the members, but by near two hundred of the inhabitants, who were present. He was followed on the same side, by a white gentleman in a very strong and uncompromising speech. The next day I paid my respects to William W. Ellsworth, the Governor of the State, and to one of the judges of the court; and afterwards attended the adjourned meeting of the Anti-Slavery Society. The vexed question of "women's rights" was again brought forward in another shape; the names on both sides again called for, with the same result as before. My belief was fully confirmed, that those who differ so widely in sentiment, have no alternative but to meet and act in distinct organizations. The Amistad captives arrived at Hartford on the afternoon of the same day, and were to address a meeting in the evening. An anti-slavery bazaar or fair which I visited this day, furnished ample testimony of the zeal of the female friends of the oppressed slave in this district. I returned the same evening to New Haven, and subsequently received a copy of two resolutions, approving the proceedings of the general Anti-Slavery Convention, in which it is stated by the Connecticut anti-slavery committee, "they have abundant evidence that the cause of the slave has been essentially promoted thereby;" also recommending "that a convention of men from all parts of the world, friendly to the cause of immediate emancipation, be again called in London, in the summer of 1842." On the 21st, I proceeded to the residence of Judge Jay, where I was very kindly received by his wife and family, the Judge himself being from home. On his return the next day, I had much interesting conversation with him on the prospects of our cause. He is convinced that it is making steady progress, notwithstanding the schism in the anti-slavery ranks. He said also, that of the runaway slaves who called at his house, some have told him that their condition had improved of late years; others saw no change in their treatment; not one has complained that they suffered more than formerly, in consequence of the discussions at the North about abolition. With regard to the free blacks, he fears that the persecution of them by the slave-holders has increased; though at the North the prejudice against them has unquestionably, in his opinion, been much mitigated by the efforts of the abolitionists. It is an interesting fact, and one that ought to encourage the humble and retired laborer in the cause of truth and righteousness, that this able and distinguished advocate of the claims of the oppressed slaves and people of color, was converted to his present views by Elizabeth Heyrick's pamphlet, "Immediate, not Gradual, Abolition of West India Slavery." Let me for a moment pause to render a tribute of justice to the memory of that devoted woman. Few will deny that the long and heart-sickening interval that occurred between the abolition of the slave-trade of Great Britain, and the emancipation of her slaves, was owing to the false, but universal notion, that the slaves must be gradually prepared for freedom: a notion that we now confess is as contrary to reason and Christian principle as it is opposed to the past experience of our colonies. Yet a generation passed away while the abolitionists of Great Britain were trying to make ropes of sand--to give practical effect to an impracticable theory; pursuing a delusion, which this honored woman was the first to detect; and that less by force and subtlety of argument, than by the statement of self-evident truths, and by the enforcement of the simple and grand principle that Christianity admits of no compromise with sin. This was an easy lesson, yet it was one which our senators and statesmen, our distinguished philanthropists, and our whole anti-slavery host were slow to learn. The pamphlet produced little immediate effect, but to cause its writer to be regarded as an amiable enthusiast and visionary. It now remains a monument of the indestructible nature, and the irresistible power of truth, even when wielded by feeble and despised hands. Judge Jay read to me part of a very interesting and important manuscript, which he had prepared on the preservation of international peace. He suggests that any two nations, entering into an alliance, should embody in their treaty a clause mutually binding them to refer any dispute or difficulty that may arise, to the arbitration of one or more friendly powers. As he has concluded to publish his pamphlet, I trust it will shortly be in the hands of the friends of peace in this country, as well as in America. This idea is beautifully simple, and of easy application. Through the kindness of the author, I have been furnished with a long and important extract from his manuscript, which I am permitted to lay before the British public by anticipation, in the Appendix to the present work.[A] On returning from his hospitable mansion, he obligingly sent his carriage with me to Sing Sing, but the steamboat had started earlier than we expected, and I hired a carriage and a pair of horses, with the driver, who was also the proprietor, to convey me the remainder of the way to New York. The distance for which I engaged it, was thirty-six miles, for the moderate sum of five dollars. On the road, the man pointed out the place where Major Andre was taken, whose tragical end excites sympathy even to this day, in the breast of the Americans. On entering the city, we passed a man in livery, and my driver remarked, "There, that is English; I would not wear _that_ for a hundred dollars a day." Long may the American, who lives by his daily labor, preserve this feeling of honorable independence. [Footnote A: See Appendix F.] During my stay at New York this time, I was the guest of my friend William Shotwell, Jr., at whose hospitable dwelling, I afterwards took up my abode, whenever I lodged in the city. From the 24th to the 28th, I was chiefly occupied in attending the sittings of the Friends' Yearly Meeting of this State; and, during the intervals, in seeing many Friends in private company. I was much encouraged to find among them, a considerable number thoroughly imbued with anti-slavery sentiments; especially, from the western parts of the State. The subject of slavery was introduced, in the Yearly Meeting, by reading the Epistle from the Society in England, which is elsewhere quoted.[A] This was followed on the part of many, by expressions of deep feeling; and the question was referred to a committee, for practical consideration. In consequence of the report of this committee, at a subsequent sitting, five hundred copies of the English address were directed to be printed, and circulated among Friends, within the compass of the Yearly Meeting; and the whole subject was referred to its "meeting for sufferings," with an earnest recommendation, that they should embrace every right opening for furthering the great object. The clerk of the Yearly Meeting expressed his firm conviction, that the work was on the wheel, and that nothing would be permitted to stop its progress, until, either in mercy or in judgment, the bonds of every slave should be broken. He spoke in a very powerful manner. In most of the epistles sent out from this Yearly Meeting, as well as from that of Philadelphia, the subject of slavery was introduced, and commended to the earnest consideration of the body, here and elsewhere. Previous to the assembling of the Yearly Meeting, I had placed in the hands of one of its members, the following letter: [Footnote A: See Appendix A.] My Dear Friend,--Wilt thou have the kindness to ask the Friends with whom it rests to grant such a request, to permit the use of the meeting house at a convenient time, either during the Yearly Meeting, or before those who attend from the country leave the city, for the purpose of affording my friend John Candler an opportunity of giving Friends some outline of emancipation in Jamaica. I should like at the same time to give a little information on the state of the anti-slavery question in other parts of the world. John Candler, it is I believe generally known, visited Jamaica with the full sanction of the "meeting for sufferings," in London. My visit to this country had no particular reference to the members of our Society, but my friends in England kindly furnished me with the enclosed documents. Affectionately, JOSEPH STURGE. _New York, 5th Month 17th_, 1841. This request was kindly complied with. The large meeting house was granted for the evening of the 27th. The clerks of the men's and women's meetings gave public notice of it in their respective assemblies. The former, the venerable and worthy Richard Mott, encouraged Friends to be present, and said, as a thinking and reasoning people, they need fear no harm from a calm consideration of the subject. The attendance was large, including, I believe, most of those Friends who were from the country. The following brief notice of it in the American and Foreign Anti-Slavery Reporter, will explain the character of the meeting. "On Thursday evening of last week, the members of the Society of Friends (Orthodox,) assembled in this city at their Annual Meeting, met at their meeting house in Orchard street, to listen to the statements of John Candler, of England, lately returned from a visit to the West India Islands, as to the results of emancipation in those Islands, and also of our esteemed friend, Joseph Sturge, in reference to the general subject of emancipation throughout the world. "The meeting was largely attended. The successful and happy results of the immediate emancipation of the slaves of the colonies, as detailed by John Candler, were calculated to strengthen the conviction that to do justice is always expedient. Joseph Sturge gave a history of the progress of the anti-slavery cause in Great Britain from the time of the old abolition society, of which Thomas Clarkson was a member, and of which he is sole survivor. He also glanced at the state of the cause in other quarters of the globe--at the efforts for East India emancipation, and at late movements in France, Brazil and Spain, in favor of emancipation; concluding with a most affecting appeal to the members of his religious society to omit no right opportunity for pleading for the slave, and for hastening the day of his deliverance. "We take pleasure in recording such evidences that the good old testimony of the Society of Friends, on this subject, is still maintained among them. The Friends of the past generation set a noble example to other Christian sects, by emancipating their slaves, from a sense of religious duty; and it seems to us, that those of the present day have great responsibilities resting upon them; and that it especially becomes them to see to it that their light is not hidden in this hour of darkness and prejudice, on the subject of human rights. The slaveholder and his victim both look to them;--the one with deprecating gesture, and words of flattery--the other in beseeching and half reproachful earnestness. We cannot doubt that the agonizing appeal of the latter is listened to by all who truly feel the weight of their religious testimonies resting upon them; and we trust there will be found among them, an increasing zeal to secure to these unhappy victims of avarice and the lust of power, that liberty which George Fox, two centuries in advance of his contemporaries, declared to be 'the right of all men.'" When the assembly broke up, the clerk of the Yearly Meeting, who sat by us, expressed to me his entire satisfaction with the proceedings, as did others present. One influential member of the Society, however, who met me the next day in the street, stated very decidedly his disapprobation of the tenor of certain parts of my address; but I found that he condemned me on hearsay evidence, not having attended the meeting himself. On the 29th, I was favored with a call from Lieutenant Governor Cunningham, of St. Kitts, on his way to England, who gave a very favorable account of the continued good conduct of the emancipated slaves in that Island. It is surely an eminent token of the divine blessing on a national act of justice and mercy, that evidence of this kind should have been so abundantly and uniformly supplied from every colony where slavery has been abolished. A fine black man was brought to me about this time, who showed me papers by which it appeared he had lately given one thousand five hundred dollars for his freedom. He had since been driven from the State in which he lived, by the operation of a law, enacted to prevent the continued residence of free people of color, and has thus been banished from a wife and family, who are still slaves. He has agreed with their owner, that if he can pay two thousand five hundred dollars, in six years, his wife and six children shall be free, and he was then trying to get employment in New York, in the hope of being able to raise this large sum within the specified time. On the 29th, I proceeded to Burlington; while I was there five or six Friends drew up and presented me with a resolution, expressive of their readiness and desire to join with other members of their religious society in active efforts for the abolition of slavery. On the 30th, I paid a second visit to my venerable friend John Cox. The next morning his grandson kindly accompanied me to Mount Holly, to see the humble dwelling of the late John Woolman. I afterwards received from John Cox a letter, from which I quote the following extract relating to this remarkable man, whose character confers interest even on the most trivial incidents of his life which can now be remembered: "Since our separation on the morning of the 31st ultimo, when my grandson accompanied thee to Mount Holly, I have been there, it having been previously reported that the ancient, humble dome, which passed under thy inspection as the residence of John Woolman, he never inhabited, though that he built the house (as Solomon built the temple,) is admitted. With a view to remove this erroneous impression, I sought and obtained an interview with the only man now living in the town, who was contemporary with John Woolman, (now eighty years of age,) and in habits of occasional intercourse with him. He informed me that John Woolman's daughter (an only child,) and her husband resided in the house when her father embarked for London, which was in the year 1772, as recorded in his journal. The fact of residence is corroborated by the circumstance of the search for and destruction of caterpillars in the apple orchard, which I think, was related to thee. "The sage historian of by-gone days, whom I met at Mount Holly, spake of his being at John Woolman's little farm, in the season of harvest, when it was customary, and so remains to the present time, for farmers to slay a young calf or a lamb; the common mode is by bleeding in the jugular vein; but with a view to mitigate the sufferings of the animal in that mode, he had prepared, and kept by him for that express purpose, a large block of wood with a smooth surface, and after confining the limbs of the animal, it was laid gently thereon, and the head severed from the body at one stroke." While in this neighborhood, I made a call on Nathan Dunn, the proprietor of the "Chinese collection." He resided many years at Canton, and since his return has built himself a mansion in the Chinese style. His museum of Chinese curiosities is by far the most extensive and valuable which has ever been seen out of that country, and forms one of the most attractive and instructive exhibitions in Philadelphia; one whose character and arrangement are quite _unique_, and which has some pretensions to the title of "China in miniature." It occupies the whole of the lower saloon of that splendid building recently erected at the corner of Ninth and George streets, by the Philadelphia Museum Company. The visitor's notice is first attracted by a series of groups of figures, representing Chinese of nearly every grade in society, engaged in the actual business of life. The figures, in their appropriate costume, are modeled in a peculiarly fine clay, by Chinese artists, with exquisite skill and effect. All are accurate likenesses of originals, most of whom are now living. The following enumeration of one of the cases, expanded in the subsequent description, which I quote from the catalogue, will give an idea of the manner in which Chinese life and manners are illustrated: "CASE VIII.--_No_. 21. _Chinese Gentleman_.--22. _Beggar asking alms_.--23. _Servant preparing breakfast_.--24. _Purchaser_.--25. _Purchaser examining a piece of black silk. The proprietor behind the counter making calculations on his counting board_.--_Clerk entering goods_.--_Circular table, with breakfast furniture_. "This has been arranged so as to afford an exact idea of a Chinese retail establishment. Two purchasers have been placed by the counter: one of whom is scrutinizing a piece of black silk that lies before him. The owner, behind the counter, is carelessly bending forward, and intent on casting an account on the 'calculating dish,' while his clerk is busy making entries in the book, in doing which he shows us the Chinese mode of holding a pen, or rather brush, which is perpendicularly between the thumb and all the fingers. A servant is preparing breakfast. A circular eight-legged table, very similar to those used by our great grandfathers, is spread in the centre of the shop. Among its furniture, the ivory chopsticks are the most novel. On the visitor's right hand sits a gentleman, with a pipe, apparently a chance comer, 'just dropped in' about meal time; on the left, a blind beggar stands, beating two bamboo sticks against each other, an operation with which he continues to annoy all whom he visits, till he is relieved by some trifling gratuity, usually a single _cash_. A gilt image of Fo is inserted in the front part of the counter, and a small covered tub, filled with tea, with a few cups near by, standing on the counter, from which customers are always invited to help themselves. "The merchants and shop-keepers of Canton are prompt, active, obliging, and able. They can do an immense business in a short time, and without noise, bustle, or disorder. Their goods are arranged in the most perfect manner, and nothing is ever out of its place. These traits assimilate them to the more enterprising of the Western nations, and place them in prominent contrast with the rest of the Asiatics. It is confidently asserted by those who have had the best opportunities of judging, that as business men, they are in advance of Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese merchants. "There is a variety of amusing inscriptions on the scrolls hung up in the interior of some of the shops, which serve at the same time to mark the thrifty habits of the traders. A few specimens are subjoined:--'Gossipping and long sitting injure business.' 'Former customers have inspired caution--no credit given.' 'A small stream always flowing.' 'Genuine goods; prices true.' 'Trade circling like a wheel,' et cet." In addition to the above models, the collection includes an almost innumerable variety of specimens of the fine arts and manufactures, comprising almost every article of use and luxury--furniture, modern and antique porcelain, models houses, pagodas, boats, junks, and bridges; pieces of silk, linen, cotton, grass-cloth, and other fabrics manufactured in China for home consumption; books and drawings, costume, idols, and appendages of worship; weapons, musical instruments, signs, mottoes, and entablatures, and numerous paintings, which last, it is justly observed, "will satisfy every candid mind that great injustice has been done to the Chinese artists, in the notion hitherto entertained respecting their want of skill. They paint insects, birds, fishes, fruits, flowers, with great correctness and beauty; and the brilliancy and variety of their colors cannot be surpassed. They group with considerable taste and effect, and their perspective--a department of the art in which they have been thought totally deficient--is often very good." Many of the paintings represent actual scenes and occurrences; and thus, like the models before mentioned, bring living China before the mind's eye. The following is a good example. "910. _View of the interior of the Consoo House, with the court in session, for the final decision of the charge of piracy committed by the crew of a Chinese junk on a French captain and sailors, at a short distance from Macao_. "The French ship, Navigatre, put in to Cochin China in distress. Having disposed of her to the government, the captain, with his crew, took passage for Macao in a Chinese junk belonging to the province of Fokien. Part of their valuables consisted of about 100,000 dollars in specie. Four Chinese passengers bound for Macao, and one for Fokien, were also on board. This last apprised the Frenchmen in the best manner he could, that the crew of the junk had entered into a conspiracy to take their lives and seize their treasure. He urged that an armed watch should be kept. On reaching the Ladrone Islands, the poor Macao passengers left the junk. Here the Frenchmen believed themselves out of danger, and exhausted by sickness and long watching, yielded to a fatal repose. They were all massacred but one, a youth of about nineteen years of age, who escaped by leaping into the sea, after receiving several wounds. A fishing boat picked him up and landed him at Macao, where information was given to the officers of government, and the crew of the junk, with their ill-gotten gains, were seized, on their arrival at the port of destination in Fokien. "Having been found guilty by the court, in their own district, they were sent down to Canton, by order of the Emperor, to the Unchat-see, (criminal judge) to be confronted with the young French sailor. This trial is represented in the painting. The prisoners were taken out of their cages, as is seen in the foreground. The Frenchman recognized seventeen out of the twenty-four; but when the passenger, who had been his friend, was brought in, the two eagerly embraced each other, which scene is also portrayed in the painting. An explanation of this extraordinary act was made to the judge, and the man forthwith set at liberty. A purse was made up for him by the Chinese and foreigners, and he was soon on his way homeward. The seventeen _were_ decapitated, in a few days, in the presence of the foreigners; the captain, was to be put to a 'lingering death,' the punishment of traitors, and the stolen treasures were restored." I do not quote the above for the sake of the anecdote, though the relation is authentic, but as, affording a striking illustration of the advanced civilization of the Chinese. It shows that the supremacy of the law is universal, and its administration efficient. The criminals, in this instance, are promptly seized, tried, and condemned on strong evidence; but, before they are executed, reference is made to the distant metropolis, Pekin. Here it is observed, that the most important witness was not 'confronted with the prisoners,' and they are forthwith directed to be conveyed to Canton, to be examined in his presence. Seventeen are recognized by him and are executed. The rest escape. Now this is just what might have taken place under the best ordered governments of Europe. The humane maxims of British jurisprudence, if not acknowledged in theory, may be here witnessed in practical operation, and the single circumstance of referring capital convictions to the Emperor, in his distant metropolis, for confirmation, before they are carried into effect, shows a respect for human life, even in the persons of criminals, which is one of the surest tokens of a high state of civilization. Such is the criminal jurisprudence of China, in practice; in theory, its just praise has been awarded, some years ago, by an able writer in the Edinburgh Review. He says:-- "The most remarkable thing in this code, is its great reasonableness, clearness, and consistency; the businesslike brevity and directness of the various provisions, and the plainness and moderation of the language in which they are expressed. It is a clear, concise, and distinct series of enactments, savoring throughout of practical judgment and European good sense. When we turn from the ravings of the Zendavesta, or the Puranas, to the tone of sense and of business of this Chinese collection, we seem to be passing from darkness to light--from the drivellings of dotage to the exercise of an improved understanding; and, redundant and minute as these laws are in many particulars, we scarcely know any European code that is at once so copious and so consistent, or that is nearly so free from intricacy, bigotry and fiction." In addition to what have been noticed, the Chinese exhibition includes a copious and very interesting collection of specimens of the natural history of China. I trust the extended notice I have given to the subject, will at least prove that this is not an ordinary exhibition, but a representation of a distant country and remarkable people, in which amusement is most skilfully and philosophically made subservient to practical instruction. A beneficent Creator has implanted within us a thirst for information about other scenes and people. To be totally devoid of this feeling would argue, perhaps, not merely intellectual but moral deficiency. Such being the case, the founder of the "Chinese collection" deserves to be regarded as a public benefactor, for, by spending a few hours in his museum, with the aid of the descriptive catalogue, one may learn more of the Chinese than by the laborious perusal of all the works upon them that have ever been written.[A] [Footnote A: While the above was passing through the press, I have learned that this interesting Collection has arrived for exhibition in this country.] I cannot dismiss this subject without expressing my deep regret that the British public should appear to view with indifference, or complacency, the cruel and unjust war which our Government is now waging against this highly cultivated and unoffending people, at the instigation of a handful of men, who have acquired wealth and importance in the vigorous pursuit of an immoral and unlawful traffic, by means the most criminal and detestable. I have attempted, since my return from the United States, to give some expression to my sentiments, in a letter which has been widely circulated, and which will be found reprinted in the Appendix.[A] I trust none under whose notice this subject may come will endeavor to evade their share of responsibility. If the present war with China were the sole consideration, perhaps no course would be left to the Christian citizen, but to record his protest and mourn in silence; but the conclusion of the war _per se_ would not terminate the difficulty, for trade and mutual intercourse between the two countries, _on the basis of a reciprocation of interests_, can never be restored till the EAST INDIA COMPANY'S OPIUM TRADE, a traffic, like the slave trade, hateful in the sight of God and man, is suppressed; or at least, until British connection with it is severed; If asked who are the guilty persons, I would say, in the first instance, the East India Company; secondly, the opium smugglers; thirdly, the British government, and lastly, the British people, who, by silent acquiescence, make the whole guilt, and the whole responsibility their own. [Footnote A: See Appendix G.] The author of the most popular modern work on China, who long superintended the interests of the British merchants at Canton, and whose work, to a considerable extent, reflects their views, after stating the increasing discouragements imposed by the authorities on foreign commerce, the effect for the most part of opium smuggling, and other lawless proceedings, observes:--"These (discouragements) are their (the British merchants) real subjects of complaint in China; and whenever the accumulation of wrong shall have proved, by exact calculation, that it is more profitable, according to merely commercial principles, to remonstrate than submit, these will form a righteous and equitable ground of quarrel!!"[A] [Footnote A: Davis's China and the Chinese, (Murray's Family Library,) vol. i. p. 195.] The remonstrance here alluded to is WAR, as is apparent from the context of the passage, as well as from the fact, that by the author's own showing no other kind of remonstrance remained to be tried. The true "casus belli" is set forth by anticipation in this passage without disguise, and by one who knew well, and has clearly described the causes that were operating to produce a rupture. The opium merchants have discovered that now, in the fulness of time, it is _profitable_ to go to war with China, and forthwith the vast power of Great Britain, obedient to their influence, is put in motion to sustain their unrighteous quarrel, to the unspeakable degradation of the character of this professedly Christian nation. The morality of the war on our side, is the morality of the highwayman; that morality by which the strong in all ages have preyed upon the weak. And though a handful of unprincipled men find their account in it, before the people of Great Britain have paid the expenses of the war, and the losses from derangement and interruption of commerce, it will cost millions more than all the profit that has ever accrued to them from the opium trade. From what motive then, do we uphold a traffic, which is the curse of China, the curse of India, and a calamity to Great Britain? Such a war may be fruitful in trophies of military glory, if such can be gained by the slaughter of the most pacific people in the world; but to expect that it will promote the reputation, the prosperity, or the happiness of this country, would be to look for national wickedness to draw down the Divine blessing. The descriptive catalogue of the "Ten thousand Chinese things," concludes with sentiments on this subject which do equal honor to the head and heart of the writer. "Alas for missionary efforts, so long as the grasping avarice of the countries, whence the missionaries go, sets at nought every Christian obligation before the very eyes of the people whom it is sought to convert! Most devoutly do we long for the auspicious day, when the pure religion, that distilled from the heart, and was embodied in the life of Jesus, shall shed its sacred influence on every human being; but, in our inmost soul we believe it will not come, till the principles of religion shall take a firmer hold on the affections of those who profess to receive it, and rear a righteous embankment around their sordid and stormy passions. When the missionary shall find an auxiliary in the stainless life of every compatriot who visits the scene of his labors, for purposes of pleasure or of gain,--when he can point not only to the pure maxims and sublime doctrines proclaimed by the Founder of his faith, but to the clustering graces that adorn its professors,--then indeed will the day dawn, and the day star of the millennium arise upon the world." During my short stay in Philadelphia on this occasion, I visited several of its prisons, philanthropic institutions, et cet. These are pre-eminently the glory of this beautiful city; yet as they have been often described, I shall pass them by in silence, with the exception of two, the Refuge, and the Penitentiary; which I briefly notice because I may offer a few general remarks in another place, on the important subject of prison discipline. The Refuge is an asylum for juvenile delinquents, founded on the just and benevolent principle that offences against society, committed by very young persons, should be disciplined by training and education, rather than by punishment. In this establishment there are from eighty to ninety boys, and from forty to fifty girls, of ages varying from eight to twenty-one years. The former are employed in various light handicraft trades, and the latter in domestic services, and both spend a portion of their time in school. They remain from six months to four years. From the statements of the superintendent and matron, it appeared that about three-fourths of the male, and four-fifths of the female inmates become respectable members of society, and the remainder are chiefly such as are fifteen or sixteen years of age when first admitted into the Refuge, an age at which character may be considered as in a great measure formed. The labor of the children pays about one-fifth of the expense of the establishment, the rest being defrayed by the legislature. The prejudice of color intrudes even here, no children of that class being admitted into the Refuge. Colored delinquency is left to ripen into crime, with little interference from public or private philanthropy. As might have been expected, colored are more numerous than white criminals, in proportion to relative population; and this is appealed to as a proof of their naturally vicious and inferior character; when in fact the government and society at large are chargeable with their degradation. The Penitentiary contained, at the time of my visit, about three hundred and forty male, and thirty-five female prisoners. In this celebrated prison, hard labor is combined with solitary confinement, an arrangement which is technically known as the "separate system." Silence and seclusion are so strictly enforced as to be almost absolute and uninterrupted; even the minister who addresses the prisoners on the Sabbath is known to them only by his voice. A marked feature of this institution is security without the aid of any deadly weapon, none being allowed in the possession of the attendants, or indeed upon the premises. As compared with the "silent system," exhibited in the not less famed prisons of the State of New York, this is much less economical, as the mode of employing the prisoners, in their solitary cells, greatly lessens the power of a profitable application of their labor. If prisoners exceed their allotted task, one-half of their surplus earnings is given to them on being set at liberty. My visit was too cursory to enable me to give a decisive opinion on the "separate system," but I confess my impression is, that the punishment is one of tremendous and indiscriminating severity, and I find it difficult to believe that either the safety of society, or the welfare of the prisoner, can require the infliction of so much suffering. Criminals are sometimes condemned for very long periods, or for life; and in these cases, I was informed, occasionally manifested great recklessness and carelessness of their existence. I am also not quite convinced that the reformation of prisoners is effected to the extent sometimes inferred from the small number of recommittals. A statistical conclusion cannot be drawn from this datum, unsupported by other proofs. On the 2d of the 6th Month, (June,) I proceeded to Wilmington, Delaware, with my friend John G. Whittier. Here we met a company of warm-hearted and intelligent abolitionists, with whom we discussed the prospects of the cause. It was calculated that if compensation were conceded, to which many would on principle object, a tax of less than one dollar per acre would buy up all the slaves in the State for emancipation. It was admitted by all, that the abolition of slavery would advance the price of land in a far greater ratio; probably ten or twenty dollars per acre. We went forward the same evening to Baltimore, accompanied by one of our Wilmington acquaintance, and in the railway carriage was a member of the Society of Friends from North Carolina, who, though a colonizationist, appeared to be a man of candor. He gave it as his opinion that the majority of the free people of that State are in favor of the abolition of slavery. We also had the company, a part of the way, of Samuel E. Sewall, Counsellor at Law, in Boston, an early and tried abolitionist, and a faithful friend and legal adviser of the free people of color. The next morning, we left Baltimore for Washington, two hours' ride by railway. The railroads of this country being often extremely narrow, the trains frequently pass almost close to the piers of the bridges and viaducts, a circumstance which explains the following printed notice in the carriages: "Passengers are cautioned not to put their arms, head, or legs out of the window." In passing from a free to a slave State, the most casual observer is struck with the contrast. The signs of industry and prosperity on the broad face of the country are universally in favor of the former, and that to a degree which none but an eye witness can conceive. This fact has been often noticed, and has been affirmed by slaveholders themselves, in the most emphatic terms. In cities the difference is not less remarkable, and was forcibly brought to our notice in the hotel at which we took up our residence on arriving at Washington, and which, though the first in the city, and the temporary residence of many members of Congress, was greatly deficient in the cleanliness, comfort, and order, which prevail in the well-furnished and well-conducted establishments of New York, Philadelphia, Boston, &c. At this house, I understood, some of the servants were free, and others slaves. We were now in the District of Columbia, the seat of this powerful Federal Government, and in the city of Washington, the metropolis of the United States. Here are concentrated as it were into one focus, the associations of the past, connected with the great struggle for independence, and the memory of those names and events which already belong to history. Whatever may be our political principles, or the opinions of those who like myself consider all resort to arms as forbidden under the Christian dispensation, it is impossible to recall without emotion, transactions which have exerted and will continue to exert, so marked an influence on the destinies of mankind. This city was not the scene of those events, but it was erected to be a perpetual monument of them, and in the limited district of ten miles square, in which it stands, the Government which was then called into existence reigns sole and supreme. If a stranger were to inquire here for the monuments of the fathers of the Revolution, the American would proudly point to the Capitol, with the national Congress in full session, and to the levee of the President, crowded by free citizens, and representatives of foreign nations. The United States were thirteen dependent colonies, they are now twenty-six sovereign States, rich and populous, covering the face of this vast continent, and compacted into one powerful confederacy. But notwithstanding the glowing emotions which seem naturally called forth by the locality, there is many an American who bitterly feels that the District of Columbia is the shame, rather than the glory of his country. Here is proclaimed to the whole world by the united voice of the American people, "We hold these truths to be self-evident--that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights--that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness;" and here also by a majority of the same people expressing their deliberate will, through their representatives, this declaration is trampled under foot, and turned into derision.[A] [Footnote A: "Large establishments have grown up upon the national domain, provided with prisons for the safe keeping of negroes till a full cargo is procured; and should, at any time, the factory prisons be insufficient, the public ones, erected by Congress, are at the service of the dealers, and the United States Marshal becomes the agent of the slave trade."--_Judge Jay's View of the action of the Federal Government in behalf of Slavery_, _page_ 93. "But the climax of infamy is still untold. This trade in blood,--this buying, imprisoning, and exporting of boys and girls eight years old,--this tearing asunder of husbands and wives, parents and children,--is all legalized, in virtue of authority delegated by Congress!! The 249th page of the laws of the city of Washington is polluted by the following enactment, bearing date 28th July, 1838:--'For a _license_ to trade or traffic in slaves for profit, four hundred dollars.'"--_Ibid_, _page_ 98.] The District of Columbia is the chief seat of the American slave trade; commercial enterprize has no other object! Washington is one of the best supplied and most frequented slave marts in the world. The adjoining and once fertile and beautiful States of Virginia and Maryland, are now blasted with sterility, and ever-encroaching desolation. The curse of the first murderer rests upon the planters, and the ground will no longer yield to them her strength. The impoverished proprietors find now their chief source of revenue in what one of themselves expressly termed, their "crop of human flesh." Hence the slave-holding region is now divided into the "slave-breeding," and "slave-consuming" States. From its locality, and, from its importance as the centre of public affairs, the District of Columbia has become the focus of this dreadful traffic, which almost vies with the African slave trade itself in extent and cruelty, besides possessing aggravations peculiarly its own.[A] Its victims are marched to the south in chained coffles, overland, in the face of day, and by vessels coastwise. Those who protest against these abominations are the abolitionists; a body whose opinions are so unpopular that no term of reproach is deemed vile enough for their desert; yet if these should hold their peace, the very stones would surely cry out. The state of things in this District has one peculiar feature; being under the supreme local government of Congress, it presents almost the only tangible point for the political efforts of those hostile to slavery. Against slavery in any but their own States, the abolitionists have neither the power nor the wish to exert that constitutional interference which they rightfully employ in the States of which they are citizens; but with respect to the District of Columbia, they are, in common with the whole republic, responsible for the exercise of political influence for the abolition of slavery within its limits. Hence this is the grand point of attack. They have experienced a succession of repulses, but their eventual success is certain; the political influence of the slave-holding interest, which is now paramount, and which controls and dictates the entire policy of the general Government will be destroyed. Then will the abolition of American slavery be speedily consummated. [Footnote A: "Human flesh is now the great staple of Virginia, In the legislature of this State, in 1833, Thomas Jefferson Randolph declared that Virginia had been converted into 'one grand menagerie, where men are reared for the market, like oxen for the shambles.' This same gentleman thus compared the foreign with the domestic traffic: 'The trader (African) receives the slave, a stranger in aspect, language and manner, from the merchant who brought him from the interior. But _here_, sir, individuals whom the master has known from infancy,--whom he has seen sporting in the innocent gambols of childhood,--who have been accustomed to look to him for protection,--he tears from the mother's arms, exiles into a foreign country, among a strange people, subject to cruel task-masters. In my opinion, it is much worse.'--Mr. Gholson, of Virginia, in his speech in the legislature of that State, January 18, 1831, says: 'The master forgoes the service of the female slave, has her nursed and attended during the period of her gestation, and raises the helpless and infant offspring. The value of the property justifies the expense; and I do not hesitate to say, that in its increase consists much of our wealth.'--Professor Dew, now President of the College of William and Mary, Virginia, in his review of the debate in the Virginia legislature, 1831-3, speaking of the revenue arising from the trade, says: 'A full equivalent being thus left in the place of the slave, this emigration becomes an advantage to the State, and does not check the black population as much as at first view we might imagine; because it furnishes every inducement to the master to attend to the negroes, to _encourage breeding_, and to cause the greatest number possible to be raised. Virginia is, in fact, a negro-raising State, for other States.'--Mr. C.F. Mercer asserted, in the Virginia Convention of 1829, 'The tables of the natural growth of the slave population demonstrate; when compared with the increase of its numbers in the commonwealth for twenty years past, that an annual revenue of not less than a million and a half of dollars is derived from the exportation of a part of this population.'"--_Judge Jay's View_, _pages_ 88, 89.] Very soon after our arrival, we proceeded to the House of Representatives, then sitting, and were favored, by introductions from a member, with seats behind the Speaker's chair. The subject before the House was, of course, peculiarly interesting to me, being the proposed re-enactment of the "gag;" a rule of the House, by which petitions for the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, are laid upon the table, without being read or referred, and thus are virtually rejected. One of the speakers, William Slade, of Vermont, who was opposed to the "gag," told the pro-slavery members that they were greatly mistaken in supposing that such a measure would suppress the anti-slavery feeling of the country. They might, for a time, block up the Potomac, but it would only be to direct its waters into a new channel; in the same way as the rejection of anti-slavery petitions had resulted in the formation of a third abolition political party, which was now regularly organized and in the field. Having previously heard much of the virulence of the pro-slavery members, I was particularly impressed with the silence and attention with which they listened to this speech, and with the feeling which seemed evidently to prevail, that the subject could no longer be met with contempt and ridicule. One of the liberal members told me afterwards, that they felt themselves in a different atmosphere to what they did two years ago, both in the House and in the city, when touching upon this subject. Before the debate closed, the House divided on the question, whether ex-president Adams, the veteran defender of the constitutional right of petition, and who had brought forward this motion for the repeal of the "gag," was entitled to the right of reply. This was decided in his favor, and the House adjourned till the beginning of the following week. In the afternoon, I proceeded, by a steam packet, with one of my friends, to Alexandria, about six miles distant, on the other side of the Potomac. A merchant, to whom I had an introduction, kindly accompanied us to a slave-trading establishment there, which is considered the principal one in the District. The proprietor was absent; but the person in charge, a stout, middle-aged man, with a good-natured countenance, that little indicated his employment, readily consented to show us over the establishment. On passing behind the house, we looked through a grated iron door, into a square court or yard, with very high walls, in which were about fifty slaves. Some of the younger ones were dancing to a fiddle, an affecting proof, in their situation, of the degradation caused by slavery. There were others, who seemed a prey to silent dejection. Among these was a woman, who had run away from her master twelve years ago, and had married and lived ever since as a free person. She was at last discovered, taken and sold, along with her child, and would shortly be shipped to New Orleans, unless her husband could raise the means of her redemption, which we understood he was endeavoring to do. If he failed, they are lost to him for ever. Another melancholy looking woman was here with her nine children, the whole family having been sold away from their husband and father, to this slave-dealer, for two thousand two hundred and fifty dollars. This unfeeling separation is but the beginning of their sorrows. They will, in all probability, be re-sold at New Orleans, scattered and divided, until not perhaps two of them are left together. The most able-bodied negro I saw, cost the slave-dealer six hundred and eighty-five dollars. Our guide told us that they sometimes sent from this house from fifteen hundred to two thousand slaves to the South in a year, and that they occasionally had three hundred to four hundred at once in their possession. That the trade was not now so brisk, but that prices were rising. The return and profits of this traffic appear to be entirely regulated by the fluctuations in the value of the cotton. Women are worth one-third less than men. But one instance of complete escape ever occurred from these premises, though some of the slaves were occasionally trusted out in the fields. He showed us the substantial clothing, shoes, &c., with which the slaves were supplied when sent to the South; a practice, I fear, enforced more by the cupidity of the buyers, than the humanity of the seller. Our informant stated, in answer to inquiries, that by the general testimony of the slaves purchased, they were treated better by the planters than was the case ten years ago. He also admitted the evils of the system, and said, with apparent sincerity, he wished it was put an end to. We went afterwards to the city jail, to see a youth whose case I had heard of in Delaware, who had come to Alexandria on board a vessel, and had here been seized and imprisoned on suspicion of being a slave, not having any document to prove his freedom. He had now been incarcerated for near twelve months, and though admitted by the jailer and every one else to be free, he was about to be sold in a few days into slavery for a term, in order to pay the jail-fees, amounting to eighty dollars. In the evening on returning to Washington, we paid a visit by appointment to John Quincy Adams, ex-president of the United States; who though considerably more than seventy years of age, is yet one of the most assiduous and energetic members of the House of Representatives, and one of the most influential public men of the day. To this must be added the far higher praise that his distinguished powers are employed in the service of humanity, truth, and justice. How rare is it to witness such a union of intellectual and moral greatness! Posterity will do justice to his fame, when slavery shall exist only in the records of the past, and when it shall be related with wonder, that this venerable man, standing almost alone in his defence of the right of petition, received daily anonymous letters threatening him with assassination. He received us very kindly, and in the course of conversation expressed how much importance he attached to the late repeal of the "nine months law," in the State of New York, as a favorable indication of the current of public feeling. He did not appear sanguinely to anticipate that he should be in a majority on his pending motion for the repeal of the "gag." One of the principal objects of my visit to Washington was to present an Address to the President, from the Committee of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society. In the course of my inquiries of various official persons, members of Congress, et cet., I found that to obtain an audience for the express purpose would be very difficult, as no member of Congress appeared willing to undertake the unpopular service of introducing the bearer of such a document. I was not disposed to apply to the British Ambassador, who on some occasions had shown a want of sympathy with the anti-slavery cause. I found, however, that it was not contrary to etiquette, in this country, for a private individual to address a note to the President, to which, in ordinary courtesy, according to the custom of the place, he has a right to expect a reply. I would remark, however, that nothing is more easy than to gain access to the President; but I felt that to avail myself of those facilities, to place in his hands a document which he might object to receive, would be uncandid. I therefore addressed a note to him, stating that I was the bearer of a memorial from the Committee of the British and Foreign Anti-slavery Society, signed by Thomas Clarkson, addressed to the President of the United States, in which I said, "It may, perhaps, be right to state, that the memorial refers to slavery and the slave-trade in the United States, and that it was written before the death of General Harrison was known in Europe." I then asked permission to present it. To this I received no reply. We were afterwards introduced to the President, by a member of Congress, who evinced an anxiety that I should make no reference to the memorial; and the President, on his part, made no allusion to it, or to my letter to himself. After this interview, we proceeded to the Senate, but it had risen just as we entered. I had a short conversation with Henry Clay, who alluded to Joseph John Gurney's work on the West Indies, which I need scarcely add, is written in a series of letters to this statesman. He said that the recent short crop of sugar in Jamaica was a proof that the author had been misled in the favorable information he had collected, and also that this deficiency in the crop was a proof not only of the idleness, but of the immorality of the negroes. He accused my companion, John G. Whittier, of deserting him, after having been his warm friend; and on J.W.'s giving his reasons for so doing, he complained that the abolitionists improperly interfered with the affairs of the South, though he made an exception in favor of the Society of Friends. He inquired if J.G. Whittier was a "Friend" in regular standing, evidently intimating a doubt on that point, on account of his being so decided an abolitionist. The praise of such men is the strongest testimony that could be adduced to the declension of the Society of Friends in anti-slavery zeal. To a great extent I fear their sentiments on this subject have been held traditionally; and that in many cases, they have not only done nothing themselves, but by example and precept have condemned the activity of others; I trust, however, a brighter day in regard to their labors is approaching. I feel disinclined to take leave of Henry Clay, without some animadversions which, on the public character of a public man, I may offer without any breach of propriety. In early life, that is in some part of the last century, he supported measures tending to the "eradication of slavery" in Kentucky, and at various periods since, he has indulged in cheap declamation against slavery, though he is not known to have committed himself by a solitary act of manumission. On the contrary, having commenced life with a single slave, he has industriously increased the number to upwards of seventy. As a statesman, his conduct on this question has been consistently pro-slavery. He indefatigably negotiated for the recovery of fugitive slaves from Canada, when Secretary of State, though without success. In the Senate he successfully carried through the admission of Missouri into the Union, as a slave State. He has resisted a late promising movement in Kentucky in favor of emancipation; and lastly, in one of his most elaborate speeches, made just before the late presidential election, the proceedings of the abolitionists were reviewed and condemned, and he utterly renounced all sympathy with their object. By way of apology for his early indiscretion, he observes, "but if I had been then, or were _now_, a citizen of any of the planting States--the southern or southwestern States--I should have opposed, and would continue to oppose, any scheme whatever of emancipation, gradual or immediate." In this extract, and throughout the whole speech, slavery is treated as a pecuniary question, and the grand argument against abolition, is the loss of property that would ensue. Joseph John Gurney, who appears to have been favorably impressed by Henry Clay's professions of liberality, his courteous bearing, and consummate address, manifested a laudable anxiety that so influential a statesman should be better informed on the point on which he seemed so much in the dark; he therefore addressed to him his excellent "Letters on the West Indies," of which the great argument is, that emancipation has been followed by great prosperity to the planters, and attended with abundant blessings, temporal and spiritual, to the other classes, and that the same course would necessarily be followed by the same results in the United States. He has accumulated proof upon proof of his conclusions supplied by personal and extensive investigation in the British Colonies. But Henry Clay shews no sign of conviction. Yet though he made to us the absurd remark, already quoted, on Joseph John Gurney's work, I have too high an opinion of his understanding to think him the victim of his own sophistry. He is a lawyer and a statesman. He is accustomed to weigh evidence, and to discriminate facts. I have little doubt that all my valued friend would have taught him, he knew already. He could not be ignorant of the contrast presented by his own State of Kentucky, and the adjoining State of Ohio, and that the difference is solely owing to slavery. If J.J. Gurney could have shewn that abolition would soon be the high road to the President's chair, it is not improbable that he would have made an illustrious convert to anti-slavery principles. Henry Clay's celebrated speech before alluded to, was delivered in the character of a candidate for the Presidency just before the last election--it was prepared with great care, and rehearsed beforehand to a select number of his political friends. The whig party being the strongest, and he being the foremost man of that party, he might be looked upon as President-elect, if he could but conciliate the south, by wiping off the cloud of abolitionism that faintly obscured his reputation. He succeeded to his heart's desire in his immediate object, but eventually, by this very speech, completely destroyed his sole chance of success, and was ultimately withdrawn from the contest. Thus does ambition overleap itself.[A] [Footnote A: As a practical commentary on Henry Clay's professions of a regard for the cause of human liberty, I append the following advertisement, which, about two years ago, was circulated in Ohio: "THREE HUNDRED DOLLAR'S REWARD. "_Run away_ from James Kendall, in Bourbon County, Ky., to whom he was hired the present year, on Saturday night last, the 14th instant, a negro man, named Somerset, about twenty-six years of age, five feet, seven or eight inches high, of a dark copper color, having a deep scar on his right cheek, occasioned by a burn, stout made, countenance bold and determined, and voice coarse. His clothing it is thought unnecessary to describe, as he may have already changed it. "ALSO, "From E. Muir, of the same county, on the same night, (and supposed to have gone in company,) a negro man, named Bob, about twenty-nine years old, near six feet high, weighing about 180 or 90 pounds, of a dark copper color, of a pleasant countenance, uncommonly smooth face, and a remarkable small hand for a negro of his size. He spells and reads a little. His clothing was a greenish jean coat and black cloth pantaloons. "We will give the above reward for the delivery of said negroes to the undersigned, or their confinement in jail, so that we get them; or 150 dollars for either of them, if taken out of the State, or 100 dollars for them, or 50 dollars for either, if taken out of the county, and in the State. "HENRY CLAY, Senior, "E. MUIR. "_Bourbon Co. Ky., Sept_. 17, 1839." ] On leaving the Senate House, we drove to a slave-dealer's establishment, near at hand, and within sight of the _Capitol_. I have given some particulars of this visit elsewhere, which I need not repeat. I cast my eye on some portraits and caricatures of abolitionists, British and American, among whom Daniel O'Connell figured in association with Arthur Tappan, and the ex-president Adams. The young man in charge of the establishment began to explain them, for our amusement; on which, one of my companions pointed to me, and informed him I was an English abolitionist. He looked uneasy at our presence, and evidently desirous we should not prolong our stay. He told us there were five or six other dealers in the city who had no buildings of their own, and who kept their slaves here, or at the public city jail, at thirty-four cents per diem, the difference in comfort being wholly on the side of the private establishments. We subsequently visited the city jail, to which reference is made in the letter below, and were able to confirm this statement from our own observation. We left for Baltimore this afternoon. Although I had not succeeded in presenting the address before-mentioned to the President, I little regretted the failure, being convinced that it would not be less generally read by the public on that account, and in this I have not been disappointed. I proceeded at once, the next morning, to Philadelphia; and here I concluded to print and publish the following letter, which, was sent, through the post, to the President, and to each member of the Senate and House of Representatives. "_To the Abolitionists of the United States_. "I was commissioned by the committee of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, to present a memorial from them to your President, and proceeded to Washington, a few days ago, accompanied by John G. Whittier, of Massachusetts, and a friend from the State of Delaware. "It was my first visit to the seat of legislation of your great republic. On our arrival we went to the House of Representatives, then in session. A member from Maryland was speaking on our entrance, who was the author of a resolution, which had been carried in a former Congress, excluding nearly three millions of your countrymen, on whom every species of wrong and outrage is committed with impunity, from all right of petition, either by them selves or their friends. He was advocating the re-enactment of this very resolution for the present Congress, and stated that he had a letter from your President approving the measure. Although I believe I do not speak too strongly when I say an attempt to enforce such a resolution by any crowned head in the civilized world, would be inevitably followed by a revolution, yet it seemed evident that no small portion of your _present_ members were in favor of it. It was with no ordinary emotion that I saw the venerable ex-president Adams at his post, nobly contending against this violation of the rights of his countrymen, and I could not but regret that, with one or two exceptions, be appeared to find little support from his younger colleagues of the free States. "The same day we visited one of the well-known slave-trading establishments at Alexandria. On passing to it we were shewn the costly mansion of its late proprietor, who has lately retired on a large property acquired by the sale of native born Americans. In an open enclosure, with high walls which it is impossible to scale, with a strong iron-barred door, and in which we were told that there were sometimes from three to four hundred persons crowded, we saw about fifty slaves. Amongst the number thus incarcerated was a woman with nine children, who had been cruelly separated from their husband and father, and would probably be shortly sent to New Orleans, where they would never be likely to see him again, and where the mother may be for ever severed from every one of her children, and each of them sold to a separate master. From thence we went to the Alexandria city jail, where we saw a young man who was admitted to be free even by the jailer himself. He had been seized and committed in the hope that he might prove a slave, and that the party detaining him would receive a reward. He had been kept there nearly twelve months because he could not pay the jail fees, and instead of obtaining any redress for false imprisonment, was about to be sold into slavery for a term to reimburse these fees. "The next morning I was desirous of handing to the President the memorial, of which the following is a copy: "'_Address to the President of the United States, from the Committee of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society_. "'SIR,--As the head of a great Confederacy of States, justly valuing their free constitution and political organization, and tenacious of their rights and their character, the Committee of the British and Foreign Anti-slavery Society, through their esteemed coadjutor and representative, Joseph Sturge, would respectfully approach you in behalf of millions of their fellow-men, held in bondage in the United States. Those millions are denied, not only the immunities enjoyed by the citizens of your great republic generally, and of the equal privileges and the impartial protection of the civil law, but are deprived of their personal rights, so that they cease to be regarded and treated, under your otherwise noble institutions, as MEN, except in the commission of crime, when the utmost rigor of your penal statutes is invoked and enforced against them; but are reduced to the degraded condition of "chattels personal in the hands of their owners and possessors, to _all intents, constructions, and purposes, whatsoever_." "'This is the language and the law of slavery; and under this law, guarded with jealousy by their political institutions, the slaveholders of the South rest their claims to property in man But, sir, there are claims anterior to all human laws, and superior to all political institutions, which are immutable in their nature,--claims which are the birthright of every human being, of every clime, and of every color,--claims which God has conferred, and which man cannot destroy without sacrilege, or infringe without sin. Personal liberty is among these, the greatest and best, for it is the root of all other rights, the conservative principle of human associations, the spring of public virtues, and essential to national strength and greatness. "'The monstrous and wicked assumption of power by man, over his fellow man, which slavery implies, is alike abhorrent to the moral sense of mankind; to the immutable principles of justice; to the righteous laws of God; and to the benevolent principles of the gospel. It is, therefore, indignantly repudiated by all the fundamental laws of all truly enlightened and civilized communities, and by none more emphatically than by that over which, Sir, it is your honor to preside. "'The great doctrine, that God hath "created all men equal, and endowed them with certain inalienable rights, and that amongst these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," is affirmed in your Declaration of Independence, and justified in the theory of your constitutional laws. But there is a stain upon your glory; slavery, in its most abject and revolting form, pollutes your soil; the wailings of slaves mingle with your songs of liberty; and the clank of their chains is heard, in horrid discord with the chorus of your triumphs. "'The records of your States are not less distinguished by their wise provisions for securing the order and maintaining the institutions of your country, than by their ingenious devices for riveting the chains, and perpetuating the degradation of your colored brethren; their education is branded as a crime against the State--their freedom is dreaded as a blasting pestilence--the bare suggestion of their emancipation is proscribed as treason to the cause of American independence. "'These things are uttered in sorrow; for the committee deeply deplore the flagrant inconsistency, so glaringly displayed between the lofty principles embodied in the great charter of your liberties, and the evil practices which have been permitted to grow up under it, to mar its beauty and impair its strength. But it is not on these grounds alone, or chiefly, that they deplore the existence of slavery in the United States. Manifold as are the evils which flow from it--dehumanizing as are its tendencies--fearful as its reaction confessedly is on its supporters,--the reproach of its existence does not terminate on the institutions which gave it birth: the sublime principles and benign spirit of Christianity are dishonored by it. In the light of Divine Truth it stands revealed, in all its hideous deformity, a crime against God,--a daring usurpation of the prerogative and authority of the Most High! It is as a violation of His righteous laws, an outrage on His glorious attributes, a renunciation of the claims of His blessed gospel, that they especially deplore the countenance and support it receives among you; and, in the spirit of Christian love and fraternal solicitude, would counsel its immediate and complete overthrow, as a solemn and imperative duty, the performance of which no sordid reasons should be permitted to retard--no political considerations prevent. Slavery is a sin against God, and ought, therefore, to be abolished. "'The utter extinction of slavery, and its sister abomination, the internal slave-trade of the United States, second only in horror and extent to the African, and in some of its features even more revolting, can only be argued, by the philanthropy of this country, on the abstract principles of moral and religious duty; and to those principles the people of your great republic are pledged on the side of freedom beyond every nation in the world! "'The negro, by nature our equal, made like ourselves in the image of his Creator, gifted by the same intelligence, impelled by the same passions and affections, and redeemed by the same Savior, is reduced by cupidity and oppression below the level of the brute, spoiled of his humanity, plundered of his rights, and often hurried to a premature grave, the miserable victim of avarice and heedless tyranny! Men have presumptuously dared to wrest from their fellows the most precious of their rights--to intercept as far as they may the bounty and grace of the Almighty--to close the door to their intellectual progress--to shut every avenue to their moral and religious improvement, to stand between them and their Maker! It is against this crime the committee protest as men and as Christians, and earnestly but respectfully call upon you, Sir, to use the influence with which you are invested, to bring it to a peaceful and speedy close; and, may you in closing your public career, in the latest hours of your existence on earth, be consoled with the reflection that you have not despised the afflictions of the afflicted, but that faithful to the trust of your high stewardship, you have been "just, ruling in the fear of the Lord," that you have executed judgment for the oppressed, and have aided in the deliverance of your country from its greatest crime, and its chiefest reproach. "'On behalf of the Committee, "'THOMAS CLARKSON. "'British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, for the Abolition of Slavery and the Slave-trade throughout the world. "'27, _New Broad Street, London, March 5th_, 1841.' "I thought it most candid to address a letter to the President informing him of the character of the foregoing memorial, rather than take advantage of a merely formal introduction to present it, without a previous explanation. To this letter no reply was received, and no allusion was made to it by the President at a subsequent introduction, which we had to him. It may be proper to mention in this connection, that memorials of a similar character, bearing upon slavery and the slave-trade, signed by the venerable Clarkson, have been presented to different Heads of Governments, in other parts of the world, and have been uniformly received with marked respect. "Previous to our departure, we visited a private slave-trading establishment in the city, and looked in upon a group of human beings herded together like cattle for the market, within an enclosure of high brick walls surrounding the jail. The young man in attendance, informed us that there were five or six other regular slave-dealers in the city, who, having no jails of their own, either placed their slaves at this establishment, or in the public CITY PRISON. The former was generally preferred, on account of its superior accommodations in respect to food and lodging. On my making some remarks to the young man on the nature of his occupation, he significantly, and as I think, very justly replied, that he knew of no reasons for condemning slave-traders, which did not equally apply to slave-holders. You will bear in mind that this was said within view of the Capitol, where slave-holders control your national legislation, and within a few minutes' walk of that mansion where a slave-holder sits in the presidential chair, placed there by your votes; and it is certainly no marvel, that, with such high examples in his favor, the humble slave-dealer of the District should feel himself in honorable company, and really regard his occupation as one of respectability and public utility. "From thence we proceeded to the city prison, an old and loathsome building, where we examined two ranges of small stone cells, in which were a large number of colored prisoners. We noticed five or six in a single cell, barely large enough for a solitary tenant, under a heat as intense as that of the tropics. The keeper stated that in rainy seasons the prison was uncomfortably wet. The place had to us a painful interest, from the fact that here Dr. Crandall, a citizen of the free States, was confined until his health was completely broken down, and was finally released only to find a grave, for the crime of having circulated a pamphlet on emancipation, written by one of the friends who accompanied me.[A] On inquiry of the keeper, he informed us that slaves were admitted into his cells, and kept for their owners at the rate of thirty-four cents per day, and that transfers of them from one master to another sometimes took place during their confinement; thus corroborating the testimony of the keeper of the private jail before mentioned, that this city prison, the property of the people of the United States, and for the rebuilding of which, a large sum of your money has been appropriated, is made use of by the dealers in human beings as a place of deposit and market; and thus you, in common with your fellow citizens, are made indirect participators in a traffic equal in atrocity to that foreign trade, the suppression of which, to use the words of your President in his late message, 'is required by the public honor, and the promptings of humanity.' [Footnote A: On being released from prison, Dr. Crandall went to Kingston, Jamaica, to recruit his health. A gentleman of that city, W. Wemyss Anderson, found him in his lodgings, solitary and friendless, and rapidly sinking under his disease. He took him, though a perfect stranger, into his own house; and the last days of Dr. Crandall were soothed by the kind sympathy and attentions of a Christian family. It was also manifest, that he enjoyed the sunshine of inward peace, and the rich consolations of the gospel. His kind host, whom I count it a privilege to call my friend, obeyed, in this instance, the apostolic injunction, and experienced the consequent reward, "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."] "As one who has devoted much of his humble labors to the cause you wish to promote, I perhaps shall be excused for thus stating these facts to you, as they all passed before my personal observation in the course of a few hours. I shall deem it right to publish them in Europe, where I am about shortly to return. Recollect, they all occurred and exist within the District of Columbia, and that those who elect the legislators who uphold the slave system, are justly responsible for it in the sight of God and man. Is it not all the natural consequence of your electing slave-holders and their abettors to the highest offices of your State and nation? Some of your most intelligent citizens have given it as their opinion that fully two-thirds of the whole population of the United States are in favor of the abolition of slavery; and my own observation, since I landed on these shores, not only confirms this opinion, but has convinced me that there is a very rapid accession to their numbers daily taking place; and yet we have the extraordinary fact exhibited to the world, that about two hundred and fifty thousand slave-holders--a large proportion of whom, bankrupt in fortune and reputation, have involved many of the North in their disgrace and ruin--hold in mental bondage the whole population of this great republic, who permit themselves to be involved in the common disgrace of presenting a spectacle of national inconsistency altogether without a parallel. I confess that, although an admirer of many of the institutions of your country, and deeply lamenting the evils of my own government, I find it difficult to reply to those who are opposed to any extension of the political rights of Englishmen, when they point to America and say, that where all have a control over the legislation but those who are guilty of a dark skin, slavery and the slave-trade remain not only unmitigated, but continue to extend; and that while there is an onward movement in favor of its extinction, not only in England and France, but even in Cuba and Brazil, American legislators cling to this enormous evil, without attempting to relax or mitigate its horrors. Allow me, therefore, to appeal to you by every motive which attaches you to your country, seriously to consider how far you are accountable for this state of things, by want of a faithful discharge of those duties for which every member of a republican government is so deeply responsible; and may I not express the hope that, on all future occasions, you will take care to promote the election of none as your representatives who will not _practically_ act upon the principle that in every clime, and of every color, 'all men are equal?' "Your sincere friend, "JOSEPH STURGE. "_Philadelphia, 6th Month 7th_, 1842." This letter was extensively reprinted, not only in the anti-slavery but in pro-slavery newspapers, both in the North and South. In the numerous angry comments upon it, no attempt that has come to my knowledge was made to deny any one of my statements. One of the papers intimates that the vote by which the house soon after refused to adopt a specific and exclusive rule against abolition petitions, was brought about by "the sinister influence of Mr. Sturge." I need not add how happy I should have been to have possessed the influence with which this writer has so liberally invested me, and that I should have regarded it as a talent to be employed and improved to the very utmost. I spent from the 5th to the 11th of the Sixth Month, (June) in Philadelphia and the vicinity, during which time, I made numerous calls, and met several large parties in private. During this stay, in company with John G. Whittier, I paid a visit to my excellent friend, Abraham L. Pennock, at his residence in Haverford, Delaware county, about ten miles from the city. He is an influential member of the Society of Friends, and until recently he has been a resident in the city. He has, for many years, been an uncompromising abolitionist, and an active member and officer of anti-slavery societies; yet he appears to enjoy the respect and confidence not only of his anti-slavery associates, but of the Society of Friends, and the community generally. I found him a warm advocate, in practice as well as theory, of entire abstinence from the products of slave labor, as well as of independent political action on the part of abolitionists. He expressed much regret that he was unable to attend the General Anti-Slavery Convention, in London, and gave his cordial approbation to its proceedings.[A] [Footnote A: See Appendix H.] We reluctantly bade farewell to our kind friend and his interesting family, all the members of which appear to share his zeal and untiring devotion to the cause of the oppressed, and returned to our lodgings in the city. Even now I look back to this visit as among the most grateful recollections of my sojourn in the United States. I may mention, in this connection, that A.L. Pennock, as well as others with whom I conversed on the subject, spoke with much regret of the want of faithfulness on the part of members of the Society of Friends, in maintaining their testimony against slavery, while exercising their civil rights as citizens and electors. From all I could learn, I have been led to fear that "Friends" in the United States, with few exceptions, are in the practice of voting for public officers, without reference to their sentiments on the important subject of slavery. At the late Presidential election it is very evident that the great body of "Friends" who took any part in it, voted for John Tyler, the slaveholder. Among the active friends of emancipation, who occupy a high station in our society, I can scarcely omit mentioning Enoch Lewis, of Chester county, Pennsylvania, whose talents and literary acquirements, devoted as they are, to the maintenance and promulgation of the principles and Christian testimonies of our religious society, deservedly command a high degree of respect. Among the members of the society which have separated from "Friends" in Philadelphia and elsewhere, I met with many warm and steady friends of emancipation, some of whom have proved their sincerity by great sacrifices. Amongst these I cannot omit mentioning James and Lucretia Mott, James Wood, Dr. Isaac Parish, and Thomas Earle, of this city. I republished in Philadelphia, with the permission of the author, in two separate pamphlets, for distribution amongst those to whom it was addressed, "A Letter to the Clergy of various Denominations, and to the Slave-holding Planters in the Southern parts of the United States of America, by Thomas Clarkson." This remarkable production was written after its venerable author had attained his eightieth year, and has been pronounced by a very competent judge the most vigorous production of his pen. As its circulation had but just commenced when I left the United States, I could not judge of the effect produced by this energetic appeal from one whose name must command respect, even from the slave-holders; but I have since been informed it has been read with interest and attention. I had several conferences with "Friends" who were interested in the cause, to discuss the best mode of engaging the members of the Society to unite their efforts on behalf of the oppressed and suffering slaves; and though no immediate steps were resolved on, yet I found so much good feeling in many of them, that I cannot but entertain a hope, that fruit will hereafter appear. I had spent much of my time and labor in Philadelphia, particularly among that numerous and influential body with whom I am united in a common bond of religious belief, and I trust of Christian affection. Of the kindness and hospitality I experienced I shall ever retain a grateful recollection; yet I finally took my leave of this city, under feelings of sorrow and depression that so many of the very class of Christian professors who once took the lead in efforts for the abolition of slavery, efforts evidently attended with the favor and sanction of the Most High, should now be discouraging, and holding back their members from taking part in so righteous a cause. Among the warmest friends of the slave, sound both in feeling and sentiment, are a few venerable individuals who are now standing on the brink of the grave, and whose places, among the present generation, I could not conceal from myself, there were but few fully prepared to occupy. I had found in many Friends much passive anti-slavery feeling, and was to some extent cheered by the discovery. May a due sense of their responsibility rest upon every follower of Christ, to remember them that are in bonds, and under affliction, not only with a passive, but with an active and self-denying sympathy, a sympathy that makes common cause with its object. Apart from the fact, that Philadelphia is one of the most beautiful cities in the world, to a member of the Society of Friends it must ever be an object of peculiar interest. Here William Penn made his great experiment of a Christian government. Here, to the annual assemblies of Friends, came Warner Mifflin, and John Woolman, and James Pemberton, and George Dillwyn, and other worthies of the past, who have now gone from works to rewards. A few miles distant, in Frankford, is still to be seen the residence of the excellent Thomas Chalkley. Here Benezet exemplified, in the simplicity, humility, and untiring benevolence of his daily life, the lessons inculcated in his writings. And here, at this day, are a larger number of members of our religious society than can be found congregated elsewhere, within an equal space of territory. They are, in general, in easy circumstances, many of them wealthy, and occupying a high rank in the community. Who can recur, without a lively feeling of interest, to the hopes and prayers of the benevolent founder of the city, as expressed in affecting terms in his farewell letter, written as he was about taking his final departure for England. "And thou, Philadelphia, the virgin settlement of this province, named before thou wert born, what love, what care, what service, and what travail has there been to bring thee forth, and preserve thee from such as would defile thee! Oh, that thou mayest be kept from the evil that would overwhelm thee! that faithful to the God of Mercies, in a life of righteousness, thou mayest be preserved to the end!" On the 11th, with John G. Whittier, I left for New York, and the next day we proceeded by steam packet to Newport, on Rhode Island, to attend the New England yearly meeting of the Society of Friends, which was to be held the next week. We arrived about seven o'clock in the morning. I found the change of climate particularly refreshing and agreeable. During the last fortnight, the range of the thermometer had frequently reached 94 degrees or 96 degrees in the shade: a tropical heat, without those alleviations which render the heat of the tropics not only tolerable, but sometimes delightful. In Rhode Island, the climate, while we were there, was almost as temperate as an English summer. Some parts of the New England States are much resorted to by southern families of wealth; and their annual migrations have the effect of materially adding to the vast amount of complicated pro-slavery interests which exist in the free States, as well as of diffusing pro-slavery opinions and feelings throughout the entire community. We may hope this current will soon set in the opposite direction. The season was too early for the arrival of these visitors, and the hotels were generally filled with "Friends," collected from near and distant places, to attend the yearly meeting. There were upwards of a hundred boarding at the same house with ourselves. Soon after our arrival I addressed a letter, making the same application for the use of the meeting house for my friend, John Candler, who was also here, and myself, which had been complied with at New York, forwarding at the same time my credentials. My request, however, in this instance was not granted. Yet there was plainly a willingness on the part of many to receive information, and we caused it to be known that we should be at home at our hotel, on the evening of the sixteenth. About two hundred friends assembled, and appeared interested in a brief outline of the state and prospects of the cause in Europe which I endeavored to give them. The subject of slavery was brought before the yearly meeting by a proposition from one of its subordinate, or "quarterly meetings," to encourage more action, on the part of the society, for its abolition. A proposal was immediately made, and assented to without discussion, that the consideration of it should be referred to a committee. On the reading of the address on slavery from the London yearly meeting, it was, in like manner, immediately proposed and agreed to, that it should be referred to the same committee. At a subsequent sitting, this committee reported, that they should recommend the whole subject to be left under the care of their "Meeting for Sufferings," which was adopted. With the exception of reading the documents, and going through the necessary forms of business, these proceedings passed almost in silence; yet, in the several epistles drawn up to be forwarded to the other yearly meetings, allusion was made to the deep exercise of Friends at this meeting, on the subject of slavery, and their strong desire and wish to encourage others to embrace every right opening for promoting its abolition; with a plain intimation, however, in their epistle to Great Britain, of their disapproval of Friends uniting with any of the anti-slavery associations of the day. These passages in the epistles passed without remark or objection. The Meeting for Sufferings, of Rhode Island, has thus virtually undertaken to do, or at least to originate, all that is to be done, during the present year, by Friends of New England, to help the helpless, and to relieve the oppressed slaves. Sincerely do I desire, that it may not incur the responsibility of neglecting so solemn a charge. I subsequently met, on board the steamer in which we left Newport, many members of this body; with one of whom I had some conversation, in the presence of other Friends, to whom I felt it right to state, that the declarations of sympathy for the slaves, in the epistles which had been sent out, were stronger, in my judgment, than was justified by any thing which had been expressed, or had been manifested, in the Yearly Meeting. This conviction I yet retain. I afterwards obtained some authentic extracts from the laws of Rhode Island, affecting the people of color, and under which slavery is very distinctly recognized and sanctioned, even in this _free_ State. I felt it my duty to forward a copy of these to the "Meeting for Sufferings," accompanied by the following letter:-- "_To the Meeting for Sufferings of New England_ _Yearly Meeting of Friends._ "On passing through Providence, from the Yearly Meeting at Rhode Island, a solicitor of that place kindly furnished me with the annexed extracts from the laws of the State of Rhode Island. I thought it best to send a copy to you, as it is probable some members of your meeting may not be aware of their precise nature; and it is a source of regret to me, and I know it will be so to my friends in England, to know that in the State in which your Yearly Meeting is held, slavery is fully legalized, if the slaves are the property of persons not actually citizens of that place;--the most odious distinctions of color also remain on the statute book, including one (Section 10, No. 2,) which is a disgrace to any civilized community. I may add, that two very respectable solicitors in Providence expressed their decided opinion, that if Friends heartily promoted the repeal of these obnoxious laws, which throw all the moral influence of the State on the side of slavery, it might easily be accomplished. I cannot but hope the subject will receive your prompt attention. "Truly your friend, "JOSEPH STURGE." To soften the impression which I fear the preceding detail will give, I may remark, that I am convinced, from extensive private communication with Friends in New England, that there is yet among them much genuine anti-slavery feeling, especially where the deadening commercial intercourse with the South does not operate; and though, at present, with some bright individual exceptions, this is a talent for the most part hidden or unemployed, I trust that many faithful laborers in this great cause will yet be found among them. During our stay in Rhode Island, we twice visited Dr. Channing, at his summer residence, a few miles from Newport. The delicacy which ought ever to protect unreserved social intercourse, forbids me to enrich my narrative with any detail of his enlightened and comprehensive sentiments; yet I cannot but add, that, widely differing from him as I do, on many important points, I was both deeply interested and instructed by his modest candor and sincerity, and by the spirit of charity with which he appeared habitually to regard those of opposite opinions. Our conversation embraced various topics. I may be allowed to mention, that he highly approved of Judge Jay's suggestion for the promotion of permanent international peace. He also made a practical suggestion on the anti-slavery movement, which I trust will be acted on--That petitions should be sent to Congress, praying that the free States should be relieved from all direct or indirect support of slavery. As the South has loudly complained of Northern interference, this will be taking the planters on their own ground. Sixth Month, (June) 19th.--We went on to New Bedford, where, the next day, we called on a number of persons friendly to abolition, and met a large party of them the same evening, at the house of a Friend. A public meeting for worship was appointed during our stay, at the request of a minister of the Society of Friends from Indiana, which we attended. I had the pleasure of witnessing the colored part of the audience, placed on a level, and sitting promiscuously with the white, the only opportunity I had of making such an observation in the United States; as, on ordinary occasions, the colored people rarely attend Friends' meetings. One of the waiters at our hotel told me he had escaped from slavery some years before. The idea of running away had been first suggested to his mind, by reflecting on his hard lot, being over-worked, and kept without a sufficiency of food, and cruelly beaten, while his owner was living in luxury and idleness, on the fruits of his labor. He had been flogged for merely speaking to one of his master's visitors, in reply to a question, because it was suspected he had divulged matter that his master did not wish the stranger to know. On the 21st, we arrived at Boston, and stopped at the Marlborough hotel. One of the first things noticed by a visitor to the States is the number and extent of the hotels, almost all of which are on the principle of the English boarding houses. Besides the number of casual visitors in a population which travels from place to place, perhaps more than any other in the world, the hotels are the permanent homes of a numerous and important class of unmarried men, engaged in business, and often indeed of young married persons, who choose to avoid expense and the cares of housekeeping. At many, if not most of the hotels, cleanliness, regularity, and order, pervade all the arrangements, and as much comfort is to be found as is compatible with throng and publicity. Still the domestic charm of private life is wanting, and its absence renders the system of constant residence most uncongenial to English habits and feelings. An unsocial reserve lies on the surface of English character, and the love of privacy, or at least of a retirement which can be closed and expanded at will, is an extensive and deep-seated feeling. Yet the Anglo-American, even of the purest descent, has early lost the latter characteristic, while he often retains the first unimpaired. What law governs the hereditary transmission of such traits? Several first rate hotels in New England are strictly on the temperance plan, and among them is the Marlborough, in Boston, the second in extent of business in this important city, and which makes up from one hundred to two hundred beds. No intoxicating liquor of any kind can be had in the house. Printed notices are also hung up in the bed rooms, that it is the established rule to take in no fresh company and to receive no accounts on the first day of the week, and the cooking and other preparations are as much as possible performed before hand, that the servants may enjoy the day of rest, and partake of the moral and Spiritual benefit of a weekly pause from the whirl and turmoil of secular engagements. I had scarcely ventured to hope that I should ever witness a large hotel like this, conducted on such principles; but having now seen it, it adds additional strength to my conviction, that in proportion as Christianity is carried out in common life, in the same proportion is the lost happiness of man recovered. Too many in the present day, who are not behind-hand in profession, keep their principles more for show than use. They acknowledge the purity of them, and have some faint perception of their moral beauty, but secretly believe, and sometimes, openly avow them to be impracticable in the present state of the world. They who exhibit proof of the contrary, are benefactors to their fellow men; and among these, justly deserves to be classed Nathaniel Rogers, the proprietor of the Marlborough Hotel, in Boston. We called upon several of our anti-slavery friends on the day of our arrival, and in the evening, took tea with a number of those who approve of the proceedings of the London Convention, and who concur in the principles of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society. The subjects discussed were the time and place of a future convention of the friends of the slave of different nations. London was unanimously approved as the place, and the preponderance of sentiment was in favor of 1842 as the time. On the 22d we went on to Lynn. Here are a very considerable number of the Society of Friends, who are desirous of taking part in active anti-slavery exertion, when they can do so without compromise of principle. It is greatly to be regretted that in this vicinity, a few individuals, formerly members of our religious society, have embraced, in connection with their abolition views, the doctrines of non-resistance, or non-government, in church and state, and thus greatly added to the difficulties in the way of efficient action on the part of consistent members; but whatever may be the errors and indiscretions of these individuals, they furnish no valid excuse for the apathy and inaction on the part of "Friends," nor lessen, in the slightest degree, their responsibility for the firm and faithful maintenance of our Christian testimony against oppression. We proceeded, the same evening, to Amesbury, where the family of my friend and companion John G. Whittier reside, in whose hospitable and tranquil retreat we remained till the 25th. Here I found myself in a manufacturing district, and paid a visit to a large woollen mill, and was much pleased with the cleanliness and order displayed, and with the evident comfort and prosperity of the working people, who are chiefly young women, none of whom are admitted under sixteen years of age. Any person given to intoxication would be instantly discharged. All the manufactories in this place are joint-stock companies, and the mills are worked by water power, of which there is an abundant supply. I had agreed, on my return to Boston, to meet my abolition friends at a tea party, and found an entertainment provided from the Marlborough Hotel, in a large room adjoining one of the chapels, on a scale of great profusion, a little to my disappointment, as I had anticipated one of a social rather than of a public character, though I could not but feel the kindness which it was intended to manifest. Charles Stewart Renshaw, from Jamaica, was opportunely present, and his information on the state of that Island added much interest to the evening, the proceedings of which, I hope, gave pretty general satisfaction. In condescension to my wish, my valued friend, Nathaniel Colver, suggested to the company to dispense with the usual form of public prayer, and substitute an interval of silence, after the reading of a portion of scripture, which was kindly complied with. Before leaving Boston, I had a long interview with William Lloyd Garrison. His view of "women's rights" is so far a matter of conscience with him, as to be made an indispensable term of union; yet though widely differing on this, and other important points, we parted, I trust, as we met, on personally friendly terms; and certainly on my part with a desire to promote a spirit of forbearance, and with a deeper and stronger conviction that the friends of the bleeding and oppressed slave, should not spend their strength in unprofitable contention upon points in regard to which both parties claim to act conscientiously, while the common cause requires their undivided energies. On the 28th I left Boston for the beautiful town of Worcester, about forty miles distant, on the principal line of railway to New York, where I had the pleasure of visiting, at his own residence, my friend, Cyrus P. Grosvenor, one of the delegates to the Anti-Slavery Convention last year. There are here a considerable number of sincere abolitionists, of whom we met a small company in the evening, in a room used as the Friends' meeting house. I gave them a brief account of the state of the anti-slavery cause in other parts of the world. In company with John M. Earle, editor of one of the Worcester papers, with whom I had formed a previous acquaintance at the Yearly Meeting, I also called on the Governor of the State of Massachusetts, who resides in this place. We had some friendly conversation, but he seemed cautious on the subject of abolition. The temperance cause in Worcester has made so much progress that at the three largest and best hotels, which make up nearly one hundred beds each, no intoxicating liquor of any kind is sold. A people thus willing to carry out their convictions, to the sacrifice of prejudice, appetite, and apparent self-interest, cannot long remain a nation of slave-holders. In common with the rest of New England, this town is remarkable for the number, size, and beauty of its places of worship. I calculated, with the aid of a well-informed inhabitant, that if the entire population were to go to a place of worship, at the same hour, in the same day, there would be ample accommodation, and room to spare. Yet here there is no compulsory tax to build churches, and maintain ministers. By the efficacy of the voluntary principle alone is this state of things produced. My dear friend, John G. Whittier returned home from Worcester on account of increased indisposition, while I proceeded alone to New York. The journey from Boston to the latter city is a remarkably pleasant one. Leaving Boston at four in the afternoon, we proceed on one of the best railways in the States, at the rate of upwards of twenty miles an hour, through a very beautiful and generally well cultivated country, to the city of Norwich, in the State of Connecticut, where the train arrives about eight in the evening, and the passengers immediately embark on a handsome steamer, for New York, enjoying, as long as daylight lasts, the fine scenery on the banks of the Thames. The night I went was moonlight; and, after long enjoying the coolness of the evening on deck, the company retired to their berths, and arrived at New York at the seasonable hour of six the following morning. I remained in New York until the 7th of the Seventh Month (July). My friends, William Shotwell and wife, had left the city during the hot months, but very kindly placed their town house at my service, and I found the retirement thus at my command both refreshing and very serviceable, in enabling me to bring up arrears of writing. During this interval, I spent one very pleasant day with Theodore and Angelina Grimke Weld, and their sister, Sarah Grimke, who reside on a small farm, a few miles from Newark. To the great majority of my readers these names need no introduction; yet, for the benefit of the few, I will briefly allude to their past history. When the American Anti-Slavery Society was formed, in 1833, Theodore D. Weld was at the Lane Seminary, near Cincinnati, Ohio. He was unable to attend on that occasion, but wrote a letter, declaring his entire sympathy with its object. Soon after, through the influence and exertions of himself and Henry B. Stanton, a large majority of the students at Lane Seminary, comprising several slave-holders and sons of slave-holders, became members of an Anti-Slavery Society. The Faculty opposed the formation of this society, and finally expelled its members from the seminary. For two or three years after, Theodore Weld was engaged in anti-slavery effort, principally in the States of Ohio and New York. His voice failed at last, and for several years he was unable to address a public assembly. Angelina Grimke Weld, and her sister, Sarah Grimke, were natives of South Carolina, the daughters of a distinguished Judge of that State; for several years they resided in Philadelphia. Having long felt a deep interest in the condition of the slaves, in the year 1837 they, in accordance with what they believed to be a sense of religious duty, visited New York and New England, to plead the cause of those, with whose sorrows, degradation, and cruel sufferings, they had been familiar in their native State. They are evidently women of superior endowments, kind-hearted and energetic, and still retain something of the warmth and fervor of character peculiar to the South. Few, even of the well informed abolitionists of England, have an adequate idea of the extent, variety, and excellence of the anti-slavery literature of the United States, or of the amount of intellectual power which has been willingly consecrated to this service. Of the cause itself, with all its exigencies, we may adopt, in a yet more limited sense, the sentiment of the Christian poet, on the transient nature of all sublunary things, "These, therefore, are occasional, and pass." The time approaches when the shackles of the slave will fall off--when his suffering and despairing cry will be no more heard. Slavery itself is a temporary exigency; but its removal has called, and will yet call forth, works bearing the impress of intellectual supremacy, which will be embodied in the permanent literature of the age, and will contribute to raise the character, and to extend the reputation, of that literature. The names of Channing, Jay, Child, Green, and Pierpont, are already their own passport to fame. Other names might be mentioned; but, one instance excepted, selection might be invidious. That exception is Theodore D. Weld, whose palm of superiority few would be disposed to contest. His principal works are, "The Bible against Slavery;" "Power of Congress over Slavery in the District of Columbia;" and "Slavery as it is." All his writings are marked by varied excellence; yet their chief characteristic is an irresistible and overwhelming power of argument. Although brief and compressed in style, he exhausts his subject; and his two principal works, though on warmly controverted topics, have never been replied to. He would be a bold antagonist who should enter the lists against him: he would be a yet bolder ally who should attempt to go over the same ground, or to do better what has been done so well. One of the most voluminous and popular writers that ever lived, observed to a friend, "that he was more proud of his compositions for manure, than of any other compositions with which he had any concern." My friend, has the same love of rural occupations, and has found severe manual labor essential for the recovery of health, broken by labor of another kind. I found him at work on his farm, driving his own wagon and oxen, with a load of rails. When he had disposed of his freight, we mounted the wagon, and drove to his home. Two or three of his fellow-students at the Lane Seminary arrived about the same time, and we spent the day in agreeable, and, I trust, profitable intercourse. In the household arrangements of this distinguished family, Dr. Graham's dietetic system is rigidly adopted, which excludes meat, butter, coffee, tea, and all intoxicating beverages. I can assure all who may be interested to know, that this Roman simplicity of living does not forbid enjoyment, when the guest can share with it the affluence of such minds as daily meet at their table. The "Graham system," as it is called, numbers many adherents in America, who are decided in its praise. My friends, Theodore D. and Angelina Weld, and Sarah Grimke, sympathize, to a considerable extent, with the views on "women's rights," held by one section of abolitionists; yet they deeply regret that this, or any other extraneous doctrine, should have been made an apple of discord; and, since the rise of these unhappy divisions, they have held aloof from both the anti-slavery organizations, though, as among the most able and successful laborers in the field, they may justly be accounted allies by each party. Difference of opinion on these points did not, for a moment, interrupt the pleasure of our intercourse; and I could not but wish, that those, of whatever party, who are accustomed to judge harshly of all who cannot pronounce their "shibboleth," might be instructed by the candid, charitable, and peace-loving deportment of Theodore D. Weld. During my visit to New York, I became acquainted with many who were deeply interested in the abolition cause, not a few of whom were members of my own religious society. Among these, I may particularly mention my venerable friends, Richard Mott and Samuel Parsons. I paid a second visit to the residence of the latter at Flushing, but regret to say, I found him too unwell to enjoy company.[A] His sons are anxiously desirous of furthering the abolition cause on every suitable occasion. One evening I spent with a respectable minister, who is a man of color, and who assured me that most of the intelligent persons of his class in New York approve of the course pursued by the late Convention in London, and the Committee of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society. I saw at his house a man who had purchased his freedom for twelve hundred dollars, intending to remain in the same State, but, as in a precisely similar case already noticed, he afterwards found he had no alternative but to emigrate, leaving his still enslaved family behind him, or to be again sold into slavery himself, under the laws enacted to drive out free people of color. He was trying to raise the large sum of fourteen hundred dollars, to purchase his wife and four children. [Footnote A: This illness terminated fatally. One of his intimate friends in this country, has favored me with the following communication respecting him. "Samuel Parsons had been from early life, a warm friend to the African race; his love of peace rendered him at the first accessible to prejudice against the American Anti-Slavery Society, through the misrepresentations respecting its violent and rash measures; which misrepresentations it was much more easy to believe than to investigate. Yet his interest for the negro and colored population of the United States continued, and he extended acts of protection and kindness towards them, whenever opportunity for it was afforded. In the Eleventh Month, last year, I find the following paragraph in one of his letters to us, viz. 'Though sensible that I am drawing towards the close of time, I cannot avoid taking a deep interest in the moral reformation, relative to slavery and intemperance, which is progressing in the earth; my son Robert and I look at these publications as they appear, with deep solicitude. The proceedings of the Anti-Slavery Convention of the world, and its movements, are of great moment to the whole civilized world. The anti-slavery cause, has not, I fear, advanced much the last year; the separation in the National Society, and the truckling to the South of the politicians of both sides, during the late Presidential election, has for a time marred the work; but the anti-slavery banner of a third party is still displayed, and it will probably continue to nominate till it seriously influences the elections. In the mean time, the individual States, one after another, are freeing the colored people from part of their civil disabilities. A hard battle is to be fought, but mighty is truth, and must prevail.'"] "The fourth of July," the anniversary of the independence of the United States, fell this year on the first day of the week, and was therefore celebrated the day following. It is still marked by extravagant demonstrations of joy, and often disgraced by scenes of intemperance and demoralization. The better part of the community wisely counteract the evil, to a great extent, by holding, on the same day, temperance meetings, school examinations, opening their places of worship, et cet. I accompanied my friend Lewis Tappan to attend an anti-slavery meeting at Newark, in which Theodore Weld was expected to take a part for the first time after an interval of five years' discontinuance of public speaking. Several years before, he had been carried away by the stream in crossing a river, and had very narrowly escaped drowning. This accident caused an affection of the throat, and eventually disqualified him for public labor except with the pen, to which, though deemed a great loss at the time by his fellow-laborers in the anti-slavery cause, we probably owe the invaluable works before referred to. It was on the same anniversary, five years ago, that he had spoken last, a circumstance to which he made a touching allusion: he spoke very impressively for more than half an hour without serious inconvenience, and I hope it may please Providence to restore his ability to plead, as he was wont to do with great power, for the cause of the oppressed. In the afternoon there was a public examination of the scholars belonging to the place of worship in which the preceding meeting was held, and in connection with this a little incident occurred, which may serve to illustrate the state of public feeling. Newark, from its extensive trade with the south, is much under pro-slavery influence. But the congregation of this chapel are generally anti-slavery, and have several colored children in their school. One of these, a little black girl, was qualified to take part in the public examination; but this, in the estimation of some of the parents of white scholars, and several even of the trustees, could not be borne. Others, on the contrary, resolved to battle with the prejudice of caste, and to call for her, if she were not brought forward; and, finally, I suppose, by way of compromise, she was brought on the platform to recite alone, after the little scholars who could rejoice in the aristocratic complexion had performed their parts, without suffering the indignity of a public association with a colored child. Even this was, however, considered a victory by the anti-prejudice party. I left on the seventh for Niagara, being desirous to see the celebrated Falls, and to visit some friends living in the western part of this State, as well as to find relief from the oppressive and tropical heat. I hoped also to fall in with my friends and fellow laborers, J. and M. Candler, who had gone with a party in the same direction. I need not describe a route so often traversed by Europeans. One of its agreeable incidents was an accidental meeting with John Curtis, of Ohio, on his way, on a free trade mission, to Great Britain, from motives which I believe to be disinterested and philanthropic. His labors, which are principally intended to show the evils of our taxes upon food, will not be in vain; though he will find many in England, as I found in America, who have no ear for truth when it opposes their prejudices or imaginary self-interest. He gave me a most cheering account of the march of abolition in Ohio, and said he had lately attended a meeting held at the invitation of the abolitionists, on the 5th of July, at which there were three thousand persons, who had come to the place of meeting in nine hundred vehicles of different kinds. He said he had never witnessed a more enthusiastic meeting. Another gentleman and his wife made themselves known to me, in the railway carriage, as warm abolitionists, and spoke favorably of the prospects of the cause in this part of the State of New York. The gentleman said he had lately had a discussion with a deacon of a church he attended, who defended the admission of slave-holders to the communion. On being asked, however, whether he would admit sheep-stealers, he acknowledged this was not so great a crime as man-stealing, and pleaded no further in favor of church-fellowship with slave-holders. The journey from New York to the Falls of Niagara, a distance of 480 miles, is performed in about forty-eight hours, and when the railway communication is further completed, and the speed raised to the standard of the best English lines, it will probably be accomplished in less than thirty hours. The railway passed for many miles through the original forest, in which I observed very lofty trees, but none of an extraordinary girth. In many places the ground was crowded with fallen trees, in every stage of decay. I found my friends at the Eagle Hotel, at Niagara, where I remained till the twelfth, enjoying with them the views and scenery of "the Falls," a spectacle of nature in her grandest aspect, which mocks the limited capacity of man to conceive or to describe. On the eleventh, being the first day of the week, we held a meeting for worship, at our hotel, and were joined by an Irish lady and her three daughters, who had been living here some months. This lady told me she was present when M'Leod was arrested in this hotel. From all I have been able to learn, there are a number of reckless men on both sides the border line, who are anxious to foment war for the sake of plunder; but the great bulk of the American people, I am persuaded, are for peace, and especially for peace with England, a feeling which time is strengthening. On the twelfth, our whole party left for Buffalo, by railway, getting a transient view of Lake Ontario before entering the city. Here we parted company, they proceeding to Toronto, by steam packet, and I to Syracuse by coach. The American vehicle of this name, carries nine inside passengers on three cross seats. It is hung on leather springs, so as to be fitted to maintain the shocks of a _corduroy_ road. Wishing to see the country, I mounted the box, by the side of the coachman, but at times had some difficulty in retaining my seat. The value of land in this part of the country, when cleared and in cultivation, I understood to be from thirty to fifty dollars per acre. A large breadth of wheat is grown, of which the yield is generally good; but this year there will be, in many cases, a short crop, from the extreme drought in the two preceding months. I went forward from Syracuse to Rochester by railway, and thence, with the exception of twelve miles by coach, by the same conveyance to Auburn, where we arrived at two o'clock in the morning. One of my fellow-passengers had been a soldier in the so-called "patriot" army, which enlisted against Santa Anna, in the revolt of Texas. He stated, that some planters were emigrating from Mississippi, with as many as two hundred "hands," (slaves,) and plainly said, it was intended to plant the Anglo-Saxon flag on the walls of Mexico. If half what he asserted was true, the worst apprehensions of the abolitionists are too likely to be realized by the Texian revolution, and the establishment of a new slave-holding power on the vast territory claimed by that piratical band of robbers, and forming the South-western frontier of the United States. At Auburn I paid a visit to the celebrated State Prison, and though, from want of time to call upon a gentleman in the city for whom I had a letter, I was unprovided with an introduction, I was politely admitted by the superintendent, who refused to receive the fee customarily paid by visitors, when he found, from the entry of my name and address, I was an Englishman. I passed through the different workshops, in which nearly all handicraft trades are carried on, and very superior work is frequently executed by the prisoners. Besides other less complicated machines, one complete locomotive engine has been constructed within these walls. As the system of discipline adopted here is the same as at Sing Sing, also in this State, I defer for the present, any remarks upon its character and success. I left Auburn, in a hired carriage, for Skaneateles, to pay a visit to my friend, James Cannings Fuller. He has a rich farm of 156 acres, with a good house upon it, about a quarter of a mile west of the large and flourishing village of Skaneateles, which overlooks a beautiful lake of the same name, sixteen miles in length, and in some places two miles wide. James C. Fuller left England about seven years ago, and has carried his abolition principles with him to his adopted country. He told me that there had been a great change for the better in the public mind since his residence in this neighborhood. Abolitionism was once so unpopular, that he has been mobbed four times in his own otherwise quiet village. On one occasion he was engaged in a public discussion on slavery, and a mob so much disturbed the meeting, by the throwing of shot, and yells the most discordant the human voice could make, that his opponent moved an adjournment, and afterwards accompanied him on his way to his own house, with many other persons, as a body-guard. They were followed by a large number of other persons, who attempted to throw him down, and were very free in the use of missiles and mud; the mob were so vociferous, that their shoutings were heard two and a half miles distant, many persons leaving their houses to endeavor to ascertain the cause of such an uproar. On James C. Fuller's entering his house, the mob surrounded his parlor windows, and these would, most probably, have been smashed in pieces, and the building defaced, had not one of the assailants been seized with a fit, and in that state conveyed into James C. Fuller's parlor, where he lay insensible for three quarters of an hour. This sudden seizure diverted the attention of the mob from my friend and his property to their own companion. James C. Fuller informed me that mobs in America are generally, if not always, instigated by "persons of property and standing;" and the most blameable, in his case, were not those who yelled, et cet., et cet., but others who prompted the outrage. Happily this state of things is now altered: as much order and decorum, with fixed attention, is now witnessed at an abolition lecture as at any other lecture; and a colored man can now collect a larger meeting in Skaneateles than a white man, and the behavior of the audience is attentive, kind, and respectful. My friend, John Candler, who was here a fortnight before me, collected a large assembly to hear his account of the effects of emancipation in our West India Islands, and many expressed themselves much gratified with his narrative. Being anxious to proceed to Peterboro', to visit Gerrit Smith, I accepted James C. Fuller's kind offer to take me in his carriage. The distance is nearly fifty miles, and the roads were, in some parts, very rough; but they intersect a fine country. Much wheat is grown in many places, and here the crop appeared generally good. Having started rather late in the afternoon, we were benighted before we reached Manlius Square, where we lodged. Though my kind friend would not permit me to pay my share of the bill, yet, to gratify my curiosity, he communicated the particulars of the charge, as follows: Half a bushel of oats for the horses, 25 cents; supper for two persons, 25 cents; two beds, 25 cents; hay and stable-room for the two horses, 25 cents; total, one dollar, or about 4s. 2d. sterling. We arrived at Peterboro' early the following morning, where I remained till the sixteenth, at the house of Gerrit Smith. He was once a zealous supporter of the Colonization Society, but when convinced of the evil character and tendency of that scheme, he withdrew from it, and became a warm and able advocate of the immediate abolition of slavery. He is one of the few Americans who have inherited large property from their parents, and he has contributed to this cause with princely munificence. Gerrit Smith and Arthur Tappan have, each on one or more occasions given single donations of ten thousand dollars (upwards of two thousand pounds sterling) to promote anti-slavery objects. His wife, Ann Carroll Smith, who is a native of Maryland, and his daughter, an only child, share in my valued friend's ardent sympathy for the sufferings of the slave. During my stay, he received a letter from Samuel Worthington, of Mississippi, who held in slavery Harriet Russell. Harriet was formerly the slave of Ann Carroll Smith, having been given to her when they were both children. Ann C. Smith was but twelve years old when, with her father's family, she removed from Maryland to New York. Harriet was left in Maryland. Shortly after Ann C. Smith's marriage, and when she was about eighteen years of age, her brother, James Fitzhugh, of Maryland, wrote to ask her to give Harriet to him, stating that she was, or was about to be, married to his slave, Samuel Russell. She consented: and her brother soon after emigrated to Kentucky, taking Samuel and Harriet with him. After this Samuel and Harriet were repeatedly sold. Some years ago, Gerrit and Ann C. Smith having become deeply impressed with the great sin of slavery, were anxious to learn what had become of Harriet. But they did not succeed in ascertaining her residence, until the letter received during my visit informed them of it, and which also stated that Harriet and her husband were living, and that they had several children. The price put upon the family was four thousand dollars. James C. Fuller having kindly offered to go into Kentucky, where Samuel Worthington then resided, to negotiate with him for the purchase of the family, G. Smith gladly accepted the offer of one so well qualified for this undertaking. James C. Fuller succeeded in purchasing the family for three thousand five hundred dollars, exclusive of his travelling expenses, and those of the slave family, which amounted to about two hundred and eighty dollars. He has published a very interesting account of his journey, in a letter addressed to myself, from which some extracts are given in the Appendix.[A] Eighteen months ago, G. and A.C. Smith united with other children of her father, the late Col. Fitzhugh, in purchasing, at the cost of four thousand dollars, the liberty of ten slaves, who, or their parents, were among the slaves of Colonel Fitzhugh when he left Maryland. I have recently learned that they are negotiating the purchase of the liberty of other slaves, who formerly belonged to Colonel Fitzhugh. It is nearly seven years since Gerrit Smith and his family adopted the practice of total abstinence from all slave produce, thus additionally manifesting the sincerity of those convictions which have induced him to contribute so largely of his wealth both to the anti-slavery funds, and for the liberation of all slaves with which his family property had the most remote connection. [Footnote A: See Appendix I.] Here, I had some expectation of again meeting my friend, James G. Birney, who was gone on a journey to Ohio, and is well known to English abolitionists, by his able assistance at the great Anti-Slavery Convention, as one of its vice-presidents, and by his subsequent labors, which are thus acknowledged, on his return to America, by the Committee of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society:-- "That this committee are deeply sensible of the services rendered to the anti-slavery cause by their esteemed friend and coadjutor, James Gillespie Birney, Esq., whilst in this country, in a course of laborious efforts, in which his accurate and extensive information, his wise and judicious counsels, and his power of calm and convincing statement, have become eminently conspicuous. "The committee also take the present occasion to record their sense of his zealous and disinterested labors in defence of the rights of outraged humanity in his own country, during a period of great excitement and opposition: and of the proof he has given of his sincerity, in having twice manumitted the slaves that had come into his possession; a noble example, which they trust others will not be slow to follow." Whilst J.G. Birney was in this country, in addition to his arduous labors, in addressing large assemblies in many of the cities of the United Kingdom, he prepared and published his excellent work, "The American Churches the Bulwark of American Slavery," which is eminently deserving of the attentive perusal of all Christian readers. The estimation in which James G. Birney is held by American abolitionists, is marked by his having been twice unanimously selected by the "Liberty Party," as a candidate for the Presidential chair. I found G. Smith as much interested in the subject of temperance, as in that of slavery. No person in the whole of the township in which he lives is licensed to sell drams. For an innkeeper to sell a glass of spirits, or even of strong beer, is illegal, and exposes him to a heavy fine. The next morning I left early for Utica, where I had the pleasure of again meeting the friends I had parted from at Buffalo, with whom I paid a visit to the Oneida Institute, about two miles from Utica. This college was the first in the United States to throw open its doors to students, irrespective of color. It was also one of the earliest institutions to combine manual labor with instruction. The principle is adopted partly from a motive of economy, but principally because intellectual vigor is believed to depend on bodily health, and that these can be best secured and preserved by exercise and labor, especially out of door and agricultural employments. The labor of the students defrays a considerable part of the expense of their support, but as the severe pressure of the times has limited the means of many liberal benefactors of Oneida, the establishment, which usually comprises one hundred young men, is now limited to about one-third of the number. Several of these are colored. The Oberlin Institute in Ohio is on a much larger scale than this, and is on an equally liberal footing with regard to color. I much regretted being unable, from want of time, to comply with the urgent request of my friend, Wm. Dawes and others, to visit this important and interesting establishment. The number of students at Oberlin last year was five hundred and sixty, including those in the department for females. I was much pleased to have the opportunity of becoming further acquainted with the President of Oneida, Beriah Green, and with his friend, Wm. Goodell, who resides in the neighborhood. Their names will be reverenced by the abolitionists of America as long as the memory of anti-slavery efforts shall survive. Before we left, we had an opportunity of meeting the students together, who appeared much interested with my friend John Candler's details of the results of emancipation in Jamaica. I was disappointed in not finding at home Alvan Stewart, one of the ablest and most zealous friends of the Anti-Slavery cause; but Beriah Green kindly accompanied me to call upon several of their abolition friends in the city. My limited time prevented my paying a visit to Henry B. Stanton, who was residing not far from Utica, and whose acquaintance I had the pleasure of making in England. He also will be remembered for his able assistance at the Convention, and by his eloquent addresses at public meetings in this country. The following record of his services is made by the Committee of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society:-- "That this Committee, in taking leave of their friend and fellow-laborer in the cause of universal emancipation, Henry Brewster Stanton, Esq., record their high estimate of the valuable services rendered by him to that cause, whilst in Great Britain, by his eloquent and powerful advocacy; and, in tendering him their thanks, they express their sincere desire for his success in the great work to which he has devoted himself." The name of Henry B. Stanton previously occurs in conjunction with that of Theodore D. Weld, as having left Lane Seminary with many other students, rather than be silent on the abolition question: becoming from that time a strenuous and powerful anti-slavery advocate. I proceeded in the evening to Albany, and thence to New York the next morning; where I remained from the 17th to the 26th instant, and, during this time, I put in circulation the following address:-- "_To the Members of the Religious Society of Friends in the United States of America_. "Dear Friends,--Having for many years believed it my duty to devote a considerable portion of my time and attention to the promotion of the abolition of slavery and the slave-trade, I have acted in cordial co-operation with the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society since its formation. The principles of that Society may be briefly explained by the following extract from its constitution: 'That so long as slavery exists, there is no reasonable prospect of the annihilation of the slave-trade, and of extinguishing the sale and barter of human beings: that the extinction of slavery and the slave-trade will be attained most effectually by the employment of those means which are of a moral, religious, and pacific character: and that no measures be resorted to by this society in the prosecution of their objects, but such as are in entire accordance with these principles.' "My visit to this country had reference, in a great measure, to the objects for which this society was established; but, although I left my native land with the general approbation and full unity of my friends, they concurred with me in opinion, that any _official_ document, beyond a certificate from 'my monthly meeting,' expressive of sympathy with my engagement, might rather obstruct than promote the end I had in view. I was desirous of a personal interchange of sentiment with many of the abolitionists in this land, upon matters having an important bearing upon our future exertions. The warm attachment which I have ever felt to the religious society with which I am connected, and the ready co-operation of its members with their Christian neighbors in promoting this cause in Great Britain, inclined me to embrace every suitable opportunity to communicate with Friends in this country. And I have been encouraged, not only by the great personal kindness I have received from them generally, but also by the lively interest expressed by most, on the subject of emancipation, wherever I have introduced it. "A further acquaintance with Friends in the compass of the three or four 'Yearly Meetings,' in which my lot has been cast, and my inquiries respecting the state of the other Yearly Meetings, has convinced me that a large number of their most consistent members, including many aged and universally respected Friends, are desirous of embracing every right opening, both individually and collectively, for the promotion of the abolition cause. And while they are fully aware that there are reasons growing out of the existing state of things, which render great circumspection necessary, they can see no good ground for believing that the manner in which Friends of this country, of a former generation, labored for the liberation of the slave, was not under the guidance of the Spirit of truth. "This is now the course pursued by Friends generally in England. That there may be no misapprehension as to the conduct of Friends, with regard to this subject, in Great Britain, I may mention, that I am the bearer of a document expressive of unity with my visit, signed by William Allen, Josiah Forster, William Forster, George Stacey, Samuel Fox, George W. Alexander, and Robert Forster, who declare themselves fellow members with myself of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Committee. This committee is composed of persons of various religious denominations, amongst whom it will be seen are many of the prominent members of our meeting for sufferings. Upon the list of delegates to the late Anti-Slavery Convention, in London, are the names of nearly one hundred well known Friends, including those of four who are, or have been clerks of the yearly meeting; and the present clerk of that meeting, my esteemed friend, George Stacey, took an active part, and rendered essential service in the Convention. The meeting house in Gracechurch Street was freely granted by Friends in London, who have charge of it, for the use of the Convention, and the concluding sittings of that body were held in it. "In fact, Friends generally in England think it their duty to render every aid in their power to the anti-slavery cause, whether in their collective capacity, or individually uniting with their fellow-citizens, when they can do so without any compromise of our religious principles and testimonies. I speak more explicitly on this point, because I have ascertained with much concern, that there is an influential portion of the Society, including, I have no doubt, some sincere abolitionists, who have been so fearful that the testimonies of the Society might suffer by any union with others, that they have not only avoided such a co-operation themselves, but have dissuaded those of their brethren, who have believed it incumbent upon them to act otherwise; and in one 'Yearly Meeting,' at least, I have too much reason to fear they have tacitly, if not actively sanctioned the omission of the names of Friends on meeting appointments,--however consistent in their conduct, and concerned for the welfare of the society--simply because they have felt it their duty to act with persons of other denominations in promoting the abolition of slavery; thus, in appearance at least, throwing the whole weight and influence of the society, in its collective capacity, against a movement, which, although doubtless partaking of the imperfections attendant upon all human instrumentality, has already aroused the whole country to a sense of the wrongs of the slave, and secured to the nominally free colored citizens, in many of the States, rights of which they have been so long and so unjustly deprived. "Though I can hardly expect that any thing from one entertaining my view of the subject, can have much weight with those Friends, who, with a full understanding of the heavy responsibility they were assuming, have discountenanced anti-slavery exertions, and the use of our meeting houses, even by consistent members, for the purpose of giving information on the subject:[A] yet, as it has occasioned me no small degree of anxiety, both in reference to the anti-slavery cause, and the Society of Friends itself, I believe I cannot return to my native land with peace of mind, without earnestly and affectionately pressing upon such Friends, the great importance of a careful examination of the ground which they have taken. Our unwearied adversary is sometimes permitted to lead us into the most fearful errors, when he assumes the appearance of an angel of light. And is there not great danger, in encouraging the young and inexperienced to suppose that the maintenance of any of our testimonies may be neglected, except when we feel a Divine intimation to uphold them, and may it not open the door to great laxity in our practice? While I fully believe that the true disciple of Christ will be favored with the immediate guidance of the Holy Spirit whenever it is needful to direct his steps; it appears to me especially important, that, in matters of self-sacrifice and conflicting with our worldly interest or reputation, we should guard against being deluded into a neglect of duty, by waiting for this direct Divine intimation, where the path of duty is obvious and clearly understood, and when testimonies are concerned, which we have long considered it our duty, on all occasions, to support. If, under such a view of the subject, we do believe it our duty to cease to act ourselves, and discourage our brethren from laboring in the cause of the slave; a close self-examination surely is needful, in order to ascertain if we are consistently carrying out the same principle in our daily walk in life--in our mercantile transactions--our investments of property--in our connection with public institutions,--and with political parties. [Footnote A: "It is right to state, that I was much encouraged by the lively expression of sympathy in the anti-slavery cause in the Yearly Meetings of Philadelphia and New York: that at the former place Friends opened a room at the meeting house for my friend John Candler to give some information on the subject, and at New York the large meeting house was not only readily granted to him and me for the same purpose, but the clerks of the Yearly Meeting kindly gave notice and invited Friends to attend."] "It should be borne in perpetual recollection, that we are in no small danger of shrinking from a faithful maintenance of those testimonies which are unpopular with the world, as well as of not seeing our own neglect of duty, while censuring the zeal or supposed indiscretion of others. Besides, if this good cause be really endangered by popular excitement, and the indiscretion of its imprudent advocates, the obligation of consistent Friends to be found at their posts, faithfully maintaining the testimony of truth on its behalf, is greatly increased; and it is under such circumstances that I think I have seen the peculiar advantage and protection to our young friends in England, of having their elder brethren with them, aiding them by their sympathy, as well as by their advice and counsel. I am persuaded that those who are called to occupy the foremost ranks in society cannot be too careful not to impose a burden upon tender consciences, by discouraging, either directly or indirectly, a course of conduct which is sanctioned by the precepts and examples of our Divine Master, lest they alienate from us some of His disciples, and thereby greatly injure the society they are so laudably anxious to 'keep unspotted from the world.' "We are told, on the highest authority, that 'by their fruits' we are to judge of the laborers in the Christian vineyard; and, while I am fully aware of the greater difficulties in the way of emancipation _here_, as compared with Great Britain, I have been almost irresistibly led to contrast the difference in the results of the course pursued by Friends in the two countries. In America, during the last twenty-five years, it is evident that slavery and the slave-trade have greatly increased; and even where the members of our society are the most numerous and influential, the prejudice against color is as strong as in any part of the world,[A] and Friends themselves, in many places, are by no means free from this prejudice. In Great Britain, Friends, by society action, and by uniting with their fellow-countrymen, not only contributed, under Providence, in no small degree, to the passage of the act of 1834, for the abolition of slavery in the British West Indies; but, when it was found that the system of apprenticeship which this act introduced, was made an instrument of cruel oppression to the slaves, a renewal of similar labors for about twelve months, resulted in the _complete_ emancipation of our colored brethren in those colonies. [Footnote A: "I should, I believe, do wrong to conceal the sorrow which I have felt that the scheme of African colonization, the great support of which, at the present time, appears to be hostility to anti-slavery efforts and an unchristian prejudice against color, still has the sympathy and the active aid of some members of our society."] "In closing this letter, I wish to address a few words to that numerous and valuable class of Friends, previously alluded to, with whom I deeply sympathize, who are only deterred from more active exertion by their reluctance to give dissatisfaction to those whom they respect. The sorrow which I feel, under the consideration that, in parting with many of you, we never probably shall meet again in mutability, is softened by the persuasion, that the difficulties by which you are surrounded are lessening, and that some who are now opposing you, will, ere long, join you in efforts, which shall remove from the minds, both of abolitionists and slave-holders, the belief so generally entertained, that the Society of Friends in this country are not earnestly engaged for the _total and immediate_ abolition of slavery. No one regrets more than myself that any friends to the cause of abolition should connect other topics with it, which, however suitable to be discussed on their own merits, must necessarily interfere with this simple and momentous object. You are aware of some of the circumstances which may have led to the state of feeling, with many in our society, which we so much deplore. And it is my fervent desire that none of you, in any steps you may consider it your duty to take, may afford just cause of uneasiness, by any compromise of Christian principle, any improper harshness of language, or by the introduction of any subject not strictly belonging to the anti-slavery cause. Your situation is one of peculiar difficulty and delicacy. Both from a regard to your own religious society and the suffering slave, you have need to exercise great watchfulness, and to cultivate feelings of brotherly love and that 'charity which suffereth long, and is kind.' The beautiful example of John Woolman, in this respect, is worthy of your imitation. His labors were, for years, far less encouraged by the leading influences of society than your own at the present time; yet we find, in reading his invaluable journal, no traces of bitterness or uncharitable feeling. "Finally, dear friends of all classes,--In thus freely addressing you, I have written, not only with a strong attachment to our religious society, but, I trust, under a feeling of a degree of that love, which is not confined to geographical boundaries, or affected by color or by clime. The prayer of my heart is, that each of you may be willing to be made instrumental, in the Divine Hand, in faithfully maintaining our Christian testimony against slavery; bearing in mind, that the labors of your ancestors have greatly increased your responsibility, by separating you from those influences which so deaden the feelings and harden the heart against the claims of our brethren in bonds. May these considerations, viewed in connection with the difficulties which obstruct the progress of emancipation in this land, stimulate you to increased exertion; and when you are summoned to the bar of that final tribunal, towards which we are all hastening, may you have the inexpressible consolation of reflecting, that you have performed all you could towards 'undoing the heavy burden and letting the oppressed go free.' "I am, very sincerely, "Your friend, "JOSEPH STURGE." "New York, Seventh Month 17th, 1841." The above letter so fully embodies my view of the state of the Society in reference to the anti-slavery cause, that I shall think it needless, after a few general observations, again recur to this subject. I feel bound to acknowledge that this public mode of making my sentiments known was disapproved by some Friends; yet of all the objections that were made to the proceeding, none tended to impugn the accuracy of my representation of the existing state of things. This is approved by some, and deplored by others, but my statement has not been denied by any. In consequence of a remonstrance made to me on special grounds in the kindest and most Christian manner by two beloved friends, I felt called upon to subject my motives and conduct, in issuing such an address, to deliberate reconsideration; and the result was, that I not only felt myself clear of just censure, but that in no other way could I have discharged my duty according to my own interpretation of its dictates. Of other objectors, I may add, that simply to enumerate their reasons, stated to me in private conference, would be the severest public animadversion that could be made, either on the individuals themselves, or on the Society whose views they professed to represent. In the present state of this great controversy, the abolitionists may justly say, "he that is not with us, is against us," while the pro-slavery party can witness, "he that is not against us, is on our side." Hence the praise bestowed on the neutrality of the Society of Friends by the great slave-holding senator, Henry Clay. Hence also the suspicious compliments of the late President Van Buren, the first act of whose administration was a pledge to refuse his signature to any bill for the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia. I fear it is undeniable that in the last eight years the collective influence of the Society has been thrown into the pro-slavery scale, and this notwithstanding the existence of much diffused and passive sympathy and right feeling on behalf of the slave, in the breasts of probably a large majority of individual members. The abolitionists of the United States have been treated by too many influential Friends, as well as by the leading professors of other denominations, as a party whose contact is contamination; yet to a bystander it is plainly obvious that the true grounds of offence are not always those ostensibly alleged, but the activity, zeal, and success with which they have cleared themselves of participation in other men's sins, and by which they have condemned the passive acquiescence of a society making a high profession of anti-slavery principles. I do not intend to defend all the proceedings of the anti-slavery societies. That they have sometimes erred in judgment and action,--that they have had unworthy men among their members, I have little doubt. But, the same objections might have been raised to the old anti-slavery societies, in which the leading Friends of the United States took an active part with their neighbors of other denominations, and, with far greater force against the Colonization Society, which is patronized, even to this day, both by individual members and by at least one Meeting of Sufferings.[A] The causes that have produced the state of things I have attempted to describe, derive their origin, I believe, from one source--inaction. After the Society of Friends had purified itself from slave-holding, it gradually subsided into a state of rest, and finally lapsed into lethargy and indifference on this question. In the world we live in, evil is the quick and spontaneous growth, while good is the forced and difficult culture. Good principles can only be preserved bright, pure, and efficient, by watchful care and constant use; if laid aside, they rust and perish. These are the necessary effects of the fall of man by disobedience from that state of happiness and holiness in which he was formed by a beneficent Creator. In a state of inaction, Friends have been exposed to the influences of a corrupt public sentiment; they have, to a considerable extent, imbibed the prejudice against color, while some of them have been caught by the gilded bait of southern commerce. [Footnote A: See Appendix K.] In a former part of this work I have briefly alluded to that memorable reformation, which, in the latter part of the preceding century, purged the Society of Friends from the heinous sins of slave trading and holding slaves. This reformation in Great Britain, with perhaps a few individual exceptions, consisted merely in the adoption of new convictions, and the abandonment of lax opinions; but, on the American continent, it was sealed by the willing sacrifice of an immense amount of property. One can scarcely avoid looking back with regret to times when convictions of duty had such power, when Christian principle was carried out, whatever the cost. Then, indeed, was exhibited, by the American Friends, the fruit of a world-overcoming faith. It must be confessed that the present position of their descendants presents an unpleasing contrast; yet I trust, that from all I have written, the conclusion will be drawn, that I look forward to the future with hope; though it is a hope chastened with fear. Next to a fervent desire that slavery may be speedily abolished, it is one of the warmest wishes of my heart, that the "Society of Friends" in America, may be among the chiefly honored agents in accomplishing, in the wisdom and power of Jesus Christ, so great a work, thereby contributing to the fulfilment of the angelic prophecy of "Glory to God, and good will to man." I subsequently visited, in company with a colored gentleman, one of the principal colored schools in New York, in which there were upwards of three hundred children present. All the departments appeared to be conducted, under colored teachers, with great order and efficiency, and the attainments of the higher classes were very considerable. On the whole, this school would bear comparison with any similar school for white children which I ever visited. Having received from Great Britain the minutes of a special meeting of the Anti-Slavery Society, called to consider the time of holding a second General Convention, I met some of the friends of the cause in New York, together with John G. Whittier and Elizur Wright, of Boston, to obtain an interchange of their sentiments on the same subject. After considerable discussion, they unanimously concluded to leave the decision as to the time of holding a future Convention to the London Committee--the question of time being the summer of 1842 or 1843. The numerous persons on whom I called, before leaving New York, concurred uniformly in the belief that public opinion was steadily, and somewhat rapidly advancing, in favor of emancipation, and that the prejudice against color was lessening. The unanimity I found in the opinion that public feeling in favor of peace was continually strengthening, was very encouraging. All whom I consulted, approved of the suggestion of Judge Jay, already mentioned, though I had no suitable opportunity of obtaining the collective sentiments of the friends of peace in New York upon it. The Secretary of the Vigilance Committee, an association existing in several of the Northern cities, formed to aid runaway slaves in escaping to a place of safety, as well as to protect the free colored people from kidnappers, informed me that the number of slaves who applied for assistance was constantly on the increase. He said that, only a few days before, a man, who was a preacher of the gospel, who was escaping to Canada, called upon him; and on being asked why he was fleeing from slavery, he exposed his naked back, lacerated with a recent flogging, and said that he had received that punishment for going to his place of worship. On the evening of the 24th I went up the river Hudson to Sing Sing, in company with Lewis Tappan. Our object was to spend the next day, which was the first day of the week, in this celebrated state prison. We lodged at a quiet hotel, on an eminence above the village; and next morning, about eight o'clock, we went to the prison, where we were very kindly received by the superintendent, J.G. Seymour, and by the chaplain. Soon afterwards, we had the opportunity of seeing all the male prisoners, about seven hundred and fifty, in the chapel, when they were addressed by a minister of the Presbyterian persuasion, whom we had met on board the steamer, and whom Lewis Tappan had invited to be there. We were informed that about one-third of the prisoners were colored: these did not sit separate, but were intermixed with the rest. In general, however, the striking language of De Beaumont, a late French traveller in the United States, will be found true. "The prejudice against color haunts its victim wherever he goes,--in the hospitals where humanity suffers,--in the churches where it kneels to God,--_in the prisons where it expiates its offences_,--in the grave-yards where it sleeps the last sleep." From hence we proceeded to the female department, where about eighty were assembled, some of whom seemed much affected by an address from my friend, Lewis Tappan. He told them he saw at least one present who had been a scholar in his colored Sabbath School at New York. The white women were placed in the front seats, and the colored behind them. We next went to the Sabbath School for the male prisoners, held in the chapel, where the attendance is general, though perfectly voluntary. Twenty-five of the best educated and most orderly prisoners are allowed to teach classes: the other teachers were officers of the prison, and other persons attracted hither by benevolent motives; and I was told the teachers selected among the convicts had not once been detected in the abuse of this privilege, by entering into conversation on other topics. On the breaking up of the school, Lewis Tappan addressed them, and I added a few words. We were kindly invited to dine with the matron. She mentioned one instance of complete reformation in a female, which was to be attributed she believed, under the Divine blessing, to the ministry of Joseph J. Gurney, who visited Sing Sing, in the course of his religious labors in the United States. After dinner we were permitted to visit the male prisoners at their cells, list shoes being provided for us that we might walk along the galleries without noise. Those who wished to do so, were suffered to speak to us through their grated doors, in a low voice. A number embraced this opportunity; of the sincere repentance and reformation of some of whom, I could scarcely doubt. One prisoner, a man of color, appeared to enjoy a state of perfect happiness, under a sense of being at peace with his Maker. Another manifested such a feeling of his spiritual blessings, and especially of that change of heart he had been favored to experience, as scarcely to have a desire for his liberation, though his health was visibly sinking under the confinement, and there appeared little other prospect but that of his dying in the prison, as he had been condemned for ten years, of which three yet remained. Several were Englishmen, who were mostly under feigned names, keeping their real names secret, from a natural unwillingness to disgrace their families. Some of these were men of education, and communicated to me in confidence their family names. One referred to gentlemen standing deservedly high in the estimation of the British public, as well knowing him. Two or three of this class wept much, when speaking of their situation, and of the offences that had brought them there. I gathered from the prisoners themselves that a great change had been introduced, both in the affairs and in the management of the prison, within the last eighteen months, by the present excellent superintendent and chaplain and their coadjutors, and with the happiest effects. The former system was one of brutal severity; now, without any relaxation of discipline, needless severity is discarded, and the floggings have been reduced nine-tenths, the great object being the reformation of the prisoners. One of these, speaking of the superintendent and chaplain, said: "there was not a prisoner in the jail, but rejoiced to hear the sound of their feet." J.G. Seymour mentioned one of the English prisoners to me, whose heart had been softened, and his reformation commenced, through the kindness of his prosecutor, who had spent both time and money in endeavoring to procure his release. This statement was fully confirmed in an interesting conversation I had with the individual himself, who was subsequently permitted, as well as another Englishman, to send letters by me to their relations in this country. An extract from the correspondence of one of my unfortunate fellow-countrymen, which I am permitted to make, will afford an interesting view of the internal administration of the Sing Sing prison, by one of its inmates. After alluding to the absolute monotony of prison life, he gives one day as a specimen of every day. "Monday morning, the large prison bell rings at five o'clock, when we all rise; half an hour after, we all go out to work, to our respective shops, till breakfast, the keepers all the time seated upon a high seat, overlooking--seeing that everything is ordered and going on in a proper manner: no talking allowed upon any occasion, or under any pretence whatever. When the breakfast-bell rings, we all go in to breakfast, each one to a separate room, (which are all numbered, one thousand in all;) every man's breakfast is ready for him in his room,--one pint of coffee, with plenty of meat, potatoes, and rye bread. After one hour, the prison opens again, and we work in a similar manner till twelve--dinner hour--when we go in again. Dinner is set ready as before,--an ample quantity of meat, potatoes, and bread, with a cup of water, (the best beverage in the world--would to God I had never drank any thing else, and I should not have been here;) one hour allowed for dinner, when we go out and work again till six o'clock, when we come in and are locked up for the night, with a large bowl of mush, (hasty pudding with molasses,) the finest food in the world, made from Indian meal. Thus passes each day of the week. Sundays we rise at the same hour; each man has a clean shirt given him in his room, then goes to the kitchen, brings his breakfast in with him, the same as before, and is locked up till eight, when Divine service is performed by a most worthy and able chaplain. After service, through the pious and benevolent efforts of Mr. Seymour, we have an excellent Sabbath School. Bible classes, where from three to four hundred attend, about half to learn to read, and the others to receive instruction in the way to attain everlasting life, under the immediate inspection of Mr. Seymour; and I am happy to say, that the greatest attention is paid by scholars of both classes: many, very many, know how to appreciate the value of these privileges, and benefit by them accordingly. Mr. Seymour has obtained a large library for us, and one of the prisoners is librarian. At eleven o'clock we are locked up for the day, with an extra allowance of food and water sufficient. The librarian and an assistant are left open, to distribute the books; that is to go to each man's cell, get the book he had the previous Sunday, and give him another in exchange, generally supplying them with a small tract, of which we mostly have a great plenty." A large proportion of the prisoners work in a stone quarry without the walls; and the most painful sight I saw at Sing Sing were the sentinels placed on prominent points commanding the prison, with loaded muskets and fixed bayonets, who have orders at once to shoot a convict who may attempt to escape, if he does not obey the order to return. I was told, however, an occurrence of the kind had not happened for years. A number of the female domestics in different families in the village of Sing Sing, have been prisoners, and are now reformed and generally conducting themselves to the entire satisfaction of their employers. There are few subjects more interesting to a civilized and Christian community, than that of prison discipline. It will scarcely, at the present day, be denied that the only motives on which, in such a government, criminal law can be administered, are the public safety, and the reformation of the criminal himself. Vengeance has not been delegated to man under the Christian dispensation. It is too evident, nevertheless, that the principle of retaliatory punishment, irrespective of any considerations of public safety, or the benefit of the offender, pervades our criminal jurisprudence, both in theory and practice, and just so far as this is the case, is the last great object defeated, for his feelings are deadened, and his heart hardened by it. The most depraved wretch has that within him which testifies that his fellow worm has no right to inflict pain upon him solely as a _punishment_, and his heart rebels against what he feels to be oppression. On the more enlightened, the effect is equally unfavorable, for he contrasts the practice of his persecutors with their profession, and is perhaps conducted thereby to infidelity and despair. One of the prisoners at Sing Sing, while contrasting the former with the present management, said, "We used to hear the gospel preached to us on the Sabbath, but see its doctrines trampled upon in all the conduct pursued towards us the whole week besides." How different the result where the law of love reigns! At Sing Sing there are numerous recent instances where conviction on the minds of the prisoners that the authorities of the prison have no other object than their temporal and spiritual benefit, has softened their hearts, and thereby disposed them to the reception of that consoling faith in a crucified Saviour, which is the only foundation of true amendment of life. How important is it that all the offices in a prison should be filled by persons of true piety; and where can such be more usefully employed? In a former part of this work, I have expressed a somewhat unfavorable opinion on "the separate system," adopted in the Philadelphia Penitentiary. One of my objections to this system is this, that to deprive man so entirely of human society, is to do violence to the strongest instinct of his nature, and thereby to inflict suffering far more severe than corporeal pain or privation. If the severity of this system does not obviously tend to carry out the legitimate objects of prison discipline, it cannot be defended. The small number of recommittals is no proof of the efficacy of this system; since, in a country like the United States, a liberated felon may very easily choose another locality for his sphere of action. In favor of the "separate system," it is occasionally pleaded that the prisoner is under a veil of secresy; and that when he goes forth, neither the censorious public, nor his fellow-prisoners, can point him out; and thus, his character being comparatively unblemished, he can, with less difficulty, procure employment. It is obvious that this would induce, in many cases, a degree of dishonest concealment from an employer, and encourage dissimulation. It would be much better that the prisoner should depend for a situation on the good character which the superintendent would give him if reformed; and I was glad to find at Sing Sing guarded situations had been procured, in numerous instances, for the liberated prisoners, and that their employers, with very little exception, represented them to be most valuable servants. I could hear of no case, in either of the prisons I visited, of any permanent injury to the health of a prisoner from the entire disuse of intoxicating drinks, however intemperate their previous habits might have been. The same remark is true with regard to tobacco. I will only add, that it is notorious that the prison discipline of Great Britain, notwithstanding all its recent improvements, is yet lamentably deficient; and that though the United States justly claim precedence of us in this respect, they have, by no means reached perfection. The greatest deficiency of all, however, in each nation, is that of institutions like the Philadelphia Refuge, co-extensive with the wants of the community, for the reformation of juvenile delinquency; thus suppressing crime in its small beginnings. So long as this want is unsupplied, and the juvenile offender is contaminated by contact with the hardened criminal, the statesmen and those who control the legislatures of both countries, dishonor their profession of Christianity. On the 26th, I accompanied my friends, J. and M. Candler, to the steamer which was to convey them on board the "Roscius" packet, to sail for Liverpool this afternoon. I afterwards called upon Charles Collins, who, for many years past, has dealt exclusively in articles of free labor produce, and for which he said he had found the demand to increase of late. I am more and more convinced that this branch of the abolition question has not received the attention it deserves from the friends of the cause. Before leaving New York, I ought not to omit to record a visit that was on a previous occasion paid us at our hotel, by William Cullen Bryant, whose name on this side of the water is associated with some of the most beautiful productions of American literature. He is the editor of the _New York Evening Post_, a leading democratic paper, and, to his credit be it said, he has always advocated the rights of the abolitionists. He has a thin, pale, thought-worn countenance, and his manner is quiet and unassuming. I also formed an agreeable acquaintance with Lydia Maria Child, known in both hemispheres as one of the most pleasing of American writers. She is editor of the _National Anti-Slavery Standard_. Her services in the cause of the slave have been of great value, and have been given at the risk of destroying her interests and popularity as an author. I finally quitted this city, in the steamer, for Boston, on the 24th, accompanied by John G. Whittier. I remained in Boston till the first of the Eighth Month, (August) when I embarked on board the "Caledonia" steamer for England.--During the interval, I made a number of calls upon the abolitionists in Boston; and, among others, saw Henry and Maria Chapman and Wendell Phillips; the former of whom had just returned from a visit to Hayti, and the latter from Europe. I had several interviews with Martha V. and Lucy M. Ball, secretaries of the Boston Female Emancipation Society, who have long been faithful and laborious abolitionists. I also met, as at New York, a number of the friends of the cause, again to consider the best time for calling a second general Convention, to whom I read the London minutes on that subject. A resolution was unanimously passed, of the same tenor as those of New York, lately noticed. While in this city, I had not only the pleasure of renewing my intimacy with my friend, Nathaniel Colver, who is known to many of the English abolitionists as their valuable and cordial coadjutor at the great Convention in London, but of becoming acquainted with many zealous and able friends of the slave. One of these was Amos A. Phelps, one of those who signed the original declaration issued by the American Anti-Slavery Society, on its foundation at Philadelphia, in 1833. We also went to Salem, and met a number of "Friends" who were abolitionists, and who appeared desirous to embrace every suitable opportunity of promoting the cause. Salem is a city of about fourteen thousand inhabitants, and I was told that the number of its population who went and returned to and from Boston, a distance of fourteen miles, weekly, was about five hundred--a striking proof of the locomotive energy of the Americans. Their gratification, in this respect, has been much facilitated of late by the rapid extension of railways. These, with few exceptions, are by no means so completely constructed as in England; but, owing to the cheapness of land, timber, et cet., and by making the lines generally single, and, on the average, the speed of travelling being about one-fourth less than is common in England, they answer the purpose of rapid transit, while the outlay is about as many dollars per mile as it is sovereigns with us. On this railway, and some others in New England, the lines are double, and the construction and speed are nearly equal to ours. I was informed, the proportion of severe accidents is not larger than in Great Britain. The carriages are generally built to hold sixty or seventy persons, who are seated two by two, one behind another, on double rows of seats, ranged across the carriage, with room to walk between, along the centre. The carriage in which we returned from Salem had twenty-two seats on each side, to contain two each, or, in the whole, eighty-eight passengers. Yet the weight of this machine would be little more than that of an English first-class carriage, to hold eighteen persons, and it cost probably less. Their carriages are well ventilated in summer, and warmed by a stove in winter. Locomotive engines approach Boston near enough to prevent the use of horses; but, on arriving at the distance of a mile or two from New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore, the carriages and passengers are drawn in by horses. One carriage is often specially reserved for the ladies on the principal lines, into which gentlemen do not usually intrude, unless they have ladies under their care. It is common, however, for the latter to take their seats in any of the carriages. There is no distinction of price, and none of accommodation, except that an inferior and more exposed carriage, at the same fare, is purposely provided for persons of color; but this disgraceful relic of past times cannot survive long. The principal disadvantage that I observed on the American, as compared with the English railways, was the delay on meeting other trains, and on stopping for them at places where they could pass, and also the sparks from the wood, used for fuel instead of coke. On one occasion, my coat was set on fire in this way, though I was seated in a covered carriage. Very efficient locomotive engines are made in the United States. I visited a celebrated manufactory at Philadelphia, which has sent ten to England, for the use of the Birmingham and Gloucester Railway. At the time of my visit, they had many orders unexecuted from several European governments. As far as my inquiries went, the cost of making them is, upon the whole, about the same as in England. Having been, for several years, a director on the Birmingham and London Railway, I felt some interest in these inquiries, and came to the conclusion, that there are several arrangements of economy, and some of convenience, in the construction and working of railways, which the English might borrow with advantage from the United States. On the 29th instant, the secretary of the Peace Society convened a meeting of the members of that society, and of other influential gentlemen, including Alden Bradford, late secretary of the State of Massachusetts; Robert Rantoul, an eloquent and prominent member of the legislature, and S.E. Coues, of New Hampshire,[A] to take into consideration the best means of securing permanent international peace. A very harmonious and satisfactory discussion took place, and the following statement of the proceedings was subsequently handed to me by the gentleman who officiated as secretary to the meeting: [Footnote A: Since elected President of the American Peace Society.] "A meeting of the friends of peace was held in the city of Boston, on the evening of the 29th day of July, 1841. "The meeting was called for the purpose of meeting Mr. Joseph Sturge, from England, and there were present most of the active members of the American Peace Society. "Amasa Walker, Esq., was chosen chairman; and J.P. Blanchard, secretary. "Mr. Sturge addressed the meeting, and suggested the expediency of calling, at some future time, a Convention of the friends of peace, of different nations, to deliberate upon the best method of adjusting international disputes; and, offered, for the consideration of the meeting, a plan proposed by Judge Jay, in which all the friends of peace could unite. "The meeting was then addressed by several gentlemen, who cordially approved the plan proposed, and, subsequently, the following resolutions were unanimously adopted. "Resolved,--That this meeting receives with great pleasure the suggestion of our friend Joseph Sturge, of England, of a general conference of the friends of peace, at the earliest practical opportunity, at London, to consult on the measures which are best adapted to promote universal peace among the nations of the earth; and they respectfully refer the subject to the executive committee of the American Peace Society, for their decision, on correspondence and consultation with the friends of the cause in this and other countries. "Resolved,--That the suggestion by Judge Jay, of the insertion of a clause in all conventional treaties between nations, mutually binding the parties to submit all international disputes, during the continuance of such treaties, to the arbitration of some one or more friendly powers, presents a definite and practicable object of effort, worthy of the serious attention of the friends of peace. And this meeting recommends to the friends of the cause, in different countries, to petition their respective Governments in favor of the measure." On the 30th, in company with John G. Whittier and C. Stewart Renshaw, I went over to Lowell, the chief seat of the woollen and cotton manufacture in America. Less than twenty years ago, there were not more than forty or fifty houses on the site of this flourishing city, which now contains upwards of twenty thousand inhabitants. Its numerous mills are all worked by water power, and belong to incorporated joint-stock companies. We were obligingly shown over two of the largest woollen and cotton factories, where every stage of the manufacture was in process, from the cotton, or sheep's wool, to the finished fabric. We also visited works, where the printing of cottons is executed in a superior style, besides a new process for dyeing cotton in the thread, invented by an Englishman, now in the establishment. The following abstract of the manufacturing statistics of Lowell, on the first of January, 1841, will show the great importance to which this new branch of industry has attained with such unprecedented rapidity. Ten joint-stock companies, with a capital of ten millions of dollars, having thirty-two woollen and cotton factories, besides print works, et cet., with one hundred and seventy-eight thousand eight hundred and sixty-eight spindles, and five thousand five hundred and eighty-eight looms, employing two thousand one hundred and seventy-two males, and six thousand nine hundred and twenty females, who made, in 1840, sixty-five millions eight hundred and two thousand four hundred yards of cotton and woollen cloths, in which were consumed twenty-one millions four hundred and twenty-four thousand pounds of cotton alone. The average amount earned by the male hands employed, exclusive of their board, is four dollars and eighty cents, or about twenty shillings sterling per week, and of the females two dollars, or about eight shillings and sixpence per week. But the most striking and gratifying feature of Lowell, is the high moral and intellectual condition of its working population. In looking over the books of the mills we visited, where the operatives entered their names, I observed very few that were not written by themselves; certainly not five per cent. of the whole number were signed with a mark, and many of these were evidently Irish. It was impossible to go through the mills, and notice the respectable appearance and becoming and modest deportment of the "factory girls," without forming a very favorable estimate of their character and position in society. But it would be difficult indeed for a passing observer to rate them so high as they are proved to be by the statistics of the place. The female operatives are generally boarded in houses built and owned by the "corporation" for whom they work, and which are placed under the superintendence of matrons of exemplary character, and skilled in housewifery, who pay a low rent for the houses, and provide all necessaries for their inmates, over whom they exercise a general oversight, receiving about one dollar and one-third from each per week. Each of these houses accommodates from thirty to fifty young women, and there is a wholesome rivalry among the mistresses which shall make their inmates most comfortable. We visited one of the hoarding houses, and were highly pleased with its arrangement. A considerable number of the factory girls are farmers' daughters, and come hither from Vermont, New Hampshire, and other distant States, to work for two, three, or four years, when they return to their native hills, dowered with a little capital of their own earnings. The factory operatives at Lowell form a community that commands the respect of the neighborhood, and of all under whose observation they come. No female of an immoral character could remain a week in any of the mills. The superintendent of the Boott Corporation informed me, that, during the five and a half years of his superintendence of that factory, employing about nine hundred and fifty young women, he had known of but one case of an illegitimate birth--and the mother was an Irish "immigrant." Any male or female employed, who was known to be in a state of inebriety, would be at once dismissed. At the suggestion of the benevolent and intelligent superintendent of the Boott Company, we waited to see the people turn out to dinner, at half-past twelve o'clock. We stood in a position where many hundreds passed under our review, whose dress, and quiet and orderly demeanor would have done credit to any congregation breaking up from their place of worship. One of the gentlemen with me, who is from a slave State, where all labor is considered degrading, remarked, with emotion, "What would I give if, (naming a near relative in the slave States,) could witness this only for a quarter of an hour!" We dined with one of our abolition friends at Lowell, who informed us that many hundreds of the factory girls were members of the Anti-Slavery Society; and that, although activity in this cause has been pretty much suspended by the division in the ranks of its friends, yet there is no diminution of good feeling on the subject. The following extracts, from a pamphlet published by a respectable citizen of Lowell, will further illustrate the moral statistics of the place, which, I believe, can be paralleled by no other manufacturing town in the world. The work is dated July, 1839:-- "There are now in the city fourteen regularly organized religious societies, besides one or two others quite recently established. Ten of these societies constitute a Sabbath School Union. Their third annual report was made on the fourth of the present month, and it has been published within a few days. I derive from it the following facts. The number of scholars connected with the ten schools at the time of making the report, was four thousand nine hundred and thirty-six, and the number of teachers was four hundred and thirty-three, making an aggregate of five thousand three hundred and sixty-nine. The number who joined the schools during the year, was three thousand seven hundred and seventy, the number who left was three thousand one hundred and twenty-nine. About three-fourths of the scholars are females. A large proportion of the latter are over fifteen years of age, and consist of girls employed in the mills. More than five hundred of these scholars have, during the last year, become personally interested in practical piety, and more than six hundred have joined themselves to the several churches. Now let it be borne in mind, that there are four or five Sunday Schools in the city, some of which are large and flourishing, not included in this statement. Let it be borne in mind, too, that a great proportion of these scholars are the factory girls, and furthermore, that these most gratifying results just given, have nothing in them extraordinary--they are only the common, ordinary results of several of the past years. There has been no unusual excitement; no noise, no commotion. Silently, quietly, unobtrusively, from Sabbath to Sabbath, in these little nurseries of truth, duty and religion, has the good seed been sowing and springing up--watered by the dews, and warmed by the smiles of heaven--to everlasting life.... "I shall now proceed to enumerate some of the influences which have been most powerful in bringing about these results. Among these are the example and watchful care and oversight of the boarding house keepers, the superintendents, and the overseers.... But a power vastly more active, all pervading and efficient, than any and all of these, is to be found in the jealous and sleepless watchfulness, over each other, of the girls themselves.... The strongest guardianship of their own character, as a class, is in their own hands, and they will not suffer either overseer or superintendent to be indifferent to this character with impunity. "The relationship which is here established between the Sunday school scholar and her teacher--between the member of the church and her pastor--the attachments which spring up between them, are rendered close and strong by the very circumstances in which these girls are placed. These relationships and these attachments take the place of the domestic ties and the home affections, and they have something of the strength and fervency of these." The next extract shows their prosperity in a pecuniary point. "The average wages, clear of board, amount to about two dollars a week. Many an aged father or mother, in the country, is made happy and comfortable, by the self-sacrificing contributions from the affectionate and dutiful daughter here. Many an old homestead has been cleared of its incumbrances, and thus saved to the family by these liberal and honest earnings. To the many and most gratifying and cheering facts, which, in the course of this examination I have had occasion to state, I here add a few others relating to the matter now under discussion, furnished me by Mr. Carney, the treasurer of the Lowell Institution for Savings. The whole number of depositors in this institution, on the 23d July, was nineteen hundred and seventy-six; the whole number of deposits was three hundred and five thousand seven hundred and ninety-six dollars and seventy cents, (about £60,000.) Of these depositors, nine hundred and seventy-eight are factory girls, and the amount of their funds now in the bank, is estimated by Mr. Carney, in round numbers, at one hundred thousand dollars, (about £20,000.) It is a common thing for one of these girls to have five hundred dollars (about £100 sterling) in deposit, and the only reason why she does not exceed this sum is the fact, that the institution pays no interest on any larger sum than this. After reaching this amount, she invests her remaining funds elsewhere." In confirmation of this description of the state of the Lowell population, I have obtained, through the kindness of a friend in Massachusetts, the following parallel statistics to a recent date:-- "PUBLIC SCHOOLS.--By the report of the school committee for the year ending on the 5th of Fourth Month (April) 1841, it appears that the whole number of pupils in the schools, who attended during the whole or part of the year, was 5,830. The whole amount expended by the city for these schools, during the year, was 18,106 dollars, 51 cents. "SABBATH SCHOOLS.--The number of scholars and teachers in the Sabbath Schools, connected with the various religious societies in Lowell, during the year ending on the 5th of Seventh Month (July) 1841, was 5,493. "SAVINGS BANK.--The Lowell Institution for Savings, in its report of Fifth Month (May), 1840, acknowledges 328,395 dollars, 55 cents, deposits, from 2,137 persons; together with 16,093 dollars, 29 cents, nett amount received for interest on loans and dividends in stocks, less expense and dividends paid--making in all, 344,488 dollars, 84 cents; nett amount of interest, 24,714 dollars, 61 cents. Within the year, 120,175 dollars, 69 cents, had been deposited, and 70,384 dollars, 24 cents, drawn out. "PAUPERS.--The whole expense of the city for the support of the poor, during the year ending on the 31st of Twelfth Month (December) 1840, was 2,698 dollars, 61 cents." As a proof, slight yet significant, of the spread of intellectual cultivation, I ought not to omit a notice of the "Lowell Offering," a little monthly magazine, of original articles, written exclusively by the factory girls. The editor of the _Boston Christian Examiner_ commends this little periodical to those who consider the factory system to be degrading and demoralizing; and expresses a doubt "whether a committee of young ladies, selected from the most refined and best educated families in any of our towns and cities, could make a fairer appearance in type than these hard-working factory girls." The city of Lowell has been distinguished by British tourists as the Manchester of the United States; but, in view of the facts above related, an American has declared it to be "_not_ the Manchester of the United States." Besides the general prosperity of the operatives, the shareholders in the different corporations divide from eight to fifteen per cent, per annum on their capital. The inquiry naturally suggests itself, why the state of things in the manufacturing districts of Great Britain should be so widely different from this? Some may satisfy themselves by recollecting that England is an old and America a young country; though, to my mind, this affords no reasonable explanation of the contrast--since, from the possession of surplus capital, complete machinery, and facility of communication, et cet., the advantages for _commerce and manufactures_, under a system of perfectly unrestricted exchange, must preponderate greatly in favor of the former. But whatever the solution of the difficulty, it is quite evident that the statesman who would elevate the moral standard of our working population, must begin by removing the physical depression and destitution in which a large proportion of them, without any fault of their own, are compelled to drag out a weary and almost hopeless existence. To some peculiarly constituted minds, "over-production" is the explanation of the present appalling distresses of this country; and what they are pleased to consider a healthy state of things, is to be restored by a diminution of production;--yet nothing is more certain, than that the largest amount of production which has ever been reached, is not more than adequate to supply our increasing population with the necessaries of life, on even a very limited scale of comfort. A diminished production implies the starving down of the population to such a diminished number as may obtain leave to toil, and leave to subsist, from legislators, who, either in ignorance or selfishness, set aside nature's laws, and disregard the plainly legible ordinances of Divine Providence. If we reflect on the part which commerce is made to perform in the moral government of the world, on the one hand as the bond of peace between powerful nations, by creating a perpetual interchange of temporal benefits; and, on the other, as the channel for the diffusion of blessings of an intellectual and spiritual kind; we are conducted irresistibly to the conclusion, that any arbitrary interruption of its free course must draw down its own punishment. Though the laws of nature may not permit the limited soil of this country to grow food enough for its teeming population, yet while Great Britain possesses mineral wealth, abundant capital, and the largest amount of skilled industry of any nation in the world, the tributary supplies of other countries would not only satisfy our present wants, but would, I firmly believe, with an unfettered commerce, raise our working population, the most numerous, and by far the most important part of the community, to the same level of prosperity as the same class in the United States. Then would there be more hope for the success of efforts to elevate the standard of moral and intellectual cultivation among them, for as an improvable material they are no way inferior to any population upon earth. John Curtis of Ohio, a free trade missionary to this country, has published a pamphlet full of important statistical facts, illustrating the suicidal policy of Great Britain, from which I venture to take the following extracts: "England already obtains luxuries in superabundance; but these can never supply the wants of her artizans--they demand substantial bread and meat, and a market where their labor can procure these necessaries. Tropical climates are not adapted to supply their wants. For this reason trade either with the East or West Indies cannot give effectual relief: it may furnish luxuries, but England is overstocked with them already. The food of tropical climates, with the exception of rice, is not calculated for export. The people of England, if they are to import food, need the production of a climate similar to their own. In this respect America is well adapted to supply them. "All parts of the United States between thirty-seven and forty-four degrees of north latitude will produce wheat. But that part of the country best adapted to furnish an abundant supply is, beyond all question, the northern part of the Mississippi valley, and the contiguous country south of the great lakes. It has been styled _par excellence_ the wheat-growing region of America. Within its limits lie the six north-western States of the American Union, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Iowa, and Wiskonsan (including as States the two territories of Iowa and Wiskonsan, about to be admitted into the Union.) These States, exclusive of two hundred thousand square miles, the title to which is yet mostly in the Indian tribes, cover an area of two hundred and thirty-six thousand and eleven square miles. The country is, generally, an undulating prairie, interspersed with groves of trees, and unbroken by hill or mountain. The soil commonly rests upon a strata of limestone, is fertile beyond description, and abundantly watered by the finest springs and streams. Its climate is clear and salubrious, and the country as well calculated as any other on the globe to minister to the support and happiness of civilized man. As already explained, for an inland country, it possesses unequalled facilities for foreign intercourse and commerce, by means of its great lakes and rivers. The most distant parts of it are now reached in twenty days from Liverpool. The energies of the American people have been chiefly expended, during the last few years, in opening and taking possession of this region, which they consider destined to become the future seat of American wealth and greatness. "Wheat once formed a leading article in the exports of the United States. The trade of that country with Great Britain was then double the present amount in proportion to the number of the population. Had the trade of the two countries continued free, it would have increased with the increase of population and capital. The legitimate exchange trade has decreased between England and America for thirty years. What part has the restrictive system had in producing this result? A few facts may enable us not only to answer this question, but to anticipate the consequences of a continuance of the same policy. From the time of the revolutionary war in America until 1812, the trade between the two countries regularly increased with the increase of the population. The average annual consumption of foreign merchandise in the United States for each inhabitant was, From 1790 to 1800, 39s. 4d. " 1800 to 1810, 41s. 8d. "In 1812 came the second American war, and in 1815 the British corn law, which was promptly followed by the high American tariff of 1816. For ten years prior to 1830, the annual average consumption of merchandize had fallen to 22s. 6d., while the population of the States was nearly double, and their capital treble that of the ten years preceding 1810. Soon after 1830 followed the modification of the American tariff, and the importations based on the great transatlantic loans of that period. But, notwithstanding the stimulation and extravagance of the time, the average annual consumption amounted to only 31s. per head of foreign produce during the ten years prior to 1840. Abating the importation based on the loans of the last few years, and the trade of England with the United States has not increased in amount for the last thirty years, while the population of England has increased from eighteen to twenty-seven millions, and that of the States from seven to seventeen millions. "Let the reader observe this, that in the Eastern States, in that of Massachusetts, for instance, in which State Boston is situated, the people bring a large part of their food from the Western States, where they obtain it in exchange for their manufactures. If free trade were allowed, is it possible for any man to give a reason why the manufacturer and laborer of Manchester would not be able to do as well as the manufacturer and laborer of Boston now does, abating the difference of transporting goods and grain across the Atlantic? At least, the consequence would be an extension of trade, and employment equal to the amount of food which would, in such case, be brought from America; and the limit to this quantity will be found only when the wants of Englishmen are supplied, and their ability to pay exhausted. The ability of America to supply any required quantity of food has already been shown. There lie the broad lands, ready for cultivation as soon as there shall be a demand for the produce. And if seventeen millions of people, sent chiefly from England, or descended from those who have been sent, are not sufficient to raise the requisite quantity of provisions demanded of them by those who remain in the parent country, then let more be sent, for the land lies equally open to the people of all nations. "Then, as to the ability of Englishmen to pay for all they want, let us ask, what those who produce the food, or those who bring it, can want in exchange that England cannot furnish? Gold, it is said.[A] But for what do they want gold but to purchase other supplies than food? and as they would then have the means to pay, England would be the very country which, of all others, could supply them to advantage. Whatever was wanted which her own artizans do not produce themselves, they could still supply. Englishmen would not at all be confined to a direct sale or exchange of their goods with the wheat grower, but can give him the merchandize of India and China, and the fruits of the tropics, for which English manufactures would pay. If the idle mills and idle laborers of England could at once be set at work to produce food for the people, new activity would be imparted to trade in every part of the world--from India to the frozen regions of Greenland and Labrador. But, on the other hand, how is it possible for England to extend her foreign trade while the present restrictions continue? Even with such a country as India, reduced under British sway, it cannot be done except by diminishing the commerce with other countries to the same extent. England cannot, in her present condition, greatly increase her consumption of such merchandize as India can furnish, or dispose of such merchandize abroad, to any great extent, for the reasons already given. [Footnote A: "Englishmen, reasoning from a restricted course of trade, are constantly prone to the belief that the purchase of foreign corn, from some unexplained necessity, must take away their gold. Americans, from the same cause, reason in the same manner respecting the purchase of foreign goods. Under the action of the restrictive system, there may be some truth in the reasonings of each party, but they certainly form a beautiful running commentary upon each other."] "As to any proposed gain by the Colonial trade, it is the very thing rejected by the restrictions on the trade with the United States. What are these States but the greatest colonies ever planted by Great Britain? and their independence does not at all prevent England from deriving all the advantage from them ever to be derived from colonies. The only good which England can derive from her extensive colonization is not to be gained by swaying a barren sceptre over distant colonies, but by spreading abroad her race, her language, her civilization, and thus enlarging the sphere of her commerce. Under a free system of intercourse England would not derive less benefit, at present, from the United States than if they had remained a part of the British dominions, for if trade were free, they would not trade the less because of their independence, or furnish less food, or at higher prices. England, however, seems determined to sacrifice all the advantages which naturally accrue to her from having colonized the finest part of the New World, and to refuse the abundance and relief thus providentially prepared by her own offspring." The great importance of these extracts is the best apology for their length--but there is yet another branch of the subject. A country whose population is beyond its means of supply from its own soil, has no resources but that of her manufactures and foreign trade; if these be dried up, her people must emigrate or starve. But the United States has an alternative;--her first and best resource,--and the most profitable application of her industry is in her broad and fertile lands, the superabundant produce of which would not only feed, but, by exchange, clothe her population, and supply them with all the comforts of civilized life. She cannot avail herself of this to its full extent without our aid. But, if we refuse to trade on equal terms, her wants will not, therefore, go unsupplied. She can manufacture for herself--her resources for manufactures and commerce are, at least, equal to our own, with the exception of capital and population, which the lapse of a few more years will supply. "The present may justly be considered a crisis in the commercial policy of America. If it be decided that foreign markets are to continue closed against American corn--if England, which is the principal corn market of the world, refuse to exchange the produce of her mills and workshops for that of the fields of the Americans, they have no other alternative than to erect mills and workshops from which to supply themselves. The effect of such a course would prove decisive on the trade with England, and go far to complete the ruin so effectually begun by the British corn law and corresponding restrictions. If forced from employment on the land, which an abundant and fertile soil has naturally made their most profitable one, it will be found that the Americans lack neither the talent, the energy, nor the means, at once to extend their present manufactures to the full supply of their own wants. They have water-power, coal, and iron, in greater natural abundance and perfection than any other part of the world."[A] [Footnote A: "The United States are computed to contain not less than eighty thousand square miles of coal, or sixteen times as much as Europe. One of these coal fields extends nine hundred miles in length. The State of Pennsylvania has ten thousand square miles of coal and iron. Great Britain and Ireland have two thousand. All the north-western States of America contain large quantities of coal. The coal strata of the States generally lie above the level of the streams, and the coal is taken from the hill sides. The beds of coal and iron are to a great extent contiguous."] This is not mere theory. The developement is actually begun: "A few years since, the country smiths, and the matrons with their daughters at the household wheel and loom, were the principal manufacturers of America. Now the cotton mills alone are computed at one thousand, and the capital invested in manufacturing machinery at £23,500,000. The estimated value of some of the principal articles of manufacture is as follows: Woollens, £15,750,000 Cotton, 11,250,000 Leather, 9,000,000 Hats and Caps, 3,575,000 Linen, 1,350,000 Paper, 1,350,000 Glass, 1,125,000 Iron and Steel, 11,250,000 "Some idea of the rapidity with which the American manufactures are now capable of being extended, may be formed from the past progress of the cotton manufacture. The consumption of raw cotton was, In 1833, 196,000 bales. 1835, 236,700 " 1837, 246,000 " 1839, 276,000 " "The United States already supply two-thirds of their own consumption of cottons. At the above rate of increase--of nearly fifty per cent, in five years--America will much more than supply its own market in five years to come. Never has the manufacturing interest of the United States been in as prosperous and sound a condition as at present. They need no high tariff to protect them against British competition. _The English corn law is their best protection_." It is the restrictive policy of Great Britain that has called into existence Lowell and the manufacturing cities of the United States, producing an immense amount of articles which were once the sole products of British industry and skill. If the same policy is continued, the prosperity of the United States will be impeded, but that of England will be destroyed. The following is an extract from the memorial of Joshua Leavitt to Congress, on the wheat interests of the North Western States: "Should it, indeed, come to be settled that there is to be no foreign market for these products, the fine country under contemplation is not, therefore, to be despaired of. Let the necessity once become apparent, and there will be but one mind among the people of the North-west. The same patriotism which carried our fathers through the self-denying non-importation agreements of the revolution, will produce a fixed determination to build up a home market, at every sacrifice. And it can be done. What has been done already in the way of manufactures, shows that it can be done. The recent application of the hot-blast with anthracite coal to the making of iron, and the discovery of a mine of natural steel, would be auxiliaries of immense value. We could draw to our factories the best workmen of Europe, attracted less by the temptation of wages, than by the desire to leave liberty and land as the inheritance of their children. But it would take a long time to build up a manufacturing interest adequate to supply the wants of the Northwest, or to consume the produce of these wide fields; and the burden of taxation for internal improvements, uncompleted and unproductive, would be very heavy and hard to bear: and all the population that is concentrated upon manufactures, is so much kept back from the occupation of that noble domain; and the national treasury would feel the effects of the curtailment of imports and the cessation of land sales; and the amount of misery which the loss of the American market would occasion to the starving operatives and factory children on the other side of the Atlantic, is worthy to be taken into the account, by every statesman who has not forgotten that he is a man." If we refuse the Americans as customers, we compel them to become our rivals; and, after supplying their own wants, they will compete with us for the trade of the world, on more than equal terms. Our statesmen may yet employ America to build up the prosperity of our country whilst increasing her own, or they may suffer its rapidly developing and gigantic resources to work out our ruin: the alternative is before them and before the country--but decision must be prompt, for there is no pause in the march of events. However unwise the policy, we cannot be surprised that the American and Continental manufacturer are each applying to his government to follow our example, and protect home trade by fiscal regulations. This question of trade with America has also most important anti-slavery bearings--and here, again, I find my own views anticipated by the able writer already quoted: "The present policy of restricting the traffic with America so closely to cotton, gives a deceitful appearance to the stated imports and exports. From these statements there should, in fairness, be deducted the value of all the raw cotton which is returned to America; and, in fact, if the true exchange trade would be seen, all should be deducted that is exported from England. That portion of cotton goods which is of English origin, that is, their value above the raw material out of which they were made, is, in fact, the only real part of English export. Before exclusive importance was bestowed on cotton, the exchange with America was in a large proportion of articles not to be returned. It would be so again if trade were free." Again: "To one effect which would be produced in America by the repeal of the corn and provision laws, no party or class in England can profess indifference, and that is, _its effect on slavery in the United States_. At the present time, England gives a premium to American slavery by admitting, at low duties, the cotton of the slave-holder, which is his staple production, and refusing corn, which is mostly the produce of free labor. The slave-holding States, to the productions of which Great Britain confines her American trade, are less populous and less wealthy than the free; yet of their produce England received in 1839, according to the American estimates, £11,600,000, while of that of the free States she received less than £500,000." "It should be remembered that the labor of the slave States, is almost wholly expended in agriculture, under the stimulus of a good market, while a large part of that of the free States is otherwise employed, for the want of such market. The effective laborers of the free States are double the number of those in the slave States; and were an opportunity given them, they would export in as great a proportion. Thus England, by her laws, fosters an odious institution abroad, which, in words, she loudly condemns, and spends millions to rid the world of; whilst she rejects more honorable, profitable, and wealthy customers, the fruits of whose free and active industry are in effect made contraband in England by law. "Not only would England escape this inconsistency and reproach, by repealing the corn law, but she would strike a most effectual blow at the existence of slavery in the United States. Cotton, at present, from being made by the corn law the principal exchangeable article in the American trade, assumes an undue and unnatural importance in American commerce, legislation, and home industry. The slave-owner drives his slaves in its production, and purchases supplies of the northern freeman, whose interests are thus identified with those of the cotton grower, and the slave-holding interest becomes predominant in the country. From their habits, the people of the slave-holding States are constantly contracting more debts in the free States than they have the means of paying; so that, under the present system of intercourse, the slaveholders exercise over the free population of the north, the same control which an insolvent debtor frequently has over his creditor, by threatening to break and ruin him, if not allowed his own way. A repeal of the corn laws would release the free States from their present commercial and consequent political vassalage to the southern slave-holders, and thereby take from American slavery, the great citadel of its strength, and insure its overthrow by the influences which would arise to assail it from all quarters. "But as free trade, in destroying the odious monopoly of the haughty slave-holder, would benefit and not injure him, so would its effects be found universally. It would give peace and plenty to England and the world,--it would enlarge and secure trade, bind the spreading branches of the Anglo-saxon race by natural affinity to England as their acknowledged head, and promote the liberty and civilization of the human family at large." In view of the whole spirit of this discussion of one of the most important questions bearing upon human interests, I would simply add, that a wise Providence has bound the duty and the interest, both of individual and social man, firmly together, but for the trial of his virtue the bands are concealed. On the 31st, I took my luggage on board the steam packet "Caledonia," for Liverpool, via Halifax, which was to sail the day following, although it was the first day of the week. The proprietors of the packets are bound in a heavy fine to sail on the appointed days, whether those fall on the first day of the week or not. By this arrangement the religious feelings of the people of Boston are offended, which is the more inexcusable, on the part of the British Government, as it does not suffer its own mails to depart, either from London or Halifax, on that day. Some gentlemen, who were interested in the subject, placed in my hands a memorial addressed to the Lords of the Admiralty in Great Britain, praying for such an alteration of the arrangements as would prevent this periodical violation of the first day of the week. A gentleman, who was active in getting it signed, assured me it was received with universal favor. The signatures, obtained on very short notice, are those of the most influential men in their respective stations in the city of Boston, and include the names of the mayor of the city, an ex-lieutenant governor of the State of Massachusetts, one bishop, upwards of forty ministers of religion, of different denominations, nine gentleman, upwards of one hundred and twenty merchants, seventeen presidents of insurance companies, the post-master of Boston, five physicians, seven members of the legal profession, and two editors of newspapers. After my arrival in this country, I presented this document, through the Secretary of the Admiralty, to the authorities to whom it is addressed, but regret to state that the request was not complied with. The memorial, and the reply of the Lords of the Admiralty are given in the Appendix[A] [Footnote A: .See Appendix L.] On leaving the shores of the United States, I left the following letter for publication:-- "_To the Friends of Immediate Emancipation in the United States_. "Having visited your country as an humble fellow-laborer in the great cause in which you are engaged, and which, through trials and difficulties a stranger can scarcely appreciate, you have so zealously maintained, I have had a pleasing and satisfactory interview with many of you, with reference to future exertions, in cooperation with those of other lands, who unite with you in regarding slave-holding and slave-trading as a heinous sin in the sight of God, which should be immediately abolished. It is the especial privilege of those who are laboring in such a cause, to feel that 'every country is their country, and every man their brother,' and to live above the atmosphere of sectional jealousy and national hostility; and hence I feel an assurance, that you will receive with kindness a few lines from me on the eve of my departure to my native land. "You concur generally in opinion, that in endeavoring to obtain the great object we have in view, it is very important that the friends of the cause should be united, not only in principle, but, as far as may be, in the character of the measures which they pursue; and I have been much encouraged in finding that you have generally adopted the sentiment so rapidly spreading on the other side of the Atlantic,--'That there is no reasonable hope of abolishing the slave-trade, but, by the abolition of slavery, and that no measures should be pursued for its attainment, but those which are of a moral, religious, and pacific character.' The progress of emancipation in Europe has been, beyond a doubt, greatly retarded by leaving slavery and the slave-holder unmarked by public reprobation, and concentrating all the energies of philanthropy upon a fruitless effort to abolish the slave-trade. And in this country the Colonization scheme, with its delusive promise of good to Africa, and its vague anticipations of putting an end to the slave-trade by armed colonies on the coast of that ill-fated continent, has been the means of obstructing emancipation at home, of unprofitably absorbing the energies and blinding the judgment of many sincere friends of the slave, and of strengthening the unchristian prejudice against color. The abolitionists of Europe, with few exceptions, have seen the error of their former course of action, and are now striking directly at the root, instead of lopping the branches of slavery; and if further evidence of the evil tendency and character of colonization is needed in the United States, the recent proceeding of a meeting of the Maryland Society at Baltimore, must convince all who are friendly to the true interests of the people of color, that it is a scheme deserving only the support of the enemies of freedom.[A] [Footnote A: "The following resolution was passed at the meeting of the Maryland Society above alluded to:--'That while it is most earnestly hoped that the free colored people of Maryland may see that their best and most permanent interests will be consulted by their emigration from this State; and while this Convention would deprecate any departure from the principle which makes colonization dependent upon the voluntary action of the free colored people themselves--yet, if, regardless of what has been done to provide them with an asylum, they continue to persist in remaining in Maryland, in the hope of enjoying here an equality of social and political rights, they ought to be solemnly warned, that, in the opinion of this Convention, a day must arrive when circumstances that cannot be controlled, and which are now maturing, will deprive them of choice, and leave them no alternative but removal,'"] "The rapid progress of public opinion, as to the iniquity of slavery, and the entire safety, as well as advantage, of its immediate abolition--the attention which has been awakened to it in all parts of the civilized world--the movements in France, Spain, Brazil, and Denmark, and other countries with slave-holding dependencies, all indicating that the days of slavery are numbered, should serve to encourage and stimulate us to increased exertions; and while it is a cause of profound regret, that any thing should have disturbed the harmony and unity of the real friends of emancipation in this country--the hardest battle field of our moral warfare--I am not without hope, that, in future, those who,--from a conscientious difference of opinion, not as to the object, but the precise mode of obtaining it,--cannot act in one united band, will laudably emulate each other in the promotion of our common cause, and in Christian forbearance upon points of disagreement; and that, where they cannot praise, they will be careful not to censure those, who, by a different road, are earnestly pursuing the same end. Without entering into the controversies which have divided our friends on this side the water, I believe it would be nothing more than a simple act of justice for me to state, on my return to Europe, my conviction that a large portion of the abolitionists of the United States, who approve of the proceedings of the late General Anti-Slavery Convention, and are desirous of acting in unity with the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, from the general identity of their practice, as well as principles, with those of the British and Foreign Society, are entitled to the sympathies, and deserving of the confidence and co-operation of the abolitionists of Great Britain. It has been my pleasure to meet, in a kindly interchange of opinion, many valuable and devoted friends of emancipation; who, while dissenting from the class above-mentioned in some respects, are nevertheless disposed to cultivate feelings of charity and good will towards all who are sincerely laboring for the slaves. And in this connection I may state, that neither on behalf of myself, or of my esteemed coadjutors in Great Britain, am I disposed to recriminate upon another class of abolitionists, who, on some points, have so far differed from the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Committee, and the great majority of the Convention above mentioned, as to sustain their representatives in refusing to act with that Convention, and in protesting against its proceedings; and who have seen fit to censure the committee in their public meetings and newspapers in this country, as 'arbitrary and despotic,' and their conduct as 'unworthy of men claiming the character of abolitionists.' "As a corresponding member of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Committee, and intimately acquainted with its proceedings, I am persuaded that its members have acted wisely, and consulted the best interest of the cause in which they were engaged, in generally leaving unnoticed any censures that have been cast upon them while in the prosecution of their labors. Yet, before leaving this country, I deem it right to bear my testimony to the great anxiety of that committee faithfully to discharge the duties committed to their trust; and to state that it has never been my privilege to be united to any body more desirous of keeping simply to the one great object of their association--the total and immediate abolition of slavery and the slave-trade. I am persuaded that all candid minds, making due allowance for the imperfection pertaining to human associations, will feel their confidence in the future integrity of that committee increased in proportion as they closely investigate their past acts; and that, even when the wisdom of their course may have been questioned, they will accord to them a scrupulous honesty of purpose. "The first public suggestion of a General Anti-Slavery Convention, like the one held last year in London, originated, I believe, on this side of the Atlantic, although the Committee of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society took upon themselves the heavy responsibility of convening it. At its close, they invited an expression of the opinion of the delegates, as to the desirableness of again summoning such an assembly. The expression was generally in the affirmative; and, after discussion, a resolution was passed, leaving it to the Committee of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society, after consulting with the friends of the cause in other parts of the world, to decide this important question, as well as the time and place of its meeting, should another Convention be resolved upon. "Since I have been in the United States, I have found those abolitionists who approved the principles and proceedings of the late Convention so generally in favor of another, and of London as its place of meeting, that the only question seemed to be whether it should be held in 1842 or 1843. This expression of opinion is, I know, so generally in accordance with the views of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Committee, and of many other prominent abolitionists in Europe, that I have little doubt they will feel encouraged to act upon it, probably at the latter period. There is abundant and increasing evidence of the powerfully beneficial influence of the late Convention upon almost every part of the world where slavery is still tolerated; and we are encouraged to hope that the one in anticipation will be still more efficient for the promotion of universal liberty. "Painful as has been to me the spectacle of many of the leading influences of the ecclesiastical bodies in this country, either placed in direct hostility to, or acting as a drag upon, the wheel of the anti-slavery enterprise--and of the manifest preponderance of a slave-holding influence in the councils of the State--I am not one of those who despair of a healthful renovation of public sentiment which shall purify Church as well as State from this abomination. There are decided indications that all efforts of councils and synods to unite 'pure religion and undefiled,' with a slave-trading and slave-holding counterfeit of Christianity, must ere long utterly fail. And it is to me a matter of joy, as it must be to every friend of impartial liberty and free institutions, that the citizens of this republic are more and more feeling that the plague-spot of slavery, as with the increased facilities of communication its horrors and deformity become more apparent in the eyes of the world, is fixing a deep disgrace upon the character of their country, and paralyzing the beneficial influence which might otherwise flow from it as an example of a well-regulated free government. May each American citizen who is desirous of washing away this disgrace, to whatever division of the anti-slavery host he may attach himself, ever bear in mind that the cause is of too tremendous and pressing a nature to admit of his wasting his time in censuring and impeding the progress of those who may array themselves under a somewhat different standard from his own; and that any energies thus wasted, which belong to the one great object, so far as human instrumentality is concerned, is not only deferring the day of freedom to two and a half millions of his countrymen, but inasmuch as the fall of American slavery must be the death-blow to the horrid system, wherever it exists, the result of the struggle here involves the slavery or freedom of millions in other parts of the world, as well as the continuance or suppression of that slave-trade, to the foreign branch of which alone more than _one thousand victims are daily sacrificed_; and in reference to which it has justly been said, 'that all that has been borne to Africa of the boasted improvements of civilized life, is a masterly skill in the contrivance, and an unhesitating daring in the commission of crimes, which the mind of the savage was too simple to devise, and his heart too gentle to execute.' There are no doubtful indications that it is the will of Him, who has the hearts of all at His disposal, that, either in judgment or in mercy, this dreadful system shall ere long cease. It is not for us to say why, in His inscrutable wisdom, He has thus far permitted one portion of His creatures so cruelly to oppress another; or by what instrumentality He will at length redress the wrongs of the poor, and the oppression of the needy; but should the worst fears of one of your most distinguished citizens, who in view of this subject, acknowledged that he 'trembled for his country, when he remembered that God was just,' be finally realized, may each one of you feel that no exertions on his part have been wanting to avert the Divine displeasure, and preserve your land from those calamities which, in all ages, have rebuked the crimes of nations. "Your sincere friend, "JOSEPH STURGE. "Boston, Seventh Month 31st, 1841." My dear friend John G. Whittier, whose pleasant company and invaluable aid I had enjoyed, as much as his health would permit, during my stay in the United States, kindly accompanied me on board. Had he been less closely identified with the transactions of which the present volume is a record, I should have felt it due to his station among the earliest and most distinguished advocates of the anti-slavery cause in America, to attempt some delineation, however imperfect, of that rare and consecrated union of consistent Christian character, fine talents, and sound and impartial judgment, which give him so much weight in the councils of his fellow-laborers. We set sail about noon on the 1st of the Eighth month, (August,) and arrived off Liverpool about eleven o'clock, P.M. on the 13th, which interval included ten hours delay at Halifax. We had about ninety passengers from Halifax to Liverpool, and with the exception of a severe gale on the 10th, almost amounting to a hurricane, we had a very favorable voyage. The time from Halifax to within sight of the light house off the south coast of Ireland was announced to be only nine days and thirteen minutes. One of my fellow passengers had recently been traveling in the southern States, and showed me a letter given to him as a curiosity at the post office at Charleston, South Carolina, which was addressed by a slave to her husband, but from insufficient direction had never reached its destination. It was to convey the tidings that she was about to be sold to the South, and begging him, in simple and affecting terms, to come and see her, as they would never meet again. Another of the passengers, who had also been a fellow voyager with my friend Joseph John Gurney, had recently travelled in Texas. He was strongly impressed with the evils likely to result from the proposed recognition of that government by Great Britain. In consequence of the promising aspect of these negotiations between General Hamilton and Lord Palmerston in favor of Texas, the paper money issued by that piratical government, and which had not been previously negotiable for more than one tenth of its nominal value, rapidly rose. The Texas republic, in his opinion, could not secure a permanence without British recognition. Many planters, with their slaves, have emigrated thither to escape their creditors from the border States, and the republic has been lavish of grants of land to men of capital and influence, to induce them to settle within its limits. My informant considered the state of society to be as bad as it well could be, and continue to exist. The white inhabitants are living not only in fear of hostile Indians, but in fear of each other. From a late letter of a friend in America, I make the following extract relative to the present condition of Texas. "To give thee some adequate idea of the importance of that beautiful republic of Texas, which Lord Palmerston and the late Whig government of England took under their especial protection, I will just refer to the statistics of the late election of its President. The successful candidate, General Houston, a man notorious for his open contempt for all the decencies of civilized society,--brutal, brawling, profane, and licentious,--received somewhat rising five thousand votes: his competitor, Judge Burnet, between two and three thousand,--a vote smaller by thousands than that of our little county of Essex, in Massachusetts. Late accounts from Texas inform us that gangs of organized desperadoes, under the names of moderators and regulators, are traversing its territory, perpetrating the most brutal outrages. In one instance they seized a respectable citizen who dared to express his dissatisfaction with their proceedings, hurried him into the forest, and deliberately dug his grave before his eyes, _intending to bury him alive_! The miserable victim, horrified by the prospect of such a fate, broke away from his tormentors, and attempted to escape, but was shot down and instantly killed! Such a congregation as Texas presents was never, I suspect, known, save in that city into which the Macedonian monarch gathered and garnered, in one scoundrel community, the vagabond rascality of his kingdom. "Thou would'st be amused to read an article, which has made its appearance in the _Houston Telegraph_--a Texian paper--in which the editor says, 'that while we deeply commiserate the situation of our sister republic, in regard to the political scourge of abolitionism, it is pleasing to reflect that our country enjoys a _complete immunity from its effects_. Indeed we may with safety declare, that throughout the whole extent of our country, not a single abolitionist can be found.' He goes on to say that this induces many of the southern planters to emigrate to Texas, who, he remarks, '_will necessarily look to Texas, as the Hebrews did to the promised land, for a refuge and home_.' It will thus be seen that Texas is the promised land of the patriarchal slave-holders of the southern States. When hunted from every other quarter of the globe by the inexorable spirit of abolition, when even Cuba and Brazil cease to afford them an asylum--when slave-holding shall be every where else as odious and detestable as midnight larceny, or highway robbery,--Texas alone, uninfected and secure, is to open its gates of refuge to the persecuted Calhouns and McDuffies, and their northern allies in church and state--the San Marino of slavery, dissevered from the world's fanaticism--isolated and apart, like the floating air-island of Dean Swift." The following extract from a recent New York paper gives an equally deplorable representation of the society in Texas. "The pestilent influence of the recent horrible murders on the Arkansas, and other United States' rivers, has caused the practice of lynching to break forth with renewed fury in Texas, where it had apparently slept for the previous year. And we find recorded in the Texas papers nearly a dozen of these murders that have occurred, and undoubtedly there have been more than as many more. In Shelby county two citizens have been shot down, and several houses burned by a party of outlaws. In Red River two men have been hanged as horse-thieves, without judge or jury. In Washington county one man has been shot down, under the pretence that he was a murderer. In Austin county two men were killed, and two hostile parties were in arms for several days, taking the law into their own hands. In Jefferson county two men have been killed, and the house of one of them burnt to the ground by a party of self-styled 'regulators.' And all this in the space of a year." Several of my fellow-passengers were from Cuba, and some of them slave-holders by their own admission. With one or two of those who could speak English, I had much conversation on the abolition of slavery. They concurred with apparent sincerity in the desire that the slave trade might be effectually suppressed. They seemed to consider that this trade was promoted by the mother country as one means of preventing the colony from aspiring to independence. They admitted the abstract injustice of slavery, and one remarked, that a difference of the color of the skin was a misfortune, not a crime. They were not, however, disposed to entertain a thought of emancipation, without being fully compensated for their slaves. I had again the pleasure of observing on this voyage, the benefits of the change of system with regard to the supply of wines and spirits, each passenger paying for what he consumes, instead of his fare including the privilege of drinking _ad libitum_. One of the stewards told me the quantity consumed was little more than one-tenth as much as under the former system. I cannot conclude my narrative more gratefully to my own feelings than by a tribute to the upright and conscientious officer who commanded the vessel. On the first day of the week, the only one we spent at sea, the passengers, and as many of the servants as could conveniently attend, assembled morning and evening in the saloon, for the purpose of religious worship. Lord Frederick Fitzclarence, one of the passengers, officiating as a minister of the English Establishment; and every evening a similar opportunity was offered in the fore cabin to all who were inclined to be present. The captain firmly resisted the introduction of cards on the first day of the week, and in his whole conduct manifested an anxiety not only for the temporal comfort and safety, but for the spiritual interests of those under his care. Would that all captains of vessels, invested as they are with such authority and influence over the passengers and crews, were like-minded with my friend Captain McKellar. I disembarked at Liverpool early in the morning on the 14th of Eighth month, (August,) 1841. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS The reader who has accompanied me thus far, will not need to be informed that I have designedly omitted many of those remarks on scenery, manners, and institutions, which were naturally suggested to my own mind by a retrospect of my sojourn in the United States. On various subjects of great interest and importance, it would be difficult for me to add anything new or valuable to the information contained in other and well known works; while on those points to which my attention was chiefly directed, I have endeavored, as far as practicable, to incorporate the results of my inquiries in the preceding narrative. There remain, however, a few observations, for which, having found no appropriate place, I would bespeak attention in a concluding chapter. In the Northern States, education, in the common acceptation of the term, may be considered as universal; in illustration of which it may be mentioned, that on the occasion of the late census, not a single American adult in the State of Connecticut, was returned as unable to read or write. Funds for education are raised by municipal taxation in each town or district, to such an amount as the male adults may decide. Their public schools are universally admitted to be well conducted and efficient, and combine every requisite for affording a sound, practical, elementary education to the children of the less affluent portion of the community. I need scarcely add that in a republican government, this important advantage being conceded, the road to wealth and distinction, or to eminence of whatever kind, is thrown open to all of every class without partiality--the colored alone excepted. The following extract from a letter received since my return from a respected member of the Society of Friends, residing in Worcester, Massachusetts, will give a lively idea of the general diffusion and practical character of education in the New England States. "The public schools of the place, like those throughout the State, are supported by a tax, levied on the people by themselves, in their primary assemblies or town meetings, and they are of so excellent a character as to have driven other schools almost entirely out from among us. They are so numerous as to accommodate amply all the children, of suitable age to attend. They are graduated from the infant school, where the A B C is taught, up to the high school for the languages and mathematics, where boys are fitted for the University, and advanced so far, if they choose, as to enter the University one or two years ahead. These schools are attended by the children of the whole population promiscuously; and, in the same class we find the children of the governor and ex-governor of the State, and those of their day-laborers, and of parents who are so poor that their children are provided with books and stationery from the school fund. Under this system, we have no children who do not acquire sufficient school learning to qualify them for transacting all the business which is necessary in the ordinary pursuits of life. A child growing up without school learning would be an anomaly with us. All standing thus on a level, as to advantages, talent is developed, wherever it happens to be; and neither wealth nor ancestral honors give any advantage in the even-handed contest which may here be waged for distinction. It is thus that we find, almost uniformly, that our first men, either in government or the professions, are the sons of comparatively poor and obscure persons. In places where the wealthier portion of the community have placed their children in select schools, they are found much less likely to excel, than when placed in contact and collision with the mass, where they are compelled to come in competition with those whose physical condition prepares them for mental labor, and whose situation in society holds forth every inducement to their exertions. To this system, which is co-eval with the foundation of the State, I attribute, in a great degree, that wonderful energy of character which distinguishes the people of New England, and which has filled the world with the evidences of their enterprise." The preceding statements refer to New England, the oldest portion of the free States. The more recently settled Northern and Western States are necessarily less advanced, yet their educational statistics would probably bear comparison with any country in the world, except the most favored portion of their own. In the slave States the aspect of things affords a striking contrast. Not only is the slave population, with but few exceptions, in a condition of heathen barbarism, a condition which it is the express object of those laws of the slave States, forbidding, under the heaviest penalties, the instruction of the slaves, to perpetuate; but the want of common elementary education among large numbers of the privileged class is notorious. Compare Virginia with Massachusetts,--"The American Almanac for the year 1841, states, (page 210) there are supposed to be hardly fewer than 30,000 adult white persons in Virginia who cannot read and write!" An able writer gives the following facts. "No one of the slave States has probably so much general education as Virginia. It is the oldest of them--has furnished one half of the Presidents of the United States--has expended more upon her University than any State in the Union has done during the same time upon its colleges--sent to Europe nearly twenty years since for her most learned professors; and in fine, has far surpassed every other slave State in her efforts to disseminate education among her citizens; and yet, the Governor of Virginia in his message to the legislature, (Jan. 7, 1839) says, that of four thousand six hundred and fourteen adult males in that State, who applied to the county clerks for marriage licences in the year 1837, one thousand and forty seven were unable to write their names." The governor adds, "these statements, it will be remembered are confined to one sex: the education of females, it is to be feared, is in a condition of _much greater neglect_."--The editor of the Virginia Times published at Wheeling, in his paper of January 23d, 1839, says,--"We have every reason to suppose that one fourth of the people of the State cannot write their names, and they have not of course any other species of education."[A] [Footnote A: "American Slavery as it is," page 187.] The destitution of the means of moral and religious improvement is in like manner very great. A recent number of the "Monthly Extracts from the correspondence of the American Bible Society," contains the following extract from the 28th annual report of the Virginia Bible Society: "The sub-sheriff of one of our Western Counties stated the following fact to your agent. A jury was to be empannelled in a remote settlement of this country--he happened to have left his home without a Bible--there was no Bible in the house where the jury was to sit, and the sheriff travelled fourteen miles calling at every house, before he found a Bible. Pious surveyors stated to your agent that they had traversed every settlement in a remote section of one or two of our south western counties, that they had frequently inquired among the settlers for a Bible, but had never seen or heard of one in a region, say sixty miles by fifty." There are few things more striking in the free States than the number and commodiousness of the places of worship. In the New England States, however general the attendance might be, none would be excluded for want of room. The other means or accompaniments of religious instruction are in the same abundance. How is it possible to evade the conclusion that Christianity flourishes most, when it is unencumbered and uncorrupted by state patronage? What favored portion of the United Kingdom could compare its religious statistics with New England? Religion and morality, viewed on the broad scale, are cause and effect--a remark which is fully borne out in the Northern States, and in no instance more remarkably exemplified than in the spread of temperance. A few years ago the consumption of ardent spirits, and other intoxicating drinks, was as general as in England, and the effects even more conspicuous and debasing. It is now very rare, in the free States, to see a drunken person, even in the most populous cities. At the large hotels, as far as my observation extended, it is the exception, not the rule, to take any spirituous or fermented beverage at or after dinner; and no case of inebriety came under my notice in any of these establishments. I have already remarked, that some of the first hotels in the principal cities are established on the strictest temperance principles. I believe, in private hospitality, intoxicating drinks are, in like manner, very much discarded. At the tables of members of the Society of Friends, it is very rare to see either wine or malt liquor introduced; while, as already noticed, the selling, using, or giving ardent spirits is so great an offence as to be made the subject of church discipline. This is, by no means, one of the "peculiarities" of "Friends," as I believe it may be generally stated that the same practices, in most other Christian communities, would be considered as quite incompatible with a profession of religion. The effects of this great reformation are not confined to the United States, although the change hitherto has been much more gradual in my native country; not so, however, in Ireland, now, by a happy reverse, a scene of light and promise, amidst surrounding gloom and depression. Of the American facts I have to record, connected with the temperance movement, the most grateful is the striking contrast that is exhibited in the Irish emigrants. By the divine blessing on Theobald Mathew's benevolent labors, they have generally forsaken their besetting sin of drunkenness in their native land, and if compelled to seek the means of subsistence in another country, they now at least do not carry with them habits that tend irresistibly to destitution and degradation. The Irish movement is likewise re-acting most beneficially on the native Irish, who have long been settled in America, and who are joining the total abstinence societies in great number, though hitherto the most intemperate part of the community. In short, whether I consider the religious, the benevolent, or the literary institutions of the Northern States--whether I contemplate the beauty of their cities, or the general aspect of their fine country, in which nature every where is seen rendering her rich and free tribute to industry and skill--or whether I regard the general comfort and prosperity of the laboring population,--my admiration is strongly excited, and, to do justice to my feelings, must be strongly expressed. Probably there is no country where the means of temporal happiness are so generally diffused, notwithstanding the constant flow of emigrants from the old world; and, I believe there is no country where the means of religious and moral improvement are so abundantly provided--where facilities of education are more within the reach of all--or where there is less of extreme poverty and destitution. As morals have an intimate connection with politics, I do not think it out of place here to record my conviction, that the great principle of popular control, which is carried out almost to its full extent in the free states, is not only beautiful in theory, but that it is found to work well in practice. It is true that disgraceful scenes of mob violence and lynch-law have occurred; but perhaps not more frequently than popular outbreaks in Great Britain; while, generally, the supremacy of law and order have been restored, without troops, or special commissions, or capital punishments. It is also true, that these occurrences are, for the most part, directly traceable, not to the celebrated declaration of the equal and inalienable right of all men to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, which is the fundamental principle of the constitution; but to the flagrant violation of that principle in the persons of the colored population, of whom those in most of the free states are actually or virtually deprived of political rights; and the rest, constituting a majority of the population in some of the Southern States, are held in abject slavery. The corruptions and disorders that obscure the bright example of the American people, and detract from the estimation in which their institutions and policy would otherwise be held, generally spring from this source. So long as slavery and distinction of color exist, America will always be pointed at with the finger of scorn, for her flagrant violation of all truth and consistency. But let us not forget that this odious institution is the disgraceful legacy of a monarchy--that it is no necessary effect of republican institutions, but the reverse. Our quarrel, therefore, is not with the declaration of rights, but that this celebrated declaration should be regarded, in the instance of one class in the community, as a mere rhetorical flourish, and should thus be deprived of its legitimate practical effect. The great feature of the political arrangements of the free States is, the absence of the aristocratic element. A pure despotism in the hands of one man has seldom been seen, except in the instances of those renowned military chiefs, whom a retributive Providence has at intervals employed as the scourge of guilty nations. An aristocracy under various forms and names, has usually been the governing power, and as the too frequent result, laws have been made and administered for the benefit of the few, and not for the many. Yet the United States of North America exhibit, however, notwithstanding their political theory to the contrary, an aristocracy of the worst kind, _an aristocracy of color_; in the free States of the many against the few, in affirming these to be a degraded race, as long as African blood runs in their veins; and in the slave States, for a no better reason, reducing them even when they are the majority; to the condition of brute beasts, to be held and sold as goods and chattels. And this leads me to observe that the writer who mistakes the general government of the confederacy, with its limited scope and powers, for the chief source of laws and administration in the separate States will unavoidably present a confused and distorted representation of existing facts. Each State constitutes within itself a distinct republic, virtually independent of the general government, so long as its legislation does not conflict with the specific articles of the constitutional compact; all the rights and powers of sovereignty, not specifically delegated to the Government in that instrument, being retained by the States. Hence nothing can present a wider contrast than the slavery-blackened code of South Carolina, and the statutes of Massachusetts, characterized by republican simplicity and equality. The preceding observations in favor of the democratic institutions of the northern States, are therefore to be understood as of local application; and I would explicitly admit that a well-ordered and a well-working government on such principles must in a great measure depend upon the amount of virtue and intelligence in the community: but while a government which is based upon the principles of impartial justice requires a virtuous people properly to administer it, it has, I believe, within itself one of the most powerful elements for the formation of such a community. On the subject of peace my inquiries elicited an almost uniformly favorable response. If we except those who would encourage the war spirit, from hopes of sharing in the plunder, or those to whom it would open up the path to distinction and emolument, there are comparatively few who do not desire the maintenance of peace. In the religious part of the community, there is a rapidly spreading conviction of the unchristian character of war, in every shape; and the President, in his late message to Congress, in stating that "the time ought to be regarded as having gone by when a resort to arms is to be esteemed as the only proper arbiter of national differences", has expressed the sentiments of the great bulk of the intelligent citizens of the United States. I believe also that the majority would be found willing to assent to any reasonable and practical measure that should preclude the probability of an appeal to arms, or of keeping up what are absurdly called "peace establishments" of standing armies and appointed fleets for the protection of national safety or honor. The late excitements on the Boundary and McLeod questions were confined to comparatively few of the population, and the report of them was magnified by distance. But a far stronger guaranty for the permanence of international peace than any treaties, will be found in the interchange of mutual benefits by commerce. For this reason he who is successful in promoting a free and unchecked commerce, is the benefactor, not of his own country alone, but of the world at large. There are few countries where in practice free trade is more fully carried out than in the United States, but in theory the true doctrine of this subject is only in part adopted by her statesmen and leading minds. They are willing to trade on equal terms, but will meet prohibition with prohibition. Here undoubtedly they mistake their real interests, but though such a policy will not advance the prosperity of America, it will inflict tremendous and lasting injury on Great Britain. Whatever the event, _we_ cannot complain. The terms offered by the United States, though not wise, on an enlarged view of her own interests, are yet _reciprocal_, and therefore fair between nation and nation. If, however, I possessed any influence with the enlightened citizens of North America, I should be in no common degree anxious to exert it against those false views of trade and commerce which distort alike the maxims and the policy of her rulers. Their manufactures flourish, not in consequence of protection, but in defiance of it. With such an extended coast, and such facilities of internal communication, prohibition is impossible. The manufactures of England are excluded, not by the revenue laws of the States, but by the corn laws of Great Britain, which forbid the British manufacturer to take in exchange the only article of value his American customer has to spare; a prohibition which, unhappily for the people of this country, our government has power to enforce. The prohibitory system is, to a great extent, impracticable in the United States; and just so far as it should be found practicable, it would prove injurious, by creating fictitious and dependent interests, which, in the course of time, would become insupportably burdensome to the commonwealth, and eventually would have to be relinquished at the cost of a fearful amount of individual distress and national suffering. Legitimate commerce is that department of the national welfare, in which it is the business of statesmanship to do nothing but remove the impediments of its own creating in past times. In all other respects, commercial legislation is a nuisance; and if under some circumstances trade is found to flourish concurrently with such interference, the fact is due either to the restrictions and regulations being practically inoperative, or more frequently, to the high profits arising from unexhausted resources, in the absence of competition, enabling commerce to advance in spite of impediments; in the same way as cultivation by slave labor, notwithstanding its expensiveness and inordinate waste, enables the first planter on a virgin soil, and with an open market for his produce, to roll in his carriage, though beggary is to be the fate of the second or third generation of his descendants. In giving the preceding representation of the religious, the moral, and the intellectual elevation of the population of the Northern States of the Union, I have indicated the source we must look to for the abolition of slavery, to which it is now time to turn our attention, for no American question can be discussed, into which this important subject does not largely enter. Light and darkness, truth and falsehood, are not more in opposition than Christianity and slavery. If the religion that is professed in the free States be not wholly a dead letter,--if the moral and intellectual light which they appear to enjoy be indeed light, and not darkness,--then the abolition of slavery is certain, and cannot be long delayed. In order to make this apparent, as well as to vindicate my own proceedings in the United States, it is incumbent on me to show, that the great contest, for the abolition of American slavery, is to be decided in the _free_ States, by the power of public opinion. I have distinctly admitted, that the confederated republics have each their independent sovereignty. Neither the free States, nor the general Government, can perhaps constitutionally abolish slavery in any one of the existing slave States. Yet there are certain objects clearly within the limits of the constitutional power of the general Government, such as the suppression of the internal slave-trade, and the abolition of slavery in the district of Columbia, for which it is undeniably lawful and constitutional for every American citizen to strive; and the attainment of which would suffice to cripple, and ultimately destroy slavery in every part of the Union. The slave-holding power is so sensible of this, that all its united strength is employed to retain that control over the general Government, which it has exercised from the date of the independence, and never more despotically than at the present time. Amidst the difficulties which beset, and the dangers which threatened the country, at the period of the formation of the constitution, the southern States dictated such a compromise as they thought fit; and, with the great principles of liberty paraded on the face of the declaration of independence, came into the Union on the express understanding that those principles should be perpetually violated in their favor. Of the details of this compromise, by far the most important, and one which has mainly contributed to consolidate the political supremacy of the south, is the investiture of the slave masters with political rights, in proportion to the amount of their slave property. Every five slaves confer three votes on their owner; though, in other points of view, a slave is a mere chattel--an article of property and merchandize,--yet, in this instance, and in _criminal proceedings against him_, his _personality_ is recognized, for the express object of adding to the weight of his chains, and increasing the power of his oppressor. The North, in voting away the rights and freedom of the laboring population of the South, surrendered its own liberty. The haughty slave-holding masters of the great confederacy have from the beginning chosen the Presidents, and the high officers of state, and have controlled the policy of the Government, from a question of peace or war, to the establishment of a tariff or a bank. In the executive department they have dictated all appointments, from a letter-carrier to an ambassador; an amusing illustration of which I find in my recent correspondence. A late member of the Massachusetts legislature, writes on the Eighth Month (August) 26, 1841: "One instance of the all-pervading _espionage_ of the slave power I may mention. The newly appointed postmaster of Philadelphia employed, among his numerous clerks and letter-carriers, Joshua Coffin, who, some three years ago, aided in restoring to liberty a free colored citizen of New York, who had been kidnapped and sold into slavery. The appointment of the postmaster not being confirmed, he wrote to his friends in Congress to inquire the reason, and was told that the delay was occasioned by the fact that he had employed Coffin as one of his letter-carriers! Coffin was immediately dismissed, and the senate in a few days confirmed the appointment! Is not this a pitiful business?" If the reader, who wishes further information, will consult William Jay's work, entitled "A View of the Action of the Federal Government in behalf of Slavery," he will find ample historical proof that the internal and external administration of the Union--legislative, executive, and diplomatic--has been employed, without any deviation from consistency, to subserve the interests of the slave-holding States. Yet these States are, in population, numerically weaker than those of the North, and inferior, to a far greater degree, in wealth, intelligence, and the other elements of political power. They are strong only in the compactness of their union, while the citizens of the free States are divided in interest and opinion. Here, then, is presented a distinct and legitimate object for those of the abolitionists who regard their political rights as a trust for the benefit of the oppressed and helpless, to combine the scattered and divided power of the North into a united phalanx, which shall wrest the administration of the Federal Union from the slave-holding interest, and shall purify the general Government from the contamination of slavery, by reversing its general policy on that subject, and by the adoption of the specific measures before mentioned; while, in the States in which they respectively reside, the abolitionists feel it to be their duty to exert themselves, to wipe away from the statute book every vestige of that barbarism which makes political, civil, or religious rights depend upon the color of the skin. Yet more important is it, however, to bring the moral force of the North to bear against slavery, by reforming the prevailing public sentiment of the religious, moral, and intelligent portion of the community. Here again, one of the most sagacious leaders of the pro-slavery party, J.C. Calhoun, has descried the danger from afar, and has publicly proclaimed it in the senate of the United States, by vehemently deprecating the anti-slavery proceedings, not as intended to provoke the slaves to a servile war, but as a crusade against the _character_ of the slave-holders. Although the different States are distinct governments, their geographical boundaries are mere lines upon the map; their inhabitants speak the same language, and enjoy a communion of citizenship all over the Union. The North Eastern States have by far the greater part of the whole commerce of the Union, and are the medium through which the planter exchanges his cotton for provisions and clothing for his slaves, implements for his agriculture, and his own family supplies. These commercial ties create a direct and extensive pro-slavery interest in the North. Again, the planter is yet more dependent on the North for education for his children, and for the gratification of his own intellectual wants, as the slave-holding region has few colleges, and those of secondary reputation; while I believe it has no periodical of higher pretension than the political newspapers. The pro-slavery re-action in this way, on the seminaries of the North, and on the literature of the United States, is most sensibly felt. Another powerful cause that contributes to leaven the entire population into one mind on the subject of slavery, is the double migration that annually takes place of people of the Southern States to the North, in summer, and of the inhabitants of the free States to the South in winter. Hence follow family alliances, the interchange of hospitalities, and a fusion of sentiments, so that the slavery interest spreads its countless ramifications through every corner of the free north. Another cause, and perhaps the most powerful of all, is the community of religious fellowship in leading denominations. The Episcopalians, the Methodists, the Baptists, and the Presbyterians of two schools, are severally but one body, all over the Union, and as a matter of course, all are tainted with slavery, and for consistency's sake, make common cause against abolition. The pamphlet of James G. Birney, entitled "The American Churches the Bulwarks of American Slavery,"[A] offers the amplest proof that the Methodist Episcopal, the Baptist, the Presbyterian, and the Anglican Episcopal Churches are committed, both in the persons of their eminent ministers, and by resolutions passed in a church capacity, to the monstrous assertion that slavery, so far from being a moral evil, which it is the duty of the church to seek to remove, is a Christian institution resting on a scriptural basis; this assertion is repeated in the numerous quotations of the pamphlet, in a variety and force of expression that show the utterers were resolved not to leave their meaning in the smallest doubt. Indeed, it might be supposed, from the perusal of this pamphlet, that the suppression of abolitionism, if not the maintenance of slavery, was one of the first duties of the Christian churches in America. [Footnote A: Published by Ward & Co., Paternoster-row, London.] The following extracts are offered in illustration:-- THE METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH.--"Resolved, That it is the sense of the Georgia Annual Conference, that slavery, as it exists in the United States, _is not a moral evil_." "The Rev. Wilbur Fisk, D.D., late President of the (Methodist) Wesleyan University in Connecticut--'The New Testament enjoins obedience upon the slave as an obligation _due_ to a present _rightful_ authority.'" "Rev. E.D. Simms, Professor in Randolph Macon College, a Methodist Institution--'Thus we see, that the slavery which exists in America, _was founded in right_.'" "The Rev. William Winans, of Mississippi, in the General Conference, in 1836--'Yes, sir, Presbyterians, Baptists, Methodists, should be slaveholders,--yes, he repeated it boldly--there should be members, and _deacons_, and ELDERS and BISHOPS, too, who were slave-holders.'" "The Rev. J.H. Thornwell, at a public meeting, held in South Carolina, supported the following resolution--'That slavery, as it exists in the South, is no evil, and is consistent with the principles of revealed religion; and that all opposition to it arises from a misguided and fiendish fanaticism, which we are bound to resist in the very threshold.'" "Rev. Mr. Crowder, of Virginia, at the Annual Conference in Baltimore, 1840--'In its _moral_ aspect, slavery was not only countenanced, permitted, and regulated by the Bible, but it was positively _instituted_ by GOD HIMSELF--he had, in so many words, ENJOINED IT.'" THE BAPTIST CHURCH--"Memorial of the Charleston Baptist Association, to the Legislature of South Carolina: "'_The right of masters to dispose of the time of their slaves has been distinctly recognized by the Creator of all things_, who is surely at liberty to vest the right of property over any object in whomsoever he pleases.'" "Rev. R. Furman, D.D., of South Carolina--'The right of holding slaves is clearly established in the Holy Scriptures, both by precept and example.'" "The late Rev. Lucius Bolles, D.D., of Massachusetts, Cor. Sec. Am. Bap. Board for Foreign Missions, (1834.)--'There is a pleasing degree of union among the multiplying thousands of Baptists throughout the land.... Our Southern brethren are generally, both ministers and people, slave-holders.'" PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH.--"Resolution of Charleston Union Presbytery--'That, in the opinion of this Presbytery, the holding of slaves, so far from being a SIN in the sight of God, is no where condemned in his holy word.'" "Rev. Thomas S. Witherspoon, of Alabama, writing to the Editor of the _Emancipator_, says--'I draw my warrant from the Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, to hold the slave in bondage. The principle of holding the heathen in bondage is recognized by God.... When the tardy process of the law is too long in redressing our grievances, we of the South have adopted the summary remedy of Judge Lynch--and really, I think it one of the most wholesome and salutary remedies for the malady of Northern fanaticism, that can be applied.'" "Rev. Robert N. Anderson, of Virginia--'Now _dear Christian brethren_, I humbly express it as my earnest wish, that you _quit yourselves like men_. If there be any stray goat of a minister among you, tainted with the bloodhound principles of abolitionism, let him be ferreted out, silenced, excommunicated, and left to the _public to dispose of him in other respects_.'" THE PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL CHURCH.--"John Jay, himself an Episcopalian--'She has not merely remained a mute and careless spectator of this great conflict of truth and justice with hypocrisy and cruelty, but her very _priests and deacons may be seen ministering at the altar of slavery_, offering their talents and influence at its unholy shrine, and openly repeating the awful blasphemy, _that the precepts of our Savior sanction the system of American slavery_.'" In page 25 is the following:-- "The Rev. James Smylie, A.M., of the Amite Presbytery, Mississippi, in a pamphlet, published by him a short time ago, _in favor_ of American slavery, says:--'If slavery be a sin, and advertising and apprehending slaves, with a view to restore them to their masters, is a direct violation of the Divine law; and if _the buying, selling, or holding a slave, for the sake of gain_, is a heinous sin and scandal; then, verily, _three-fourths of all the Episcopalians, Methodists, Baptists_, and _Presbyterians_, in _eleven States of the Union_, are of the devil. They 'hold,' if they do not buy and sell slaves, and, _with few exceptions_, they hesitate not to 'apprehend and restore' runaway slaves, when in their power.'" Yet, in the face of evidence so overwhelming as this, showing how the whole moral atmosphere of the Northern States is tainted with pro-slavery corruption, the abolitionists are frequently taunted with the question, what has the North to do with slavery? It is, however, a part of their vocation to bear contempt and reproach. They know they are at the right end of the lever, though at some apparent distance from the object to be moved. _Their mission is to correct public opinion in the free States_. Let us suppose, for a moment, this object attained--the whole slave-holding portion of the churches cut off, as a diseased and corrupt excrescence; the national literature purified, and the entire community pervaded by sound Christian feeling--a feeling which should abhor all participation, in word or deed, with the guilt of slavery; and how could the South maintain, for a single day, the perpetual warfare, which would be thus waged against her from without, and seconded by alarmed consciences in her own citadel? The rise of the present abolition movement dates from the year 1832, when a few persons met at Philadelphia, and adopted and signed a declaration of their sentiments. He, however, who would trace anti-slavery sentiments to their source, must go back to the first era of Christianity, and to the authoritative promulgation of the Divine law of love by the lips of the Savior of mankind himself. In the darkest times, since that period, the true doctrine of the unlawfulness of slavery has never been wholly lost, being in fact a part of the imperishable substance of vital Christianity. From 1832 until the division referred to in an early portion of this work, the anti-slavery societies multiplied with extraordinary rapidity. The following account of the present state of the cause is furnished by my friend, John G. Whittier. "He who, at the present time, judges of the progress of the anti-slavery cause in the United States, by statistics of the formation of new societies, or the activity and efficiency of the old, will obtain no adequate idea of the truth. The unfortunate divisions among the American abolitionists, and, the difficulty of uniting, for any continuous effort, those who differ widely as to the proper means to be used, and measures to be pursued, have, in a great measure, changed the direction and manifestation of anti-slavery feeling and action. Thus, while public opinion, in all the free States, is manifestly approximating to abolition, and new converts to its principles are daily avowing themselves, it is exceedingly rare to hear of the formation of a new anti-slavery society, and there are few accessions to those which are already in existence. Yet the fresh recipients of the truths of anti-slavery doctrine find abundant work for their hands to do, even without the pale of organized societies, in purifying the churches with which they are connected, and in counteracting the pro-slavery politics of the country. "The two great political parties in the United States, radically disagreeing in almost all other points, are of one heart and mind, in opposing emancipation; not, I suppose, from any real affinity to, or love for the 'peculiar institution,' but for the purpose of securing the votes of the slave-holders, who, more consistent than the Northern abolitionists, refuse to support any man for office, who is not willing to do homage to slavery. The competition between these two parties for Southern favor is one of the most painful and disgusting spectacles which presents itself to the view of a stranger in the United States. To every well wisher of America it must be a matter of interest and satisfaction to know, that there is a growing determination in the free States to meet the combination of slave-holders in behalf of slavery, by one of freemen in behalf of liberty; and thus compel the party politicians, on the ground of expediency, if not of principle, to break from the thraldom of the slave power, and array themselves on the side of freedom. "It is an undoubted fact, that, at the present time, the various denominations of professing Christians in the United States are more deeply agitated by this question than at any former period. The publication of such books as Weld's 'Slavery as it is,' has unveiled the monstrous features of slavery to the Christian public in the Northern States. The blasphemous attempts of Southern professors and ministers, to defend their abominable practices upon Christian grounds, have powerfully re-acted against them at the North; and church after church, especially in New England, is taking the high stand of the late General Convention in London, in withholding its fellowship from slave-holders, and closing its pulpit against their preachers. "Recent movements in the slave States themselves encourage the friends of freedom. In Kentucky, at the late election for state officers, one of the candidates, Cassius M. Clay, nephew of Henry Clay, avowed his opposition to pro-slavery principles in the strongest terms, and staked his election upon this avowal. He was warmly supported, and his opponent only succeeded by a small majority. Tennessee, in her mountain region, has many decided, uncompromising abolitionists, whose encouraging letters and statements have been published within the last year, in the Northern anti-slavery papers. The excellent work of Joseph John Gurney, on the West Indies, and Dr. Channing's late pamphlet, entitled "Emancipation," have been very widely circulated in many of the slave States; and, so far as can be ascertained, have been read with interest by the planters. The movements of English and French abolitionists have attracted general attention, and, in the Southern States, have awakened no small degree of solicitude. "That baleful American peculiarity, prejudice against color, is evidently diminishing, under the influence of anti-slavery principles and practice; and the laws which have oppressed the free colored citizen are rapidly yielding to the persevering action of the abolitionists. Dr. Channing has not over-stated the fact, that the provision in the Federal Constitution, relative to the reclaiming of fugitive slaves, has been silently but effectually repealed by the force of public opinion, and the interposition of jury trial, in many of the free States. In Massachusetts, Vermont, Maine, and New York, with the exception of its slavery-ridden commercial emporium, the recovery of a slave by legalized kidnappers is entirely out of the question. In any one of these States, it would, to use the language of a New York mechanic, be exceedingly difficult to prove, to the satisfaction of a jury of honest freemen, that a man had been born 'contrary to the Declaration of Independence.' The frontiers of slavery are every where very much exposed, and all along the line of Maryland, Delaware, Kentucky, Virginia, and Missouri, the tide of self-emancipated men and women is pouring in upon the free States. I cannot give a better idea of the extent of this peculiar emigration, than by copying extracts from the _Centreville Times_, a paper published in Maryland:-- "'_Free Negroes and Slaves_.--When it is too late, the people of Maryland will begin to look for the means of protection in their slave property. We still say slave property; although, notwithstanding slaves are recognized as property by the constitution, without which recognition this confederation never would have been formed: yet such has been the effect of fanaticism and emancipation, of the intermeddling machinations of abolitionists, and the mischievous agency of free negroes--that _the very owners of this species of property seem to begin to doubt whether slaves are property or not_; and so much has its value become impaired, in the possession of those who reside contiguous to the non-slaveholding States, that the question has been raised, whether they are, in fact, worth keeping. Either discipline must be so much relaxed, as that the labor of the slave will scarcely pay for his support; or, if forced to labor no more than is even necessary to health and contentment, they abscond, and passing over the lines into a non-slaveholding State, are there concealed and protected. The number and the success of elopements leave no doubt of the establishment of a regular chain of posts, accessary to, and of systematic plans, deliberately organized, for their seduction and concealment. In these escapes, the free negroes are, for the most part, undoubtedly instrumental, as they are to most of the robberies committed by slaves. While at Easton, two weeks since, the slaves of two gentlemen made their escape, being each, if not recovered, a loss of one thousand dollars; and the firm persuasion was, that, in both cases, the runaways were furnished with passes by a free negro barber. Even if apprehended, these gentlemen will have been put to an expense of not less than three hundred dollars, and this without the slightest pretext of ill usage or unkindness. "'The usual process is, when the owner is supposed to have despaired of his recovery, for some abolition or free negro lawyer to open a correspondence with the owner, representing the runaway to be in Canada, or otherwise beyond apprehension--coolly adding, with a highwayman's impudence, "take that or nothing;" and the owner has to put up with a total loss, or compromise for a third of the value of his property--the result in either case, proving an incentive to others to be off in like manner"' * * * * * "'There is not an interest that is not impaired, by the proximity of the free States, and the protection there afforded to slaves, and by the presence and intercommunion of the free with the slave negro. Even the value of land is diminished by it. Maryland suffers the disadvantages, without the advantages of a slave State. The disadvantage consists in the reputation, (the odium, north of the Delaware,) of being a slave State. _The capitalists of the North refuse, on that account, to invest in Maryland lands, though they could buy land in Maryland for twenty dollars an acre, which is intrinsically worth more than theirs, which they could sell for an hundred._ Our condition is, in fact, that of neither the one or the other; and, unless something can be done to counteract the progress of fanaticism on this subject, and that abuse of strength and heedless injustice which always follows irresponsible power, _slavery in Maryland must cease, either by sale, while that right remains to the slave-holder, or ere long, by forced emancipation_. "'Virginia--once proud and independent Virginia, already half captive to the North--will soon take her place as the frontier slave State;--Maryland, with her Southern principles, eaten out by Northern men, will then assume to her the relation that Pennsylvania now bears to Maryland;--nay, it is but too obvious that, as things are now working, in process of time, and that not slowly, _slavery must cease to exist in all the provision-growing States_,--its northernmost line will be the line of the sugar, the rice, and the cotton culture,--the climate alone affording to the slave-holder that shelter which justice could not offer from the rapacity of his pursuers. Will the Southern still accept the shadow without the substance of equal and confederate powers? Be his relation, then, what it may--independent, confederate, or colonial--for one, we say, let it be defined. To the misery of the slave, let him not add the meanness of the dupe. Let him remember, that time and corruption have often achieved what would have defied the power of the sword;--in a word, let the slave-holder think, while yet, if yet, he has power to act.'" I have now concluded an imperfect attempt to delineate the present state of the anti-slavery cause, on the North American continent, with incidental notices of the past history of the efforts of its friends. In regard to the future, my hopes are built on the continuance of these efforts, and on the concurrent aid afforded by the march of events, both in the United States and in the world at large, under the manifestly over-ruling power of that gracious Being, who sometimes employs human instrumentality to accomplish His purposes of mercy; but who works also Himself, by His immutable laws, and by the dispensations of His providence. THE END. APPENDIX. APPENDIX A. P. 30. ANTI-SLAVERY EPISTLE OF "FRIENDS" IN GREAT BRITAIN. "From our Yearly Meeting held in London, by adjournment from the 20th of the 5th Month to the 29th of the same inclusive, 1840. "_To the Yearly Meetings of Friends on the Continent of North America_. "DEAR FRIENDS,--We think it a favor to us, and we accept it as an evidence that our Lord is mindful of us, that from one time to another, when thus assembled for mutual edification, and the renewing of our spiritual strength, we are in any small measure brought afresh to the enjoyment of that love which flows from God to man, through Jesus Christ our Savior; and under its blessed influence quickened to exercise of mind, not only for the health and prosperity of all those professing the same faith with ourselves, but for the coming of the kingdom of God upon earth, and the universal prevalence of righteousness and truth among men. This love has often brought us in Christian compassion and tenderness of spirit, deeply to feel for that portion of the great family of man subjected to the degradation and cruelty of slavery. "We do not cease to rejoice with reverent thanksgiving to Almighty God, for the termination of this system of iniquity in the British Colonies. It was an act of justice on the part of our Legislature, and it has removed an enormous load of guilt from our beloved country; but in our rejoicing, we cannot, nor would we wish, to forget the hundreds of thousands of our brethren and sisters on the continent of America, and elsewhere, still detained in this abject condition, and liable to all the misery and oppression which it entails upon its victims. "We have a strong conviction of the guilt and sinfulness of slavery, and its pernicious effects upon both the oppressed and the oppressor. That man should claim a right of property in the person of his fellow--that man should buy and sell his brother--that civil governments in their legislative enactments, should so far forget that 'God who giveth to all, life, and breath, and all things, and hath made of one blood all nations of men, for to dwell on all the face of the earth,' as to treat those who differ from them in the color of their skin, or any other external peculiarity, as beasts that perish, as chattels and articles of merchandise,--is in such direct violation of the whole moral law, and of the righteousness of the New Testament, and that in a day in which the principles of civil and religious liberty are so fully acknowledged in many of the nations of Christendom, may well excite both indignation and sorrow. And we cannot but regard it as such proof of hardness of heart, and perverted understanding, that we think it can be attributed to nothing short of the deceivableness of Satan working upon the fallen nature of man. "It was, dear friends, in the gradual unfolding of that light in which the things that are reproved are made manifest, that your forefathers and ours, were brought to see the criminality of slavery. Thus enlightened, they could find no peace with God, until they had put away this evil of their doings from before his eyes--until by a conscientious discharge of their individual religious duty, they had restored those whom they held in bondage, to the full enjoyment of unqualified freedom. Under the influence of Divine wisdom, and by this faithfulness on the part of upright Friends, our religious society were brought to a united and settled judgment as a body, that personal slavery, both in its origin and its results, was so great an evil, that it could be tolerated by no mitigation of its hardship; and they felt the demands of equity to be so urgent upon them, that they were concerned to enjoin it upon Friends every where, by a ready compliance with such reasonable duty, to cease to do evil, by immediately releasing those they held as slaves. Their own hands being cleansed from this pollution, they felt it to be laid upon them, plainly and faithfully, to labor with their countrymen to bring them to a full understanding of the requiring of the Divine law, and to press it upon them to act up to its commandments. In the love of God, they were bold, both in your country and in ours, to plead the cause of the oppressed with those in power. We believe, and we would wish to speak of it with modesty and humility, that their faithfulness, in connection with the exertions of humane and devoted men of other Christian communities, were instrumental to bring about the abolition of the slave trade, as well as the extinction of slavery. "We are reverently impressed with a sense of the prerogatives of the Great Head of the Church, to dispose of his servants, and to employ their time, and every talent which he has intrusted them, in such a way and manner as may consist with the purposes of his wisdom and love. It is the concern of this Meeting, that all our dear friends may carefully seek each to know his Lord's will, and to ascertain his individual path of duty; at the same time we desire to encourage one another to simple obedience to that which in the true light may be made manifest to them; and each to an unflinching and uncompromising avowal of his allegiance to his Lord in all things. "We observe with satisfaction and comfort, in the epistles from your Yearly Meetings, which have been read in this Meeting, that there is a very general acknowledgment of concern on this important subject. It has often been a prominent feature in the brotherly correspondence which subsists between us. The expression of your encouragement in times past, has been helpful to us, and in the trials and difficulties you have had to endure, our hearts have been brought into fellow feeling with you. In this work of justice and love, we have long labored together. It has helped to strengthen the bond of our union; and in the fresh sense of this Christian fellowship, as it is now renewed amongst us, we offer you, beloved friends, the warm expression of our sympathy, and our strong desire for your help and encouragement. So far removed as we are from the scene of slavery, we are aware that we can but imperfectly appreciate either the sufferings of the slave, or the trials of those who live in the midst of such oppression; nor do we believe that we can fully appreciate either the labors of faithful Friends in your land, or the obstacles and discouragements which have been thrown in their way. "The brief review we have taken of the history of our Society, in reference to this deeply interesting subject, and the feeling which prevails with us, under a sense of the enormity of the evil, urges us, and we desire that it may have the same effect upon you, still to persevere; and in every way that may be pointed out to us of the Lord, that we may continue to expose the evil of this unjust interference with the natural and social rights of man. Time is short, the day is spending fast with every one of us, and we had need to use diligence in the work of our day. We know the high authority under which we are commanded to 'love our neighbor as ourselves.' It is our desire on our own account, and in this exercise of mind we believe, dear friends, that you are one with us, that in our efforts to discharge the duties laid upon us, we may watch against a hopeless and distrustful spirit in times of discouragement. And O that in his great mercy and love towards his poor afflicted and helpless children, it might please Him to hasten the coming of that day, even to this generation of the enslaved in your land, in which every yoke shall be broken and the oppressed go free. "If, in this righteous cause, we move in the leading of our Lord, we may humbly trust that he, with whom there is no respect of persons, who careth for the sparrows and feedeth the ravens, will grant to his dependent ones the help and support of his Holy Spirit, and enable them, in the face of every opposition, to do that which is made known to them as his will. "With the enlarged views entertained by Friends of the mercy and love of our heavenly Father towards his children of every nation and tongue all the world over, we desire to press it upon you still to labor for the removal of all those unjust laws and limitations of right and privilege consequent upon the unwarrantable distinction of color--a distinction which has brought so much suffering upon those settled in different parts of the Union, and which we think must conduce to the strengthening of the prejudices of former years, and to retard the work of emancipation. "It is affecting to us to think with what astonishing rapidity slavery is extending itself upon the Continent of North America, and how from year to year the slave population is increasing among you. Our spirits are oppressed with a sense of the magnitude of the evil; we tremble at the awful consequence which, in the justice and wisdom of Almighty God, may ensue to those who persist in the upholding of it. We commend the whole subject to your most serious attention, and desiring that divine wisdom may be near to help in your deliberations upon it, "We bid you, affectionately, farewell. "Signed in and on behalf of the Meeting, by "GEORGE STACEY, "_Clerk to the Meeting this year_." APPENDIX B. P. 30. EARLY EFFORTS OF "FRIENDS" IN BEHALF OF NEGRO SLAVES. The following extract from Clarkson's "Memoirs of the Public and Private Life of William Penn," will show how the society of Friends, at a very early period, became unwarily entangled with the practice of slave holding; and also that the unchristian nature of it was immediately perceived by the more spiritual minded among them. It will serve also to prove that the testimony of Friends against slavery is no novelty, but is coeval with its rise as a distinct religious body. The measures proposed by William Penn on this subject, are an honorable testimony to the comprehensive benevolence of that truly great and magnanimous legislator, yet they fell short of the exigencies of the case, and of what Christian people required; consequently what good they directly effected was local and temporary. Viewed as the germ of subsequent anti-slavery enterprises of the last century, in Europe and America, their interest and importance cannot be too highly estimated. "I must observe, that soon after the colony (Pennsylvania) had been planted, that is, in the year 1682, when William Penn was first resident in it, some few Africans had been imported, but that more had followed. At this time the traffic in slaves was not branded with infamy, as at the present day. It was considered, on the other hand, as favorable to both parties: to the American planters, because they had but few laborers, in comparison with the extent of their lands; and to the poor Africans themselves, because they were looked upon as persons redeemed out of superstition, idolatry, and heathenism. But though the purchase and sale of them had been admitted with less caution upon this principle, there were not wanting among the Quakers of Pennsylvania those who, soon after the introduction of them there, began to question the moral licitness of the traffic. Accordingly, at the Yearly Meeting for Pennsylvania, held in 1688, it had been resolved, on the suggestion of emigrants from Crisheim, who had adopted the principles of William Penn, that the buying, selling, and holding men in slavery, was inconsistent with the tenets of the Christian religion. In 1696, a similar resolution had been passed at the Yearly Meeting of the same religious society for the same province. In consequence, then, of these noble resolutions, the Quakers had begun to treat their slaves in a different manner from that of other people. They had begun to consider them as children of the same great Parent, to whom fraternal offices were due; and hence, in 1698, there were instances where they had admitted them into their meeting houses to worship in common with themselves.[A] [Footnote A: "I cannot help copying into a note an anecdote from Thomas Story's Journal for this year (1698). 'On the 13th,' says he, 'we had a pretty large meeting, where several were tendered, among whom were some negroes. And here I shall observe, that Thomas Simons having several negroes, one of them, as also several belonging to Henry White, had of late come to meetings, and having a sense of truth, several others thereway were likewise convinced, and like to do well. And the morning that we came from Thomas Simons's, my companion speaking some words of truth to his negro woman, she was tendered; and as I passed on horseback by the place where she stood weeping, I gave her my hand, and then she was much more broken: and finding the day of the Lord's tender visitation and mercy upon her, I spake encouragingly to her, and was glad to find the poor blacks so near the truth and reachable.' She stood there, looking after us and weeping, as long as we could see her. I had inquired of one of the black men how long they had come to meetings, and he said 'they had always been kept in ignorance, and disregarded as persons who were not to expect any thing from the Lord, till Jonathan Taylor, who had been there the year before, discoursing with them, had informed them that the grace of God, through Christ, was given also to them; and that they ought to believe in and be led and taught by it, and so might come to be good Friends, and saved as well as others. And on the next occasion, which was when William Ellis and Aaron Atkinson were there, they went to meetings, and several of them were convinced.' Thus one planteth and another watereth, but God giveth the increase."] "William Penn was highly gratified by the consideration of what has been done on this important subject. From the very first introduction of enslaved Africans into this province, he had been solicitous about their temporal and eternal welfare. He had always considered them as persons of the like nature with himself; as having the same desire of pleasure and the same aversion from pain; as children of the same Father, and heirs of the same promises. Knowing how naturally the human heart became corrupted and hardened by the use of power, he was fearful lest, in time, these friendless strangers should become an oppressed people. Accordingly, as his predecessor, George Fox, when he first visited the British West Indies, exhorted all those who attended his meetings for worship there, to consider their slaves as branches of their own families, for whose spiritual instruction they would one day or other be required to give an account, so William Penn had, on his first arrival in America, inculcated the same notion. It lay, therefore, now upon his mind to endeavor to bring into practice what had appeared to him to be right in principle. One of them was to try to incorporate the treatment of slaves, as a matter of Christian duty, into _the discipline of his own religious society_; and the other, to secure it among others in the colony of a different religious description, _by a legislative act_. Both of these were necessary. The former, however, he resolved to attempt first. The Society itself had already afforded him a precedent, by its resolutions in 1688 and in 1696, as before mentioned, and had thereby done something material in the progress of the work. It was only to get a minute passed upon their books to the intended effect. Accordingly, at the very first Monthly Meeting of the Society, which took place in Philadelphia in the present year, he proposed the subject. He laid before them the concern which had been so long upon his mind, relative to these unfortunate people; he pressed upon them the duty of allowing them as frequently as possible to attend their Meetings for worship, and the benefit that would accrue to both, by the instruction of them in the principles of the Christian religion. The result was, that a Meeting was appointed more particularly for the negroes, once every month; so that besides the common opportunities they had of collecting religious knowledge, by frequenting the places of worship, there was one day in the month, in which, as far as the influence of the Monthly Meeting extended, they could neither be temporally nor spiritually overlooked. At this Meeting also, he proposed means, which were acceded to, for a more frequent intercourse between Friends and the Indians; he (William Penn,) taking upon himself the charge of procuring interpreters, as well as of forwarding the means proposed."--Vol. II. pp. 218-222. APPENDIX C. P. 34. REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF THE YEARLY MEETING OF FRIENDS, HELD IN PHILADELPHIA, APPOINTED FOR THE GRADUAL CIVILIZATION, &C., OF THE INDIAN NATIVES, PRESENTED TO THE MEETING, FOURTH MONTH 21ST, 1841, AND DIRECTED TO BE PRINTED FOR THE USE OF THE MEMBERS. "TO THE YEARLY MEETING. "The Committee charged with promoting the Gradual Improvement and Civilization of the Indian Natives, report:-- "That although they have given attention to this interesting concern, there are but few subjects in their operations, since the last report, which require notice. The Indians have been in a very unsettled condition during the past year, in consequence of the embarrassment and distress produced by the ratification of the treaty, and their uncertainty as to the best course to be pursued by them in their trying and perplexing circumstances. They still cling to the hope that they shall be able to ward off the calamity which threatens them, either through the favorable disposition of the new Administration and Senate, to give their case a re-hearing, or by an Appeal to the Supreme Court of the United States. Small as the hope afforded by these sources may appear to a disinterested observer, they are buoyed up by it, and seem as unwilling as ever, to look toward relinquishing their present homes. "In a communication addressed to the committee, dated Tunesassah, Fifth Month 24th, 1840, signed by ten chiefs, they say, 'Although, the information of the ratification of the treaty is distressing to us, yet it is a satisfaction to hear from you, and to learn that you still remember us in our troubles, and are disposed to advise and assist us. The intelligence of the confirmation of the treaty caused many of our women to shed tears of sorrow. We are sensible that we stand in need of the advice of our friends. Our minds are unaltered on the subject of emigration.' Another dated Cold Spring, Twelfth Month 8th, 1840, holds this language: 'Brothers, we continue to feel relative to the treaty as we have ever felt. We cannot regard it as an act of our nation, or hold it to be binding on us. We still consider, that in justice, the land is at this time as much our own as ever it was. We have done nothing to forfeit our right to it; and have come to a conclusion to remain upon it as long as we can enjoy it in peace.' 'We trust in the Great Spirit: to Him we submit our cause.' "A letter from the Senecas, residing at Tonawanda, was addressed to the Committee, from which the following extracts are taken: "'By the help of the Great Spirit we have met in open council this 23d day of the Fifth Month, 1840, for the purpose of deliberating on the right course for us to pursue under the late act of the government of the United States relating to our lands. Brothers, we are in trouble; we have been told that the President has ratified a treaty, by which these lands are sold from our possession. We look to you and solicit your advice and your sympathy under the accumulating difficulties that now surround us. We feel more than ever, our need of the help of the great and good Spirit, to guide us aright. May his council ever preserve and direct us all in true wisdom. "'It is known to you, brothers, that at different times our people have been induced to cede, by stipulated treaties, to the government of the United States, various tracts of our territory, until it is so reduced that it barely affords us a home. We had hoped by these liberal concessions to secure the quiet and unmolested possession of this small residue, but we have abundant reason to fear that we have been mistaken. The agent and surveyor of a company of land speculators, known as the Ogden Company, have been on here to lay out our land into lots, to be sold from us to the whites. We have protested against it, and have forbidden their proceeding. "'Brothers, what we want, is that you should intercede with the United States government on our behalf. We do not want to leave our lands. We are willing that the emigrating party should sell out their rights, but we are not willing that they should sell ours. "'Brothers, we want the President of the United States to know that we are for peace; that we only ask the possession of our just rights. We have kept in good faith all our agreements with the government. In our innocence of any violation we ask its protection. In our weakness we look to it for justice and mercy. We desire to live upon our lands in peace and harmony. We love Tonawanda. It is the residue left us of the land of our forefathers. We have no wish to leave it. Here are our cultivated fields, our houses, our wives and children, and our firesides--and here we wish to lay our bones in peace. "'Brothers, in conclusion, we desire to express our sincere thanks to you for your friendly assistance in times past, and at the same time earnestly solicit your further attention and advice. Brothers, may the Great Spirit befriend you all--farewell.' "Desirous of rendering such aid as might be in our power, a correspondence has been held with some members of Congress, on the subject of the treaty, and other matters connected with it; and recently, two of our number visited Washington, and were assured by the present Secretary of War, under whose immediate charge the Indian affairs are placed, that it was his determination, and that of the other officers of the government, to give to the treaty, and the circumstances attending its procurement, a thorough examination; and to adopt such a course respecting it, as justice and humanity to the Indians would dictate. "The friends who have for several years resided at Tunesassah still continue to occupy the farm, and have charge of the saw and grist mills and other improvements. The farm, during the past year, has yielded about thirty-five tons of hay, two hundred bushels of potatoes, one hundred bushels of oats, and one hundred bushels of apples. Notwithstanding the unsettlement produced by the treaty during the past season, the Indians have raised an adequate supply of provisions to keep them comfortably during the year; and they manifest an increased desire to avoid the use of ardent spirits, and to have their children educated. In their letter of the Twelfth Month last, the chiefs say, 'We are more engaged to have our children educated than we have heretofore been. There are at this time three schools in operation on this reservation, for the instruction of our youth.' "Our friend, Joseph Batty, in a letter dated 28th of Second Month last, says, 'The Indians have held several temperance councils this winter. The chiefs--with the exception of two, who were not present--have all signed a pledge to abstain from the use of all intoxicating liquors, and appear engaged to bring about a reform among their people; but the influence of the whites among them is prejudicial to their improvement in this and other respects.' "By direction of the Committee, "THOMAS WISTAR, _Clerk_. "_Philadelphia, 4th Month 15th, 1841_." APPENDIX D. P. 44. ELISHA TYSON. The following particulars of this memorable person are chiefly taken from a work, now very scarce, entitled "The Life of Elisha Tyson, the Philanthropist, by a Citizen of Baltimore." "The eldest known ancestor of Mr. Tyson was a German Quaker, converted to the faith of Fox by the preaching of William Penn. Persecuted by the government of his native country for his religion, he gathered up his all and followed Penn to England; with whom, and at whose request, he afterwards embarked for America, and was among the first settlers of Pennsylvania. He established himself within what are now called the environs of Philadelphia, married the daughter of an English settler, and became the happy father of sons and daughters. From these, many descendants have been derived. "Elisha Tyson was one of the great grandsons in direct descent of the German Quaker, and was born on the spot which he had chosen for his residence. The religion and virtues of this ancestor were instilled into the minds of his children and children's children, to the third and fourth generation--not by transmission of blood, but by the force of a guarded and a Christian education. In the subject of this memoir, they blazed forth with superior lustre. From his infancy he was conspicuous in his neighborhood for that benevolence of heart and intrepidity of soul, which so highly distinguished him in after life." In his early manhood he removed to Baltimore, in the slave State of Maryland. Here, from his first residence, he took an active part in various benevolent and public spirited enterprises, although he had to struggle with early difficulties, having no resources for his support but honesty, industry, and perseverance. The cause of the oppressed slaves very soon engaged his attention, and his unwearied exertions in their behalf ceased not till the close of a long and energetic life. In the following quotation, describing the American slave trade, although the past tense is employed by his biographer, yet if Louisiana be substituted for Georgia, the whole representation is true of the present time. That dreadful traffic has increased many fold since the date here alluded to, at which E. Tyson's career of benevolence commenced. "Even the most creditable merchants felt no compunction in speculating in the flesh and blood of their own species. These articles of merchandize were as common as wheat and tobacco, and ranked with these as a staple of Maryland. This state of things was naturally productive of scenes of cruelty. Georgia was then the great receptacle of that portion of these unfortunate beings, who were exported beyond the limits of their native soil; and the worst name given to Tartarus itself could not be more appalling to their imaginations than the name of that sister State. And when we consider the dreadful consequences suffered by the victims of this traffic; a separation like that of death between the nearest and dearest relatives; a banishment for ever from the land of their nativity and the scenes of their youth; the painful inflictions by the hands of slave drivers, to whom cruelty was rendered delightful by its frequent exercise; with many other sufferings too numerous to mention, we cannot wonder at this horror on the part of these unfortunate beings, and that it should cause them to use all the means in their power to avoid so terrible a destiny. The slave-trader, aware of all this, and fearful lest his victims might seek safety by flight, became increasingly careful of his property. With these men, and upon such subjects, care is cruelty; and thus the apparent necessity of the case came in aid of the favorite disposition of their minds. They charged their victims with being the authors of that cruelty, which had its true origin in their own remorseless hearts. Their plea for additional rigor, being plausibly urged, was favorably received by a community darkened by prejudice. Few regarded with pity, and most with stoical indifference, this barbarous correction for crimes anticipated, and rigorous penance for offences existing only in the diabolical fancies of their tormentors. The truth is, it was the love these poor wretches bore their wives, children, and native soil, for which they were punished. They were commonly bound two and two by chains, riveted to iron collars fastened around their necks, more and more closely, as their drivers had more and more reason to suspect a desire to escape. If they were conveyed in wagons, as they sometimes were, additional chains were so fixed, as to connect the right ancle of one with the left ancle of another, so that they were fastened foot to foot, and neck to neck. If a disposition to complain, or to grieve, was manifested by any of them, the mouths of such were instantly stopped with a gag. If, notwithstanding this, the overflowings of sorrow found a passage through other channels, they were checked by the 'scourge inexorable;'--the cruel monsters thus endeavoring to lessen the appearance of pain, by increasing its reality. These were scenes of ordinary occurrence; troops of these poor slaves were continually seen fettered as before described, marching two and two, with commanders before and behind, swords by their sides, and pistols in their belts--the triumphant victors over unarmed women and children. The sufferings of their victims, were, if possible, increased, when they were compelled to stop for the night. They were crowded in cellars, and loaded with an additional number of fetters. On those routes usually taken by them to the South, stated taverns were selected as their resting places for the night. In these, dungeons under ground were specially contrived for their reception. Iron staples, with rings in them, were fixed at proper places in the walls; to these, chains were welded; and to these chains the fetters of the prisoners were locked, as the means of certain safety. It was usual every day for these slave-drivers to keep a strict record of the imagined offences of their slaves; which, if not to their satisfaction expiated by suffering during the day, remained upon the register until its close; when, in the midst of midnight dungeon horrors, goaded with a weight of fetters, in addition to those which had galled them during their weary march, these reputed sins were atoned by their blood, which was made to trickle down 'the scourge with triple thongs.'" Such was the evil with which Elisha Tyson, when "young, solitary, and friendless," undertook to grapple; the means he chiefly employed, were such as tended to purify and enlighten public opinion. "He had two principal modes of operating upon the public mind; by conversation in public and private places, and by the press. Through the means of the first, he worked upon the feelings and sentiments of the higher and more influential classes; by means of the latter, he influenced in a great degree, the mass of the community. In private conversation, his arguments were so cogent, his appeals so energetic, and his manner so sincere and disinterested, that few could avoid conviction. It is true, indeed, as it regards the press, that he did not publish very much of his own composing; but he procured the publication of a vast deal of his own dictating. By his arguments and entreaties, he aroused the zeal of many individuals, each of whom enlisted himself as a kind of voluntary amanuensis, who wrote and published his dictations. Many important essays have in this way been communicated to the public." But he undertook also, services requiring a yet sterner resolution, and more heroic perseverance, services which demanded that he himself should be in bondage neither to riches, honor, nor reputation, since his exertions endangered all his personal interests in such a community as that by which he was surrounded. "Of those held in servitude, two classes of beings felt in a peculiar manner the kindness and sympathy of Mr. Tyson--those entitled to their freedom, and illegally held in slavery--and those, who, though not illegally kept in bondage, yet were treated with inhumanity by their masters. "Where he had reason to believe that a person claimed as a slave was entitled to his freedom, he would, in the first place, in order to avoid litigation, lay before the reputed owner, the grounds of his belief. If these were disregarded, he then proceeded to employ counsel, by whom a petition for freedom was filed in the proper court, and the case prosecuted to a final determination. What excited most astonishment in these trials, was the extraordinary success which attended him. Very few were the cases in which he was defeated; and his failure even in these, was more generally owing to the want of testimony, than to the want of justice on his side. To enumerate his successes, would be as impossible, on account of their vast number, as it would be tedious on account of their similarity to each other. Whole families were often liberated by a single verdict, the fate of one relative deciding the fate of many. And often ancestors, after passing a long life in illegal slavery, sprung at last, like the chrysalis in autumn, into new existence, beneath the genial rays of the sun of liberty, which shed at the same time its benign influence upon their children, and children's children. "The titles of the individuals, thus liberated, to their freedom, were variously derived. Sometimes from deeds of manumission, long suppressed, and at last brought to light, by the searching scrutiny of Tyson--sometimes from the genealogy of the petitioner, traced by him to some Indian or white maternal ancestor--sometimes from the right to freedom, claimed by birth, but attempted to be destroyed by the rapacity of some vile kidnapper, and sometimes from the violation of those of our laws which manumitted slaves imported from foreign parts. "The labors of Mr. Tyson, were not confined to a single district--they extended over the whole of Maryland. There is not a county in it, which has not felt his influence, or a court of justice, whose records do not bear proud testimonials of his triumphs over tyranny. Throwing out of calculation the many liberations indirectly resulting from his efforts, we speak more than barely within bounds, when we say, that he has been the means, under Providence, of rescuing at least two thousand human beings from the galling yoke of a slavery, which, but for him, would have been perpetual. "And here let me join my readers in expressions of wonder and astonishment at this extraordinary display of human benevolence, in the person of a single individual--unsupported by power, wealth, or title, beneath the frowns of society, and against a torrent of prejudice." In the year 1789 an "Abolition Society," (see antecedent pages 23 and 24,) was formed in Baltimore, of which Elisha Tyson was a member until its dissolution, seven years afterwards. "From that time, Mr. Tyson supported alone the cause of emancipation in Maryland. Alone, I mean, as the sole director and prime mover of the machinery by which that cause was maintained. Assisted, he was, no doubt, from time to time; but that assistance was procured through his influence, or rendered effectual under his inspection and advice.[A] [Footnote A: "One of the most active assistants was his brother Jesse, much younger than Elisha. He followed him to this State a few years after the arrival of the latter, was an active member of the Abolition Society, and continued, to the day of his death, to co-operate with Elisha."] "The slave traffic gave rise to an evil still greater--I mean the crime of _kidnapping_. If the horrors arising from the first were so great as I have described them, how shall I depict those of the other! Slaves only were the victims of the slave trade. In passing from hand to hand, they merely exchanged one condition of slavery for another. And though on such occasions they fell from a less degree of misery into a greater, they could not number among their privations any thing so bitter as the loss of liberty. It was this that made the difference between them and the victims of the kidnapper; not that they laid their hands exclusively upon the freeman, for sometimes their rapacity seized upon a slave. But this was very seldom, for the vigilance of slave owners was always alive to detect, and their vengeance to punish such daring felony. In almost all cases of man stealing, the stolen beings were of those who had tasted the sweets of liberty. To the kidnapper, who made these his prey, there were great facilities for escaping with impunity; not only because, in the depth and darkness of a dungeon, his limbs loaded with fetters, and utterance choked with a gag, his suffering could not be made visible or audible, but also because the deadness of sensibility on this subject, which still pervaded the public, though in a less degree than formerly, seemed to have unnerved every eye and palsied every ear. Sights of misery passed darkly before the one and sounds of wo fell lifeless on the other. "On one occasion Mr. Tyson received intelligence that three colored persons, supposed to have been kidnapped, had been seen under suspicious circumstances, late in the evening, with a notorious slave-trader, in a carriage, which was then moving rapidly towards a quarter of the precincts of Baltimore in which there was a den of man-hunters. It was late in the day when he received the information, which was immediately communicated to the proper authorities. As the testimony offered to these was not, in their opinion, sufficiently strong to induce them to act instantaneously, Mr. Tyson was obliged to seek for aid in other quarters. He accordingly requested certain individuals, who had sometimes lent him their assistance, to accompany him to the scene of suspicion, in order to obtain, if possible, additional proof. One after another made excuse, (some telling him that the evidence was too weak to justify any effort, and others saying that it would be better to postpone the business for the next morning,) until Mr. Tyson saw himself without the hope of foreign assistance. But he did not yield or despair--one hope yet remained, and that rested on himself. Alone he determined to search out the den of thieves, to see and judge for himself. If there was no foundation for his suspicions, to dismiss them; if they were true, to call in the aid of the civil power, for the punishment of guilt and the rescue of innocence. "So much time had been spent in receiving the excuses of his friends, that it was late at night when he set out, on foot and without a single weapon of defence. In the midst of silence and darkness, he marched along until he arrived at the place of destination. It was situated in the very skirts of the city--a public tavern in appearance, but almost exclusively appropriated to a band of slave-traders. Here they conveyed their prey, whether stolen or purchased; here they held their midnight orgies, and revelled in the midst of misery. The keeper of this place was himself one of the party, and therefore not very scrupulous about the sort of victims his companions chose to place beneath his care. Mr. Tyson ascended the door-sill, and, for a moment, listened, if perchance he might hear the sounds of wo. Suddenly a loud laugh broke upon his ears, which was soon lost in a chorus of laughter. Indignant at the sound, he reached forth his hand and rapped with his whole might. No answer was received. He rapped again--all was silence. He then applied himself to the fastening of the door, and finding it unlocked, opened it and entered. Suddenly four men made their appearance. They had been carousing around a table which stood in the centre of a room, and when a little alarmed by the rapping at the door, they had gone in different directions to seize their weapons. Mr. Tyson immediately recognised in the countenance of one of these, who appeared to be their leader, the slave-trader whose conduct had given rise to the suspicions that had brought him thither. Nor was it many moments before the person and character of Mr. Tyson became known. "'I understand,' said he, 'that there are persons confined in this place entitled to their freedom?' "'You have been wrongly informed,' said the leader of the quartette; 'and, besides, what business is it of yours?' "'Whether I am wrongly informed,' said Mr. Tyson, calmly, 'can be soon made to appear; and I hold it my business, as it is the business of every good man in the community, to see that all doubts of this kind are settled!' "'You shall advance no further,' rejoined the leader, swearing a tremendous oath, and putting himself in a menacing attitude. "With the rapidity of lightning, and with a strength that seemed to have been lent him for the occasion, Mr. Tyson broke through the arms of his opponent. As he had been repeatedly at this house on similar errands, he knew the course he should steer, and made directly for the door of the dungeon. There he met another of the band, with a candle in one hand, and in the other, a pistol, which, having cocked, he presented full against the breast of Mr. Tyson, swearing that he would shoot him if he advanced a step further. "'Shoot if thee dare,' said Mr. Tyson, in a voice of thunder, 'but thee dare not, coward as thou art, for well does thee know, that the gallows would be thy portion.' "Whether it was the voice and countenance of Mr. Tyson, or the terror of the word gallows, that affected the miscreant, his arm suddenly fell, and he stood as if struck dumb with amazement. Mr. Tyson taking advantage of the moment, in the twinkling of an eye, snatched the candle from the hand of the kidnapper, entered the dungeon door, which was providentially unlocked, and descended into the vault below. "There he beheld a dismal sight; six poor creatures chained to each other by links connected with the prison wall! The prisoners shrunk within themselves at the sight of a man, and one of them uttered a shriek of terror, mistaking the character of their visitor. He told them that he was their friend; and his name was Elisha Tyson. That name was enough for them, for their whole race had been long taught to utter it. He inquired, 'if any of them were entitled to their freedom?' 'Yes,' said one, 'these two boys say that they and their, mother here are free, but she can't speak to you, for she is gagged.' Mr. Tyson approached this woman, and found that she was really deprived of her utterance. He instantly cut away the band that held in the gag, and thus gave speech to the dumb. She told her tale; 'she was manumitted by a gentleman on the eastern shore of Maryland; her sons were born after her emancipation, and of course free. She referred to persons and papers. She had come over the Chesapeake in a packet, for the purpose of getting employment; and was, with her children, decoyed away immediately on her arrival, by a person who brought her to that house. Mr. Tyson told her to be of good comfort, for he would immediately provide the means of her rescue. He then left the dungeon and ascended the stair way, when he reached the scene of his preceding contest; he, looked around, but saw no one save the keeper of the tavern. Fearing that the others had escaped, or were about to escape, he hastened out of the house, and proceeded with rapid strides in pursuit of a constable. He soon found one and entreated his assistance. But the officer refused, unless Mr. Tyson would give him a bond of indemnity against all loss which he might suffer by his interference. Mr. Tyson complied without hesitation. The officer, after summoning assistance, proceeded with Mr. Tyson to the scene of cruelty. There meeting with the tavern keeper, they compelled him to unlock the fetters of the three individuals claiming their freedom. They then searched the house for the supposed kidnappers, and found two of them; in, bed, whom, together with the women, and children, they conveyed that night to the jail of Baltimore county, to await the decision of a court of justice. The final consequence was, the mother and children were adjudged free. One of the two slave-traders, taken as afore-mentioned in custody, was found guilty of having kidnapped them, and was sentenced to the Maryland penitentiary, for a term of years. "On another occasion, Mr. Tyson having received satisfactory evidence that a colored person, on board a vessel about to sail for New Orleans, in Louisiana, was entitled to his freedom, hastened to his assistance. On reaching the wharf, where the vessel had lain, he learned that she had cleared out the day before, and was then lying at anchor, a mile down the river. He immediately procured two officers of the peace, with whom he proceeded in a batteau, with a full determination to board the suspected ship. "When he arrived alongside, he hailed the captain and asked him 'whether such a person, (naming him,) having on board negroes destined for the New Orleans market, was not among the number of passengers.' Before the captain had time to reply, the passenger alluded to, who had overheard the question, stepped to the side of the vessel, and recognising Mr. Tyson, asked what business _he_ had with him. 'I understand,' said Mr. Tyson, 'that a colored person,' describing him, 'now in thy possession, is entitled to his freedom.' 'He is my slave,' said the trader; 'I have purchased him by a fair title, and no man shall interfere between him and me.' "'If these documents speak the truth,' said Mr. Tyson, holding certain papers in his hand, 'however fairly you have purchased him he is not your slave.' He then proceeded to read the documents. At the same time a light breeze springing up, the captain ordered all hands to hoist sail and be off. Mr. Tyson seeing that there was not a minute to be lost, requested the constables to go on board with him for the purpose of rescuing the free man who had been deprived of his rights. The trader immediately drew a dagger from his belt, (for this sort of men went always armed,) and swore that 'the first man that dared set his foot upon the deck of that ship was a dead man.' 'Then I will be that man,' said Mr. Tyson, with a firm voice and intrepid countenance, and sprang upon the deck. The trader stepped back aghast. The officers followed, and descended the hold of the ship. There they soon saw the object of their search. Without any resistance being made on the part of a single person on board, they led their rescued prisoner along and safely lodged him in the boat below. Then Mr. Tyson, addressing the trader, said, 'If you have any lawful claim to this man, come along and try your title; if you cannot come, name your agent, and I will see that justice is done to all parties.' The trader, who seemed dumb with confusion, made no answer; and Mr. Tyson requested his boatmen to row off. Ere they had proceeded half their distance from the ship, her sails were spread and she began to ride down the stream. Had Mr. Tyson's visit been delayed half an hour longer, his benevolent exertions would have been in vain. "No one appearing to dispute the right of the colored man to freedom, his freedom papers were given him and he was set at liberty. "The whole life of Mr. Tyson was diversified by acts such as we have just described. Those I have given to the reader may be considered as specimens merely, a few examples out of a vast many, which, if they were all repeated, would satiate by their number and tire by their uniformity. "The joy manifested by the poor creatures whom he thus rescued from misery, on their deliverance, may be imagined, but cannot well be described. Sometimes it broke forth in loud and wild demonstrations; sometimes it was deep and inexpressible, or expressed only by mingled tears of gratitude and ecstacy, rolling silently but profusely down their wo-worn cheeks. "Mr. Tyson, it is remarkable, would always turn his eyes from these manifestations. He would listen to no declarations of thanks. When these were strongly pressed upon him, he would usually exclaim, 'Well, that will do now; that is enough for this time.' And once when one of these creatures, fearful that Mr. Tyson would not consider him sufficiently grateful, cried out, 'Indeed, master, I am very thankful, I would die to serve you,' Mr. Tyson exclaimed, 'Why, man, I have only done my duty; I don't want thy thanks;' and turned abruptly away. "Equalled only by the delight of the rescued victims, was the chagrin and vexation of the slave-traders, when they saw their prey torn from their grasp. They cursed the law; they cursed its ministers; but above all, they invoked imprecations upon the head of Tyson. "They swore that they would murder him, that they would fire his dwelling over his head, that they would do a thousand things, all full of vengeance. None of these threats were ever put into execution; for though a plot was once laid to take away his life, fear dispersed the actors long before the day of performance. Thus does it always happen that the wickedest of men are also the meanest, and therefore the most dastardly. And thus did the cowardice of Mr. Tyson's enemies shield him from the effects of their enmity. Nor did he profit less by that individual fear of him which these slave-traders were made to feel. They feared him because they deprecated his hostility. In order, if possible, to lessen this hostility, they frequently became informers on others engaged in the same traffic. This they were further inclined to do, in consequence of the jealousy that subsisted between them--a jealousy very natural to competitors in the same line of business. It was always a time of exultation with them when one of their number found his way into the penitentiary. "It sometimes happened that Mr. Tyson extracted from the mouths of these monsters, evidence which afterwards went to criminate those who had uttered it. It was usual with him when he could not obtain testimony against a suspected person, to send for such person and interrogate him. No one refused his summons--fear forbade the refusal; and after they had come, the very fear which brought them there sacrificed them to injured humanity. Sometimes those who came voluntarily for the purpose of criminating others, involved themselves in toils of their own weaving; where they were no sooner seen, by the penetrating eye of Tyson, than he reached forth his hands and secured his astonished prisoner, before he had a suspicion of his danger. "Mr. Tyson's knowledge of the sort of people with whom he had principally to deal was perfect. His quickness of perception and self-command were also remarkable. These qualifications gave him an extraordinary power in the examinations just alluded to. "One evening the servant announced a stranger at the door, who wished to see Mr. Tyson privately. Mr. Tyson requested that he might be asked into the room where we were then sitting, and if further privacy were necessary he should have it. "When the door opened and the stranger appeared, he was no other than the slave-trader we have just alluded to. "'Your humble servant,' said the man, casting off his hat and bowing profoundly; 'I hope you are well, sir; I have a few words for your private ear.' "'Every one present may be safely trusted,' said Mr. Tyson; 'but sit down.' "The man seated himself. 'Well,' said Mr. Tyson, 'what is there new in thy way of business; I suppose it continues as usual to be a good business?' "'Ah! sir,' said the man, 'I believe it to be a bad business in more ways than one. I am resolved to quit it.' "'Not while thee can get two hundred dollars profit per man,' said Mr. Tyson. "'Notwithstanding that,' said the trader, 'it's a bad business; it's a hard business; I must quit it, and that very soon.' "'Hast thou heard of the old saying,' said Mr. Tyson, 'Hell is paved with good intentions? I fear,' said he, 'when thee goes there thee will find thine among the number.' "'I know,' said the trader, 'you think me very bad; but when you hear what I have to communicate, perhaps your opinion will alter a little.' "'I wish it may; but,' said Mr. Tyson, 'thy progress down hill has been so rapid, and thou hast got so far, that thee will find it rather hard to turn about and ascend.' "These doubtings, attended with a shrewd, suspicious, yet satirical look, had the effect intended; for the man became doubly anxious to do what he had come to do, and what he thought would be esteemed a great favor by Mr. Tyson. Accordingly, after a word or two of preface, he stated that he 'had reason to believe that ----', naming a certain trader, 'had kidnapped two free blacks.' "'Thee is certainly mistaken,' said Mr. Tyson, affecting great surprise; 'it is hardly possible that so worthy a man could have been guilty of so great a crime.' "This apparent doubt on the part of Mr. Tyson, made the man more anxious to bring out all his testimony. "'But who told thee this piece of news?' said Mr. Tyson. There was a breach at once into the man's order and arrangement and he hesitated for a reply. 'Mr. ----, Mr. ----, Mr. ----, what do ye call him, spoke to me about it.' 'Who?' said Mr. Tyson. 'Mr. ----,' said the man; mentioning the name of a veteran dealer in human flesh. "'Is he engaged in the traffic now?' asked Mr. Tyson. "'Yes, sir; very deep in it.' "'By himself, or in partnership?' asked Mr. Tyson carelessly. "'Why, I believe he is in partnership with some body.' "'Is he not in partnership,' said Mr. Tyson, 'with ----?' naming the person whom the man was anxious to inculpate. "'I believe he was, but I don't know that he is now.' "'Thee don't know of their having dissolved?' asked Mr. Tyson at the same time, as if thoughtlessly lighting his pipe. "'No, I do not. But as I was going to say,' said the trader-- "'Ah, true,' said Mr. Tyson, 'we must not forget. Thee was talking about a case of kidnapping; well?' "'Last night,' said the trader, 'a hack drove up to the tavern where I lodge. The hackman inquired the way to ----'s tavern, which is the place of rendezvous for ---- and his gang;' naming the person whose guilt _seemed_ to be the principal object of inquiry. 'I looked into the carriage, and saw two boys.' "'Did thee speak to them?' "'No, they were gagged, and that made me think they were kidnapped.' "'Was any body with them?' "'Nobody but the driver, and he was black.' "'Did thee direct him as he requested?' asked Mr. Tyson. "'Yes.' "'And they arrived accordingly?' "'Yes.' "'Did thee follow them?' "'No sir, not immediately--but I went this morning, and inquired whether a hack with two boys and a black driver, had not arrived late last night, and they said there had.' "'What o'clock last night was it when thee saw the carriage?' "'About ten, sir.' "'Was the hack close, or were the curtains down?' "'The curtains were down, and that increased my suspicion.' "Mr. Tyson had now heard enough to convince him that if there was any kidnapping in this case, the trader who stood before him had a much nearer connection with it than that of a mere spectator. "He had said in the first place that he obtained his knowledge from a trader who had been partner with the party implicated. He then stated that he derived it from seeing the kidnapped persons in a hack. And though it was ten o'clock at night, (at a time, too, as Mr. Tyson knew, when there was no moon,) yet he could not only see that these two persons were in the hack, but that they were gagged. He could not have done this by the light of a candle or the moon, because 'the hack was tight, and the curtains were down.' "Fearing lest the suspicions of the trader might be excited as to the sentiments of Mr. Tyson towards him, an end was put to the part of the dialogue which related to the kidnapping, by saying, 'Well, I am much obliged to thee for thy information; we'll see this ----, and settle the matter with him;' and then turned the tide of conversation into a different direction. "The same day Mr. Tyson sent for the person who was first mentioned as the person communicating the knowledge of the transaction, and asked him as to the fact of such communication. It was positively denied. He had 'not seen the informer for six weeks, except the last evening, when he brought a hack load of negroes to the tavern where he and his partner were lodgers.' "'Were two boys among the number?' "'Yes.' "'Were they gagged?' "'Yes.' "The moment this man left his house, Mr. Tyson went in search of bailiffs and civil process. With these he proceeded to the place where the two boys were confined, and had them and all three of the traders taken into custody. "It turned out afterwards, in the further prosecution of this investigation, (by what testimony we do not distinctly recollect,) that the informer who first came to Mr. Tyson had himself kidnapped the two boys. He sold them to the person upon whom he had endeavored, in the manner we have detailed, to affix the whole crime; who, refusing afterward to pay their price, and yet determined to retain them, exasperated the seller to such a degree that he resolved to sacrifice him; in attempting which he sacrificed himself, for he was afterward convicted and sentenced to the penitentiary. "During the progress of any investigation originated by Mr. Tyson in behalf of individual freedom, his anxiety about the final issue, though concealed from the world, burned with intensity. His days were restless, his nights were sleepless, and himself, except when in company, which he avoided at those times, lost in the abstractions of hope or of despondency. "When he succeeded, his joy was strong, but invisible or inaudible, save to the Father of all mercies. To him he never failed 'to pour out his soul' in pious thanksgivings for that he made him a humble instrument in the restoration of a fellow being to light and liberty. "When he failed, which was seldom, after he had seriously undertaken a case, his sorrow was equally great, and as inscrutable to human observation, excepting that of the unfortunate objects of his care, who saw him mingling tears of sympathy with theirs of suffering. "Though Mr. Tyson seldom failed in those cases which he had commenced in legal form, yet very many persons were turned hopelessly away whose cases were too groundless for adjudication; and often those who knew they had no cause for hope,--condemned to be torn from their connections and sold, as if to death, never to be heard of more,--would call merely to obtain his sympathies, as if the universe had no other friend for them. "A man who lived with his master, in Anne Arundel county, came late one evening to Mr. Tyson, and begged that he would listen to his case. His master had promised him his freedom, provided he would raise and pay him the sum of five hundred dollars in six years; and he had earned half of the money, which he had given his master. The six years were not expired, yet he was about to be sold to Georgia. Mr. Tyson asked if 'there was any receipt for the money.' 'No.' 'Was there any witness who could prove its payment?' 'Nobody but his master's wife.' 'Then,' said Mr. Tyson, 'the law is against thee, and thou must submit. I can do nothing for thee.' Never, said Mr. Tyson, when relating this story, shall I forget the desperate resolution which showed itself in the countenance and manner of this man when he said, with clenched fist, his eyes raised to Heaven, his whole frame bursting with the purpose of his soul, while a smile of triumph played around his lips, 'I will die before the Georgia man shall have me.' And then suddenly melting into a flood of tears, he said, 'I cannot live away from my wife and children.' After this poor fellow had left me, said Mr. Tyson, I said to a person present, 'That is no common man; he will do what he has resolved.' "A short time afterwards, the remains of a colored person who had been drowned in the basin at Baltimore were discovered. The fact coming to the knowledge of Mr. Tyson, he went to see the body, and recognized in its features and from its dress, the remains of the unfortunate man who, a short time before, had breathed the dreadful resolution in his presence." Such are a few of the memorials which this friend of the human race has left behind him. He was not less persevering, and scarcely less successful in his endeavors to obtain the mitigation of the slave laws in Maryland. Some of the most repulsive of these were repealed or altered, particularly those restricting manumissions. Thus the condition and the prospects of the whole body of slaves was improved, in addition to _more than two thousand_ delivered by his immediate instrumentality from illegal bondage. Hundreds of free and happy families have cause at this day to bless the memory of "Father Tyson." He also deeply interested himself on behalf of the Indian tribes; and once in company with another individual, as a deputation from the Society of Friends in Baltimore, undertook a dangerous journey to visit several tribes 1000 miles distant, to the north-west of the Ohio. The main object of the mission was to induce the Indians to refrain from the use of ardent spirits--of whose destructive effects the chiefs were themselves fully sensible. The following affecting address was made to an assembly of "Friends" in Baltimore, by Little Turtle, a chief famous for courage, sagacity and eloquence: "Brothers and Friends:--When our forefathers first met on this great Island, your red brethren were very numerous! But since the introduction among us of what you call spirituous liquors, and what we think may justly be called poison, our numbers are greatly diminished. It has destroyed a great part of your red brethren. "My Brothers and Friends:--We plainly perceive, that you see the very evil which destroyed your red brethren; it is not an evil of our own making; we have not placed it among ourselves; it is an evil placed among us by the white people; we look to them to remove it out of our country. We tell them, 'Brethren, bring us useful things; bring goods that will clothe us, our women and our children; and not this evil liquor, that destroys our reason, that destroys our health, and destroys our lives.' But all we can say on this subject is of no service, nor gives relief to your red brethren. "My Brother and Friends:--I rejoice to find that you agree in opinion with us, and express an anxiety to be, if possible, of service to us, in removing this great evil out of our country; an evil which has had so much room in it; and has destroyed so many of our lives, that it causes our young men to say, 'we had better be at war with the white people.' This liquor, which they introduce into our country, is more to be feared than the gun and the tomahawk. There are more of us dead, since the treaty of Greenville, than we lost by the six years war before. It is all owing to the introduction of this liquor amongst us. "Brothers:--When our young men have been out hunting, and are returning home, loaded with skins and furs, on their way if it happens that they come along where some of this whiskey is deposited, the white man who sells it, tells them to take a little drink; some of them will say 'no, I do not want it;' they go on till they come to another house, where they find more of the same kind of drink; it is there offered again; they refuse; and again the third time. But finally, the fourth or fifth time, one accepts of it and takes a drink; and getting one, he wants another; and then a third, and a fourth, till his senses have left him. After his reason comes back to him again, when he gets up and finds where he is, he asks for his peltry. The answer is, 'You have drank them,' 'Where is my gun?' 'It is gone?' 'Where is my blanket?' 'It is gone.' 'Where is my shirt?' 'You have sold it for whiskey!!' Now, Brothers, figure to yourselves, the condition of this man. He has a family at home; a wife and children, who stand in need of the profits of his hunting. What must be their wants, when he himself is even without a shirt?" The journey of Elisha Tyson and his companion, James Gillingham, occurred a few years subsequent to the interview at which the preceding speech was made. They met a council of the Indians at Fort Wayne, whom Elisha Tyson addressed to the following effect: "He painted in glowing colors the dreadful effects of intemperance--both upon civilized and savage life--told them that they must resolve to abstain entirely from it. If they admitted it at all among them, it would soon conquer them, and reduce them to a condition worse than that of the brute creation. That not until they abandoned altogether the use of ardent spirits would they be fit subjects for civilization. If they were ready to do this he would then unfold to them the blessings of civilization--the superiority of such a condition over the one in which they then subsisted. He traced their history from the earliest period to the present time--shewed them how, as the white population had expanded itself, they had retreated into the western wilderness--that if they did not remain, but continued to retreat, in a few years they would have no territory upon this continent. In order, therefore, to their permanent establishment, he recommended to them the practice of agriculture, as a substitute for hunting. He advised them to mark out their lands, and ask advice of the agents established by the Society of Friends among them, with respect to their cultivation. They stood ready, not only with their advice, but with their assistance; they were furnished for their use with all the necessary implements of husbandry, with beasts of the plough also, and beasts of burden. "They had come a great distance, endured much privation and fatigue in order to see them, and must endure a great deal more before they could again behold their wives and their children. But they could bear it all with patience, nay with joy, if they could only have the satisfaction of seeing them adopt the disinterested advice which he had thus given them." The following is one of the speeches made in reply, by White Loon, an influential chief: "Brothers:--Ever since your great father Onas, (William Penn,) came upon this great island, the Quakers have been the friends of red men. They have proved themselves worthy of being the descendants of their great father. And now, when all the whites have forgotten that they owe any thing to us, the Quakers of Baltimore, though so far distant from us, have remembered the distressed condition of their red brethren, and interceded with the Great Spirit in our behalf. "Brothers:--You have travelled very far to see us--you have climbed over mountains--you have swam over deep and rapid torrents--you have endured cold, and hunger, and fatigue, in order that you might have an opportunity of seeing your red brethren. For this, so long as life exists within us, we shall be very grateful. "Brothers:--That wide region of country over which you have passed, was once filled with red men. Then was there a plenty of deer and buffalo, and all kinds of game. But the white people came from beyond the great water; they landed in multitudes on our shores; they cut down our forests; they drove our warriors before them, and frightened the wild herds, so that they sought security in the deep shades of the west. "Brothers:--These white men were not your grandfathers; for, as I said before, the sons of Onas were always the friends of red men. "Brothers:--The whites are still advancing upon us. They have reached our territory, and have built their wigwams within our very hunting grounds. Our game is vanishing away. "Brothers:--Formerly our hunters pursued the wild deer, and the buffalo, and the bear; and when they killed them they ate their flesh for food, and used their skins as covering for themselves, their old men, their women, and their children. But now, they kill them that they may have plenty of skins and furs to sell to the white men. The consequence of this is, the game is destroyed wantonly, and faster than our necessities require. "Brothers:--We would not mind all this, provided these skins and furs were exchanged for useful articles--for implements of husbandry, or clothes for our old men, our women, and our children. But they are too often bartered away for whiskey, that vile poison, which has sunk even Wapakee into the dust. "Brothers:--We shall soon be under the necessity either of leaving our hunting grounds or of converting them into pastures and fields of corn. Under the kind assistance of our brothers, the Quakers, we have already proceeded a great way. You have witnessed, as you have passed among us, the good effects of the kindness of our brothers. We are disposed to go on as we have begun, until our habits and manners, as well as the face of our country, shall be changed and look like those of the white people. "Brothers:--Accept from us this belt of wampum and pipe of peace. And may the Great Sasteretsy, who conducted you here in safety, still go with you and restore you in peace and happiness to the arms of your women and children." After this, with ceremonies such as those already described, but, if possible, accompanied with more solemnity, the chiefs dissolved the council. It is a melancholy reflection, that soon such memorials as these will be the only remains of that noble but unfortunate race who once peopled the continent of North America. _War_ has slain its thousands, but _alcohol_ its tens of thousands; and the fortitude which could bear without shrinking the most cruel inflictions of torture, has proved powerless to resist the seductions of strong drink. It is to be feared a heavy retribution awaits the white man, the pitiless author of their extermination. The biographer of E. Tyson has taken great pains to represent him as a friend to the Colonization Society, but in this respect I am informed, by one who well knew him, he has done him great injustice. It is confessed, indeed, that for a long period E. Tyson viewed this scheme with great jealousy. "When we saw," remarks this writer, "domestic tyrants, and men who had actually, in the southern slave-trade, speculated in the flesh and blood of their fellow creatures, united with their betters in a society, the professed object of which was the peopling of a continent with freemen by the depopulation of a continent of slaves, he argued, as he had a right to argue, mischief to the cause." No evidence is adduced to show that this same distrust of the Colonization Society was ever removed, beyond the fact that, having been the means of liberating eleven native Africans from a slave-ship, he cooperated with Gen. Harper, an influential colonizationist, in restoring them to their native country, which bordered upon the colony of Liberia. This was the last public act of his life. "The great concern in which he had spent his life was the constant topic of his conversation; and he continued with his latest breath to enforce the claims of the unhappy sons of slavery upon the humanity of their brethren. It was natural that he should feel a strong anxiety about the fate of those who, through his exertions, had been restored to their friends in Africa. He was on the alert to hear intelligence of their fate--his spirit seemed to follow them across the mighty waters. On one occasion he was heard to say, 'If I could only hear of their safe arrival I should die content;' and on another, that he 'had prayed to the Father of Mercies that he would be pleased to spare his life until he could receive the pleasing intelligence.' His prayer was heard. The news reached his ears amid the last lingerings of life. He shed tears of joy on the occasion; and when he had sufficiently yielded to the first burst of feeling, exclaimed, like one satiated with earthly happiness, 'Now I am ready to die; my work is done.' His expressions were prophetic; for in the short space of forty-eight hours, on the 16th of February, 1824, at the age of 75 years, he breathed his soul into the hands of God Almighty." The following are some notices of his personal appearance and mental characteristics: "The person of Mr. Tyson was about six feet in height, though the habit of leaning forward as he walked, gave a less appearance to his stature. The rest of his frame was suited to his height. "The features of his countenance were strong. His forehead was high; his nose large, and of the Roman order; his eyes were dark and piercing; his lips so singularly expressive, that even in their stillest mood they would almost seem to be uttering the purposes of his mind. Indeed his whole face was indicative, to a striking degree, of the passions and feelings of his soul. "The mind of Mr. Tyson was strong, rather than brilliant. With scarcely any imagination, he possessed a judgment almost infallible in its decisions; great powers of reason, which were more conspicuous for the certainty of its conclusions than remarkable for displaying the train of inferences by which it arrived at them. He possessed wonderful acuteness of understanding, quickness of perception, and readiness of reply. "For these qualities he was indebted more to nature than to art. He was not educated for the exalted station of a philanthropist, but for the business of the world; and yet he seemed fitted exactly for the part he acted. He possessed not the refinements of education; he had not learned to soar into the regions of fancy, his destiny was upon the earth; and he knew no flight but that which bears the soul to heaven." APPENDIX E. P. 68. THE "AMISTAD CAPTIVES." The following statements are drawn from a "History of the Amistad Captives, &c., by John W. Barber, member of the Connecticut Historical Society;" from the authentic reports of the proceedings in the courts of law, and from a letter of my friend, Lewis Tappan, to the public papers. "During the month of August, 1839, the public attention was somewhat excited by several reports stating that a vessel of suspicious and piratical character had been seen near the coast of the United States, in the vicinity of New York. This vessel was represented as a 'long, low, black schooner,' and manned by blacks. The United States steamer Fulton and several revenue cutters were despatched after her, and notice was given to the collectors at various sea ports." This suspicious looking schooner proved to be the "Amistad," which was eventually captured off Culloden Point, by Lieut. Gedney, of the U.S. brig "Washington." At this time, however, the Africans, who were in possession of the vessel, were in communication with the shore, and peaceably trafficking with the inhabitants for a supply of water for their intended voyage to their own country. They had spontaneously submitted to the command of one of their number, Cinque, a man of extraordinary natural capacity. When they were taken, he was separated from his companions and conveyed on board the brig. "Cinque having been put on board of the 'Washington,' displayed much uneasiness, and seemed so very anxious to get on board the schooner that his keepers allowed him to return. Once more on the deck of the 'Amistad,' the blacks clustered around him, laughing, screaming, and making other extravagant demonstrations of joy. When the noise had subsided, he made an address, which raised their excitement to such a pitch, that the officer in command had Cinque led away by force. He was returned to the 'Washington,' and was manacled to prevent his leaping overboard. On Wednesday, he signified by motions that if they would take him on board the schooner again, he would show them a handkerchief full of doubloons. He was accordingly sent on board. His fetters were taken off, and he once more went below, where he was received by the Africans in a still more wild and enthusiastic manner than he was the day previous. Instead of finding the doubloons, he again made an address to the blacks, by which they were very much excited. Dangerous consequences were apprehended. Cinque was seized, taken from the hold, and again fettered. While making his speech, his eye was often turned to the sailors in charge: the blacks yelled, leapt about, and seemed to be animated with the same spirit and determination of their leader. Cinque, when taken back to the 'Washington,' evinced little or no emotion, but kept his eye steadily fixed on the schooner." An event so extraordinary and unprecedented as the capture of the "Amistad," excited the most lively interest among all classes. The Africans, forty-four in number, were brought to New Haven and secured in the county jail. A number of gentlemen formed themselves into a committee to watch over their interests, and immediately there was begun a long and complicated series of judicial proceedings, to determine how they should be disposed of. Ruiz and Montez, the two white men, late the prisoners, but claiming to be the owners of the Africans, caused them to be indicted for piracy and murder. This was almost immediately disposed of, on the ground that the charges, if true, were not cognizable in the American courts, the alleged offences having been perpetrated on board a Spanish vessel. The Africans therefore were in no immediate danger of capital punishment. Ruiz and Montez on their part seem to have met with sympathy and kindness, and to testify their gratitude caused the following to be inserted in the New York papers: "A CARD. "NEW LONDON, AUGUST 29, 1839. "The subscribers, Don Jose Ruiz, and Don Pedro Montez, in gratitude for their most unhoped for and providential rescue from the hands of a ruthless gang of African bucaneers and an awful death, would take this means of expressing, in some slight degree, their thankfulness and obligation to Lieut. Com. T.R. Gedney, and the officers and crew of the U.S. surveying brig Washington, for their decision in seizing the Amistad, and their unremitting kindness and hospitality in providing for their comfort on board their vessel, as well as the means they have taken for the protection of their property. "We also must express our indebtedness to that nation whose flag they so worthily bear, with an assurance that this act will be duly appreciated by our most gracious sovereign, her Majesty the Queen of Spain. DON JOSE, RUIZ, DON PEDRO MONTEZ." Ruiz and Montez are thus described by a correspondent of the New London Gazette, who visited the Amistad immediately after its capture: "Jose Ruiz, is a very gentlemanly and intelligent young man, and speaks English fluently. He was the owner of most of the slaves and cargo, which he was conveying to his estate on the Island of Cuba. The other, Pedro Montez, is about fifty years of age, and is the owner of three of the slaves. He was formerly a ship master, and has navigated the vessel since her seizure by the blacks. Both of them, as may be naturally supposed, are most unfeignedly thankful for their deliverance. Pedro is the most striking instance of complacency and unalloyed delight we have ever witnessed, and it is not strange, since only yesterday his sentence was pronounced by the chief of the bucaneers, and his death song chanted by the grim crew, who gathered with uplifted sabres around his devoted head, which, as well as his arms, bear the scars of several wounds inflicted at the time of the murder of the ill-fated captain and crew. He sat smoking his Havana on the deck, and to judge from the martyr-like serenity of his countenance, his emotions are such as rarely stir the heart of man. When Mr. Porter, the prize master, assured him of his safety, he threw his arms around his neck, while gushing tears coursing down his furrowed cheek, bespoke the overflowing transport of his soul. Every now and then he clasped his hands, and with uplifted eyes, gave thanks to 'the Holy Virgin' who had led him out of his troubles." It will be necessary to contrast the deeds of these "gentlemanly and intelligent" _Christians_ with that of the "ruthless gang of African bucaneers," from whose grasp they were so providentially rescued. In giving the subsequent detail, I would not be understood as compromising for a single instant my belief in the inviolability of human life, though it must I think be confessed that in the instance related below, the heathen and barbarous negroes contrast very favorably with the civilized and Christian Spaniards. "The following communication from Mr. Day, of New Haven, gives a summary account of the African captives, as stated by themselves, from the time they left Africa, till the time they obtained possession of the Amistad: "NEW HAVEN, OCT. 8, 1839. [To the Editor of the Journal of Commerce.] "Gentlemen--The following short and plain narrative of one or two of the African captives, in whose history and prospects such anxious interest is felt, has been taken at the earliest opportunity possible, consistently with more important examinations. It may be stated in general terms, as the result of the investigations thus far made, that the Africans all testify that they left Africa about six months since; were landed under cover of the night at a small village or hamlet near Havana, and after ten or twelve days were taken through Havana by night by the man who had bought them, named Pipi, who has since been satisfactorily proved to be Ruiz; were cruelly treated on the passage, being beaten and flogged, and in some instances having vinegar and gunpowder rubbed into their wounds; and that they suffered intensely from hunger and thirst. The perfect coincidence in the testimony of the prisoners, examined as they have been separately, is felt by all who are acquainted with the minutes of the examination, to carry with it overwhelming evidence of the truth of their story. Yours respectfully, "GEORGE E. DAY." "MONDAY, OCT. 7. "This afternoon, almost the first time in which the two interpreters, Covey and Pratt, have not been engaged with special reference to the trial to take place in November, one of the captives named Grabeau, was requested to give a narrative of himself since leaving Africa, for publication in the papers. The interpreters, who are considerably exhausted by the examinations which have already taken place, only gave the substance of what he said, without going into details, and it was not thought advisable to press the matter. Grabeau first gave an account of the passage from Africa to Havana. On board the vessel there was a large number of men, but the women and children were far the most numerous. They were fastened together in couples by the wrists and legs, and kept in that situation day and night. Here Grabeau and another of the Africans named Kimbo, lay down upon the floor, to show the painful position in which they were obliged to sleep. By day it was no better. The space between decks was so small,--according to their account not exceeding four feet,--that they were obliged, if they attempted to stand, to keep a crouching posture. The decks fore and aft were crowded to overflowing. They suffered (Grabeau said) terribly. They had rice enough to eat, but had very little to drink. If they left any of the rice that was given to them uneaten, either from sickness or any other cause, they were whipped. It was a common thing for them to be forced to eat so much as to vomit. Many of the men, women, and children died on the passage. "They were landed by night at a small village near Havana. Soon several white men came to buy them, and among them was the one claiming to be their master, whom they call Pipi, said to be a Spanish nick-name for Jose. Pipi, or Ruiz, selected such as he liked, and made them stand in a row. He then felt each of them in every part of the body; made them open their mouths to see if their teeth were sound, and carried the examinations to a degree of minuteness of which only a slave dealer would be guilty. "When they were separated from their companions who had come with them from Africa, there was weeping among the women and children, but Grabeau did not weep, 'because he is a man.' Kimbo, who sat by, said that he also shed no tears--but he thought of his home in Africa, and of friends left there whom he should never see again. "The men bought by Ruiz were taken on foot through Havana in the night, and put on board a vessel. During the night they were kept in irons, placed about the hands, feet and neck. They were treated during the day in a somewhat milder manner, though all the irons were never taken off at once. Their allowance of food was very scant, and of water still more so. They were very hungry, and suffered much in the hot days and nights from thirst. In addition to this there was much whipping, and the cook told them that when they reached land they would all be eaten. This 'made their hearts burn.' To avoid being eaten, and to escape the bad treatment they experienced, they rose upon the crew with the design of returning to Africa. "Such is the substance of Grabeau's story, confirmed by Kimbo, who was present most of the time. He says he likes the people of this country, because, to use his own expression, 'they are good people--they believe in God, and there is no slavery here.' "The story of Grabeau was then read and interpreted to Cinque, while a number of the other Africans were standing about, and confirmed by all of them in every particular. When the part relating to the crowded state of the vessel from Africa to Havana was read, Cinque added that there was scarcely room enough to sit or lie down. Another showed the marks of the irons on his wrists, which must at the time have been terribly lacerated. On their separation at Havana, Cinque remarked that almost all of them were in tears, and himself among the rest, 'because they had come from the same country, and were now to be parted for ever.' To the question, how it was possible for the Africans when chained in the manner he described, to rise upon the crew, he replied that the chain which connected the iron collars about their necks was fastened at the end by a padlock, and that this was first broken, and afterwards the other irons. Their object, he said, in the affray, was to make themselves free. He then requested it to be added to the above, that 'if he tells a lie, God sees him by day and by night.'" The interpreters alluded to in the preceding extract were two Africans belonging to the crew of the British brig of war Buzzard, which providentially arrived at New York, from a cruise on the coast of Africa. They were found to speak the same language as the prisoners, and with the consent of Captain Fitzgerald, their services were immediately secured by the indefatigable committee for the African captives. By their aid much information was elicited respecting the native country and previous history of these negroes, with many incidental particulars of great interest, some of which will appear in the following account. The criminal proceedings against the Mendians being quashed, there remained the claim of Ruiz and Montez to have the negroes returned to them as their property. To sustain this claim they produced the license, signed by the proper authorities at Havana, permitting the removal of these negroes from that port to Principe, in the same island. This document is signed by General Espelata, Captain-General of Cuba, and countersigned by Martinez, one of the most extensive slave-traders in the known world. This pass or license described the negroes as _ladinos_, a term used to designate Africans who have been long settled in Cuba. It was proved, however, that they were _Bozal_ negroes, that is, such as had been very lately introduced, and the testimony on both sides, on this point, established a fact that is but too notorious, that the slave trade to Cuba is openly carried on with the connivance, and even with the corrupt participation of the authorities. One of the witnesses, D. Francis Bacon, gives the following account of the slave trade:-- "Mr. Bacon stated that he left the coast of Africa on the 13th of July, 1839. He knew a place called Dumbokoro [Lomboko] by the Spaniards: it was an island in the river or lagoon of Gallinas. There is a large slave factory or depot at this place, which is said to belong to the house of Martinez in Havana; there are also different establishments on different islands. Mr. Bacon stated that he had seen American, Russian, Spanish, and Portuguese vessels at Gallinas. The American flag was a complete shelter; no man-of-war daring to capture an American vessel. The slave trade on that part of the coast is the universal business of the country, and by far the most profitable, and all engaged in it who could raise the means. Extensive wars take place in Africa, for obtaining slaves from the vanquished. Different towns and villages make war upon each other for this purpose. Some are sold on account of their crimes, others for debts. The slaves are all brought on to the coast by other blacks, and sold at the slave factories, as no white man dare penetrate into the interior. Some of the blacks who have been educated at Sierra Leone, have been principal dealers in the slave trade." The decision of the District Court of Connecticut on this question of property, was to the effect that since their original introduction into Cuba was plainly illegal, they were free by the law of Spain, and of course could not be the property of Spanish subjects. The subsequent proceedings were undertaken on behalf of the United States' Government. "The District Attorney, Mr. Holabird, filed his claim under Lieut. Gedney's libel, on two distinct grounds; one that these Africans had been claimed by the Government of Spain, and ought to be retained till the pleasure of the Executive might be known, as to that demand; and the other, that they should be held subject to the disposition of the President, to be re-transported to Africa, under the act of 1819." The Court finally decreed that the Africans should be delivered to the President of the United States, to be transported to Africa, there to be delivered to an agent appointed to receive and conduct them home. Against this decision, though it is what he had asked for, Holabird appealed on behalf of the United States' Government, and through a protracted series of law proceedings, it was finally carried before the Supreme Court of the United States, the highest tribunal in the nation. The counsel employed on both sides, in the different stages, were of the highest reputation; and finally the venerable John Quincy Adams, after an absence from the Courts of nearly forty years, during which interval he had filled the highest offices of state, at home and abroad, in the service of his country, did not think it beneath him to defend the Mendians before the Supreme Court, against the _conspiracies_ of Forsyth, the Secretary of State, and the Spanish Ambassador. In his first communication to the latter, Forsyth says: "All the proceedings in the matter, on the part of both the executive and judicial branches of the government, have had their foundation in the assumption that Montez and Ruiz alone were the parties aggrieved; and that their claim to the surrender of the property was founded in fact and in justice." The Spanish minister and his successor, complained bitterly, in the course of a long correspondence, of the delay in giving up the Africans, on the ground, as emphatically stated in one of their letters to the Department of State, that "the public vengeance had not been satisfied; for be it recollected that the legation of Spain does not demand the delivery of slaves, but of assassins." In a previous communication it was intimated that "the infliction of capital punishment in this case (in the United States,) would not be attended with the salutary effects had in view by the law, when it resorts to this painful and terrible alternative, namely, to prevent the commission of similar offences." Notwithstanding these dreadful intimations of the fate awaiting the Africans in Cuba, the American Government deliberately adopted the design of delivering them up, either as _property_ or as assassins. That Government found willing agents in the United States' Marshal, and the District Attorney of Connecticut. The following extracts from the argument of John Quincy Adams, will explain these disgraceful transactions: "On the 7th of January, the Secretary of State writes to the Secretary of the Navy, acknowledging the receipt of his letter of the 3d, informing him that the schooner Grampus would receive the negroes of the Amistad, 'for the purpose of conveying them to Cuba, in the event of their delivery being adjudged by the Circuit Court, before whom the case is pending.' This singular blunder, in naming the Court, shows in what manner and with how little care the Department of State allowed itself to conduct an affair, involving no less than the liberties and lives of every one of my clients. This letter enclosed the order of the President to the Marshal of Connecticut for the delivery of the negroes to Lieut. Paine. Although disposing of the lives of forty human beings, it has not the form or solemnity of a warrant, and is not even signed by the President in his official capacity. It is a mere order. "'The Marshal of the United States for the District of Connecticut will deliver over to Lieut. John S. Paine, of the United States Navy, and aid in conveying on board the schooner Grampus, under his command, all the negroes, late of the Spanish schooner Amistad, in his custody, under process now pending before the Circuit Court of the United States for the District of Connecticut. For so doing, this order will be his warrant. "'Given under my hand, at the city of Washington, this 7th day of January, A.D. 1840. "'M. VAN BUREN. "'By the President: "'JOHN FORSYTH, Sec. of State.' "That order is good for nothing at all. It did not even describe the Court correctly, under whose protection those unfortunate people were. And on the 11th of January, the District Attorney had to send a special messenger, who came, it appears, all the way to Washington in one day, to inform the Secretary that the negroes were not holden under the order of the Circuit Court, but of the District Court. And he says, 'Should the pretended friends of the negroes'--the pretended friends!--'obtain a writ of Habeas Corpus, the Marshal could not justify under that warrant.' And he says, 'the Marshal wishes me to inquire'--a most amiable and benevolent inquiry--'whether in the event of a decree requiring him to release the negroes, or in case of an appeal by the adverse party, it is expected the Executive warrant will be executed'--that is, whether he is to carry the negroes on board of the Grampus in the face of a decree of the Court. And he requests instructions on the point." On the 12th of January, the very next day after the letter of the District Attorney was written at New Haven, the Secretary of State replies in a despatch which is marked 'confidential.' "'[CONFIDENTIAL.] "'DEPARTMENT OF STATE, Jan. 12,1840. "'SIR,--Your letter of the 11th inst. has just been received. The order for the delivery of the negroes of the Amistad is herewith returned, corrected agreeably to your suggestion. With reference to the inquiry from the Marshal, to which you allude, I have to state, by direction of the President, that if the decision of the Court is such as is anticipated, the order of the President is to be carried into execution, unless an appeal shall actually have been interposed. YOU ARE NOT TO TAKE IT FOR GRANTED THAT IT WILL BE INTERPOSED. And if, on the contrary, the decision of the Court is different, you are to take out an appeal, and allow things to remain as they are until the appeal shall have been decided. I am, sir, your obedient servant "'JOHN FORSYTH. "'W.S. HOLABIRD, Esq., "'_Attorney U.S. for District of Conn._' "But after all the order did not avail. The District Judge, contrary to all these anticipations of the Executive, decided that the thirty-six negroes taken by Lieut. Gedney and brought before the Court on the certificate of the Governor-General of Cuba, were FREEMEN; that they had been kidnapped in Africa; that they did not own these Spanish names; that they were not _ladinos_; and were not correctly described in the passport, but were new negroes bought by Ruiz in the depot of Havana, and fully entitled to their liberty." At a public meeting held subsequent to their liberation, the teacher of the Africans made a statement as follows:--Their ruling passion was a love for home; and their desire to return thither was constantly manifesting itself. One day, a short time ago, Fohlee came to his teacher, with his cap in his hand, and said, "If Merican men offer me as much gold as fill this cap full up, and give me houses, land and every ting, so dat I stay in dis country, I say no! Is dat like my father? Is dat like my mother? Is dat like my sister? Is dat like my brother? No! I want to see my father, my mother, my brother and sister." This feeling manifested itself in many ways; and they expressed themselves willing to undergo any thing short of losing their lives, if by so doing they could be at liberty to return to the Mendi country. I now introduce the lively narrative of my friend Lewis Tappan: "EXCURSION WITH THE AMISTAD AFRICANS. "_On board Steam Boat, L.I. Sound, Nov_. 15, 1841. "BROTHER LEAVITT:--As the committee had chartered a ship to take the Mendians to Sierra Leone about the middle of this month, and as the funds contributed by a benevolent public were about all expended, it appeared necessary, in addition to an appeal published in the newspapers, to take some prompt and efficient measures to procure funds sufficient to pay for their outfit and passages, and, if possible, something to sustain the contemplated mission in Mendi. One of the committee being sick and another absent, it devolved upon me to perform the excursion. I was assisted essentially by Mr. Samuel Deming, one of the committee at Farmington, and by Mr. William Raymond and Mr. Needham. On arriving at Hartford, the third instant, I learned that Mr. Deming had proceeded to Boston, accompanied by ten of the Mendians, viz., Cinque, Banna, Si-si, Su-ma, Fu-li, Ya-bo-i, So-ko-ma, Kin-na, Ka-li and Mar-gru. These were selected not on account of being the best scholars, but with reference to their being the best singers, although some of them are among the best scholars. None of them, however, have had instruction in music. Arriving in Boston, the city was, as I anticipated, full of excitement, on account of the approaching election,--a circumstance unknown to the committee at Farmington, who had sent off the Mendians sooner than we had calculated,--and it seemed almost impossible to procure a suitable place in which to hold meetings, or to arrest the attention of the people, as the whole--democrats, whigs and abolitionists--had every nerve strained for the political contest. However, preparation had been made for a meeting at the Melodeon, late Lion Theatre, on Thursday evening. A few hundreds assembled, and appeared to be highly gratified with the performances. It seemed to them marvellous that these men and children, who, less than three years since, were almost naked savages in the interior of Africa, should, under the untoward circumstances in which they have been placed for the largest part of the time since they have been in a civilized and Christian country, appear so far advanced in civilization and knowledge. Only forty-six dollars were received, the proceeds of tickets and a collection, but a strong desire was expressed that there should be another meeting. "Saturday evening was the only evening we could have Marlboro' Chapel, the largest church in the city. Preliminary to this meeting, a private meeting of invited gentlemen was held during the afternoon, at the Marlboro' Hotel, the Mendians being present. The meeting was well attended and a good impression was made. In the evening there was a large meeting in the Chapel; Rev. Dr. Anderson opened it with prayer, concluding with the Lord's prayer, each sentence being repeated in our language by the Mendians. A statement was then made of their past and present condition, of their good conduct, their proficiency, of their ardent desire to return to Mendi, and the favorable prospects of establishing a mission in their country. Three or four of the best readers were then called upon to read a passage in the New Testament. They then read and spelled a passage named by the audience. One of the Africans next related, in 'Merica language,' their condition in their own country, their being kidnapped, the sufferings of the middle passage, their stay at Havana, the transactions on board the Amistad, &c. The story was intelligible to the audience, with occasional explanations. They were next requested to sing two or three of their native songs. The performance afforded great delight to the audience. As a pleasing contrast, however, they sang immediately after, one of the songs of Zion: "'When I can read my title clear To mansions in. the skies, I'll bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes.' "This produced a deep impression upon the audience; and while these late pagans were singing so correctly and impressively a hymn in a Christian church, many 'weeping eyes,' bore testimony that the act and its associations touched a chord that vibrated in many hearts. Cinque was then introduced to the audience, and addressed them in his native tongue. It is impossible to describe the novel and deeply interesting manner in which he acquitted himself. The subject of his speech was similar to that of his countryman who had addressed the audience in English, but he related more minutely and graphically the occurrences on board the Amistad. The easy manner of Cinque, his natural, graceful and energetic action, the rapidity of his utterance, and the remarkable and various expressions of his countenance, excited the admiration and applause of the audience. He was pronounced a powerful natural orator, and one born to sway the minds of his fellow men. Should he be converted and become a preacher of the cross in Africa, what delightful results may be anticipated! "The amount of the statements made by Kin-na, Fu-li and Cinque, and the facts in the case, are as follows:--These Mendians belong to six different tribes, although their dialects are not so dissimilar as to prevent them from conversing together very readily. Most of them belong to a country which they call Mendi, but which is known to geographers and travellers as Kos-sa, and lies south-east of Sierra Leone; as we suppose, from sixty to one hundred and twenty miles. With one or two exceptions, these Mendians are not related to each other; nor did they know each other until they met at the slave factory of Pedro Blanco, the wholesale trafficker in men, at Lomboko, on the coast of Africa. They were stolen separately, many of them by black men, some of whom were accompanied by Spaniards, as they were going from one village to another, or were at a distance from their abodes. The whole came to Havana in the same ship, a Portuguese vessel named Tecora, except the four children, whom they saw, for the first time, on board the Amistad. It seems that they remained at Lomboko several weeks, until six or seven hundred were collected, when they were put in irons and placed in the hold of a ship, which soon put to sea. Being chased by a British cruiser, she returned, landed the cargo of human beings, and the vessel was seized and taken to Sierra Leone for adjudication. After some time, the Africans were put on board the Tecora. After suffering the horrors of the middle passage, they arrived at Havana. Here they were put into a barracoon, one of the oblong enclosures, without a roof, where human beings are kept, as they keep sheep and oxen near the cattle markets, in the vicinity of our large cities, until purchasers are found, for ten days, when they were sold to Jose Ruiz, and shipped on board the Amistad, together with the three girls and a little boy who came on board with Pedro Montez. The Amistad was a coaster, bound to Principe, in Cuba, distant some two or three hundred miles. The Africans were kept in chains and fetters, and were supplied with but a small quantity of food or water. A single banana, they say, was served out as food for a day or two, and only a small cup of water for each daily. When any of them took a little water from the cask, they were severely flogged. The Spaniards took Antonio, the cabin-boy and slave to Captain Ferrer, and stamped him on the shoulder with a hot iron; then put powder, palm oil, &c. upon the wound, so that they 'could know him for their slave.' The cook, a colored Spaniard, told them that on their arrival at Principe, in three days, they would have their throats cut, be chopped in pieces, and salted down for meat for the Spaniards. He pointed to some barrels of beef on the deck, then to an empty barrel, and by significant gestures,--as the Mendians say, by 'talking with his fingers,'--he made them understand that they were to be slain, &c. At four o'clock that day, when they were called on deck to eat, Cinque found a nail, which he secreted under his arm. In the night they held a counsel as to what was best to be done. 'We feel bad,' said Kin-na, 'and we ask Cinque what we had best do. Cinque say, "Me think, and by and by I tell you."' He then said, 'If we do nothing, we be killed. We may as well die in trying to be free as to be killed and eaten.' Cinque afterwards told them what he would do. With the aid of the nail and the assistance of Grabeau, he freed himself from the irons on his wrists and ancles, and from the chain on his neck. He then, with his own hands, wrested the irons from the limbs and necks of his countrymen. It is not in my power to give an adequate description of Cinque when he showed how he did this and led his comrades to the conflict and achieved their freedom. In my younger years I saw Kemble and Siddons, and the representation of Othello, at Covent Garden, but no acting that I ever witnessed came near that to which I allude. When delivered from their irons, the Mendians, with the exception of the children, who were asleep, about four or five o'clock in the morning, armed with cane-knives, some boxes of which they found in the hold, leaped upon the deck. Cinque killed the cook. The captain fought desperately. He inflicted wounds on two of the Africans, who soon after died, and cut severely one or two of those who now survive. Two sailors leaped over the side of the vessel. The Mendians say 'they could not catch land--they must have swum to the bottom of the sea,' but Ruiz and Montez supposed they reached the island in a boat. Cinque now took command of the vessel; placed Si-si at the helm; gave his people plenty to eat and drink. Ruiz and Montez had fled to the hold. They were dragged out, and Cinque ordered them to be put in irons. They cried and begged not to be put in chains, but Cinque replied, 'You say fetters good for negro--if good for negro good for Spanish man too: you try them two days, and see how you feel.' The Spaniards asked for water, and it was dealt out to them in the same little cup with which they had dealt it out to the Africans. They complained bitterly of being thirsty. Cinque said, 'You say little water enough for nigger. If little water do for him, a little do for you too.' Cinque said the Spaniards cried a great deal; he felt very sorry; only meant to let them see how good it was to be treated like the poor slaves. In two days the irons were removed; and then, said Cinque, we give them plenty water and food, and treat them very well. Kin-na stated that as the water fell short, Cinque would not drink any, nor allow any of the rest to drink any thing but salt water, but dealt out daily a little to each of the four children, and the same quantity to each of the two Spaniards! In a day or two Ruiz and Montez wrote a letter, and told Cinque that when they spoke a vessel, if he would give it to them, the people would take them to Sierra Leone. Cinque took the letter and said, 'Very well;' but afterwards told his brethren, 'We have no letter in Mendi. I don't know what is in that letter--there may be death in it. So we will take some iron and a string, bind them about the letter, and send it to the bottom of the sea.' "When any vessel came in sight, the Spaniards were shut down in the hold, and forbidden to come on deck on pain of death. One of the Africans, who could talk a little English, answered questions when they were hailed from other vessels. "It is unnecessary to narrate here subsequent facts, as they have been published throughout the country. After Cinque's address a collection was taken, and the services were concluded by the Mendians singing Bishop Heber's missionary hymn: "'From Greenland's icy mountains.' "At the conclusion of the meeting some linen and cotton table cloths and napkins, manufactured by the Africans, were exhibited, and eagerly purchased of them by persons present, at liberal prices. They are in the habit of purchasing linen and cotton at the shops, unravelling the edges about six to ten inches, and making, with their fingers, neat fringes, in imitation, they say, of 'Mendi fashion.' Large numbers of the audience advanced, and took Cinque and the rest by the hand. The transactions of this meeting have thus been stated at length, and the account will serve to show how the subsequent meetings were conducted, as the services in other places were similar. "These Africans, while in prison, (which was the largest part of the time they have been in this country) learned but little comparatively, but since they have been liberated, they have been anxious to learn, as they said 'it would be good for us in our own country.' Many of them write well, read, spell and sing well, and have attended to arithmetic. The younger ones have made great progress in study. Most of them have much fondness for arithmetic. They have also cultivated as a garden fifteen acres of land, and have raised a large quantity of corn, potatoes, onions, beets, et cet., which will be useful to them at sea. In some places we visited, the audience were astonished at the performance of Kali, who is only eleven years of age. He would not only spell any word in either of the Gospels, but spell sentences, without any mistake, such sentences as 'Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth,' naming each letter and syllable, and recapitulating as he went along, until he pronounced the whole sentence. Two hundred and seven dollars were received at this meeting. "'On Sabbath evening a meeting was attended in Rev. Mr. Beman's Church, (colored.) It was impossible for all to gain admittance--collected sixteen dollars and fifty-one cents. The same evening a meeting was held at Elder N. Colver's. A very warm interest was manifested by this congregation, and the sum of ninety dollars was contributed. The next morning a respectable mechanic, a member of this church, offered to go to Mendi with his wife and child, to take up their permanent abode there. On Monday we proceeded to Haverhill. It was a rainy day, and town meeting was held at the same hour. The audience was small, but a deep interest was felt, and fifty-six dollars contributed. Rev. Charles Fitch opened the meeting with prayer. The Mendians and their friends will long remember the hospitality and generosity of their friends in this place. After a stay of two hours, we proceeded to Lowell. The heavy rain prevented a general attendance. Only thirty-one dollars was collected, beside some private donations. Mr. John Levi, a colored citizen, rendered important services to us, and several of the clergymen and other inhabitants rendered efficient aid. On Tuesday we went to Nashua, N.H., and remained two hours. Owing to some untoward circumstances, the inhabitants generally had not been notified of the meeting. A small number only attended. The collection was twenty-seven dollars. In the evening at Lowell, the large Methodist Church, St. Paul's, was crowded, one thousand five hundred people being present, it was said, and many hundreds unable to get admission. The meeting was opened with an appropriate prayer by Rev. Luther Lee. In order to give an opportunity to the audience to see and hear Cinque, he was invited into the pulpit, where he made an energetic address. One hundred and six dollars were collected. At the close of the services, nearly the whole congregation came forward and took the Mendians by the hand, with kind words and many presents. The ministers of all denominations attended the meeting, with many of the most respectable citizens. During the day the Africans were invited to visit the 'Boott Corporation,' and were conducted over the whole establishment (cotton mills,) by the agent, Mr. French. As might be supposed, they were astonished beyond measure. After inspecting the machinery, the fabrics, and the great wheel, one of them turned to me and said, 'Did man make this?' On receiving a reply, he said, 'He no live now--he live a great while ago.' Afterwards they visited the carpet factory, and expressed great delight at the beauty and excellence of the carpets and rugs. Cinque wished to purchase a miniature hearth rug, but the agent allowed him to select one of the large and beautiful rugs to take to Mendi, which he generously presented to him. The workmen here--chiefly Englishmen--made a collection of fifty-eight dollars and fifty cents on the spot, and presented it to the Mendi Fund. "In pursuance of previous arrangements, we turned aside, Wednesday, November 12, to attend a meeting in the large South Church in Andover, at 9 o'clock, A.M. The house was crowded in every part. Dr. Edwards led in prayer, and Dr. Woods interrogated some of the Mendians. After a stay of two hours we returned to the cars, followed by a large multitude. Collected eighty-four dollars. It was remarked at the meeting here, as in other places, that the contemplated mission to Mendi was to be an anti-slavery mission; that no money would be solicited or received of slave holders; that the committee were not connected with any other missionary associations, and would not assume a hostile attitude towards any. A young gentleman here offered to go to Mendi as a teacher. "In the afternoon a meeting was held in Boston, at the Marlboro' Chapel. The scholars in the Sabbath and week-day schools had been notified of it and attended in large numbers, together with several respectable inhabitants of Boston and the neighboring towns. The meeting was opened with prayer by Rev. W.B. Tappan. The collection was one hundred and ten dollars. In the evening a meeting was held at the Melodeon, and was attended by a large number of persons. Collection one hundred and thirty-three dollars. The next day, Thursday the 11th, we left for Springfield. The meeting was held in the evening, at the Town Hall, as some of the Parish committee objected to its being held in the church, fearing it would desecrate the place. The Hall was crowded, and many could not gain admittance. Dr. Osgood opened the meeting with prayer, took several of the Mendians to his own house, and manifested a deep interest on their behalf, as did many of the other inhabitants. The Mendians were all hospitably entertained in this place without expense. Some 'fellows of the baser sort' insulted Kin-na and others as they went to the Hall; and in the introduction of his speech, Kin-na spoke of the treatment he had received. But there are many warm-hearted and generous friends of the colored race in this town. 'We said nothing to them,' said Kin-na; 'why did they treat us so? What can we do? We are few and feeble. What can the dog do when the lion attacks him; or what can be done when the cat and the mouse come together!' Collection seventy-three dollars. The Mendians were invited by Mr. Burleigh to see a large picture exhibiting here--'The Descent of Christ from the Cross,' copied from Rubens--and were highly gratified. "Here we received a cordial invitation from two of the ministers of Northampton and several of their people to visit that place, with the assurance that the First Church, the largest in the county, should be opened for the Mendians. On the 12th we rode to N. in the rain. Mount Tom and the Connecticut River were pointed out to Cinque, who said, 'In my country we have very great mountain--much bigger than that--and river about so wide, but very deep.' The weather cleared away towards night, and the church was nearly filled. Rev. Mr. Pennington, colored minister of Hartford, opened the meeting with prayer. Collection seventy-five dollars, in addition to seventeen dollars from the Female Abolition Society; fifty-three dollars collected before we arrived, and eighty-five contributed by 'a friend,' a short time since. The reception here was warm-hearted. Mr. Warner, keeper of the principal hotel in that place, furnished the Mendians with one of his best rooms, seated them at the table with his family and boarders, and, on being asked for his bill the next day, he replied, 'There is nothing to pay!' The agents of the Nashua and Andover rail roads also declined taking pay for the passages of the Mendians. On Saturday, we rose at 3 o'clock, P.M., and returned to Springfield. Here we took the steam boat for Hartford. On arriving, application was made to Mr. Colton, keeper of the Temperance Hotel, to accommodate the Mendians. He demurred. Mr. Warner's noble treatment of them was mentioned. Mr. C. said he could not place them at his table. He was told that this was not insisted upon; that if he would furnish me a room they could eat there, and sleep wherever it was convenient to Mr. C. But he absolutely refused to entertain them any how. As this house has been patronized by abolitionists, they ought to know this fact. After remaining in the cold on the wharf about an hour, the Mendians were received and hospitably entertained by several families without charge. "On the Sabbath, November 14, they attended public worship in Rev. Mr. Pennington's church. In the afternoon the church was filled. An address was made by the writer, and the Mendians read in the Testament and sang a hymn. Collection eight dollars. In the evening a meeting was held in the Centre Church, Rev. Dr. Hawes's. Notices were read in the other churches, and handbills had been posted the previous day. The church, in every part, was crowded, and large numbers were unable to obtain admittance. Dr. Hawes opened the meeting with prayer. The services were of an interesting character. Collection eighty dollars. Dr. Hawes interrogated Kin-na. He said, 'The Mendi people believe in a Great Spirit, although they do not worship him. They know they have souls. We think,' said Kin-na, 'we make clothes. Dog can't do this. He no soul, but we have.' He said on another occasion, when asked if his people believed in a future state, 'The Mendi people all Sadducees.' Kin-na said that they 'owe every thing to God. He keep them alive, and give them free. When he go home to Mendi, they tell their brethren about God, Jesus Christ, and heaven.' Fu-li, on a former evening, being asked, 'What is faith?' replied, 'Believing in Jesus Christ, and trusting in him.' Their answers to questions show that they have read and that they understand the Scriptures, and hopes are entertained that one or two at least know experimentally the value of religion. The fact that there is no system of idolatry in Mendi for missionaries to oppose and the natives technically to adhere to, is an encouraging fact with regard to the contemplated mission. Another pleasing and remarkable fact exists: labor is suspended every seventh day, and has been from time immemorial. They do not engage in any religious services, but dress in their best apparel, feast on that day,--as some do here,--visit, &c. This day, 15th, Rev. Mr. Gallaudet and Mr. Brigham have invited the Mendians to visit the Deaf and Dumb Asylum and the Insane Institution. On a person's giving, by signs, the deaf and dumb alphabet to Mar-gru, one of the girls, she, in a few minutes, repeated nearly the whole. They told Mr. Brigham that there were insane people and idiots in Mendi, and described their actions and the treatment of them. Two of the Mendians will be detained as witnesses in Hartford this day, in a cause appealed from a lower court. Some of the Mendians were grossly assaulted at Farmington some time since, on a training day; and those who committed the assault and battery were convicted and fined. An appeal was taken. When thus assailed, the Mendians, as usual, exhibited their peaceful disposition, and said, 'We no fight.' On Wednesday there is to be a large fare meeting at Farmington--on which occasion Dr. Hawes is to preach. In a few days the Mendians will embark from New York. May the Lord preserve them, and carry them safely to their native land, to their kindred and homes. Su-ma, the eldest, has a wife and five children. Cinque has a wife and three children. They all have parents or wives, or brothers and sisters. What a meeting it will be with these relations and friends, when they are descried on the hills of Mendi! We were invited to visit other places, but time did not allow of longer absence. I must not forget to mention that the whole band of these Mendi are teetotallers. At a tavern where we stopped, Ban-na took me aside, and with a sorrowful countenance, said, 'This bad house--bar house--no good.' But the steam boat is at the wharf, and I must close. The collections in money, on this excursion of twelve days, is about one thousand dollars, after deducting travelling expenses. More money is needed to defray the expenses of the Mendians to their native land, and to sustain their religious teachers. Very truly yours, "LEWIS TAPPAN." But to conclude the narrative of these interesting Africans. After all the trickery on the part of the U.S. government, it was finally decreed by the Supreme Court, that the Mendians were free persons, and might go whither they pleased. They were unanimous for returning to their native country. The Mendian negroes, thirty-five in number, embarked from New York for Sierra Leone, on the 27th of the 11th month, (November,) 1841, on board the barque Gentleman, Captain Morris, accompanied by five missionaries and teachers. The British government has manifested a praiseworthy interest in their welfare, and will assist them to reach their own country from Sierra Leone. Their stay in the United States has been of immense service to the anti-slavery cause, and there is reason to hope that under their auspices, Christianity and civilization may be introduced into their native country. APPENDIX F. P. 76. EXTRACT FROM AN ESSAY BY WILLIAM JAY, "_On the Folly and Evils of War, and the Means of Preserving Peace._" "But, after all that can be said against war, and after the fullest admission of its folly, cruelty, and wickedness, still the question recurs, how can it be prevented? It would be an impeachment of the Divine economy to suppose that an evil so dreadful was inseparably and inevitably connected with human society. We are informed, by Divine authority, that wars proceed from our lusts; but our lusts, although natural to us, are not invincible. He who admits the free agency of man, will not readily allow that either individuals or nations are compelled to do evil. The universal prevalence of Christian principles must, of necessity, exterminate wars; and hence we are informed, by revelation, that when righteousness shall cover the earth, 'the nations shall learn war no more.' "And are we to wait, it will be inquired, till this distant and uncertain period for the extinction of war? We answer, that revelation affords us no ground to expect that all mankind will previously be governed by the precepts of justice and humanity; but that experience, reason, and revelation, all unite in leading us to believe that the regeneration of the world will be a gradual and progressive work. Civilization and Christianity are diffusing their influence throughout the globe, mitigating the sufferings and multiplying the enjoyments of the human family. Free institutions are taking the place of feudal oppressions--education is pouring its light on minds hitherto enveloped in all the darkness of ignorance--the whole system of slavery, both personal and political, is undermined by public opinion, and must soon be prostrated; and the signs of the times assure us that the enormous mass of crime and wretchedness, which is the fruit of drunkenness, will, at no very remote period, disappear from the earth. "And can it be possible, that, of all the evils under which humanity groans, war is the only one which religion and civilization, and the active philanthropy of the present day, can neither remove nor mitigate? Such an opinion, if general, would be most disastrous to the world, and it will now be our endeavor to prove that it is utterly groundless. * * * * "We have often seen extensive national alliances for the prosecution of war, and no sufficient reason can be assigned why such alliances might not be formed for the preservation of peace. It is obvious that war might instantly be banished from Europe, would its nations regard themselves as members of one great Society, and erect a court for the trial and decision of their respective differences. "But we are told that such an agreement among the nations is impossible. It is unquestionably so at present, for the obvious reason, that time is necessary to enlighten and direct public opinion, and produce a general acquiescence in the plan, as well as to arrange the various stipulations and guaranties that would be requisite. It is certainly not surprising, that those who suppose a congress of nations for the maintenance of peace, can only be brought about by a simultaneous movement of the various states and kingdoms of the earth, who are to continue to battle with each other till the signal is given for universal peace and harmony, should be startled at the boldness and absurdity of the project. But this boldness and absurdity belong not to the project we advocate. We have no expectation whatever of any general, much less simultaneous effort of mankind in behalf of peace. A congress for the decision of national differences, instead of arising in the midst of the present military policy of Europe, must be preceded by an extensive, although partial abandonment of war, and will be the _effect_ and not the cause of the general diffusion of pacific sentiments. "Hence it is in vain to look for a sudden and universal cessation of war, even among civilized and Christian nations. But reason and experience warrant the hope that some one State may be led to adopt a pacific policy, and thus set an example which through the blessing of Providence, and the prevalence of Christian principles, may usher in the reign of universal peace. "But by whom, and in what way it will be asked, is this example to be set? It may be a feeling of national vanity, and it may be a reference to the peculiarities of our local, social, and political condition, that inspires the hope, that to the United States is to be reserved the glory of teaching to mankind the blessings of peace, and the means of preserving them. * * "But in _what way_ are we to make the experiment? Certainly in the way least likely to excite alarm and opposition. In every effort to promote the temporal or spiritual welfare of others, we should consider things as they really are, and not merely as they ought to be, and we should consult expediency as far as we can do so, without compromising principle. * * * "Of all the nations with whom we have relations, none probably enjoy in an equal degree our good will, as France. No spirit of rivalry in commerce or manufactures exists between us, no adjacent territory furnishes occasion for border aggressions and mutual criminations, while our past relations afford subjects of pleasing and grateful recollection, and at present we see no prospect of the interruption of that harmony which has so long subsisted between the two nations. "Let us suppose that under these propitious circumstances, a convention should now be concluded between the two governments, by which it should be agreed, that if unhappily any difference should hereafter arise between us, that could not be adjusted by negociation, neither party should resort to arms, but that they should agree on some friendly power, to whom the matter in difference should be referred, and whose decision should be final; or that if it should so happen that the parties could not concur in selecting an umpire, that then each party should select a friendly power, and that the sovereigns or states thus selected, should, if necessary, call to their aid the assistance of a third. "To what well founded objections would such a treaty be subject? It is true that treaties of this kind have been of rare occurrence, but all experience is in their favor. Vattel remarks (Law of Nations, book II., chap. 18,) 'Arbitration is a method very reasonable, very conformable to the law of nature, in determining differences that do not directly interest the safety of the nation. Though the strict right may be mistaken by the arbitrator, _it is still more to be feared that it will be overwhelmed by the fate of arms_. The Swiss have had the precaution in all their alliances among themselves, and even in those they have contracted with the neighboring powers, to agree beforehand on the manner in which their disputes were to be submitted to arbitrators, in case they could not adjust them in an amicable manner. _This wise precaution has not a little contributed to maintain the Helvetic Republic in that flourishing state which secures its liberty, and renders it respectable throughout Europe_.' "But it may be said, a nation ought not to permit others to decide on her rights and claims. Why not? Will the decision be less consistent with justice, from being impartial and disinterested? It is a maxim confirmed by universal experience, that no man should be judge in his own cause; and are nations less under the influence of interest and of passion than individuals? Are they not, in fact, still less under the control of moral obligation? Treaties have often been violated by statesmen and senators, who would have shrunk from being equally faithless in their private contracts. Is it to be supposed that the government of a friendly power, in a controversy between us and France, in which it had no interest, and with the observation of the civilized world directed to its decision, would be less likely to pronounce a fair and impartial judgment than either France or ourselves? "But we can decide our own controversies for ourselves, it is said; that is, we can go to war and take our chance for the result. Alas, 'it is an error,' says Vattel, 'no less absurd than pernicious, to say that war is to _decide_ controversies between those who, as in the case of nations, acknowledge no judge. It is _power_ or _prudence_ rather than right that victory usually declares for.'--Book III. Chap. 3. "The United States chose to decide for themselves the controversy about impressment, by appealing to the sword. In this appeal they of course placed no reliance on the propriety and justice of their claims, since such considerations could have no influence on the fate of battle; but they depended solely on their capacity to inflict more injury than they would receive themselves, and this difference in the amount of injury was to turn the scale in our favor. Our expectations, however, were disappointed. Our commerce was annihilated, our frontier towns were laid in ashes, our capital taken, our attempts upon Canada were repulsed, with loss and disgrace; our people became burthened with taxes, and we were at last glad to accept a treaty of peace which, instead of containing, as we had fondly hoped, a formal surrender on the part of Great Britain of the right of impressment, made not the slightest allusion to the subject. "Let us now suppose that a treaty similar to the one we have proposed with France had, in 1812, existed between Great Britain and the United States; the question of impressment would then have been submitted to one or more friendly powers. "It is scarcely possible that the umpires could have given any decision of this question that would have been as injurious to either party as was the prosecution of the war. Had the claims of Great Britain been sanctioned, some American seamen would, no doubt, have been occasionally compelled to serve in the British navy; but how very small would have been their number compared with the thousands who perished in the war; and how utterly insignificant would have been their sufferings resulting from serving on board a British instead of an American vessel, when weighed against the burdens, the slaughters, the conflagrations, inflicted on their country in the contest? If, on the other hand, the decision had been in our favor, Great Britain would have lost a few seamen from her navy, but she would have saved the lives of a far greater number, and she would have been spared an amount of treasure which would have commanded the services of ten times as many sailors as she could ever hope to recover by impressment. "It is not, however, probable, that the umpires, anxious to do right, and having no motive to do wrong, would have sanctioned, without qualification, the claims of either party. "We can scarcely anticipate any future national difference which it would not be more prudent and expedient to submit to arbitration than to the chance of war. However just may be our cause, however united our people, we cannot foresee the issue of the contest, nor tell what new enemies we may be called to encounter, what sacrifices to bear, what concessions to make. "We have already partially commenced the experiment of arbitrament, by referring no less than three of our disputes to the determination of as many friendly powers. A difference as to the meaning of an article, in our last treaty of peace with Great Britain, was referred to the Emperor of Russia, who decided it in our favor. The question of our northern boundary was referred to the King of the Netherlands; and although the line he assigned was not the one claimed by either party, it was vastly less injurious to each, than would have been one month's hostility on account of it. Our disputes with Mexico were verging rapidly to open war, when they were happily submitted to the King of Prussia, and are now in the course of satisfactory adjustment. "A treaty with France of the character proposed, would greatly increase our importance in the estimation of all Europe--as it would permanently secure us from her hostility. It would be seen and felt, that whatever other nation might enter into collision with us, it could not expect the aid of France, but that under all circumstances we should enjoy the friendship and commerce of our ancient ally. These considerations would not be without their influence on England. She has colonies near us which we may capture, or essentially injure, and which cannot be defended by her, but at very inconvenient expense. A war with us must ever be undesired by her, for the obvious reason that in such a contest she has little to gain and much to lose. Our treaty also with France would deprive England of the aid of the only nation that could afford her effectual assistance in a war against us. She would therefore, find it her interest to avail herself of a similar treaty, and thus to secure herself from hostilities which on many accounts she must wish to avoid. Once assured by such treaties of permanent peace with France and England, we should find our alliance courted by the other powers of Europe, who would not readily consent that those two nations should have exclusively the uninterrupted enjoyment of our great and growing commerce. They would think it a matter of prudence also, to avoid the risk of collision with a powerful republic, that had already secured the permanent friendship of France and England; and they would hasten to contract similar treaties. Under such circumstances, every consideration of policy would prompt our South American neighbors to desire that their amicable relations with us might remain uninterrupted; and to them we might offer the same stipulations with full confidence of their cordial acceptance. "And will it be said that all this is visionary and impossible? The plan we propose rests on no supposed reformation in the passions and propensities of mankind; but upon obvious principles of national interest, deduced from reason and experience, and susceptible of the plainest demonstration. It is a plan adapted to the existing state of civilized society, and accommodated to the passions and prejudices by which that society is influenced. It is indeed perfectly consistent with the precepts of Christianity, but it is also in accordance with the selfish dictates of worldly policy. "To this plan we can imagine only one plausible objection, which is, that the treaties would not be observed. It is readily admitted that if the only guaranty for the faithful observance of these treaties consisted in the virtue and integrity of those who signed them, the confidence to be reposed in them would be faint indeed. Happily, however, we have a far stronger guaranty in national interest and in public opinion. * * * "Dismissing then all idle fears that these treaties, honestly contracted and obviously conducive to the highest interests of the parties, would not be observed, let us contemplate the rich and splendid blessings they would confer on our country. Protected from hostile violence and invasion by a moral defence, more powerful than armies and navies, we might indeed beat our swords into ploughshares and our spears into pruning hooks. The millions now expended in our military establishments could be applied to objects directly ministering to human convenience and happiness. Our whole militia system, with its long train of vices and its vexatious interruptions of labor, would be swept away. The arts of peace would alone be cultivated, and would yield comforts and enjoyments in a profusion and perfection of which mankind have witnessed no example. In the expressive language of Scripture, our citizens would each 'sit under his own vine and under his own fig tree, with none to make him afraid,' and our peaceful and happy republic would be the praise and glory of all lands. * * * * * "It is impossible that a scene so bright and lovely should not attract the admiration and attention of the world. The extension of education in Europe, and the growing freedom of her institutions, are leading her population to think, and to express their thoughts. The governments of the eastern continent, whatever may be their form, are daily becoming more and more sensitive to public opinion. The people already restive under their burdens, would soon discover that those burdens would be greatly diminished by the adoption of the American policy. Before long, some state would commence the experiment on a small scale, and its example would be followed by others. In time these conventions would give way to more extended pacific alliances, and a greater number of umpires would be selected; nor is it the vain hope of idle credulity, that at last a union might be formed, embracing every Christian nation, for guarantying the peace of Christendom, by establishing a tribunal for the adjustment of national differences, and by preventing all forcible resistance to its decrees. "It is unnecessary to discuss, at this time, the character and powers with which such a tribunal should be invested. Whenever it shall be desired, little difficulty will be experienced in devising for it a satisfactory organization; that it is possible to form such a court, and that next to Christianity it would be the richest gift ever bestowed by Heaven upon our suffering world, will be doubted by few who have patiently and candidly investigated the subject. "But many who admit the advantages and practicability of the plan we have proposed, will be tempted to despair of success, by the apparent difficulty of inducing an effort for its accomplishment. Similar difficulties, however, have been experienced and overcome. The abolition of the slave trade, and the suppression of intemperance were once as apparently hopeless as the cessation of war. Let us again recur for instruction and encouragement to the course pursued by the friends of freedom and temperance. Had the British abolitionists employed themselves in addressing memorials to the various courts of Europe, soliciting them to unite in a general agreement to abandon the traffic, they would unquestionably have labored in vain, and spent their strength for nought. They adopted another and a wiser course. They labored to awaken the consciences of their own countrymen, and to persuade them to do justice and to love mercy; and thus to set an example to the rest of Europe, infinitely more efficacious than all the arguments and remonstrances which reason and eloquence could dictate. "In vain might moralists and philanthropists have declaimed for ages on the evils of drunkenness, had no temperance society been formed till all mankind were ready to adopt a pledge of total abstinence. The authors of the temperance reformation did not lavish their strength and resources in attempting to convince the world of the blessings of temperance, but forming themselves into a temperance society, gave a visible and tangible proof that the principle they recommended was not merely expedient but practicable. And surely if we desire to persuade mankind that war is an unnecessary evil, it is indispensable that we should be able to point them to some instance in which it has been safely dispensed with; nor can we hope to effect a change in the opinion of Europe, while our own people remain unaffected by our assertions and arguments. "Here then must be the field of our labors; and let those labors be quickened by the reflection, that while they are aimed at the happiness of the human race, they are calculated to confer on our beloved country a moral sublimity which no worldly glory can approach. "But what are the means we shall use? The same by which the commerce in human beings was destroyed, and which are now driving intemperance from the earth--_voluntary associations and the press_. "Let the friends of peace concentrate their exertions in Peace Societies; and let the press proclaim throughout our land, in all its length and breadth, the folly, the wickedness, and the horrors of war; and call on our rulers to provide for the amicable adjustment of national differences. In the first treaty that shall be formed for this purpose we shall behold the dawn of that glorious day, the theme of prophets and the aspirations of saints, when nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. "The present age is propitious to the enterprise. It is an age of energy and of freedom. All the powers of mind are in full activity, and every eye and every ear is open to the reception of new truths. Science and philanthropy are daily achieving triumphs which the past century dared not imagine. The world is no longer governed by princes and senates, but by public opinion, and at the fiat of this mighty potentate, ancient institutions are levelled in the dust. Let this despot wield only a delegated authority, and each individual, however humble, can enhance or diminish his power. Who, then, will refuse to lend his assistance to enable public opinion to say to the troubled nations, 'peace--be still;' and to compel the rulers of the earth to refer their disputes to another tribunal than the sword. "In this cause every man can labor, and it is a cause in which every man is called to labor, by interest and by duty. But it is a cause that peculiarly claims the zeal and devotion of Christians. They are the servants of Him who is not only the mighty God and the everlasting Father, but the Prince of Peace. They know that war is opposed to all his attributes, and contradicts the precepts of his word. Conscience gives her sanction to the means we have proposed, and prophecy assures us of the accomplishment of the object to which they are directed. Why, then, will not Christians use the talents and influence given them from above to effect this consummation? Let them not plead, in excuse for listlessness and indifference, that it is God alone who 'maketh wars to cease to the end of the earth.' In the moral government of the world, the purposes of its Almighty Ruler are accomplished by his blessing upon human means. He has promised that righteousness shall cover the whole earth; and in reliance on this promise, his servants are now bearing the everlasting Gospel to every nation and kindred, and tongue and people. He has also promised that nations shall learn war no more, and in his faithfulness we have all the incentive which certainty of ultimate success can give to human exertion. And in what cause can the energies of Christian benevolence be more appropriately exercised? To prevent war is to avoid the effusion of human blood, and the commission of innumerable crimes and atrocities;--it is to diffuse peace, and comfort, and happiness, through the great family of man,--it is to foster the arts and sciences which minister to the wants of society,--it is to check the progress of vice,--to speed the advance of the gospel,--to rescue immortal souls from endless misery,--and to secure to them a felicity as durable as it is inconceivable. "To him who in faith and zeal labors in this great and holy cause a rich reward is secured. While doing good to others, he is himself a sharer in the blessing he bestows. The very exercise of his benevolent affections affords a pure and exquisite delight, and when he enters the world of peace and love, he shall experience the full import of those cheering, but mysterious words--Blessed are the peace makers, for they shall be called the children of God."' APPENDIX G. P. 89. OPIUM WAR WITH CHINA. "TO THE CHRISTIAN PUBLIC OF GREAT BRITAIN. "In again appealing to you in reference to the opium war in China, I will begin by quoting the following extracts from a letter which I addressed to you on the 19th of the Third Month, 1840. "'It is now too notorious to render needful entering at large into the subject, that the guilty traffic in opium, grown by the East India Company, to be smuggled into China, at length compelled the Chinese Government to vindicate the laws of the Empire, which prohibit its introduction, and to take decisive measures for the suppression of the traffic, by the arrest of the parties concerned in it at Canton, and the seizure and destruction of the opium found in the Chinese waters.[A] It is also well known that the superintendent of the British trade, (Capt. Elliott) so far compromised his official character and duty, as to take under his protection one of the most extensive opium smugglers, and thus rendered himself justly liable to the penalties to which they were obnoxious; and at the same time gave, as far as was in his power, the sanction of the British nation to this unrighteous violation of the Chinese laws. [Footnote A: "See 'Thelwall's Iniquities of the Opium Trade,' and 'King's Opium Crisis,'"] "'The following fact is, however, not so generally known. An individual,[B] now in this country, who has acquired immense wealth by this unlawful trade, has been in communication with the Government, and his advice, it is presumed, has in no small degree influenced the measures they have adopted; though a leading partner in a firm to which a large proportion of the opium that was destroyed belonged; and at the very time he was claiming compensation, or urging a war with China, his house in India was sending armed vessels loaded with opium, along the coast of China, and selling it in open defiance of the laws of that Empire. This information, with the names of the vessels and the parties concerned, the number of chests of opium on board, the enormous profits they were realizing, et cet., was some time ago communicated to the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, on authority which he did not and could not dispute.' [Footnote B: "This individual is in the new House of Commons, professedly as a reformer, and represents a borough which formerly sent to that House one of its most upright members, who has now retired from public life.] "On the 7th of April, Sir James Graham brought forward a motion in the House of Commons, in reference to this subject, but in a manner which gave it so much of a party character, that our cruel injustice to the Chinese, and the disgraceful conduct of our Government in attacking them, was lost sight of by many, whose professed principles ought to have made them foremost in condemning these proceedings. The Whig Ministry having intimated they would resign if Sir J. Graham carried his motion, every other consideration was forgotten in anxiety lest a political party should be injured or lose office. "This feeling not only pervaded the supporters of the Government in the House of Commons, but also extended to many leading religious professors of various denominations; and thus no public feeling sufficiently strong could be raised to counteract in Downing-street, the combined and powerful influence of the East India Company and the wealthy opium smugglers; though public meetings were held in London and many places in the country, and petitions forwarded justly deprecating this war, as one of almost unparalleled iniquity. At the meeting in the metropolis, which was held at Freemason's Hall, and at which the Earl of Stanhope presided, the following resolutions were passed:-- "'1. That this meeting, whilst it most distinctly disavows any party or political objects, and deprecates most strongly any such construction being put upon its efforts, deeply laments that the moral and religious feeling of the country should be outraged--the character of Christianity disgraced in the eyes of the world--and this kingdom involved in war with upwards of three hundred and fifty millions of people, in consequence of British subjects introducing Opium into China, in direct and known violation of the laws of that Empire. "'2. That, although the Chinese have not been heard in their defence, the statements adduced by the advocates of the war, clearly establish the fact, that the East India Company, the growers of and traffickers in opium, and British subjects who received the protection of the laws of China, have been, throughout, the wrong doers; therefore this meeting (without reference to the conviction of many, that all war is opposed to the spirit and precepts of the gospel,) holds it to be the bounden duty of the government immediately to effect an equitable and pacific settlement of the existing differences with China. "'3. That all traffic in opium with the Chinese being contraband, the opium which was surrendered to their government was justly confiscated; and that to demand payment from the Chinese, to make reprisals upon them, or, for this country to give compensation to the British merchants thus engaged in smuggling, would be to sanction and even grant a premium on crime. "'4. That the petition now read be adopted by this meeting, and presented to both Houses of Parliament; and that the Right Honorable Earl Stanhope be requested to present the same to the House of Lords, and Lord Sandon to the House of Commons. "'5. That the resolutions of this meeting be published at the discretion of the Committee; and that a copy of them in the Chinese language be transmitted, through the High Commissioner Lin, to the Emperor of China.' "Since this period, I have been in company with several Englishmen who were at Canton at the time of the seizure of the opium; and though some of them were concerned in the trade themselves, and were naturally biassed in favor of their own country, they all agreed in condemning the proceedings of the English. I have recently spent some time in the United States, whose intercourse with China is extensive and frequent, and where the merits of this case are clearly understood by many of the most intelligent and candid-minded citizens; and these, without any exception, considered the acts of the British government in this matter as some of the most flagrant that ever disgraced a civilized, much less a Christian people. "On my return to this country I found a new administration entering upon office; the members of which have, for the most part, condemned the conduct of their predecessors in relation to this war; and I again, therefore, venture to appeal to the _Christian_ public of my country that they may, without delay, forward petitions, or memorials, strongly urging a reference of the existing differences with China to commissioners mutually appointed, who shall be authorized to adjust them, and also to determine upon the best means of entirely suppressing the guilty traffic in opium. The present government are not yet committed to this cruel war; and may no difference of political views deter you from the faithful discharge of this Christian duty! Even should you not succeed in inducing our rulers to adopt this course, or the overtures of this country be rejected by the Chinese, you will have satisfaction in having made the attempt. "One-third of the human race are now receiving their impressions of the Christian religion, by its professors waging a murderous war to compel them to make restitution to the contraband opium dealers, for the destruction of this deadly poison, which continues to be grown by the East India Company, and poured into China in defiance of all laws, human and divine. Besides the loss of life sustained by the Chinese, and the fearful mortality amongst the British troops, from the unhealthiness of the climate, it is probable that little short of ten millions sterling has already been expended in naval and military armaments, and the enhanced price of tea and sugar,[A] in the monstrous attempt to force the Chinese to pay about two millions to those opium smugglers. All this, be it remembered, is added to the burdens upon the industry of our own oppressed population. [Footnote A: It is well known that the high rate of freights from Calcutta, in consequence of the shipping required for the Chinese expedition, greatly contributed to the late extravagant price of sugar.] "Earnestly desiring that you may be induced to discharge your duty as Christians, and whatever may be the result, acquit yourselves of your share of the national guilt, I conclude with the words of a friend: 'For my own part, I think the present distress of the nation may be the retributive chastisement of our recent atrocious war in China and the East. * * * All history, and the daily march of events, demonstrate the perpetual retributive interference of an overruling providence. Yet this doctrine, proclaimed as loudly by experience as by revelation, and as legibly written on the page of history as in the Bible, appears to have not the smallest practical influence on the most enlightened statesmen, and the most Christian and enlightened nation in the world.' "Very respectfully, "JOSEPH STURGE. "_Birmingham, 9th Month 30th_, 1841." "_10th Month 9th_, 1841. "Since writing the foregoing, the intelligence has arrived that Canton has been seized; that 'Gen. Sir Hugh Gough calculates the loss of the Chinese, in the different attacks, at one thousand killed and three thousand wounded;' that the British have extracted six millions of dollars as a ransom for evacuating the city, which the Chinese call 'opium compensation;' and it is but too evident that the work of the wholesale murder of this unoffending people has but begun, for Capt. Elliot, who appears to have been too tender of shedding human blood to please his employers, is recalled, and is succeeded by Sir H. Pottenger, who, it is reported, has instructions from Lord Palmerston to demand _fifteen millions_ of dollars for the opium smugglers, and the whole of the expenses of the war, and to secure the right to the British of planting armed factories in the different Chinese ports. "Shall history record that no voice was raised by the Christians of Britain against the employment of their money, and that of their starving countrymen, in deeds like these!!" APPENDIX H. P. 119. LETTER OF A.L. PENNOCK. The following letter was addressed by Abraham L. Pennock, conveying his resignation of the office of Vice President of the American Anti-Slavery Society, (old organization,) after the occurrence of the painful divisions in the anti-slavery body, which have been already noticed. This letter is written in an excellent spirit, and clearly developes the cause of the separation. "TO THE EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE OF THE AMERICAN ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY. "Other reasons than those which will be presented in this letter, made it desirable to me to be released from any official connection with the Anti-Slavery Society. I thought those reasons so well known to some of the delegates from the Pennsylvania Society, and withal they were deemed by me of so much value, that I felt both surprise and regret at understanding that my name was continued as one of the vice presidents of the Parent Society. Thus saying, I am, nevertheless, bound to express my indebtedness for the kind feeling toward me, and confidence in my love for the slave, which, doubtless, induced the appointment. "By an accident to my anti-slavery newspapers, I have just received the proceedings of the society at the above meeting. I am sorry to find in them superadded reasons for regret at my appointment, as that appointment seems to place me in the false position of appearing to be in favor of its leading measures; some of which, denunciatory of co-laborers in the abolition cause, have not my unity. "In the heavy responsibilities of the former Executive Committee, I find a sufficient reason for their transfer of the 'Emancipator' and other property for which they stood personally engaged; and I therefore cannot join in affirming such transfer to be 'a flagrant breach of trust;' and their answer in justification of their course, 'an attempt to defend which betrays an utter disregard of the rights of abolitionists.' "Believing in the intellectual equality of the sexes, I go fully for women's rights and duties. They possess a moral force of immense power, which they are bound to exert for the good of mankind; including emphatically so, those who are in the hopeless and most wretched condition of slaves. The belief of the value of female co-operation is common to the anti-slavery community; and the only question regarding it which has arisen, is, whether it shall be exerted in societies and conventions of women, or in societies and conventions of men and women, irrespective of sex. The question is of recent date, not even coeval with the modern anti-slavery enterprise; and the practice, at the origination of this enterprise, that of separate action. We can all bear testimony to the powerful impression upon the public mind, made by women, acting singly or in societies and conventions, before it was thought of merging their influence in a joint stock community with their brethren. Where can we find an anti-slavery organization more potential, and so dignified, as was the convention of American women? Is it therefore surprising that the question has not been conclusively settled by American abolitionists, that women ought to act identically on the same platform and in the same society with men; and that the practice, founded on this plan, still remains measurably local, and, by many conforming to it, is deemed experimental? "In convening a World's Convention, no innovation upon the general social usages was contemplated by our brethren in England who called it. The convention was meant to be a convention of men; and what was deficient of explicitness in the first notice was amply made up in the reiteration of the call. It was fully known before the appointment of delegates by the American Anti-Slavery Society that the intention of the committee of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society was such as is above explained. The views of the inviting party being known, it was competent to the invited to accept or reject the invitation, but not to modify its terms. The American Society, however, in face of the invitation, with a knowledge of the extreme sensitiveness of that portion of the British people whom the Convention would deem it important to conciliate, to any innovation upon established forms, and itself not united in discarding the distinctions of sex, resolved to send female delegates to the Convention, and thus, in effect, to appeal from the Committee to the paramount authority of the Convention, and with it to settle the American question. "In exercising this authority we are to suppose, from the high moral, intellectual, and philanthropic standing of its members, the Convention, in adhering to the general usages of society, meant to perpetuate no injustice; and we know, from their very respectful attention to the rejected delegates, that they were influenced by no want of courtesy--I am satisfied that they acted according to their best impressions of duty, the carrying out of which was their high aim; and that the Convention was not the less a World's Convention because it did not embrace both sexes as its members, or any reforms without the scope of its call. I cannot unite, therefore, in the resolutions declaring the proceedings of the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society 'arbitrary and despotic;' or the act of the London Conference, excluding the female delegates of the American Society appointed in contradiction to the terms of the invitation, as 'highly disrespectful to the delegates, and to us, their constituents, tyrannical in its nature, mischievous in its tendencies, and unworthy of men claiming the character of abolitionists.' "Thus my views not being in harmony with the action of the society, in the particulars above referred to, my duty to it and myself is, to tender you this as my resignation of the office of Vice President for Pennsylvania, and not to await another election for withdrawing from it. "With no heart for the controversies which have got in among my brethren, the common friends of the enslaved, and which are sadly wasting their anti-slavery strength, but with a warm heart for the legitimate objects of the American Anti-Slavery Society, I shall not cease anxiously to desire its prosperity and speedy triumph with these just limitations. "Your friend, "(Signed) ABRAHAM L. PENNOCK. "_Haverford, 6th Month 28th_, 1841." APPENDIX I. P. 146. GERRIT SMITH'S SLAVES. _Extract of a Letter from James Cannings Fuller to Joseph Sturge_. "DEAR FRIEND,--Doubtless thou hast often thought of the visit to our mutual friend, Gerrit Smith, and dwelt on the recollection with pleasure. As thou requested me to furnish thee with the result of the case which was brought under our notice from the correspondence in the case of Sam and Harriet, I cheerfully comply, by giving thee a somewhat detailed account, believing it may be interesting to thee, and not unproductive of benefit to others. "There are in America no small number of individuals whose circumstances, by parental gift or marriage endowments, are similar to those of our dear friend, Ann Carroll Smith. I would there were a host prepared, like her and her noble husband, to do sacrifice of their substance on the altar of human rights. "Ann Carroll Fitzhugh is the daughter of the late Col. Wm. Fitzhugh, a slaveholder, who formerly resided in Hagerstown, Maryland. About twenty-three years ago, he removed to Geneseo, New York. Twenty human chattels, whom he brought with him, became free by the law of 1817; the remainder were left on his plantation, in Maryland. Mammy Rachael, who nursed the Colonel's wife, on the births of James Fitzhugh and his sister Ann, gave to the former a boy, who was named Sam; and to the latter a girl, called Harriet. They grew up together, and ultimately formed a strong attachment. When Ann Fitzhugh was about eighteen years old, her brother wrote to inquire if she would give him Harriet, that she might become Sam's wife. When it is considered that Ann was young and inexperienced; that she had been educated to consider slavery right; that the doctrine of inalienable personal ownership had not then been urged; and that the idea of bestowing a wife on her brother's slave was naturally pleasing, it is no marvel that she cheerfully granted the request. "James Fitzhugh removed from Maryland to Kentucky. In the course of events, his pecuniary affairs became embarrassed, and creditors grew clamorous for the adjustment of their claims. His effects were likely to be sold by the sheriff, and it was reported he had no legal title to Harriet. Under these circumstances, Gabriel Jackson prevailed on him to transfer Sam, his wife, and first-born child, to him, in payment of his debt. This man afterwards sold them to Samuel Worthington, a cotton planter of Mississippi; whose letter, in reply to Gerrit Smith, arrived the day we were at his house; and he being in doubt how to effect the redemption of the family, and their safe transportation, thou wilt remember that I agreed to effect both, to what I shall call the Elysian Fields, or, more properly, Eden. I started on the 26th of Seventh Month, via Lake Erie and the Erie Canal, which extends from north to south three hundred and nine miles through the State of Ohio. From the canal I took steam-boat down the Ohio, to Maysville, Kentucky. The mistress of the Eagle Hotel sat at her table as a queen, surrounded by many slaves. There seemed to be twice as many hands to do the work as were needful. "From Maysville to Lexington (sixty-five miles) is the best road I ever travelled, not excepting the English roads. It is made and repaired with whitish limestone, from beginning to end. They told me the repairs were principally made by Irishmen, as slaves were not to be trusted to do the work. At starting, I observed that the mail bags were nearly empty; and the driver being questioned, informed me, that I could carry the whole mail in my coat pockets. When he told me he was a Pennsylvanian, I asked whether he could not earn as much in a free, as in a slave State. He said that eighteen dollars a month was the most he ever received for driving a team in a free State, and that now he received thirty dollars a month. This opened the way for a little anti-slavery talk. 'Last Sunday night,' said he, 'I saw a big black man making the best of his way for Canada; I might have stopped him, and had the reward of two hundred dollars, which was offered.' "I asked him whether it was best to have God's blessing, with the fruits of his honest industry, or his curse, with two hundred dollars blood money. He answered, with moistened eyes, 'I wish all the slaves were free,' to which I responded, 'Amen.' "Some incidents connected with the escape of this negro, go to prove that slaves can 'take care of themselves,' by a little ingenuity, when occasion requires. Thinking it would be more expeditious, as well as more agreeable, to ride from slavery than to run from it, he took a horse; whether his master's or not, I did not ascertain. The turnpike gates were a great hindrance, and greatly increased the risk of apprehension. To avoid this, just before reaching a turnpike gate, he let down a fence, carefully put it up again, to avoid pursuit, passed round the back of the keeper's house, and came out through the fence beyond. As he was remounting his horse on one of these occasions, the driver came up with him. Supposing him to be one of the keeper's family, he wished him good night, but instantly discovered by his voice that he was a colored man, putting his horse to full speed. When he returned to Paynestown, he heard people talking about a runaway, and told Dr. Whitehead he believed he had seen the man the night before: 'I hope that he'll get safe into Canada,' was the reply. "'How can you say that, and be a slave-holder?' asked the coachman. "'I wish there were no slaves,' replied he; 'and as soon as others will liberate theirs, mine shall go free.' "Stage coaches afford no facilities to the poor fugitives. By the law of the United States' Government, no colored man can drive a mail stage; neither can any colored man ride on one, unless he is known to be free, or is a slave travelling with his master. Stage owners incur heavy penalties if they infringe these rules. A verdict of one thousand six hundred dollars was lately recovered by a slave-master against the company. "At Washington the stage was stopped to know if a colored boy could be put on. 'Yes; where is he?' 'Up at the jail yonder.' The querist took a seat inside; and soon after I spied a colored man on the outside, with keepers. He was a re-captured runaway, who had taken a horse with him, and imitated the Israelites, in borrowing various other articles, when he escaped from bondage. He assumed false whiskers and a pair of spectacles; and on reaching the Ohio river, produced free papers duly stamped with the county seal. But, unfortunately, when questioned where he had staid the preceding night, he foolishly attempted to describe the place, and was thus detected; two hundred dollars had been offered for him if taken out of the State, and one hundred dollars if taken in the State. To ride in a stage, with a man behind, whose legs and arms were fastened together with rivetted chains and padlocks, was enough to make one feel the force of Patrick Henry's exclamation, 'Give me liberty, or give me death!' It was a poor consolation to administer to the gnawings of his hunger, while beholding his manly frame thus manacled: but I thought he seemed to eat my gingerbread with a better relish, when I told him it was made where colored men were free. At Payne's tavern, in Fairview, the poor fellow had to undergo an examination from the landlord, and listen to a homily about truth-telling; so little do slave-holders seem aware that stealing and lying are constituent parts of their own system. In the stage office at Lexington, we encountered the man who claimed this poor fugitive. The driver, who had come with us the two last stages, was a native of Duchess Co., N.Y.; and he began to plead with the slave-holder in behalf of the slave. I heard of another case where the angry master threatened to flog and sell a recovered runaway, whom he had with him; but the stage driver remonstrated with him so effectually, that he wept like a child, and promised forgiveness to his slave. "Having a great desire to see the imported cattle on Henry Clay's plantation, I went thither. On approaching the house I saw a colored man, to whom I said, 'Where wert thou raised?' 'In Washington.' 'Did Henry Clay buy thee there?' 'Wilt thou shew me his improved cattle?' He pointed to the orchard, and said the man who had charge of them was there. As I followed his direction, I encountered a very intelligent-looking boy, apparently eight or nine years old. I said to him, 'Canst thou read?' 'No.' 'Is there a school for colored people on Henry Clay's plantation?' 'No.' 'How old art thou?' 'Don't know.' In the orchard I found a woman at work with her needle. I asked 'How old art thou?' 'A big fifty.' 'How old is that?' 'Near sixty.' 'How many children hast thou?' 'Fifteen or sixteen.' 'Where are they?' 'Colored folks don't know where their children is; they are sent all over the country.' 'Where wert thou raised?' 'Washington.' 'Did Henry Clay buy thee there?' 'Yes.' 'How many children hadst thou then?' 'Four.' 'Where are they?' 'I don't know. They tell me they are dead.' The hut, in which this '_source of wealth_' lives, was neither as good, nor as well floored as my stable. Several slaves were picking fruit in the orchard. I asked one of the young men whether they were taught to read on this plantation, and he answered, 'No.' I found the overseer of the cattle with a short handled stout whip, which had been broken. He said it answered both for a riding whip, and occasionally 'to whip off the slaves.' "What, my friend, is to be learned from these gleanings at Ashland?--from the doings of our mutual friend, Joseph John Gurney's 'dear friend,' Henry Clay: the man who boasts that 'every pulsation of his heart beats high for liberty,' yet is not ashamed to buy men and women at the Capitol!--that place which, above all others, ought not to be cursed by the footsteps of a slave. Yet I fear there are not wanting in the abolition ranks men so wedded to political party, that they may be tempted to vote for Henry Clay; serving their party and themselves thereby, and perchance thinking they serve their country. "Do not think Clay a sinner above all other men. His slaves appeared to be well fed and well clothed. Indeed, the general superiority of condition in Kentucky slaves, over those of Maryland and Virginia, cannot fail to strike the most superficial observer. "Pursuing my journey, I came to Blue Lick, whose waters are celebrated throughout the United States. At the spring I found several men, white and colored. I asked if I could have a drink. A white man said the waters were free to all. I asked, 'Will they make all free?' They again replied that the spring was free to all. 'I perceive thou dost not understand my question,' said I. But the countenances of the colored men brightened, and, with a cheerful tone, they answered significantly, 'We know what you mean.' "I found Samuel Worthington quite a different person than his letters had led me to imagine. When I introduced myself he appeared nervous and embarrassed. He was a Kentuckian by birth, but having met with reverses in fortune he went to Mississippi, and became an overseer; first on a salary of six hundred dollars, and afterwards two thousand dollars. He now owns a cotton plantation, with about one hundred and twenty slaves, and is reputed wealthy. He is considered an accomplished gentleman, of sound, discriminating, and feeling mind. I believe he is a kind master, in the common acceptation of the term; that is, he feeds and clothes his slaves well, and does not overwork them, though the overseer's whip is the stimulus to labor. He gave me some account of provision; but the only item I remember is, that he cured twenty-five thousand pounds of pork annually, for his slaves. Far be it from me to say any thing disrespectful of him, except that he is a slave-holder; a word which, in my view, comprises 'the sum of all villany,' In my transactions with him, I found him fair and honorable, as far as it can be honorable to sell human flesh. "He said he had long since received a letter from J. Fitzhugh, concerning Sam's family; but as he knew their situation would not be bettered by being transferred to him, he had taken no notice of the application. When Gerrit Smith's letter came, he supposed that the writer was not in earnest, 'that it was all done for effect, and would end in smoke.' He was surprised to learn, by G. Smith's reply to him, that it was my intention to come to Harrodsburg; he regretted that it was so, as it disturbed him, and might break up his family arrangements. His wife had three small children, one of them a babe, and the proposed arrangements would leave her without assistance. He told me he was not a man to be driven; and I answered that we were well matched on that point, it would, however, be better for us both to ascertain coolly how far we could agree. He began by saying that he did not feel bound to sell the family, in consequence of what he had written to G. Smith; for he had only said that he might be induced to take four thousand dollars for them. After some preliminaries, he proposed that I should have a conversation with Sam; for he did not think he could be prevailed upon to leave him. I assured him I should do no such thing, until he and I had settled the question of dollars and cents. I had no idea of presenting the cup of freedom to Sam's lips, and then having it dashed to the ground. 'I do not believe,' said I, 'that there is a man on these grounds whom I could not induce to go with me from slavery; but if Sam has objections, let me talk with his wife.' "'No, that will not do,' replied he; 'she would go with you.' 'Yes,' said I, 'let me talk to your women of a mother's right to herself and her offspring, and then see how many of them you would find willing to remain in bondage!' "After various pros and cons, we concluded a bargain, subject of course to the parties being _willing_ to leave the 'patriarchal institution.' Three thousand five hundred dollars were to be paid, and both of us together were to have an opportunity of conversing with Sam and his wife. The master probably felt so confident that his slave would not leave him, that he had not patience to wait the promised interview; for he popped the delicate question to him alone. Sam had been informed of the whole progress of the affair, from the time of G. Smith's first letter; and he answered promptly that he would go so that before I met him, that _difficult_ part of the business had 'ended in smoke.' "S. Worthington's disappointment was the greater because I had told him that I had felt like one of old: 'If the woman will not be _willing_ to follow thee, then thou shalt be clear from this;' that I could go back with a quiet mind; and that the consciences of my friends in Peterboro' would doubtless be satisfied, having given Harriet and her family the liberty of choice, and thus made all the reparation in their power for having ever held her in slavery. "The large price paid for the redemption of this family may surprise thee, especially if thou hast not forgotten that passage in Worthington's letter where he says, 'I am, to some extent, opposed to slavery; nor do I object to the efforts of abolitionists when done in a good spirit.' It is, however, but justice to say that the description he gave of the family is strictly correct 'They are all sprightly, remarkable for good character, and of course most valuable for house servants.' He said he had repeatedly been offered two thousand dollars for Sam, and he believed he would command that sum any day from those who knew his worth; that his old master prised him very highly, particularly for his moral excellence; and, speaking of his conduct, described him as a 'gentleman.' Yet he talked as if he were certain that Sam and his family would be reduced to beggary if left to themselves at the North! The children, it is true, have had little preparation in slavery for self reliance; for the most favored of them cannot spell their own names. "S. Worthington said many had inquired of him what business brought me there; and being informed of the object of my mission, they advised him to have nothing to do with me. 'But,' said he, 'though I am certain the condition of Sam and his wife cannot be bettered, I do not think the same with regard to their children; and as Mr. Smith seems disposed to do a kind action, I cannot, in conscience, attempt to frustrate it. If I were to send you home without this family, I should have a troubled mind.' "One of Worthington's greatest difficulties in parting with these slaves was, that it would leave his wife destitute of servants. I pitied her, and felt it right to express my sympathy. I told her my compassion was increased, because I apprehended there was a struggle in her own breast between duty and interest; and I appealed to her whether she did not know it was a duty to let them go, though personal interest would induce her to keep them in her service. I was glad to perceive that these remarks enabled her to relieve herself of a weight--her countenance brightened up, and she appeared quite willing I should take them away. She showed great kindness to Harriet and her children, and evidently felt deeply moved at parting with the nurse, who had thrice been with her through nature's sorest trials. She appeared to me to be a nice lady-like person; and, if I judge aright, she knows what estimate ought to be placed upon slavery in a woman's mind. "Those who know me will not suspect that I sought to conceal my abolition, even in the hot-bed of slavery. Yet I assure thee I had no intention of making it a common topic of conversation, unless the way appeared to open; but thy experience, I doubt not, as well as mine, proves that it is ever opening. The most we need to do is to embrace opportunities, without seeking to make them. I had not expected to say as much as I did, but it was such a curiosity for a Quaker to be seen in such company, that it was soon universally known why I had come and what I had done. This gave rise to many conversations with slave holders, which I trust did some good. I was astonished at their extreme ignorance concerning the laboring population of the North. Thou wilt perhaps be surprised to hear me assert that slave holders do not know what slavery is. Still more strange will it seem when I tell thee that thy old friend was highly complimented by them for his prudence and discretion! The story had become current that I would not talk to Sam till I had settled the business with his master; and as they generally professed to believe that abolitionists wished to incite the slave against their master, by every mischievous incentive they could devise, my conduct naturally enough seemed to them remarkable. I told them I must honestly abjure such complimentary language; for, so far from being what they would consider discreet, I was in fact an abolitionist of the most ultra school. I assured them that most of my associates at the North would have proceeded as I had done, and some of them probably with more discretion. I like much better to talk to a southerner on slavery than with a northern apologist. I regard him as far less mean. There is a mind to be appealed to for _facts_, and there is a feeling that can be reached by a simple testimony of republican truth. In this, the slave holder sometimes 'sees his face as in a glass; but he goeth away and forgetteth what manner of man he is.' "As my prudence and discretion had excited observation, I ventured to remark that it would be a great gratification to me, if the slave holders would meet together and let me occupy an hour or so in defining the true position and principles of the abolitionists; but this, as I had expected, was declined. "When I paid the money, I felt constrained to testify that I could in no degree sanction the principle that man could hold property in man; that the slaves were our equals by creation, and for their salvation, equally with ours, did Christ leave the right hand of the Father to suffer on the cross. I told them that contradictory as it might seem to them, the man who was now paying money for slaves, had such a detestation of the system, that he deemed it a duty to abstain from eating or wearing any of the products of slavery. This seemed to them wondrous strange, and they inquired if there were many at the North who agreed with me in this scruple. I told them yes; that the number was increasing, and that my friend, Gerrit Smith, had abstained from slave produce for many years. "A few hours previous to my final departure one after another gathered around me, and as we stood in the open piazza, I said what I could to explain the principles and practice of abolitionists. I think S. Worthington felt a little hurt at my being thus engaged, for when the stage drove up, he came in great haste to inform me that it was ready. I found it surrounded by many persons, principally colored, who had assembled to bid farewell to the objects of my charge. Their master shook each slave by the hand and bade them farewell. I observed him as we moved away, and thought he seemed to be a good deal moved from some cause or other. "I took care that coachman and passengers should be informed of the history of Sam and his wife; and some one or other of them was sure to make it a subject of conversation wherever we stopped. At Lawrenceburg, where we put up for the night, the landlord was also stage proprietor and a slave holder. He tried to make me believe that his slaves were much better off than himself. He enumerated his troubles and perplexities in contrast with the blessed freedom from care enjoyed by his slaves. I told him he had made out his case very well; but to test his sincerity, I merely wished him to declare candidly, whether he should be altogether willing that himself and family should exchange places with a slave family. The test was too severe, and he walked off. Two young men at table then took up the conversation. The tyranny which slavery exercises over the entire community, was illustrated by the assertion that the head of a certain college did not dare to acknowledge himself an abolitionist; for if he did he would lose his office, which brought him in a good salary; and, moreover, the people of D---- would dismiss him from his pastoral charge. I of course took the ground that he could not be a truly Christian minister, who would purchase his bread and cheese at the expense of denying his own belief, or suppressing his own convictions. "My host inquired whether I would sit at table with colored people; and he seemed much surprised when I answered, 'I do not judge persons by their complexion, but by moral worth. At my own table I sit with colored people, and I shall with these.' "The South, however, is much more free from prejudice against color than the north; provided the distinction between the classes is understood.--A gentleman may seat his slave beside him in a stage coach, and a lady makes no objection to ride next a fat negro woman, even when the thermometer is at ninety degrees; provided always that her fellow travellers understand she is her _property_. "At Shelbyville the stage was likely to be crowded with new passengers, when I said to some young men who were about to get in, that I had a family with me who must not be turned out of the seats they had occupied. Samuel and his family took their accustomed seats, and those who could not find room rode on the roof of the coach; among them was a member elect of the Legislature. As we started, a well dressed man, among the crowd at the tavern-door, called out, 'Go it abolition!' "A crowd at this place attracted my attention, and I found it was an executor's sale; comprising 'lands, houses, furniture, horses, cows, hogs, and twenty likely negroes.' Slaves must, however, be more of a cash article than other commodities; for they were to be sold on four months' credit; real estate, on twelve and twenty four months, and all other property, six months'. "At Louisville, we fell in with Elisha, brother of Samuel Worthington, on his return to Arkansas, where he had a cotton plantation. He manifested much openness and good will, and pressingly invited me to visit him, should I ever go down the Mississippi. After considerable conversation on slavery, he asked me what I thought would be the effect of my late visit. I replied, it was a subject I had often contemplated myself, but I did not know whether it had entered the heads of others. For my own part, I thought I had taught the slaveholders a lesson. They maintained that the slaves did not want their freedom; yet here was one, well fed and well clothed, and in fact living in clover, as far as a slave could do so, ready, without my asking him, to go with me among strangers. If he would leave such a kind master, what might not be expected of the oppressed field hand? "'Perhaps a quotation from Latimer would furnish you with a more direct reply to your question,' said I, 'You know he said at the stake--"We shall this day light such a fire in England, as I trust, by God's grace, will never be put out." And I believe my visit has kindled a flame of liberty in Harrodsburg, that shall burn for years to come; and, by its light, I trust, that many will find their way into Canada.' "I told him, too, I had a question to ask, and I wanted a direct answer--yes, or no. 'Were the slaves any worse off, since the question of abolition has been agitated?' "He said they were not, excepting in one respect. Formerly, when a preacher came among them to hold meetings with the slaves, they had no objection; but now, they feared that slaves from different plantations might thus congregate together and plot mischief. I asked him if slaves in Mississippi were aware of abolition efforts in the North; and he said he believed they were. "We parted with Samuel at Louisville, we taking the steam boat for Cincinnati, and leaving him to proceed to Worthington plantation for his boys. He stood and watched the departure of our boat with a soul full of emotion. He felt himself a connecting link between his sons in distant Mississippi, and his wife and daughters on their way to Peterboro'; and I was glad to see nature and affection gush forth in tears. They say colored people cannot take care of themselves, but I assure thee I had hard work to make these people move a step, till a safe plan was arranged for their absent children. "When I went to pay the captain my fare, he asked whether the colored woman and girls were my property. I answered yes; but explained to him my peculiar situation, and I told him I detested the very name of slavery. He said they usually asked for a reference, but he felt sure that a person of my appearance would not tell him a falsehood. I told him I would show him my bill of sale, as soon as the hurry had subsided; not because I acknowledged his right to demand it, but because he was civil and polite, and I was willing to satisfy him. When I showed him the bill, he knew both the seller and the witness, as I had expected. I asked him whether, if I had brought a barrel of lard on board, he would have troubled me to prove property? He apologized by saying, that they had been imposed on by white men, who put slaves on board, under the pretence that they were free; and that the owners of the line had been obliged to pay six thousand dollars for fugitive slaves. I noticed there were no colored hands on board. "On arriving at Buffalo, we put up at the Mansion House; and the first object that caught my eye was an advertisement, dated LIBERTY, in Missouri, offering three hundred dollars reward for three fugitive slaves. This is a free state with a vengeance! No stage riding for colored people here; moreover, it was with great difficulty I could obtain breakfast for my companions, though I had paid for it. I hope abolitionists will keep clear of such a pro-slavery atmosphere as surrounds the Mansion House. "On board the cars, Colorophobia again began to rage; but the agent soon quelled it, by finding other seats for two persons, who thought better of themselves than others did of them. In the stage to Auburn, difficulty again occurred, and the driver wanted to return my money, when some of the passengers objected to the complexion of some of my companions. I told him the stage was too crowded to hold us at any event; but unless he sent us on to Auburn in good season, I should teach the company a lesson they would not soon forget. He did so; and I arrived safely at my own house, after an absence of twenty-six days, and a travel of one thousand eight hundred and sixty-five miles. The whole cost of redemption, including our travelling expenses, was three thousand five hundred and eighty-three dollars and eighty-one cents. (£807.) "We had not been long there before Harriet said to my wife, 'Madam, I return you a thousand thanks for letting your gentleman fetch us;' and I believe she said no more than she felt, and I felt the force of her grateful acknowledgments. "After two days' rest, we proceeded to Gerrit Smith's; where, as thou mayest well believe, we received the friendly welcome which those are wont to receive who visit his house. "_Skaneateles, 9th Month 14th, 1841._" APPENDIX K. PAGE 159. _The Society of Friends in America and the Colonization Society_. The "Friends" alluded to in the text as supporting the Colonization Society in a collective capacity, are those of North Carolina. In 1832 two influential "Friends" appeared at the Annual Meeting of the Colonization Society, as delegates from the Society of Friends in North Carolina. One of the resolutions passed at the time, is as follows:--"That the thanks of this Meeting be presented to the Society of Friends in North Carolina, for the aid they have liberally bestowed and repeatedly rendered to the cause of African Colonization." The Yearly meeting of Friends in North Carolina stands among the donors of that year, as having contributed five hundred dollars to the Colonization Society. I fear no change has since taken place in the favorable disposition of "Friends" of that region towards this institution, for during one of my visits to Philadelphia, I was informed by a "Friend," just returned from North Carolina, that an agent of the Colonization Society had been recently permitted to make an appeal before the members of the "Meeting of Sufferings" of that Yearly Meeting, which had afterwards granted him two hundred dollars out of the common stock of the Society. Nothing is more certain than that approbation of the principles and measures of the Colonization Society, cannot co-exist with any lively desires for the extinction of slavery, by the only practical means--_emancipation_; and accordingly I was not surprised to find it urged by some prominent individuals as a reason for their own inactivity, and that of the Society at large, on this subject, that "Friends" living within the slave States, urged their brethren at the North not to unite with the Anti-slavery Societies. It appears, however, that "Friends" of North Carolina do not, at all events, object to uniting or co-operating with those of other denominations, in promoting an object which they approve. Their objection to abolition societies evidently rests on quite different grounds. I must here be permitted to say a few words, respecting the character and objects of the society, thus officially patronized by the Friends of North Carolina. The greatest objection to this society, is its representing slavery, and the prejudice against color, as necessary and incurable evils, for which its own mockery of a remedy is the only palliative; and thus administering an opiate to the consciences, not only of slave-holders, but of others who are unwilling to part with their sinful prejudices, and to enter into that fellowship of suffering with the enslaved, without which no efforts for the removal of slavery will be effectual. The following extracts, elucidating this subject, are from a printed letter written by a friend of high station and extensive influence, then residing in North Carolina, but now of the State of Indiana, in defence of the Colonization Society. It is dated "Third Month 4th, 1834," and I suppress his name, because time and reflection have, I believe, in some degree modified his views. Speaking of the opposition of Friends in England to the Colonization Society, he says, "I have supposed that they would think it more consistent with Christian principles to emancipate them in the Southern States, and let them remain there, as they have done in the Northern States. I apprehend that Friends in England are not fully apprised of some important circumstances, which place the Southern States in a very different situation from the Northern. In the first place, there never were so many people of color in the Northern States, as there are in the Southern; and another circumstance that diminished them there, and increased them greatly here, was while the Northern States were legislating on the subject of gradual emancipation, avaricious masters sent them by thousands to the Southern markets, before the emancipating laws were actually passed, which left a small proportion in those States, in comparison to the whites; not many more, perhaps, than they were willing to have for laborers, waiting men, waiting women, et cet. And notwithstanding they have freed their slaves, for which they are entitled to applause, yet they never dreamed of raising them to equal citizenship and privileges with the white people. No, my friend, they can no more reconcile to themselves the idea of sitting down by the side of a colored African, (American?) in any legislative or judiciary department, than the high spirited Southern slaveholder; _and not only so, they never intend to admit them to these privileges, while the State Government, and the United States' Government continue in existence_." Again, after stating various objections to emancipation, he goes on to say, "I need not dwell much upon the subject of universal emancipation, in stating the best, or the worst, or most probable results of such a measure, because the Southern people have no more idea of the general emancipation of slaves, without colonizing them, than the Northern people have of admitting the few among _them_ to equal rights and privileges. Not even the friends of humanity here, think that a general emancipation, to remain here, would better their condition," et cet. The inferences plainly to be drawn from all this, and from much besides to the same purport, are, that the wicked determination of the white people to retain their sinful prejudices, is, like the laws of the Medes and Persians, immutable; and must, therefore, be accommodated by the transportation of the unoffending objects of their intense dislike. On this point I will observe that, if it be so, the remedy is worse than the disease; but that Christian principle is powerful enough, as daily experience testifies, to combat and destroy this unholy prejudice. The next inference is, that because the slave population in the Southern States is much more numerous than it was in the Northern, _therefore_ the same reasons for emancipation do not exist. Is not the true conclusion from such premises, the very reverse of this? The motives to abolition increase, both in weight and number, in proportion to the absolute and relative increase of the slave population. The British West Indies present an example of the safety and advantages of the measure in a community, where the whites are a mere handful compared to the colored population. That state of feeling from which the Colonization Society sprung, is well illustrated by this writer, in giving, in natural language, a picture of his own mind. After again repeating his statement of the vast proportion which the colored population bears to the white, in the Slave States, he says, "Now, my friend, the general emancipation of such a number of these poor, degraded creatures, say more than two millions, always to remain here with the white people, even if the Government should take the necessary care for their education and preparation for freedom and civilized life, which to be sure it ought, they must or will be a degraded people, while the reins of government remain in the hands of the whites. Supposing the very best consequences that could follow such a measure, even that both classes should generally exercise Christian feelings towards each other, which is very improbable, if not morally impossible, the peculiarly marked difference of features and color, will be always an insurmountable barrier to general amalgamation." Again, "Were they of the same color and features that we are, in an elective republican government like this, where talents and merit are the common footsteps to esteem and preferment, there would be no difficulty in universal emancipation, without a separation. I have no idea that they are at all inferior to the white people in intellect; give them the same opportunity for enterprise and improvement." Their only sin, it appears, after all, is being "guilty of a skin not colored like our own." I may observe, in passing, that amalgamation, the bugbear of anti-abolitionists, is the necessary result of slavery, not of emancipation. The preceding extracts present a faithful picture of colonization principles, though it is not every colonizationist who would avow them with so much simplicity. The writer notwithstanding, manifests some benevolent feeling towards the slaves. His conscience cannot be satisfied with the present state of things, and he, like too many others, takes refuge in the pleasing delusion that it would be practicable to convey these colored Americans across the Atlantic and make them comfortable in Africa, because their ancestors were born there. As reasonably and as justly might he talk of transporting the white Americans to England because their ancestors removed from this country. It is very easily demonstrable, that this could not possibly be accomplished--that neither the means of transport could be found, nor the means of settlement provided; and were these impossibilities removed, it might also be shown, very easily, that it would be suicidal policy to remove the entire laboring population of the Southern States from a soil and climate for which they only are adapted. Yet emancipation by removal is the theory of the Colonization Society, and in this point of view that Society must be characterized as a grand imposture. What must be the power of that delusion which can render intelligent and philanthropic men the victims of such a fallacy? If the whites, who hold the reins of government, could but be brought to exercise Christian feelings towards the people of color, which this worthy friend thinks is perhaps "morally impossible," how rapidly would all difficulties vanish? To accomplish this desirable end is the object of the abolitionists; they feel it to be difficult, but they know it to be not impossible. The writer of this pamphlet uniformly couples "ultra slaveholders" and "northern manumissionists" in the same censure. They are the two objectionable extremes; colonizationists and moderate slave-holders being, I suppose, the golden mean. One illustration more of the animus with which he regards a black population. "And so it is with the New England immediate manumissionists; they have so few people of color that they do not consider them an evil; and hence they conclude that the Southern States may do as they have done--free them at once; but I have no doubt at all, if there was as large a proportion of colored people in the New England States as in the Southern, there would be but one voice, and that would be for colonizing them somewhere." The following passage is historically interesting: "The Yearly Meeting of Friends of North Carolina have sent several hundreds of those they have had under their care to Liberia, for whose emancipation in this State they could never obtain a law, though they petitioned for it oftentimes for the space of fifty years, always finding the chief objection of the legislature to be that of the great number and degraded and low character of the free persons of color already in the State. We prefer sending them to Africa rather than to any of the free States or to Canada--because we believe _that_ is their proper home. We sent some to the State of Ohio; and since then hundreds of blacks have been in a manner compelled, by the laws of that State, or the prejudices of some of its citizens, to leave it and go to Canada. We have sent some to Indiana, but that State has passed laws, we hear, to prevent any more coming. We have sent some to Pennsylvania, but, about two years ago, we shipped near one hundred from Newbern and Beaufort to Chester; they were not suffered to land, neither there nor at Philadelphia, nor yet on the Jersey shore opposite, but had to float on the Delaware river until the Colonization Society took them into possession; then they were landed in Jersey, ten miles below Philadelphia, and re-shipped for Africa. North Carolina Yearly Meeting has contributed thousands of dollars to the Colonization Society; it has probably done more for it than any other religious community has in America, not merely because it has provided us an asylum for the people of color under our care, but upon the ground of our belief that it is a great, humane, and benevolent institution. I am not informed of a single member of the Society of Friends in this country, not even in any of the slave States, who is not in favor of colonizing them in Africa. We believe generally that colonizing them there gradually is the most likely way to put a peaceful end to slavery, and place them in the great scale of equality with the rest of the civilized world." I have devoted a space to this letter for several reasons; first, because the writer is a man of note and influence in his own country, and has plainly uttered what many of the Society of Friends even now feel, secondly, he has shown what was the prevalent sentiment among Friends not longer than seven years since, though I hope and believe a considerable change has taken place in the interval; and lastly, because, within a few months past, a well-known American, a zealous agent of the Colonization Society, has privately employed this very letter to induce abolitionists in England to look favorably on that Society. I would add, also, that I learn, on the authority of an English "Friend," who has lately visited the various Yearly Meetings in America, that in those parts of the slave States in which "Friends" chiefly reside, their influence is very perceptible in mitigating the treatment of the slaves in their neighborhood. This, I willingly believe; indeed the example of a body who refuse to hold slaves, cannot but be highly beneficial. APPENDIX L.--Page 96. "_Memorial of citizens of Boston, United States, to the Lords of the Admiralty, Great Britain_. "To the Right Honorable the Lords of the Admiralty of Great Britain. "The undersigned, the citizens of Boston, in the United States of America, of different religious denominations, respectfully represent-- "That by existing arrangements for the sailing of the Cunard line of steamers between Boston and Liverpool, it becomes necessary for them to leave this port on the Sabbath, whenever that happens to be the regular day appointed for sailing; and that this occurs a number of times in the course of a year. That the sailing of a steamer on that day is a source of deep regret to many good citizens, who are compelled, whenever the event happens, either to defer their departure to a future day, or to yield to an arrangement which violates their Christian feelings. And what is still more to be lamented, as a consequence growing out of the present regulation, is that aside from the tumult necessarily attendant on the sailing of these vessels on the Lord's day, it furnishes an occasion for the needless profanation of the day by thousands who assemble as spectators on our wharves to witness their departure. "The undersigned regard a proper observance of the Sabbath as vital to the general peace, good order, and welfare of society; and they are deeply impressed with the belief that nothing of a secular or worldly nature should be done on that day by individuals, by governments, or by any of their departments, Which is not in the strictest sense a work of necessity or mercy; and they most respectfully represent, that they are unable to perceive any reasons which render the sailing of steamers from this port on the Lord's day such a work. And believing as they do, that it will be the pleasure of your lordships at all times to cherish and promote, so far as you may be able, a due observance of the Sabbath, they respectfully and earnestly request your lordships so to vary the present arrangements as to the times for the sailing of these steamers, that their departure from this port shall be changed to another day, whenever the appointed day for sailing shall fall upon the Christian Sabbath. And they venture to express their confident belief that not only the public welfare, but also the private advantage of individuals concerned in the enterprize, would be ultimately promoted by the arrangements here prayed for. "The undersigned cannot conclude their memorial without adverting to the high and responsible station that has been assigned by Providence to the English and American people, in the great work which they and we rejoice to know is now so rapidly progressing, of improving the moral and religious character and condition of the world; nor can they be unmindful of the fact, that to the same extent as their standing before the world in this respect is permanent, so will be the influence of their example on the nations around them, whether it be good or bad. "That the subject here presented may receive your Lordship's favorable and Christian consideration is the sincere and earnest desire of your Lordships' most respectful memorialists." The signatures to this document included the late mayor and one of the former ones, who was also Lieutenant-Governor of the State of Massachusetts, one bishop, upwards of forty clergymen of different denominations, nine gentlemen, upwards of one hundred and twenty merchants, seventeen presidents of insurance companies, the postmaster of Boston, five physicians, seven members of the legal profession, two editors of newspapers; and it was accompanied by the following memorandum from one of the gentlemen who had taken it round for signature. "The undersigned having been personally engaged in obtaining the signatures to the memorial, asking a change in the sailing of the Cunard steamers, when the regular sailing day occurs on the Sabbath, hereby certifies that the memorialists are among the most respectable and influential of their respective professions, that the memorial was received with almost universal favor, and that, had time been allowed, and had it been deemed necessary to do it, thousands of names might have been obtained. "AMOS A. PHELPS." "Boston, July 31, 1841." On my arrival in this country, I found that Lord Melbourne's administration was about to resign; I therefore deferred forwarding the memorial until the present ministers had entered upon the duties of their respective offices; when I called at the Admiralty, and placed it in the hands of the Secretary, having little doubt the application would have been at once granted; but a few days after it was presented I received the following reply:-- "Admiralty, September 21, 1841. "Sir,--Having laid before my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty the communications of the citizens of Boston, United States, representing their wish that the departure of Mr. Cunard's steamers on a Sunday, from their port, should, for the future be discontinued; I am commanded by their lordships to acquaint you, that after having given that attention to the subject, which their respect for the citizens of Boston, and for the religious opinions expressed by them, could not fail to dictate, my lords have, upon mature consideration, come to the conclusion, that, with a due regard to the exigencies of the public service, the proposed alteration cannot be carried into effect. My lords, therefore, beg you will have the goodness to convey their decision to the citizens of Boston, together with the assurance of their respect for the opinions they have expressed, and their consequent regret at being unable to comply with their request. "I am, Sir, "Your most obedient humble servant, "JOHN BARROW. "Joseph Sturge, Esq., Birmingham." 
13176	----	Proofreaders THE ABOLITIONISTS TOGETHER WITH PERSONAL MEMORIES OF THE STRUGGLE FOR HUMAN RIGHTS 1830-1864 BY JOHN F. HUME G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK AND LONDON The Knickerbocker press 1905 FOREWORD The opening chapter of this work was prepared during the recent presidential campaign. It was the idea of the author that it should appear in one of the leading newspapers or magazines before the election, but maturer reflection brought about a change of purpose. He realized that its publication at that time, might, not altogether unreasonably, be looked upon as a political move having as its object the election or defeat of a particular candidate for office, whereas he had no desire to play the partisan. His sole aim was to vindicate the character of a portion of the citizens of this country--some living, some dead--whom he had always believed to be most deserving of popular esteem, from what he considered the unmerited aspersions of a man who has since come into a position so conspicuous and so influential that his condemnation necessarily carries with it a damaging effect. Having gone so far as the preparation of the initial chapter, he concluded that proofs of his assumptions and assertions might at certain points be thought desirable, if not necessary, and that he should so prolong his work as to provide them. His first idea at this point, as his years went back beyond the beginning of the Abolitionist movement in this country, and as he had been from early boyhood identified with this movement, was to contribute such information as his recollection of events would supply. In other words, he decided to write a narrative, the matter of which would be reminiscent, with here and there a little history woven in among the strands of memory like a woof in the warp. It has ended in history supplying the warp, and the reminiscence indifferently supplying the woof. However, the value of the production is, doubtless, greatly enhanced by the change. A string of pearls--dropping the former simile and adopting another--is estimated according to the gems it contains, and not because of the cord that holds it together. The personal experiences and recollections that are here and there interwoven, by themselves would be of little consequence; but they will be found to carry upon them certain historical facts and inferences--some new in themselves and in their connections--which, as the author hopes and believes, are of profitable quality and abounding interest. In consequence of the change of plan just explained, the scope of the work is materially affected. What was begun as a magazine article, and continued as a brochure, ends in a volume. J.F.H. Poughkeepsie, N.Y., July, 1905. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I.--THEODORE ROOSEVELT AND THE ABOLITIONISTS 1 II.--THE ABOLITIONISTS--WHO AND WHAT THEY WERE 15 III.--ONE OF THEIR TRAITS 26 IV.--PRO-SLAVERY PREJUDICE 30 V.--THE POLITICAL SITUATION 41 VI.--ANTI-SLAVERY PIONEERS 49 VII.--SALMON PORTLAND CHASE 59 VIII.--JOHN QUINCY ADAMS 67 IX.--ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETIES 72 X.--WANTED, AN ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY 79 XI.--ANTI-SLAVERY ORATORS 88 XII.--LINCOLN AND DOUGLAS 94 XIII.--ANTI-SLAVERY WOMEN 100 XIV.--MOBS 108 XV.--ANTI-SLAVERY MARTYRS 113 XVI.--THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD 121 XVII.--COLONIZATION 128 XVIII.--LINCOLN AND EMANCIPATION 136 XIX.--THE END OF ABOLITIONISM 150 XX.--MISSOURI 157 XXI.--MISSOURI _(Continued)_ 174 XXII.--SOME ABOLITION LEADERS 186 XXIII.--ROLLS OF HONOR 201 APPENDIX EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION 211 BORDER SLAVE-STATE MESSAGE 213 "PRAYER OF TWENTY MILLIONS" 214 INDEX 217 THE ABOLITIONISTS CHAPTER I THEODORE ROOSEVELT AND THE ABOLITIONISTS The following is an extract from Theodore Roosevelt's biography of Thomas H. Benton in Houghton, Mifflin, & Co.'s American Statesmen Series, published in 1887: "Owing to a variety of causes, the Abolitionists have received an immense amount of hysterical praise which they do not deserve, and have been credited with deeds done by other men whom, in reality, they hampered and opposed rather than aided. After 1840, the professed Abolitionists formed a small and comparatively unimportant portion of the forces that were working towards the restriction and ultimate destruction of slavery; and much of what they did was positively harmful to the cause for which they were fighting. Those of their number who considered the Constitution as a league with death and hell, and who, therefore, advocated a dissolution of the Union, acted as rationally as would anti-polygamists nowadays if, to show their disapproval of Mormonism, they should advocate that Utah should be allowed to form a separate nation. The only hope of ultimately suppressing slavery lay in the preservation of the Union, and every Abolitionist who argued or signed a petition for the dissolution was doing as much to perpetuate the evil he complained of, as if he had been a slaveholder. The Liberty party, in running Birney, simply committed a political crime, evil in almost all its consequences. They in no sense paved the way for the Republican party, or helped forward the Anti-Slavery cause, or hurt the existing organizations. Their effect on the Democracy was _nil_; and all they were able to accomplish with the Whigs was to make them put forward for the ensuing election a slaveholder from Louisiana, with whom they were successful. Such were the remote results of their conduct; the immediate evils they produced have already been alluded to. They bore considerable resemblance--except that after all they really did have a principle to contend for--to the political Prohibitionists of the present day, who go into the third party organization, and are, not even excepting the saloon-keepers themselves, the most efficient allies on whom intemperance and the liquor traffic can count. "Anti-Slavery men like Giddings, who supported Clay, were doing a thousandfold more effective work for the cause they had at heart than all the voters who supported Birney; or, to speak more accurately, they were doing all they could to advance the cause, while the others were doing all they could to hold it back. Lincoln in 1860 occupied more nearly the ground held by Clay than that held by Birney; and the men who supported the latter in 1844 were the prototypes of those who worked to oppose Lincoln in 1860, and only worked less hard because they had less chance. The ultra Abolitionists discarded expediency, and claimed to act for abstract right on principle, no matter what the results might be; in consequence they accomplished very little, and that as much for harm as for good, until they ate their words, and went counter to their previous course, thereby acknowledging it to be bad, and supported in the Republican party the men and principles they had so fiercely condemned. The Liberty party was not in any sense the precursor of the Republican party, which was based as much on expediency as on abstract right, and was, therefore, able to accomplish good instead of harm. To say that extreme Abolitionists triumphed in Republican success and were causes of it, is as absurd as to call Prohibitionists successful if, after countless efforts totally to prohibit the liquor traffic, and after savage denunciations of those who try to regulate it, they should then turn round and form a comparatively insignificant portion of a victorious high-license party. The men who took a great and effective part in the fight against slavery were the men who remained with their respective parties." No word of praise or approval has Mr. Roosevelt for the men and women--for representatives of both sexes were active sharers in the work performed--who inaugurated, and for a long period carried forward, the movement that led up to the overthrow of African slavery in this country. He has no encomiums to bestow on those same men and women for the protracted and exhausting labors they performed, the dangers they encountered, the insults they endured, the sacrifices they submitted to, the discouragements they confronted in many ways and forms in prosecuting their arduous undertaking. On the contrary, he has only bitter words of condemnation. In his estimation, and according to his dogmatic utterance, they were criminals--political criminals. His words make it very manifest that, if Mr. Roosevelt had been a voter in 1840, he would not have been an Abolitionist. He would not have been one of that devoted little band of political philanthropists who went out, like David of old, to do battle with one of the giant abuses of the time, and who found in the voter's ballot a missile that they used with deadly effect. On the contrary, he would have enrolled himself among their adversaries and assailants, becoming a member--because it is impossible to think of Theodore Roosevelt as a non-partisan--of one of the leading political parties of the day. There were but two of them--the Whigs and the Democrats. In failing to support one or the other of these parties, and giving their votes and influence to a new one that was founded and constructed on Anti-Slavery lines, the Abolitionists, in Mr. Roosevelt's opinion, "committed a political crime." Now, for what did those parties stand in 1840? Who were their presidential candidates in that year? Martin Van Buren was the candidate of the Democrats. He had been for eight years in the offices of Vice-President and President, and in that time, in the opinion of the Anti-Slavery people of the country, had shown himself to be a facile instrument in the hands of the slaveholders. He was what the Abolitionists described as a "doughface"--a Northern man with Southern principles. As presiding officer he gave the casting vote in the Senate for the bill that excluded Anti-Slavery matter from the United States mails, a bill justly regarded as one of the greatest outrages ever perpetrated in a free country, and as holding a place by the side of the Fugitive Slave Law. True, he afterwards--this was in 1848,--like Saul of Tarsus, saw a new light and announced himself as a Free Soiler. Then the Abolitionists, with what must always be regarded as an extraordinary concession to partisan policy, cast aside their prejudices and gave him their support. Yet Mr. Roosevelt charges them with being indifferent to the demands of political expediency. General William Henry Harrison, candidate of the Whigs, was a Virginian by birth and training, and an inveterate pro-slavery man. When Governor of the Territory of Indiana, he presided over a convention that met for the purpose of favoring, notwithstanding the prohibition in the Ordinance of '87, the introduction of slavery in that Territory. These were the men between whom the old parties gave the Abolitionists the privilege of pick and choice. Declining to support either of them, they gave their votes to James G. Birney, candidate of the newly formed Liberty party. He was a Southern man by birth and a slave-owner by inheritance, but, becoming convinced that slavery was wrong, he freed his negroes, giving them homes of their own, and so frankly avowed his Anti-Slavery convictions that he was driven from his native State. His supporters did not expect to elect him, but they hoped to begin a movement that would lead up to victory. They were planting seed in what they believed to be receptive soil. After 1840, the old parties became more and more submissive to the Slave Power. Conjointly, they enacted those measures that became known as the compromises of 1850, the principal ones being the Fugitive Slave Law and the act repealing the Missouri Compromise. Both of them pronounced these acts to be "a finality," and both of them in national convention declared there should be no further agitation of the subject. They set out to muzzle all the Anti-Slavery voices of the country. By this time it was perfectly manifest that there was not only nothing the slaveholders might demand which the old parties would not concede, but that there was, so far as the slavery issue was involved, absolutely no difference between them. It is a notable fact that in the eight years following 1840, of the four presidential candidates put in nomination by the two parties, three were slaveholders, the fourth being a Northern "doughface," and both of the two who were elected held slaves. For the nomination and election of one of these men, whom he describes as "a slaveholder from Louisiana" (General Taylor), Mr. Roosevelt is disposed to hold the Abolitionists accountable. They forced the poor Whigs into those proceedings, he intimates, probably by telling them they ought to do nothing of the kind, that being what they actually did tell them. But as the Abolitionists, four years earlier, in the same way defeated the Whigs when they were supporting a slaveholder from Kentucky (Clay), and a man who, in his time, did more for the upbuilding of slavery than any other person in America, it would appear that the score of responsibility on their part was fairly evened up. In citing the action of Joshua R. Giddings as an anti-third-party man, Mr. Roosevelt is not altogether fortunate. Subsequent to the presidential campaign of 1844, the third-party Abolitionists held a convention in Pittsburg, in which Giddings was a leading actor. As chairman of the committee on platform, he submitted a resolution declaring that both of the old parties were "hopelessly corrupt and unworthy of confidence." The Abolitionists could not see that they were under obligation to either of the old parties, believing they could do far better service for the cause they championed by standing up and being counted as candidates honestly representing their principles. They fought both of the old parties, and finally beat them. They killed the Whig party out and out, and so far crippled the Democrats that they have been limping ever since. Their action, in the long run, as attested by the verdict of results, proved itself to be not only the course of abstract right, but of political expediency. In 1840, the vote of the third-party Abolitionists, then for the first time in the political field, was 7000; in 1844 it was 60,000, and in 1848 it was nearly 300,000. From that time, with occasional backsets, Mr. Roosevelt's "political criminals" went steadily forward until they mastered the situation. From the first, they were a power in the land, causing the older parties to quake, Belshazzar-like, at sight of their writing on the wall. But according to Mr. Roosevelt, the men of the Liberty-Free-Soil party had no share in fathering and nurturing the Republican party, to which he assigns all the credit for crushing slavery. Says he, "The Liberty party was not in any sense the precursor of the Republican party, which was based as much on expediency as on abstract right." It is very true that many Republicans, especially in the earlier days, were neither Abolitionists nor Anti-Slavery people. A good many of them, like Abraham Lincoln, were sentimentally adverse to slavery, but under existing conditions did not want it disturbed. Many of them, having broken loose from the old parties, had no other place of shelter and cared nothing for slavery one way or the other, some being of the opinion of one of the new party leaders whom the writer hereof heard declare that "the niggers are just where they ought to be." All this, however, does not prove that the third-party people were not the real forerunners and founders of the Republican party. They certainly helped to break up the old organizations, crushing them in whole or part. They supplied a contingent of trained and desperately earnest workers, their hearts being enlisted as well as their hands. And what was of still greater consequence, they furnished an issue, and one that was very much alive, around which the detached fragments of the old parties could collect and unite. Their share in the composition and development of the new party can be illustrated. Out in our great midland valley two rivers--the Missouri and the Mississippi--meet and mingle their waters. The Missouri, although the larger stream, after the junction is heard of no more; but being charged with a greater supply of sedimentary matter, gives its color to the combined flood of the assimilated waters. Abolitionism was merged in Republicanism. It was no longer spoken of as a separate element, but from the beginning it gave color and character to the combination. The whole compound was Abolitionized. It was not, indeed, the voting strength, although this was considerable, that the Abolitionists brought to the Republican organization, that made them the real progenitors of that party. It is possible that the other constituents entering into it, which were drawn from the Anti-Slavery Whigs, the "Anti-Nebraska" Democrats, the "Barnburner" Democrats of New York, the "Know-Nothings," etc., numbered more in the aggregate than the Abolitionists it included; but it was not so much the number of votes the Abolitionists contributed that made them the chief creators of the Republican party, as it was their working and fighting ability. They had undergone a thorough training. For nearly twenty years they had been in the field in active service. For the whole of that time they had been exposed to pro-slavery mobbing and almost every kind of persecution. They had to conquer every foot of ground they occupied. They had done an immense amount of invaluable preparatory work. To deny to such people a liberal share of the credit for results accomplished, would be as reasonable as to say that men who clear the land, plough the ground, and sow the seed, because others may help to gather the harvest, have nothing to do with raising the crop. But for the pioneer work of the Abolitionists there would have been no Republican party. There had been Anti-Slavery people in this country before the Abolitionists--conscientious, zealous, intelligent--but somehow they lacked the ability, in the language of the pugilists, to "put up a winning fight." They had been brushed aside or trampled under foot. Not so with the Abolitionists. They had learned all the tricks of the enemy. They were not afraid of opposition. They knew how to give blows as well as to take them. The result was that from the time they organized for separate political action in 1840, they had made steady progress, although this seemed for a period to be discouragingly slow. It was only a question of time when, if there had been no Republican party, they would have succeeded in abolishing slavery without its assistance. Although, as before remarked, the Republican party was made up of a good many elements besides the Abolitionists, there was among them but little homogeneousness. They were indifferent, if not hostile, to each other, and, if left to themselves, would never have so far coalesced as to make a working party. They had no settled policy, no common ground to stand on. They would have been simply a rope of sand. But the Abolitionists supplied a bond of union. They had a principle that operated like a loadstone in bringing the factions together. There was another inducement the Abolitionists had to offer. They had an organization that was perfect in its way. It was weak but active. It had made its way into Congress where it had such representatives as John P. Hale and Salmon P. Chase in the Senate, and several brilliant men in the Lower House. It had a complete outfit of party machinery. It had an efficient force of men and women engaged in canvassing as lecturers and stump orators. It had well managed newspapers, and the ablest pens in the country--not excepting Harriet Beecher Stowe's--were in its service. All this, it is hardly necessary to say, was attractive to people without political homes. The Abolitionists offered them not only shelter but the prospect of meat and drink in the future. In that way their organization became the nucleus of the Republican party, which was in no sense a new organization, but a reorganization of an old force with new material added. And here would seem to be the proper place for reference to the historical fact that the Republican party, under that name, had but four years of existence behind it when the great crisis came in the election of Lincoln and the beginning of the Civil War--Lincoln's election being treated by the South as a _casus belli_. The Republican party was established under that name in 1856 and Lincoln was elected in 1860. Now, the work preparatory to Lincoln's election was not done in four years. The most difficult part of it--the most arduous, the most disagreeable, the most dangerous--had been done long before. Part of it dated back to 1840. Indeed, the performance of the Republican party in those four years was not remarkably brilliant. With the slogan of "Free soil, free men, and Fremont" it made an ostentatious demonstration in 1856--an attempted _coup de main_--which failed. It would have failed quite as signally in 1860, but for the division of the Democratic party into the Douglas and Breckenridge factions. That division was pre-arranged by the slaveholders who disliked Douglas, the regular Democratic nominee, much more than they did Lincoln, and who hoped and plotted for Lincoln's election because it furnished them a pretext for rebellion. The change of name from "Free Soil" or "Liberty" to "Republican" in 1856 had very little significance. It was a matter of partisan policy and nothing more. "Liberty" and "Free Soil," as party cognomens, had a meaning, and were supposed to antagonize certain prejudices. "Republican," at that juncture, meant nothing whatever. Besides, it was sonorous; it was euphonious; it was palatable to weak political stomachs. The ready acceptance of the new name by the Abolitionists goes very far to contradict Mr. Roosevelt's accusation against them of being regardless of the claims of political expediency. The writer has shown, as he believes, that without the preparatory work of the political Abolitionists there would have been no Republican party. He will now go a step further. He believes that without that preliminary service there would not only have been no Republican party, but no Civil War in the interest of free soil, no Emancipation Proclamation, no Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments to the Federal Constitution. There might have been and probably would have been considerable discussion, ending in a protest, more or less "ringing," when slavery was permitted to overstep the line marked out by the Missouri Compromise. There might even have been another "settlement." But no such adjustment would have seriously impeded the northward march of the triumphant Slave Power. Indeed, in that event it is more than probable that ere this the legal representatives of the late Robert Toombs, of Georgia, would, if so inclined, have made good his boast of calling the roll of his slaves at the foot of Bunker Hill monument. So far we have dealt with Mr. Roosevelt's indictment of the Abolitionists for abandoning the old pro-slavery political parties, and undertaking to construct a new and better one. That, in his judgment, was a political crime. But he charges them with another manifestation of criminality which was much more serious. He accuses them of hostility, to the Union, which was disloyalty and treason. The evidence offered by him in support of his accusation was the Anti-Unionist position taken by William Lloyd Garrison, who branded the Union as a "league with hell," and some of his associates. But Garrison was not a leader, or even a member, of the third or Liberty party. He denounced it almost as bitterly as Mr. Roosevelt. Garrison was a Quaker, a non-resistant, and a non-voter. He relied on moral suasion. He saw no salvation in politics. The formation of a new Anti-Slavery party excited his fiery indignation. He declared that it was "ludicrous in its folly, pernicious as a measure of policy, and useless as a political contrivance." Far and away the most potential member and leader of the political Abolitionists was Salmon P. Chase. Instead of denouncing the Constitution as "a league with death and hell," he claimed that it was an Anti-Slavery document and should be so construed. As for the Union, by his services in successfully managing the finances of the country in its great crisis, he did as much to sustain the Union as any other man of that time. To accuse him of hostility and infidelity to the Union, is something that no one can do with impunity. In fact, so clear and so clean, as well as so bold and striking, is the record of Chase and his associates, beginning in 1840 and continuing down until the last shackle was stricken from the last bondsman's limbs, that even the shadow of the White House cannot obscure it. Nor is Mr. Roosevelt happy in his illustration, when, in his concluding arraignment of the Abolitionists, he seeks to discredit them as an organization of impracticables by comparing them to the political Prohibitionists of to-day. When the latter, if that time is ever to be, shall become strong enough to rout one or both of the existing main political parties, and, taking the control of the Government in their hands, shall not only legally consign the liquor traffic to its coffin, but nail it down with a constitutional amendment, then Mr. Roosevelt's comparison will apply. CHAPTER II THE ABOLITIONISTS--WHO AND WHAT THEY WERE In selecting those who are to receive its remembrance and its honors, the world has always given its preference to such as have battled for freedom. It may have been with the sword; it may have been with the pen; or it may have been with a tongue that was inflamed with holy rage against tyranny and wrong; but whatever the instrumentality employed; in whatever field the battle has been fought; and by whatsoever race, or class, or kind of men; the champions of human liberty have been hailed as the bravest of the brave and the most worthy to receive the acclaims of their fellows. Now, if that estimate be not altogether inaccurate, what place in the scale of renown must be assigned to those pioneers in the successful movement against African slavery in this country who have commonly been known as "Abolitionists"--a name first given in derision by their enemies? It should, in the opinion of the writer hereof, be the very highest. He is not afraid to challenge the whole record of human achievements by great and good men (always save and except that which is credited to the Saviour of mankind) for exhibitions of heroism superior to theirs. Nay, when it is remembered that mainly through their efforts and sacrifices was accomplished a revolution by which four million human beings (but for the Abolitionists the number to-day in bondage would be eight millions) were lifted from the condition in which American slaves existed but a few years ago, to freedom and political equality with their former masters; and, at the same time when it is considered what qualities of heart and brain were needed for such a task, he does not believe that history, from its earliest chapters, furnishes examples of gods or men, except in very rare and isolated cases, who have shown themselves to be their equals. In the matter of physical courage they were unsurpassed, unsurpassable. A good many of them were Quakers and non-resistants, and a good many of them were women, but they never shrank from danger to life and limb, when employed in their humanitarian work. Some of them achieved the martyr's crown. In the matter of conscience they were indomitable. Life to them was worth less than principle. In the matter of money they were absolutely unselfish. Those of them who were poor, as the most of them were, toiled on without the hope of financial recompense. They did their work not only without the promise or prospect of material reward of any kind, but with the certainty of pains and penalties that included the ostracism and contempt of their fellows, and even serious risks to property and life. All these sacrifices were in the cause of human liberty; but of liberty for whom? That is the crucial point. In all ages there have been plenty of men who have honorably striven for liberty for themselves. Some there have been who have risen to higher planes. We have an example in Lafayette. He fought to liberate a people who were foreign in language and blood; but they were of his own color and the peers of his compatriots. The Abolitionists, however, espoused the cause, and it was for that that they endured so much, of creatures that were infinitely below them; of beings who had ceased to be recognized as belonging to humanity, and were classed with the cattle of the field and other species of "property." So low were they that they could neither appreciate nor return the services rendered in their behalf. For their condition, the Abolitionists were in no sense responsible. They had no necessary fellowship with the unfortunates. They were under no especial obligation to them. They were not of the same family. It was even doubted whether the races had a common origin. And yet, to the end of securing release for these wretched victims of an intolerable oppression, not a few of them dedicated all they possessed--life not excepted. True it is that they had no monopoly of benevolence. Many noble men and women have gone as missionaries to the poor and benighted, and have sought through numerous hardships and perils to raise up those who have been trodden in the dust. But, as a rule, their services have been rendered pursuant to a secular employment that carried financial compensation, and behind their devotion to the poor and oppressed has been the expectation of personal reward in another world, if not in this. But such motives barely, if at all, influenced the Abolitionists. No element of professionalism entered into their work. They were not particularly religious. They neither very greatly reverenced nor feared the Church, whose leaders they often accused of a hankering for the "flesh-pots" that induced them to lead their followers into Egypt, rather than out of it. They were partly moved by a hatred of slavery and its long train of abuses that was irrepressible, and which to most persons was incomprehensible, and partly by a love for their fellows in distress that was so insistent as to make them forget themselves. Their impulses seemed to be largely intuitive, if not instinctive, and if called upon for a philosophical explanation they could not have given it. In such a struggle for freedom and natural human rights as was carried on by the Abolitionists against tremendous odds and through a term covering many long years, it does seem to the writer of this essay that mortal heroism reached its height. Nor am I by any means alone in the opinion just expressed. As far back as 1844, when the Abolitionists were few in number and the objects of almost savage persecution in every part of our country, the Earl of Carlisle, who, in his day was one of the most capable leaders of British public opinion, declared that they were engaged "in fighting a battle without a parallel in the history of ancient or modern heroism." I am moved to write the story of the Abolitionists, partly because it is full of romantic interest, and partly because justice demands it. Those doughty file leaders in the Anti-Slavery fight do not to-day have an adequate acknowledgment of the obligations that the country and humanity should recognize as belonging to them, and they never have had it. Much of the credit that is fairly theirs has been mis-applied. Writers of history--so called, although much of it is simple eulogy--have been more and more inclined to attribute the overthrow of slavery to the efforts of a few men, and particularly one man, who, after long opposition to, or neglect of, the freedom movement, came to its help in the closing scenes of a great conflict, while the earlier, and certainly equally meritorious, workers and fighters have been quite left out of the account. The writer does not object to laborers who entered the field at the eleventh hour, sharing with those who bore the heat and burden of the day; but when there is a disposition to give to them all the earnings he does feel like protesting. The case of the Abolitionists is not overstated when it is said that, but for their labors and struggles, this country, instead of being all free, would to-day be all slaveholding. The relative importance of their work in creating, by means of a persistent agitation, an opposition to human slavery that was powerful enough to compel the attention of the public and force the machine politicians, after long opposition, to admit the question into practical politics, cannot well be overestimated. They alone and single-handed fought the opening battles of a great war, which, although overshadowed and obscured by later and more dramatic events, were none the less gallantly waged and nobly won. It is customary to speak of our Civil War as a four years' conflict. It was really a thirty years' war, beginning when the pioneer Abolitionists entered the field and declared for a life-and-death struggle. It was then that the hardest battles were fought. I write the more willingly because comparatively few now living remember the mad excitement of the slavery controversy in ante-bellum days. The majority--the living and the working masses of to-day--will, doubtless, be gratified to have accurate pictures of scenes and events of which they have heard their seniors speak, that distinguished the most tempestuous period in our national history--the one in which the wildest passions were aroused and indulged. Then it was that the fiercest and bitterest agitation prevailed. The war that followed did not increase this. It rather modified it--sobered it in view of the crisis at hand--and served as a safety-valve for its escape. For the same reason, the general public has now but slight comprehension of the trials endured by the Abolitionists for principle's sake. In many ways were they persecuted. In society they were tabooed; in business shunned. By the rabble they were hooted and pelted. Clowns in the circus made them the subjects of their jokes. Newspaper scribblers lampooned and libelled them. Politicians denounced them. By the Church they were regarded as very black sheep, and sometimes excluded from the fold. And this state of things lasted for years, during which they kept up a steady agitation with the help of platform lecturers, and regularly threw away their votes--so it was charged--in a "third party" movement that seemed to be a hopeless venture. Another inducement to the writer to take up the cause of the Abolitionists is the fact that he has always been proud to class himself as one of them. He came into the world before Abolitionism, by that name, had been heard of; before the first Abolition Society was organized; before William Lloyd Garrison founded his _Liberator_, and before (not the least important circumstance) John Quincy Adams entered Congress. He cannot remember when the slavery question was not discussed. His sympathies at an early day went out to the slave. He informed himself on the subject as well as a farmer boy might be expected to do in a household that received the most of its knowledge of current events from the columns of one weekly newspaper. He cast his first vote for the ticket of the Abolitionists while they were yet a "third party." The community in which he then lived, although in the free State of Ohio, was strongly pro-slavery, being not far from the Southern border. The population was principally from Virginia and Kentucky. There were a few Abolitionists, and they occasionally tried to hold public meetings, but the gatherings were always broken up by mobs. The writer very well remembers the satisfaction with which he, as a schoolboy, was accustomed to hear that there was to be another Abolition "turn-out." The occasion was certain to afford considerable excitement that was dear to the heart of a boy, and it had another recommendation. The only room in the village--"town" we called it--for such affairs, except the churches, which were barred against "fanatics," was the district schoolhouse, which, by common consent, was open to all comers, and as the windows and doors, through which missiles were hurled during Anti-Slavery gatherings, were always more or less damaged, "we boys" usually got a holiday or two while the building was undergoing necessary repairs. As might be surmised, the lessons I learned at school were not all such as are usually acquired at such institutions. My companions were like other children, full of spirit and mischief, and not without their prejudices. They hated Abolitionists because they--the Abolitionists--wanted to compel all white people to marry "niggers." Although not naturally unkind, they did not always spare the feelings of "the son of an old Abolitionist." We had our arguments. Some of them were of the knock-down kind. In more than one shindy, growing out of the discussion of the great question of the day, I suffered the penalty of a bloody nose or a blackened eye for standing up for my side. The feeling against the negroes' friends--the Abolitionists--was not confined to children in years. It was present in all classes. It entered State and Church alike, and dominated both of them. The Congressional Representative from the district in which I lived in those days was an able man and generally held in high esteem. He made a speech in our village when a candidate for re-election. In discussing the slavery question--everybody discussed it then--he spoke of the negroes as being "on the same footing with other cattle." I remember the expression very well because it shocked me, boy that I was. It did not disturb the great majority of those present, however. They cheered the sentiment and gave their votes for the speaker, who was re-elected by a large majority. About the same time I happened to be present where a General Assembly of one of our largest religious denominations was in session, and listened to part of an address by a noted divine--the most distinguished man in the body--which was intended to prove that slavery was an institution existing by biblical authority. He spent two days in a talk that was mostly made up of scriptural texts and his commentaries upon them. This was in Ohio, and there was not a slave-owner in the assembly, and yet a resolution commendatory of the views that had just been declared by the learned doctor, was adopted by an almost unanimous vote. In the neighborhood in which I lived was an old and much respected clergyman who was called upon to preach a sermon on a day of some national significance. He made it the occasion for a florid panegyric upon American institutions, which, he declared, assured freedom to all men. Here he paused, "When I spoke of all men enjoying freedom under our flag," he resumed, "I did not, of course, include the Ethiopians whom Providence has brought to our shores for their own good as well as ours. They are slaves by a divine decree. As descendants of Ham, they are under a curse that makes them the servants of their more fortunate white brethren." Having thus put himself right on the record, he proceeded with his sermon. No one seemed to take exception to what he said. In the same neighborhood was a young preacher who had shortly before come into it from somewhere farther North. In the course of one of his regular services he offered up a prayer in which he expressed the hope that the good Lord would find a way to break the bands of all who were in bondage. That smacked of Abolitionism and at once there was a commotion. The minister was asked to explain. This he declined to do, saying that his petition was a matter between him and his God, and he denied the right of others to question him. That only increased the opposition, and in a short time the spunky young man was compelled to resign his charge. About that time there appeared a lecturer on slavery--which meant against slavery--who carried credentials showing that he was a clergyman in good standing in one of the leading Protestant denominations. In our village was a church of that persuasion, whose pastor was not an Abolitionist. As in duty bound, the visiting brother called on his local fellow-laborer, and informed him that on the following day, which happened to be Sunday, he would be pleased to attend service at his church. On the morrow he was on hand and occupied a seat directly in front of the pulpit; but, notwithstanding his conspicuousness, the home minister, who should, out of courtesy, have invited him to a seat in the pulpit, if to no other part in the services, never saw him. He looked completely over his head, keeping his eyes, all through the exercises, fixed upon the back pews, which happened, on that occasion, to be chiefly unoccupied. Such incidents, of themselves, were of no great importance. Their significance was in the fact that they all occurred on the soil of a free State. They showed the state of feeling that then and there existed. CHAPTER III ONE OF THEIR TRAITS The writer has spoken of the courage of the Abolitionists. There is another trait by which they were distinguished that, in his opinion, should not be passed over. That was their extreme hopefulness--their untiring confidence. No matter how adverse were the conditions, they expected to win. They never counted the odds against them. They trusted in the right which they were firmly persuaded would prevail some time or another. For that time they were willing to wait, meanwhile doing what they could to hasten its coming. Benjamin Lundy, the little Quaker mechanic, who was undeniably the Peter-the-Hermit of the Abolitionist movement, when setting out alone and on foot, with his printing material on his back, to begin a crusade against the strongest and most arrogant institution in the country, remarked with admirable naïveté, "I do not know how soon I shall succeed in my undertaking." William Lloyd Garrison, when the pioneer Anti-Slavery Society was organized by only twelve men, and they people of no worldly consequence, the meeting for lack of a better place being held in a colored schoolroom on "Nigger Hill" in Boston, declared that in due time they would meet to urge their principles in Faneuil Hall--a most audacious declaration, but he was right. The writer, when a boy, was witness to an exhibition of the same spirit. A kinsman of his was a zealous Abolitionist, although not particularly gifted with controversial acumen. He and his minister, as often happened, were discussing the slavery question. The minister, like many of his cloth at that time, was a staunch supporter of "the institution," which, according to his contention, firmly rested on biblical authority. "How do you expect to destroy slavery, as it exists in Kentucky, by talking and voting abolition up here in Ohio?" asked the clergyman. "We will crush it through Congress when we get control of the general government," said my kinsman. "But Congress and the general government have, under the Constitution, absolutely no power over slavery in the States. It is a State institution," replied the clergyman. It is unnecessary to follow the discussion, but, one after another, the quicker-witted and better-informed preacher successfully combated all the propositions advanced by my relative in trying to give a reason for the faith that was in him, until he was completely cornered. "Well," said he at last, "the good Lord has not taken me into His confidence, and I don't know what His plans for upsetting slavery are, but He will be able to manage it somehow." My kinsman lived long enough to see the day when there was not a slave on American soil, and the minister lived long enough to become a roaring Abolitionist. It was doubtless their confidence in ultimate triumph, a result of their absolute belief in the righteousness of their cause, that, as much as anything else, armed and armored the Abolitionists against all opposition. It was one main element of their strength in the midst of their weakness. Without it they could not have persisted, as they did, in their separate or "third party" political action, that cleared the way and finally led up to a victorious organization. Year after year, and for many years, they voted for candidates that had no chance of election. Their first presidential ticket got only seven thousand votes in the whole country. The great public, which could not see the use of acting politically for principle alone, laughed at their simplicity in "throwing away their votes." "Voting in the air" was the way it was often spoken of, and those who were guilty of such incomprehensible folly were characterized as "one idea people." They, however, cared little for denunciation or ridicule, and kept on regularly nominating their tickets, and as regularly giving them votes that generally appeared in the election returns among the "scattering." They were not abashed by the insignificance of their party. "They were men who dared to be the right with two or three," according to the poet Lowell. In the county in which I lived when a boy, there was one vote polled for the first Abolitionist presidential ticket. The man who gave it did not try to hide his responsibility--in fact, he seemed rather proud of his aloneness--but he was mercilessly guyed on account of the smallness of his party. His rejoinder was that he thought that he and God, who was, he believed, with him, made a pretty good-sized and respectable party. CHAPTER IV PRO-SLAVERY PREJUDICE The intensity--perhaps density would be a better word in this connection--of the prejudice that confronted the Abolitionists when they entered on their work is not describable by any expressions we have in our language. In the South it was soon settled that no man could preach Anti-Slaveryism and live. In the North the conditions were not much better. Every man and woman--because the muster-roll of the Abolition propagandists was recruited from both sexes--carried on the work at the hazard of his or her life. Sneers, scowls, hootings, curses, and rough handling were absolutely certain. One incident throws light on the state of feeling at that time. When Pennsylvania Hall, which the Abolitionists of Philadelphia--largely Quakers--had erected for a meeting place at a cost of forty thousand dollars was fired by a mob, the fire department of that city threw water on surrounding property, but not one drop would it contribute to save the property of the Abolitionists. Why was it that this devotion to slavery and this hostility to its opposers prevailed in the non-slaveholding States? They had not always existed. Indeed, there was a time, not so many years before, when slavery was generally denounced; when men like Washington and Jefferson and Henry, although themselves slave-owners, led public opinion in its condemnation. Everybody was anticipating the day of universal emancipation, when suddenly--almost in the twinkling of an eye--there was a change. If it had been a weather-cock--as to a considerable extent it was, and is--public opinion could not have more quickly veered about. Slavery became the popular idol in the North as well as in the South. Opposition to it was not only offensive, but dangerous. It was sacrilege. So far as the South was concerned the revolution is easily accounted for. Slavery became profitable. A Yankee magician had touched it with a wand of gold, and from being a languishing, struggling system, it quickly developed into a money-maker. Whitney, the Connecticut mechanical genius, by the invention of the cotton-gin, made the production of cotton a highly lucrative industry. The price of negroes to work the cotton fields at once went up, and yet the supply was inadequate. Northernly slave States could not produce cotton, but they could produce negroes. They shared in the golden harvest. Such cities as Baltimore, Washington, Richmond, Wheeling, and Louisville became centers of a flourishing traffic in human beings. They had great warehouses, commonly spoken of as "nigger pens," in which the "hands" that were to make the cotton were temporarily gathered, and long coffles--that is, processions of men and women, each with a hand attached to a common rope or chain--marched through their streets with faces turned southward. The slave-owners were numerically a lean minority even in the South, but their mastery over their fellow-citizens was absolute. Nor was there any mystery about it. As the owners of four million slaves, on an average worth not far from five hundred dollars each, they formed the greatest industrial combination--what at this time we would call a trust--ever known to this or any other country. Our mighty Steel Corporation would have been a baby beside it. If to-day all our great financial companies were consolidated, the unit would scarcely come up to the dimensions of that one association. It was not incorporated in law, but its union was perfect. Bound together by a common interest and a common feeling, its members--in the highest sense co-partners in business and in politics, in peace and in war--were prepared to act together as one man. But why, I again ask, were the Northern people so infatuated with slavery? They raised no cotton and they raised no negroes, but many of them, and especially their political leaders, carried their adulation almost to idolatry. When Elijah P. Lovejoy was shot down like a dog, and William Lloyd Garrison was dragged half naked and half lifeless through the streets of Boston, and other outrages of like import were being perpetrated all over the North, it was carefully given out that those deeds were not the work of irresponsible rowdies, but of "gentlemen"--of merchants, manufacturers, and members of the professions. They claimed the credit for such achievements. There were reasons for such a state of things--some very solid, because financial. The North and the South were extensively interlaced by mutual interests. With slave labor the Southern planters made cotton, and with the proceeds of their cotton they bought Northern machinery and merchandise. They sent their boys and girls to Northern schools. They came North themselves when their pockets were full, and freely spent their money at Northern hotels, Northern theatres, Northern race-tracks, and other Northern places of entertainment. Then there were other ties than those of business. The great political parties had each a Southern wing. Religious denominations had their Southern members. Every kind of trade and calling had its Southern outlet. But social connections were the strongest of all, and probably had most to do in making Northern sentiment. Southern gentlemen were popular in the North. They spent money lavishly. Their manners were grandiose. They talked boastfully of the number of their "niggers," and told how they were accustomed to "wallop" them. Then there were marriage ties between the sections. Many domestic alliances strengthened the bond between slavery and the aristocracy of the North. In the circles in which these things were going on, it was the fashion to denounce the Abolitionists. Women were the most bitter. The slightest suspicion of sympathy with the "fanatics" was fatal to social ambition. Mrs. Henry Chapman, the wife of a wealthy Boston shipping merchant who gave orders that no slaves should be carried on his vessels, was a brilliant woman and a leader in the highest sense in that city. But when she consented to preside over a small conference of Anti-Slavery women, society cut her dead, her former associates refusing to recognize her on the street. The families of Arthur and Lewis Tappan, the distinguished merchants of New York, were noted for their intelligence and culture, but when the heads of the families came to be classified as Abolitionists the doors of all fashionable mansions were at once shut against them. They in other ways suffered for their opinions. The home of Lewis Tappan was invaded by a mob, and furniture, books, and _bric-a-brac_ were carried to the street and there burned to ashes. The masses of the Northern people were, however, led to favor slavery by other arguments. One of them was that the slaves, if manumitted, would at once rush to the North and overrun the free States. I have heard that proposition warmly supported by fairly intelligent persons. Another argument that weighed with a surprisingly large number of people, was that civil equality would be followed by social equality. As soon as they were free, negro men, it was said, would marry white wives. "Do you want your son or your daughter to marry a nigger?" was regarded as a knockout anti-Abolitionist argument. The idea, of course, was absurd. "Is it to be inferred that because I don't want a negro woman for a slave, I do want her for a wife?" was one of the quaint and pithy observations attributed to Mr. Lincoln. I heard Prof. Hudson, of Oberlin College, express the same idea in about the same words many years before. And yet there were plenty of Northern people to whom "Amalgamation"--the word used to describe the apprehended union of the races--was a veritable scarecrow. A young gentleman in a neighborhood near where I lived when a boy was in all respects eligible for matrimony. He became devoted to the daughter of an old farmer who had been a Kentuckian, and asked him for her hand. "But I am told," said the old gentleman, "that you are an Abolitionist." The young man admitted the justice of the charge. "Then, sir," fairly roared the old man, "you can't have my daughter; go and marry a nigger." But what probably gave slavery its strongest hold upon the favor of Northern people was the animosity toward the negro that prevailed among them. Nowhere was he treated by them like a human being. The "black laws," as those statutes in a number of free States that regulated the treatment of the blacks were appropriately called, were inhuman in the extreme. Ohio was in the main a liberal State. She was called a free State, but her negroes were not free men. Under her laws they could only remain in the State by giving bonds for good behavior. Any one employing negroes, not so bonded, was liable to a fine of one hundred dollars. They could not vote, of course. They could not testify in a case in which a white man was interested. They could not send their children to schools which they helped to support. The only thing they could do "like a white man" was to pay taxes. The prejudice against the poor creatures in Ohio was much stronger than that they encountered on the other side of the Ohio River in the slave State of Kentucky. Here--in Kentucky--they were property, and they generally received the care and consideration that ownership ordinarily establishes. The interest of the master was a factor in their behalf. In many instances there was genuine affection between owner and slave. "How much better off they would be if they only had good masters," was a remark I very often heard in Ohio, as the negroes would go slouching by with hanging heads and averted countenances. There is no doubt that at this time the physical condition of the blacks was generally much better in slavery than it was in freedom. What stronger testimony to the innate desire for liberty--what Byron has described as "The eternal spirit of the chainless mind"--than the fact that slaves who were the most indulgently treated, were constantly escaping from the easy and careless life they led to the hostilities and barbarities of the free States, and they never went back except under compulsion. "O carry me back to old Virginy, To old Virginy's shore," was the refrain of a song that was very popular in those days, and which was much affected by what were called "negro minstrels." It was assumed to express the feelings of colored fugitives from bondage when they had time to realize what freedom meant in their cases, but I never heard the words from the lips of a man who had lived in a state of servitude. I have elsewhere referred to the fact that women were often the most bitter in their denunciations of the Abolitionists. In the neighborhood in which I passed my early days was a lady who was born and raised in the North, and who probably had no decided sentiment, one way or the other, on the slavery question; but who about this time spent several months in a visit to one of the slave States. She came back thoroughly imbued with admiration for "the institution." She could not find words to describe the good times that were enjoyed by the wives and daughters of the slave-owners. They had nothing to do except to take the world easy, and that, according to her account, they did with great unanimity. The slaves, were, she declared, the happiest people in the world, all care and responsibility being taken from their shoulders by masters who were kind enough to look out for their wants. But one day she unwittingly exposed a glimpse of the reverse side of the picture. She told the story of a young slave girl who had been accused of larceny. She had picked up some trifling article that ordinarily no one would have cared anything about; but at this time it was thought well to make an example of somebody. The wrists of the poor creature were fastened together by a cord that passed through a ring in the side of the barn, which had been put there for that purpose, and she was drawn up, with her face to the building, until her toes barely touched the ground. Then, in the presence of all her fellow-slaves, and with her clothing so detached as to expose her naked shoulders, she was flogged until the blood trickled down her back. "I felt almost as bad for her," said the narrator, "as if she had been one of my own kind." "Thank God she was not one of your kind!" exclaimed a voice that fairly sizzled with rage. The speaker who happened to be present was a relative of the author and a red-hot Abolitionist. Then came a furious war of words, the two enraged women shouting maledictions in each other's faces. As a boy, I enjoyed the performance hugely until I began to see that there was danger of a collision. As the only male present, it would be my duty to interfere in case the combatants came to blows, or rather to scratches and hair-pulling. I did not like the prospect, which seemed to me to be really alarming, and was thinking of some peaceable solution, when the two women, looking into each other's inflamed faces, suddenly realized the ridiculousness of the situation and broke into hearty peals of laughter. That, of course, ended the controversy, not a little to the relief of the writer. If the influence of a great majority of the women of that day was thrown on the side of slavery, as was undoubtedly the case, the minority largely made up for the disparity of numbers by the spunk and aggressiveness of their demonstrations. A good many of the most indomitable and effective Abolition lecturers were women--such as Mrs. Lucretia Mott, the Grimké sisters, Abby Kelly, and others whose names are here omitted, although they richly deserve to be mentioned. Of all that sisterhood, the most pugnacious undoubtedly was Abby Kelly, a little New England woman, with, as the name would indicate, an Irish crossing of the blood. I heard her once, and it seemed to me that I never listened to a tongue that was so sharp and merciless. Her eyes were small and it appeared to me that they contracted, when she was speaking, until they emitted sparks of fire. Although she went by her maiden name, she was a married woman, being the wife of Stephen Foster, a professional Abolitionist agitator and lecturer. Although himself noted for the bitterness of his speech, when it came to hard-hitting vituperation he could not begin to "hold a candle" to his little wife. The two traveled together and spoke from the same platforms. They were constantly getting into hot water through the hostility of mobs, which they seemed to enjoy most heartily. Foster's life was more than once in serious danger, but they kept right on and never showed the slightest fear. The only meeting addressed by them that I attended, though held on the Sabbath, was ended by the throwing of stones and sticks and addled eggs. But if the current of public opinion in the North suddenly turned, and for a long time ran with overwhelming force in favor of slavery, it changed about almost as suddenly and ran with equal force in the opposite direction. The county in which I lived when a boy, that furnished only one vote for the first Abolitionist presidential ticket, became a Republican stronghold. It was in what had been a Whig district, and when the Whig party went to pieces, the most of its _débris_ drifted into the Republican lines. On the occasion of one of the pro-slavery mobs I elsewhere tell about, when a supply of eggs with which to garnish the Abolitionists, was wanted, and the money for their purchase was called for, the town constable--the peace officer of the community--put his hand in his pocket and supplied the funds. A few years thereafter, on my return to the village after a considerable absence, I found that I had come just in time to attend a Republican rally which was that day to be held in a near-by grove. When I reached the scene of operations a procession to march to the grove was being formed. There was considerable enthusiasm and noise, but by far the most excited individual was the Grand Marshal and Master of Ceremonies. Seated on a high horse, he was riding up and down the line shouting out his orders with tremendous unction. He was the constable of the egg-buying episode. CHAPTER V THE POLITICAL SITUATION In several of his addresses before his election to the Presidency, Mr. Lincoln gave utterance to the following language: "A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this Government cannot permanently remain half slave and half free. I do not expect the house to fall, but I do expect it to cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the other thing." The same opinion had been enunciated several years before by John Quincy Adams on the floor of Congress, when, with his accustomed pungency, he declared, "The Union will fall before slavery or slavery will fall before the Union." But before either Adams or Lincoln spoke on the subject--away back in 1838--the same idea they expressed had a more elaborate and forcible presentation in the following words: "The conflict is becoming--has become--not alone of freedom for the blacks, but of freedom for the whites. It has now become absolutely necessary that slavery shall cease in order that freedom may be preserved in any portion of our land. The antagonistic principles of liberty and slavery have been roused into action, and one or the other must be victorious. There will be no cessation of the strife until slavery shall be exterminated or liberty destroyed." The author of the words last above quoted was James Gillespie Birney, who was the first Abolitionist, or "Liberty party," candidate for the Presidency, and of whose career a brief sketch is elsewhere given. That the slaveholders reached the same conclusion that Birney and Adams and Lincoln announced, viz., that the country was to be all one thing or all the other thing, is as manifest as any fact in our history. It is equally certain that they had firmly resolved to capture the entire commonwealth for their "institution," and had laid their plans to that end. They were unwilling to live in a divided house, particularly with an occupant who was stronger in population and wealth than they were. They saw the danger in such association. Northern sentiment toward slavery was complacent enough, even servilely so, but it might change. The South thought it had too much at stake to take the chances when the opportunity for absolute safety and permanent rule was within its reach. It resolved to make the whole country, not only pro-slavery, but slaveholding. If, through any mischance, it failed in its calculation, the next step would be to tear down the house and from its ruins reconstruct so much of it as might be needed for its own occupancy. That it would be able in time to possess itself of the whole country, however, for and in behalf of its industrial policy, it did not for an instant doubt. It was not empty braggadocio on the part of the celebrated Robert Toombs, of Georgia, when he uttered his famous boast.[1] He voiced the practically unanimous opinion of his section. [1] See page 13. Nor was there anything seemingly very presumptuous in that anticipation. So far, the South had been invariably victorious. In what appeared to be a decisive battle in the test case of admitting Missouri into the Union as a slave State, it had won. So pronounced was its triumph that whatever Anti-Slavery sentiment survived the conflict appeared to be stunned and helpless. All fight was knocked out of it. Its spirit was broken. While the South was not only compact and fully alive, but exultingly aggressive, the North was divided, fully one half of its population being about as pro-slavery as the slaveholders themselves, and the rest, with rare exceptions, being hopelessly apathetic. The Northern leaders of both of the old political parties--Whig and Democratic--were what the Abolitionists called "dough-faces," being Northern men with Southern principles. The Church was "a dumb dog," and the press simply drifted with the tide. It was not at all strange that the slaveholders expected to go on from conquest to conquest. There were two policies they could adopt. One was to attack the enemy's citadel; or rather, the several citadels it possessed in its individual States, and force them to open their doors to the master and his human chattels. The other was to flank and cover, approaching the main point of attack by way of the Territories. These, once in possession of the slaveholders, could be converted into enough slave States to give them the control of the general government, from which coigne of advantage they could proceed in their own time and way to possess themselves of such other free States as they might want. In the matter of the Territories they had a great advantage. The North was up against a stone wall at the Canadian border. In that direction it could not advance a step, while the South had practically an unlimited field on its side from which to carve possessions as they might be wanted, very much as you would cut a pie. In pursuance of its territorial policy--being the line of action it first resolved upon--the first movement of the South was to annex Texas--a victory. The next was to make war on Mexico, and (a joke of the day) conquer a "piece" from it large enough to make half a dozen States, all expected to be slaveholding--another victory. By a curious irony the filching of land for slavery's uses from a neighbor, and on which the foot of a slave had never pressed, was exultingly spoken of at the time by its supporters as "an extension of the area of freedom." The act was justified on the ground that we needed "land for the landless," which led Benjamin F. Wade of Ohio to assert on the floor of the United States Senate, with as much truth as wit, that it was not land for the landless that was wanted, but "niggers for the niggerless." Then came the battle over Kansas. The passage of the Kansas-Nebraska Bill in Congress, although involving a breach of good faith on the part of the South, was hailed as another victory for that section. It was a costly victory. It was followed by defeat not only disastrous but fatal. The result in Kansas was really the turning-point in the great struggle. It broke the line of Southern victories. It neutralized the effect of the whole territorial movement up to that point. It completely spoiled the slaveholders' well-laid plans. We will always give Grant and his men all praise for victories leading up to Appomatox, but, in some respects, the most important victory of the great conflict was won on the plains of Kansas by John Brown of Ossawattomie and his Abolition associates. The most sagacious Southern leaders saw in that result conclusive proof that the scale was turned. They realized that they were beaten within the lines of the Union, and they began to arrange for going out of it. They helped to elect a Republican President by dividing the Democratic party in 1860 between two candidates--Douglas and Breckenridge--in order that they might have a plausible pretext for secession. But the slaveholders had not abandoned the other policy to which reference has been made--that of carrying their institution, by main force, as it were, into some, if not all, of the free States. To that end they had, in sporting parlance, a card up their sleeves which they proceeded to play. That card was the decision of the United States Supreme Court in the Dred Scott case, upon which they relied to give them the legal power to take and hold their slaves in all parts of the land. Up to the date of that decision, the current of judicial rulings had been that slavery, being a municipal institution, was local, while freedom was national. Hence, when a master took his slave into a free State, at that instant he became a free man. The Dred Scott decision was intended to reverse the rule. Practically it held that slave ownership, wherever the Constitution prevailed, was both a legal and a natural right. It, as Benton forcibly expressed it, "made slavery the organic law of the land and freedom the exception"; or, as it was jocularly expressed at the time, it left freedom nowhere. Although at the time of its promulgation, it was claimed by some of the more conservative pro-slavery leaders that the Dred Scott dictum applied only to the Territories, giving the masters the legal authority to enter them with their slaves, that position was clearly deceptive. The principle involved, as laid down by the Court, was altogether too broad for that construction. In effect it put the proprietorship of human beings upon the same footing with other property rights, and claimed for it the same constitutional protection. The bolder men of the South, like Toombs of Georgia, did not hesitate to give that interpretation to the Court's pronouncement, and to insist on it with brutal frankness. If they were wrong, the Court was putty in their hands and they could easily have had a supplemental ruling that would have gone to any extent. If the Dred Scott decision had been promulgated by our highest court, and the slaveholders had insisted upon the license it was intended to give them for taking their slave property into free territory, at the time that Garrison was being dragged by a mob through Boston's streets; when Birney's printing-press in Cincinnati was being tumbled into the Ohio River; when Pennsylvania Hall, the Quaker Abolitionists' forty-thousand-dollar construction, was ablaze in Philadelphia; when Lovejoy, the Abolition martyr, was bleeding out his life in one of the streets of Alton, Illinois--when, in fact, the whole land was swayed by a frenzied hatred of the men and women who dared to question slavery's right to supremacy, the writer believes the movement would have been successful. Public opinion was so inclined in States like Indiana and Illinois, and even in Ohio, that they might have been easily toppled over to the South. Indeed, at that time it is a problem how Massachusetts would have voted on a proposition to "slaveryize" her soil. The surprising thing, as we look back to that period, is that slavery did not get a foothold in some of the free States, if not in all of them. But by the time the South was ready to play its trump card, it was too late. The game was lost. Public opinion had become revolutionized throughout the North. The leaven of Abolitionism had got in its work. The men and women, few in number and weak in purse and worldly position as they were, who had enlisted years before in the cause of emancipation, and had fought for it in the face of almost every conceivable discouragement, had at last won a great preliminary victory. Slavery, through their exertions, had become impossible, both in the Territories and in the free States of the North, the United States Supreme Court and all the forces of the slave power to the contrary notwithstanding. Then came to the South a not unanticipated, and to many of her leaders a not unwelcome political Waterloo, in the election of Lincoln. This gave the argument for secession that was wanted. The South had then to yield--which she had no idea of doing--or to go into rebellion. She went out of the Union very much as she would have gone to a frolic. She had no thought that serious fighting was to follow. She did not believe, as one of the Southern leaders expressed it, that the Northern people would go to war for the sake of the "niggers." CHAPTER VI ANTI-SLAVERY PIONEERS The early Abolitionists were denounced as fanatics, or "fan-a-tics," according to the pronunciation of some of their detractors. They were treated as if partially insane. The writer when a boy attended the trial of a cause between two neighbors in a court of low grade. It was what was called a "cow case," and involved property worth, perhaps, as much as twenty dollars. One of the witnesses on the stand was asked by a lawyer, who wanted to embarrass or discredit him, if he were not an Abolitionist. Objection came from the other side on the ground that the inquiry was irrelevant; but the learned justice-of-the-peace who presided held that, as it related to the witness's sanity, and that would affect his credibility, the question was admissible. It is not, perhaps, so very strange that in those days, in view of the disreputableness of those whose cause they espoused, and the apparently utter hopelessness of anything ever coming out of it, the supporters of Anti-Slaveryism should be suspected of being "out of their heads." Although Don Quixote, who, according to the veracious Cervantes, set out with his unaided strong right arm to upset things, including wind-mills and obnoxious dynasties, has long been looked upon as the world's best specimen of a "fanatic," he would ordinarily be set down as a very Solomon beside the man who would undertake single-handed to overthrow such an institution as American slavery used to be. Such a man there was, however. He really entered on the job of abolishing that institution, and without a solitary assistant. Strange to say, he was neither a giant nor a millionaire. According to Horace Greeley, "Benjamin Lundy deserves the high honor of ranking as the pioneer of direct and distinctive Anti-Slaveryism in America." He was slight in frame and below the medium height, and unassuming in manner. He had, it is said, neither eloquence nor shining ability of any sort. At nineteen years of age he went to Wheeling, Virginia, to learn the trade of a saddler. He learned more than that. Wheeling, as he tells us, was then a great thoroughfare for the traffickers in human flesh. Their coffles passed through the place frequently. "My heart," he continues, "was grieved at the great abomination. I heard the wail of the captive, I felt his pang of distress, and the iron entered into my soul." But much as Lundy loathed the business of the slave-dealers and slave-drivers, he then had no idea of attempting its abolishment. He married and settled down to the prosecution of his trade, and had he been like other people generally he would have been content. But he could not shut the pictures of those street scenes in Wheeling out of his mind and out of his heart. The first thing in the reformatory line he did was to organize a local Anti-Slavery society in the village in which he was then living in Ohio; at the first meeting of this society only five persons were present. About this time Lundy made some important discoveries. He learned that he could write what the newspapers would print, and give expression to words that the people would listen to. He was quick to realize the fact that the best way to reach the people of this country was through the press. He started a very small paper with a very large name. It was ambitiously nominated _The Genius of Universal Emancipation_. He began with only six subscribers and without a press or other publishing material. Moreover, he had no money. He was not then a practical printer, though later he learned the art of type-setting. At this time he had his newspaper printed twenty miles from his home, and carried the edition for that distance on his back. But insignificant as Lundy's paper was, it had the high distinction of being the only exclusively Anti-Slavery journal in the country, and its editor and proprietor was the only professional Abolition lecturer and agitator of that time. Afterwards, in speaking of his journalistic undertaking, Mr. Lundy said: "I began this work without a dollar of funds, trusting to the sacredness of the cause." Another saying of his was that he did not stop to calculate "how soon his efforts would be crowned with success." As Lundy spent the greater part of his time in traveling from place to place, procuring subscriptions to his journal and lecturing on slavery, he could not issue his paper regularly at any one point. In some instances he carried the head-rules, column-rules, and subscription-book of his journal with him, and when he came to a town where he found a printing-press he would stop long enough to print and mail a number of his periodical. He traveled for the most part on foot, carrying a heavy pack. In ten years in that way he covered twenty-five thousand miles, five thousand on foot. He decided to invade the enemy's country by going where slavery was. He went to Tennessee, making the journey of eight hundred miles, one half by water, and one half on foot. That was, of course, before the day of railroads. He continued to issue his paper, although often threatened with personal violence. Once two bullies locked him in a room and, with revolvers in hand, tried to frighten him into a promise to discontinue his work. He did not frighten to any extent. Seeking what seemed to be the most inviting field for his operations, he decided to move his establishment to Baltimore, going most of the way on foot and lecturing as he went whenever he could find an audience. His residence in Baltimore came near proving fatal. A slave-trader, whom he had offended, attacked and brutally beat him on the street. The consolation he got from the court that tried the ruffian, who was "honorably discharged," was that he (Lundy) had got "nothing more than he deserved." Soon afterwards his printing material and other property was burned by a mob. He went to Mexico to select a location for a projected colony of colored people. He traveled almost altogether afoot, observing the strictest economy and supporting himself by occasional jobs of saddlery and harness mending. In his journal he tells us that he often slept in the open air, the country traversed being mostly new and unsettled. He was in constant danger from panthers, alligators, and rattlesnakes, while he was cruelly beset by gnats and mosquitoes. His clothes in the morning, he tells us, would be as wet from heavy dews as if he had fallen into the river. Intellectually, Lundy was not a great man, but his heart was beyond measurement. The torch that he carried in the midst of the all but universal darkness of that period emitted but a feeble ray, but he kept it burning, and it possessed the almost invaluable property of being able to transmit its flame to other torches. It kindled the brand that was wielded by William Lloyd Garrison, and which possessed a wonderful power of illumination. Garrison was beyond all question a remarkable man. In the qualities that endow a successful leader in a desperate cause he has never been surpassed. He had an iron will that was directed by an inflexible conscience. "To him," says James Freeman Clarke, "right was right, and wrong was wrong, and he saw no half lights or half shadows between them." He was a natural orator. I never heard him talk, either on or off the platform, but I have heard those who had listened to him, speak of the singular gift he possessed in stating or combating a proposition. One person who had heard him, often compared him, when dealing with an adversary, to a butcher engaged in dissecting a carcass, and who knew just where to strike every time,--a homely, but expressive illustration. His addresses in England on a certain notable occasion, which is dealt with somewhat at length elsewhere, were declared by the first British orators to be models of perfect eloquence. Lundy and Garrison met by accident. They were boarding at the same house in Boston, and became acquainted. Lundy's mind was full of the subject of slavery, and Garrison's proved to be receptive soil. They decided to join forces, and we have the singular spectacle of two poor mechanics--a journeyman saddler and a journeyman printer--conspiring to revolutionize the domestic institutions of half of the country. They decided to continue the Baltimore newspaper. Garrison's plain-spokenness, however, soon got him into trouble in that city. He was prosecuted for libelling a shipmaster for transporting slaves, was convicted and fined fifty dollars. The amount, so far as his ability to pay was involved, might as well have been a million. He went to prison, being incarcerated in a cell just vacated by a man who had been hanged for murder, and there he remained for seven weeks. At the end of that time Arthur Tappan, the big-hearted merchant of New York, learning the facts of the case, advanced the money needed to set Garrison free. Undeterred by his experience as a martyr, Garrison--who had returned to Boston--resolved to establish a journal of his own in that city, which was to be devoted to the cause of the slave. _The Liberator_ appeared on the 1st of January, 1831. In entering upon this venture, Garrison had not a subscriber nor a dollar of money. Being a printer, he set up the type and struck off the first issue with his own hands. In the initial number the proprietor of the _Liberator_ outlined his proposed policy in these words: "I will be as harsh as truth; as uncompromising as justice. I am in earnest. I will not excuse; I will not retreat a single inch; and I will be heard." The first issue of the paper brought in a contribution of fifty dollars from a colored man and twenty-five subscribers. It was not, therefore, a failure, but its continuance involved a terrible strain. Garrison and one co-worker occupied one room for work-shop, dining-room, and bedroom. They cooked their own meals and slept upon the floor. It was almost literally true, as pictured by Lowell, the poet: "In a small chamber, friendless and unseen, Toiled o'er his types one poor unlearned young man. The place was dark, unfurnitured and mean, Yet there the freedom of a race began." The effects produced by Garrison's unique production were simply wonderful. In October of its first year the Vigilance Association of South Carolina offered a reward of fifteen hundred dollars for the apprehension and prosecution to conviction of any white person who might be detected in distributing or circulating the _Liberator_. Georgia went farther than that. Less than a year after Garrison had established his paper, the Legislature of that State passed an act offering a reward of five thousand dollars to whomsoever should arrest, bring to trial, and prosecute its publisher to conviction. The _Liberator_ was excluded from the United States mails in all the slave States, illegal as such a proceeding was. There was, however, opposition nearer home. The _Liberator_ establishment was wrecked by a mob, and Garrison, after having been stripped of nearly all his clothing, was dragged, bareheaded, by a rope round his body through the streets of Boston until, to save his life, the authorities thrust him into jail. No man in this country was so cordially hated by the slaveholders as Garrison. Of the big men up North--the leaders of politics and society--they had no apprehension. They knew how to manage them. It was the little fellows like the editor of the _Liberator_ that gave them trouble. These men had no money, but they could not be bought. They had no fear of mobs. They cared nothing for the scoldings of the church and the press. An adverse public sentiment never disturbed their equanimity or caused them to turn a hair's breadth in their course. It is true that Lundy and Garrison had very little to lose. They had neither property nor social position. That, however, cannot be said of another early Abolitionist, who, in some respects, is entitled to more consideration than any of his co-workers. James Gillespie Birney was a Southerner by birth. He belonged to a family of financial and social prominence. He was a gentleman of education and culture, having graduated from a leading college and being a lawyer of recognized ability. He was a slave-owner. For a time he conducted a plantation with slave labor. He lived in Alabama, where he filled several important official positions, and was talked of for the governorship of the State. But having been led to think about the moral, and other aspects of slaveholding, he decided that it was wrong and he would wash his hands of it. He could not in Alabama legally manumit his slaves. Moreover, his neighbors had risen up against him and threatened his forcible expulsion. He removed to Kentucky, where he thought a more liberal sentiment prevailed. There he freed his slaves and made liberal provision for their comfortable sustenance. But the slave power was on his track. He was warned to betake himself out of the State. The infliction of personal violence was meditated, and a party of his opposers came together for that purpose. They were engaged in discussing ways and means when a young man of commanding presence and strength, who happened to be present, announced that while he lived Mr. Birney would not be molested. His opposition broke up the plot. That young man became a leading clergyman and was subsequently for a time Chaplain of the United States Senate. Birney went with his belongings to Ohio, thinking that upon the soil of a free State he would be safe from molestation. He established a newspaper in Cincinnati to advocate emancipation. A mob promptly destroyed his press and other property, and it was with difficulty that he escaped with his life. More sagacious, although not more zealous, than Lundy and Garrison and a good many of their followers, Birney early saw the necessity of political action in the interest of freedom. He was the real founder of the old "Liberty" party, of which he was the presidential candidate in 1840 and in 1844. Of course, there were other early laborers for emancipation that, in this connection, ought to be mentioned and remembered. They were pioneers in the truest sense. The writer would gladly make a record of their services, and pay a tribute, especially, to the memories of such as have gone to the spirit land, where the great majority are now mustered, but space at this point forbids. CHAPTER VII SALMON PORTLAND CHASE If I were asked to name the man to whom the colored people of this country, who were slaves, or were liable to become slaves, are under the greatest obligation for their freedom, I would unhesitatingly say Salmon Portland Chase. If I were asked to name the man who was the strongest and most useful factor in the Government during the great final contest that ended in the emancipation of the black man, I would say Salmon Portland Chase. In expressing the opinions above given, no reproach for Abraham Lincoln, nor for any of the distinguished members of his Cabinet, is intended or implied. Inferiority to Salmon P. Chase was not a disgrace. Physically he rose above all his official associates, which was no discredit to them, and in much the same way he towered intellectually and administratively. His was the most trying, the most difficult position, in the entire circle of public departments. It was easy to get men to fight the battles of the Union if there was money to pay them. It was easy to furnish ships and arms and supplies in sufficient quantity, notwithstanding the terrible drain of the greatest of civil wars, as long as the funds held out. Everything depended on the treasury. Failure there meant irretrievable disaster. It would not answer to have any serious mistakes in that quarter, and in fact no fatal mistakes were there made. In all other departments there were failures and blunders, but the financial department met every emergency and every requisition. Chase's financial policy it was that carried the country majestically through the war, and that afterwards paid the nation's debts. There is a circumstance that has not been mentioned, as far as the writer knows, by any of Mr. Chase's biographers, which seems to him to be significant and worth referring to. During the Civil War, Walter Bagehot was editor of the _Economist,_ the great English financial journal. His opinion in financial matters was regarded as the highest authority. It was accepted as infallible. He discussed the plans of Mr. Chase with great elaborateness and great severity. He predicted that they were all destined to failure, and proved this theoretically to his own satisfaction and the satisfaction of many others. The result showed that Mr. Chase was right all the time, and the great English economist was wrong. The entrance of such a man into the Abolitionist movement marked an era in its history. It was the thing most needed. He gave it a leader who, of all men then living, was most competent for leadership. From that time he was its Moses. The greatest service rendered to the Abolition cause by Salmon P. Chase was in pushing it forward on political lines. There was a contest for the mastery of the Government from the hour he took command. The movement was to be slow, sometimes halting and apparently falling back, in some respects insignificant, in all respects desperate, but there was to be no permanent defeat and no compromise. The espousal of Abolitionism by Mr. Chase was a remarkable circumstance. He was not an enthusiast like Garrison and Lundy and many other Anti-Slavery pioneers, but precisely the opposite. He was cold-blooded and cool-headed, a deliberate and conservative man. His speeches were described as giving light but no heat. His sympathies were seemingly weak, but his sense of justice was immense. Apparently, he opposed slavery because it was wrong rather than because it was cruel. He had a big body, a big head, and a big conscience, the combination making a strong man and a good fighter. That he did, in fact, sympathize with the slaves was shown by his professional work in their behalf, more particularly in pleading without fee or other reward the cases of escaped fugitives in the courts. So numerous were his engagements in this regard that his antagonists spoke of him sneeringly as the "Attorney-General for runaway niggers." Upon some of his Anti-Slavery cases he bestowed an immense amount of work. His argument in the case of Van Zant--the original of Van Tromp in Mrs. Stowe's _Uncle Tom's Cabin_,--an old man who was prosecuted and fined until he was financially ruined for giving a "lift" in his farm wagon to a slave family on its way to Canada, was said at the time to have been the most able so far made in the Supreme Court of the United States. That and other similar utterances by Mr. Chase were published for popular reading, and were widely distributed by friends of the cause. It is possible that, in performing this arduous labor, Mr. Chase, who was not without personal ambition, was able, with his great native sagacity, to foresee, although it must have been but dimly, the possibilities of political development and official promotion, but at the same time, for the same reason, he could the more clearly realize the wearisome, heart-breaking struggle that was before him. It was an enormous sacrifice that he made. Journeymen printers and saddlers, like Garrison and Lundy, who had never had as much as one hundred dollars at one time in their lives, and who had no social position and no influential kinsfolks, had little to lose. But it was very different with Chase. He had a profession that represented great wealth. He had distinguished and aristocratic family connections. He had a high place in society. All these he risked and largely lost. In speaking of his sacrifices at that time in a subsequent letter to a friend, he wrote: "Having resolved on my political course, I devoted all the time and means I could command to the work of spreading the principles and building up the organization of the party of constitutional freedom then inaugurated. Sometimes, indeed, all I could do seemed insignificant, while the labors I had to perform, and the demand upon my very limited resources by necessary contributions, taxed severely all my abilities." The writer hereof was a witness to one incident that showed something of the loss that Mr. Chase sustained in a business way because of his principles. While a law student in a country village he was sent down to Cincinnati to secure certain testimony in the form of affidavits. During his visit he called at Mr. Chase's law office, introduced himself, and was very pleasantly received. He noticed that there was a notary public in the office. Among other instructions he had been directed to get the affidavit of a leading business man in Cincinnati, a railroad president. The document was prepared and signed, but there was no one at hand before whom it could be sworn to. The writer remarked that he knew where there was a notary in a near-by office. We proceeded to Mr. Chase's chambers, and were about to enter when my companion noticed the name on the door. He fell back as if he had been struck in the face. "The ---- Abolitionist," he exclaimed, "I wouldn't enter his place for a hundred dollars!" We went elsewhere for our business, and on the way my companion expressed himself about Mr. Chase. "What a pity it is," he said, "that that young man is ruining himself. He is a bright man," he went on, "and I employed him professionally until he went daft on the subject of freeing the niggers whom the Lord made for the purpose of serving the white people." Like pretty much all the early Abolitionists, Mr. Chase had a taste of mob violence. He had one singular experience. When the mob destroyed the printing establishment of James G. Birney in Cincinnati, Chase mingled with the crowd. He discovered that personal violence to Mr. Birney was contemplated and that his life was in danger. He made all haste to Birney's residence and gave him warning of his peril. Then he took his stand in the doorway of the building and calmly awaited the coming of the rabble. Those who knew Chase will remember that in size he was almost a giant, and his countenance had a stern, determined look. The multitude, finding itself thus unexpectedly confronted, paused and entered into a parley that gave the hunted man an opportunity to reach a place of safety. Chase had an appointment to speak in the village in which the writer lived, and the opposers of his cause arranged to give him a warm reception. Something prevented his attendance, and a very mild and amiable old clergyman from an adjoining town, who took his place, received the shower-bath of uncooked eggs that had been intended for the Cincinnati Abolitionist. Chase's great work for the Anti-Slavery cause was in projecting and directing it on independent political lines. Up to that time most Anti-Slavery people opposed separate party action. Garrison and his _Liberator_ violently denounced such action. Moral suasion was urged as the panacea. Chase himself had not been a "third party" man. In 1840, when there was an Abolition ticket in the field, headed by his personal friend, James G. Birney, he had not supported it. But soon afterwards, becoming firmly convinced that Anti-Slavery people had nothing to hope for from either of the old parties, he set about the work of building a new one. The undertaking was with no mental reservation on his part. When he put his hand to that plow there was no looking back, notwithstanding that a rougher or more stony field, and one less promising of returns for the laborer than that before him, would be difficult to imagine. In 1841 he headed a call for a convention at Columbus, the State capital, to organize the Liberty party in the State of Ohio, and at the same time nominate a State ticket. Less than a hundred sympathizers responded to the call, and the ticket put in nomination received less than one thousand votes. Among the attendants at the Columbus meeting was a near kinsman of the author. On his return, in describing the proceedings, he said that pretty much everything was directed by a Mr. Chase (Salamander Chase was his name, he said), a young Cincinnati lawyer. That young man, he declared, would yet make a mark in the world. From that time every important move was directed by Chase. He prepared the calls for important meetings. He wrote their addresses and their platforms. He made the leading speeches. He presided at the great convention at Buffalo in 1848, which formulated the "Free-Soil" party--successor to the Liberty party--and wrote the platform which it adopted. In speaking of Chase's share in the independent organization of this time, William M. Evarts says: "He must be awarded the full credit of having understood, resolved upon, planned, organized, and executed this political movement." The movement thus conducted by Mr. Chase was slow and tremendously laborious, but it was effective. In the presidential elections of 1844 and 1848 it held the balance of power and turned the scale to further its purposes. In 1852 it shattered and destroyed one of the old pro-slavery parties, and became the second party in the country instead of the third. In eight years more it was the first. The charge has been made against Mr. Chase that, while a member of Lincoln's Cabinet, he aspired to supersede his chief in the Presidency. But did he not have a right to seek the higher office, especially when the policy pursued by its incumbent did not meet his full approval? He merely shared the sentiment that was then entertained by nearly all the radical Anti-Slavery people of the country. It is not unlikely that Chase felt somewhat envious of Lincoln. After, as he stated in his letter of congratulation to Mr. Lincoln on his first election, he had given nineteen years of continuous and exhausting labor to the freedom movement, it would be but natural that he should feel aggrieved when he saw that the chief credit of that movement was likely to go to one who had, to his own exclusion, come up slowly and reluctantly at a later day to its support. If he were somewhat jealous, it would be hard not to sympathize with him. CHAPTER VIII JOHN QUINCY ADAMS If I were asked to name the man who, next to Salmon P. Chase, most effectually and meritoriously contributed to the liberation of the black man in this country, I should unhesitatingly say John Quincy Adams. By the great majority of those now living Mr. Adams is known only as having once been President of the United States and as belonging to a very distinguished family. His name is rarely mentioned. There was a time, however, when no other name was heard so often in this country, or which, when used, excited such violent and conflicting emotions. It can justly be said that for many years John Quincy Adams, individually and practically alone, by his services in Congress, sustained what Anti-Slavery sentiment there was in the nation. It was but a spark, but he kept it alive and gradually extended its conflagration. When Adams entered Congress opposition to slavery was at its lowest ebb. It was almost extinct. The victory of the slaveholders in the Missouri contest had elated them most tremendously and had correspondingly depressed and cowed their adversaries. As a general thing, the latter had given up all idea of making any further fight. Northern Presidents, Northern Congressmen, Northern editors, Northern churchmen, were the most ready and servile supporters slavery had. Anti-Slavery societies had been abandoned. Anti-Slavery journals had perished. Disapprovers of the "institution," with the exception of a few men of the Lundy stamp and the Lundy obscurity, were silent. There was one magnificent exception. It was at that crisis that John Quincy Adams entered Congress and began a fight against slavery that, covering a period of seventeen years, literally lasted to the last day of his life. He was carried helpless and dying from the floor of Congress, where he had fallen when in the discharge of his duties. The position of Mr. Adams, who had been elected as an independent candidate, was unique. He owed his official place to no political party, and was, therefore, free from party shackles in regulating his course. He took up the fight for the black man's freedom as one who was himself absolutely free. Most wonderfully did he conduct that fight. There was nothing in the eloquence of Demosthenes in Athens, of Cicero in Rome, of Mirabeau in France, of Pitt or Gladstone in England, that surpassed the force and grandeur of the philippics of Adams against American slavery. Alone, for the greater part of his service in Congress, he stood in the midst of his malignant assailants like a rock in a stormy sea. Old man that he was, plainly showing the in-roads of physical weakness, he was in that body of distinguished and able men more than a match for any or all of his antagonists. He was always "the old man eloquent." Says one of our leading historical writers: "As a parliamentary debater he had few, if any, superiors. In knowledge and dexterity there was no one in the House that could be compared with him. He was literally a walking cyclopedia. He was terrible in invective, matchless at repartee, and insensible to fear. A single-handed fight against all the slaveholders in the House was something upon which he was always ready to enter." Speaking of his effectiveness in congressional encounters another Congressman writes: "He is, I believe, the most extraordinary man living. I have with my own eyes seen the slaveholders literally quake and tremble through every nerve and joint, when he arraigned before them their political and moral sins. His power of speech has exceeded any conception I have heretofore had of the force of words or logic." At last his enemies in Congress decided that they would endure his attacks no longer. They took counsel together and agreed upon a plan of operations looking to his expulsion from that body. As one of his biographers, also a distinguished Congressman, expressed it: "It was the preconcerted and deliberate purpose of the slave-masters to make an example of the ringleader of political Abolitionism. They meant to humiliate and crush him, and this they did not doubt their power to do." Mr. Adams submitted a petition, without giving it his personal endorsement, asking for a dissolution of the Union. That furnished the pretext his enemies wanted. They accused him of treason in countenancing an assault upon the Union, although they were at the time engaged in laying the foundation of a movement looking to its ultimate overthrow. The outcome of this undertaking was one of the most thrilling scenes ever witnesssd in the American Congress; or, for that matter, in any other deliberative assembly. Preparations for the affair were made with great elaborateness. The galleries were filled with the friends, male and female, of pro-slavery Congressmen. The beauty and chivalry of the South were there. They had come to witness the abasement of the great enemy of their most cherished institution. They were to see him driven from the nation's council chamber, a crushed and dishonored man. Not one friendly face looked down upon him as he sat coolly awaiting the attack, and upon the floor about him were few of his colleagues that gave him their sympathies. The two most eloquent Congressmen from the South were selected to lead the prosecution. One was the celebrated Henry A. Wise, of Virginia; the other "Tom" Marshall, of Kentucky. The latter opened the proceedings by offering a resolution charging Mr. Adams with treasonable conduct and directing his expulsion. He supported it with a speech of much ingenuity. Wise followed in a fiery diatribe. Both speakers imprudently indulged in personal allusions of a somewhat scandalous nature, thus laying themselves open, with episodes in their careers of questionable propriety, to retaliation from a man who thoroughly knew their records. At this point we have the testimony of an eye-witness: "Then uprose that bald, gray old man of seventy-five, his hands tremulous with constitutional infirmity and age, upon whose consecrated head the vials of tyrannic wrath had been outpoured. Unexcited he raised his voice, high-keyed, as was usual with him, but clear, untremulous, and firm. Almost in a moment his infirmities disappeared, although his shaking hand could not but be noted, trembling, not with fear, but with age." His speech was absolutely crushing. He met every point that had been urged against him and triumphantly refuted it. He handled his oratorical antagonists with merciless severity, depicting certain events in their lives with such vividness that the onlookers gazed upon them with visible and unmistakable pity. Said one of these men when he afterwards understood that a certain party was about to engage in a controversial debate with Mr. Adams, "Then may the Lord have mercy on him." Mr. Adams was not expelled. His opponents frankly admitted their discomfiture and dropped the whole business. It cannot be denied that John Quincy Adams, almost by his unaided efforts, preserved and sustained the life of the Anti-Slavery cause at a time when it was almost moribund. He plowed the ground, cutting a deep and broad furrow as he went his way, and in the upturned soil such laborers as Birney and Garrison and Chase planted the seed that rooted and grew until it yielded a plentiful harvest. CHAPTER IX ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETIES The divergent characteristics of the East and the West were never more clearly shown than in the progress of the Anti-Slavery movement. Efforts were made to plant Abolition societies at various points throughout the West, but they failed to take permanent root and soon disappeared. The failure was not due to any lack of interest, but rather to an excess of zeal on the part of the Western supporters of the cause. Society organizations on the lines of moral suasion were too slow and tame to suit them. They preferred the excitement of politics. They believed in the superior efficacy of a political party, and to its upbuilding they gave their energies and resources. In the "long run" they were amply vindicated, but for all that, the favorite Eastern method for organized effort had its advantages. The East, and especially New England, always believed in societies. If anything of a public nature was to be promoted or prevented, a society always appealed to the New Englander as the natural instrumentality. There is a tradition that when Boston was ravaged by a loathsome disease, a number of its leading citizens came together and promptly organized an anti-smallpox society. When, therefore, it was decided that an Anti-Slavery movement should be inaugurated in Boston, the proper thing to do, according to all the standards of the place, was to organize a society. But the thing was more easily resolved upon than done. It required the concurrence of several parties of like-mindedness. Boston was a pretty large place, but Anti-Slavery people were scarce. The number (doubtless selected because it was Apostolic) assumed to be necessary was twelve. Fifteen people of somewhat similar views were at last brought together. After much discussion nine favored an organization and six opposed it. So far the operation was a failure. But at last, after much canvassing, twelve men were found who promised their co-operation--twelve and no more. Although respectable people, they were not of Boston's "first citizens" by any means. It is said that if they had been called upon for a hundred dollars each, not over two of them could have responded without bankruptcy. The twelve came together at night and in the basement of an African Baptist Church, the room being used in the daytime to accommodate a school for colored children. It was in an obscure quarter of Boston known as "Nigger Hill." The conference was in the month of December, and the night is thus described by Oliver Johnson, who was one of the twelve: "A fierce northeast storm, combining rain, snow, and hail in about equal proportions, was raging, and the streets were full of slush. They were dark, too, for the city of Boston in those days was very economical of light on Nigger Hill." Both nature and man seemed to be in league against those plucky pioneers of an unpopular cause. They, however, were not dismayed nor disheartened. It was as they were stepping out into the gloomy night, that Mr. Garrison, who, it is scarcely necessary to say, was one of the twelve, remarked to his associates: "We have met to-night in this obscure schoolhouse; our numbers are few, and our influence limited, but mark my prediction. Faneuil Hall shall ere long echo to the principles we have set forth." What those principles were is shown by the declaration adopted by that handful of confederates, and which, in view of the time and circumstances of its formulation, was certainly a most remarkable document. Its essential proposition was: "We, the undersigned, hold that every person of full age and sound mind has a right to immediate freedom from personal bondage of whatsoever kind, unless imposed by the sentence of the law for the commission of some crime." The Declaration of Independence, which was produced with no little theatrical effect amid the pomp and circumstance of a national conclave that had met in the finest hall in the country, was unquestionably a remarkable and memorable pronouncement. It was for the time and situation a radical utterance. It was the precursor of a revolution that gave political freedom to several million people. But the platform of principles that was announced by the New England Anti-Slavery Society (the name adopted) in that little grimy schoolroom on "Nigger Hill" was, in at least some respects, a more remarkable document. Its enunciation required an equal degree of physical and moral courage. It was the precursor of a revolution that gave both personal and political freedom to a larger number than were benefited by the other declaration. But what chiefly distinguished it, the time and the situation being considered, was its radical utterance. It gave no countenance to any measure of compromise. It offered no pabulum to the wrongdoer in the form of compensation for stolen humanity. It demanded what was right, and demanded it at once. And that fearless and unyielding platform became the basis for all the Abolition societies that came after it. A goodly number of such societies were organized. "The Anti-Slavery Society for the City of New York" was formed by a few men who met and did their work while a mob was pounding at the door, and who, having completed their task, fled for their lives. It was at first intended that a national Anti-Slavery society should be established with headquarters in the city of New York, but its proposed organizers discovered that there was not a public hall or church in that city in which they would be permitted to assemble. Philadelphia, with its Quaker contingent, offered a more inviting field, and to that city it was decided to go. But serious obstructions here interposed. Representatives appeared from fourteen States, which was highly encouraging, but no prominent Philadelphian could be found to act as chairman of the meeting. A committee was appointed to secure the services of such a man, but, after interviewing a number of leading citizens, it was compelled to report that it was received by all of them with "polite frigidity." Strange to say, the convention was permitted to meet for three days in succession in a public assembly room without interference from a mob. The police, however, warned the participants not to hold night sessions, as they in that case would not promise protection. The good behavior of Philadelphia on this occasion was noteworthy, but it was too good to last. When another Anti-Slavery meeting, not long after, was convened in that city, it was broken up by a mob, and the hall in which it met was burned to the ground. Finally came the National Anti-Slavery Society, which, in view of its limited financial resources, certainly did a wonderful work. Its publications, in spite of careful watching of the mails and other precautions adopted by the slaveholders, reached all parts of the country, and its preachers, sent out and commissioned to proclaim the new evangel of equal manhood, were absolutely ubiquitous. Those early Anti-Slavery lecturers were a peculiar set. Since the days of the Apostles there have been no more earnest propagandists. They were both male and female. That they were, as a rule, financially poor, it is unnecessary to state. They lived largely on the country traversed. Sympathizers with their views, having received and entertained them--sometimes clandestinely--after a public talk or two, would carry them on to the next stations on their routes, occasionally contributing a few dollars to their purses. It made no particular difference to them whether they spoke in halls, in churches, or in the open air. Before beginning their addresses their usual course was to challenge their opponents to debate, and to taunt them with lack of courage or principle if they failed to respond. Of course, they were in constant danger from mobs. They were stoned, clubbed, shot at, and rotten-egged, and in a few extreme cases tarred and feathered; but they were never frightened from their work. They were by no means policy-wise. That was one of their peculiarities. Their idea seemed to be that they could drive people easier than they could lead them. They used no buttered phrases. They told the plainest truths in the plainest way. They gave their audiences hard words, and often received hard knocks in return. They called the slaveholders robbers and man-stealers. They branded Northern politicians with Southern principles as "dough-faces." But their hardest and sharpest expletives were reserved for those Northern clergymen who were either pro-slavery or non-committal. They blistered them all over with their lashings. In speaking of one of the most noted among them, Lowell describes him as "A kind of maddened John the Baptist To whom the hardest word came aptest." The lecturer of whom I saw the most in those early trying days was Professor Hudson, of Oberlin College. While in that part of the field he made headquarters at my father's house, radiating out and filling appointments in different directions. He was exceedingly sharp-tongued and very fearless. Nothing seemed to please him better than a "scrimmage" with his opponents. Often he conquered mobs by resolutely talking them down and making them ashamed of themselves. But on one occasion, looking through the window from the outside to see what awaited him in a room where he was to speak, he saw a pot of boiling tar on the stove that heated the room and a pillow-case full of feathers conveniently near, while a half-drunken crowd was in possession of the place, and concluded to run. He, however, had been seen and was pursued. There was a foot race, but as some of the pursuers were better sprinters than Hudson, and he was about to be captured, he dashed into the first house he came to and asked for protection. The proprietor was a kinsman of mine. He was an old man, but hearty and vigorous. He ordered his sons to take their guns and guard the other entrances, while he took his stand in the front door with an axe in his hand. When the mob came up and demanded the Abolitionist, he gave warning that he would brain the first man that attempted to enter his house without his consent. So evidently in earnest was he that the rowdies, after a little bluster, concluded to give up the hunt and left in disgust. CHAPTER X WANTED, AN ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY The National Anti-Slavery Society--the society organized by Garrison and his _confrères_, and which longest maintained its organization--made one great mistake. It disbanded. It assumed that its work was done when African slavery in this country was pronounced defunct by law. It took it for granted that the enslavement of the colored man--not necessarily the negro--was no longer possible under the Stars and Stripes. Then and there it committed a grievous blunder. Its paramount error was in assuming that a political party could for all time be depended upon as a party of freedom. It trusted to the assurances of politicians that they would protect the colored man in all his natural and acquired rights, and in that belief voluntarily gave up the ghost and cast its mantle to the winds. Now, the fact is that the National Anti-Slavery Society was never more needed than it is to-day. There is a mighty work to be done that was directly in the line of its operations. First and foremost, it will not be denied that a citizen of our Republic who is deprived of the elective franchise is robbed of one of his most valuable privileges--one of his most essential rights. The ballot, under a political system like ours, is both the sword and the shield of liberty. Without it no man is really a freeman. He does not stand on an equality with his fellows. Nor will it be denied that the negro, although our amended Constitution promises him all the privileges of citizenship, is in many parts of our country practically divested of his vote. By a species of legerdemain in the communities in which he is most numerous and most needs protection, he is to all intents and purposes disfranchised. What will follow as the final outcome we do not know, but that is the beginning of his attempted re-enslavement. It is beyond any question that his return to involuntary servitude in some condition or conditions, the disarming him of the ballot being the initial step in the proceeding, is seriously contemplated, if not deliberately planned. Indeed, under the name of "peonage" the work of re-establishing a system of slaveholding that is barbarous in the extreme is already begun. Men and women have been seized upon by force, and upon the most flimsy pretexts have been subjected to a bondage that in its inhumanities may easily equal even the slavery of the olden time. The number of victims is undoubtedly much larger than the general public has any idea of. Nor are there lacking signs of studied preparation for the extension of the system. The present time is full of them. Efforts to create a prejudice against the colored man are visible in all directions. He is described as a failure in the role of freeman. The idleness and shiftlessness of certain members of his race--undoubtedly altogether too numerous--are dwelt upon as characteristic of the entire family. Scant praise is given to those members who are doing well, and whose number is encouragingly large. These are as far as possible ignored. The race problem is spoken of as full of increasing difficulties, and as imperatively demanding a change from present conditions. The people of the North are being especially indoctrinated with such ideas. They are told that they must leave their brethren of the former slaveholding States, and in which the negroes principally dwell, to deal with the issues arising between the whites and the blacks; that they--the Southerners--understand the questions to be settled, and that outsiders should withhold their hands and their sympathies. It is none of their business, they are informed, while assurances are freely given that the people who, because of their experience with them, understand the negroes, will take considerate care of them. What kind of care they are taking of them in certain quarters is shown by recent incontestable revelations. And what has the political party which, in view of its manifold professions, was supposed to have the interests of the negro in its especial keeping, done about it? Nothing whatever. It has looked on with the coolest indifference. The only concern it has shown in the matter has related to the question of Congressional representation as dependent upon the enumeration of electors, and, in so doing, has plainly intimated that if, through the negro's political robbery, it can secure an increase of partisan power, it is perfectly willing that the cause of the injured black man should "slide." Indifference in regard to the rights of peoples of color is unfortunately not the only nor even the greatest charge to be laid at the door of the Republican party. It may be asserted that this party has become an active aggressor in trampling down the liberties of colored peoples. As the assignee of Spain in taking over (without consulting those who were most concerned) the control of the territory of the Philippine Islands, it has purchased (and has paid cash for) the right to dominate from eight to ten millions of people. These people may, under the existing conditions, be described as being in a state of slavery. If a foreign people, say a people coming from the other side of the globe, should treat Americans as we have treated the Filipinos, should deny to us the right of self-government, should send great armies to chastise us for disobedience (or for what they might call "rebellion"), and should do this for no better reason than that our skin was darker or lighter than their own, we Americans would doubtless consider ourselves to be in a state of slavery. Why in any sense is slavery in Luzon more defensible than slavery in South Carolina or in Alabama? If it be wrong to keep in slavery the black man in America (as in theory at least we are all now agreed it is wrong), what is the justice in depriving of his freedom the brown-skinned Tagal? Can a bill of sale from Spain give to us any such privilege, if privilege it may be called? Can an agreement with Spain bring to naught our responsibilities under our own Declaration of Independence? Although, owing to the remoteness of the islands, we have as yet but little trustworthy knowledge as to what has really occurred in this new territory, and possibly in any case have not been informed of the things which are most to be condemned, the reports that have reached us of barbarities perpetrated upon a people who never did us any harm or wrong ought certainly to awaken in American bosoms every throb of pity and every sentiment of manliness. We have had accounts of butcheries called "battles" in which have been slaughtered hundreds of almost defenseless creatures for no offense except that of standing up for their independence. It is said that certain districts that would not acknowledge our mastery have been turned into wildernesses, and that in these districts the number of the slain may easily have equaled the victims of massacres in Armenia and Bessarabia, massacres which we have always so strenuously condemned. Thousands of men, women, and children have perished at our hands or in connection with operations for which we were responsible; and in addition to the taking of life there is record of the infliction of serious cruelties. As assignees of Spain, we seem to have succeeded not only to her properties but to her policies in the treatment of subject races. We do not know that in the greatest excesses of the bad colonial government of Spaniards they ever inflicted a torture more exquisite than that of the "water cure." How many of the perpetrators of these atrocities have been adequately punished, or how many have been punished at all? It is wonderful with what complacency we have received the accounts of these horrible affairs. Nobody has been disturbed. The newspapers, beyond reporting the facts, have had nothing to say. The Church has been silent--at least that can be said of the Protestant Church. Not one brave or manly word of protest or condemnation has the writer heard, or heard of, from a Protestant American pulpit. Catholics, being victims and sufferers, have complained and protested. The greatest discomfort these things have produced has been occasioned by the apprehension that, through somebody's lack of patriotism, our flag may be withdrawn from the field of such glorious operations. It used to be our boast that Freedom followed our flag. Now slavery follows it. In view of the facts stated we can understand, not only the serenity, but the favor with which the people of this country, or the great body of them, so long looked upon the workings of African slavery, and the difficulty which the Abolitionists had in arousing a sentiment of revulsion toward it. One of the curious things in this connection is the similarity--the practical sameness--of the arguments used to justify the Philippine occupation and those once used to justify American slaveholding. We are now working to civilize and Christianize the Filipinos, and were then civilizing and Christianizing the negroes with the lash and the bludgeon. Of course, there are other arguments. Increase of trade and wealth, as the result of our appropriation of other peoples' possessions, is freely predicted. It has always been the robber's plea. That is what it is to-day, even when employed by a professed Christian nation. Nor is it improved by the fact that the grounds upon which it is predicated and urged are largely fallacious. The spoliation of the Philippines will never repay us for the blood--our own blood--and treasure it has cost us, apart from any moral or humanitarian consideration. There is not one aspect in this business that promises to redound to our benefit. No, I won't say that; I would hardly be justified in going that far. In one particular the Philippine operation has profited a considerable part of our people. It has added materially to our Army and our Navy. The opportunity for enlargement in those quarters was, undoubtedly, the strongest inducement for our entering upon a colonial policy. For a great many people, and especially in official circles, we cannot have a standing army that is too large, nor too many ships of war. The more powerful those appendages of our authority the larger is the opening for the kinsmen and retainers of those in high places, who may be seeking profitable and agreeable employment, and the more liberal the contributions of contractors and jobbers to the sinews of partisan warfare. Our Army to-day is nearly three times what it was five years ago, although outside of the Philippines we are at peace with all mankind. Nor is that formidable advance at an end. The Far East is now certain to be the world's great battle-ground for the near future, and since we have entered that field as the master of the Philippines, like a knight of the olden time who was ready to do battle with all comers, we must be constantly increasing our preparation. We may not only have to fight the Russians and the Japanese and the Chinese, one or all, but those foolish Filipinos may again take it into their silly heads that they can govern themselves as well or better than we can do it for them. That means rebellion, and, of course, chastisement must follow. As climatic conditions in that part of the world are such that it requires the presence of three men in the army to supply the active services of one, it is obvious that so long as we adhere to our present Asiatic policy, we shall never have an army and a navy large enough and strong enough to meet the requirements of our new condition. On all questions affecting human liberty, no one can fail to observe that the attitude of the two great political parties of to-day, is practically that of the two principal parties at the time the Abolitionists began their operations. One of them may pass perfunctory resolutions against the Philippine crime, but dares to say nothing about the treatment visited upon the negro. The other may say a few compassionate, but meaningless, words for the negro, but cannot denounce the oppression of the Filipinos. Both are fatally handicapped by their connections and committals. Both are, in fact, pro-slavery, although the one in power, because of its responsibility for existing conditions, is the more criminal of the two. What this country now needs, in the opinion of the writer, is a revival of Abolitionism, and to that end, as one of the instrumentalities that would be serviceable, he holds that the old National Anti-Slavery Society should be restored. The most of the men and women that made that institution so useful and honorable, have passed from the scenes of their labors, but a few of them are left, and they and such as may feel like joining them, should meet and unfurl the old standard once more. There may be new associations looking to very much the same ends, but better the old guard under the old name. It would carry a prestige that no newer organization could command. It would create a measure of confidence that would be most strongly felt. The principles and policies it should urge are few and simple. First: Let it declare that the colored man in this country must be permitted to enjoy all his rights under the Constitution as it is, both political and personal. Second: Let it declare that all forms of servitude, including the denial of political self-government, under the flag, as well as under the Constitution, must cease. And then let it go to work for the results thus indicated, in the spirit and with the confidence of the old-time leaders. The Society should be revived and re-established, not for a single campaign only, or for the rectification of such oppressions as are now in sight, but for all time. It ought to be made a permanent institution. It should be so arranged that the sons would step into the ranks as the fathers dropped out and that new recruits would be constantly enlisted. Thus reorganized the grand old institution would be an invaluable watchman on the walls of Freedom's stronghold. The exhortation to which it should listen, is that of the poet Bryant when he says: "Oh not yet Mayst thou unloose thy corslet, nor lay by Thy sword, nor yet, O Freedom, close thy lids In slumber, for thine enemy never sleeps." CHAPTER XI ANTI-SLAVERY ORATORS George William Curtis, in one of his essays, says that "three speeches have made the places where they were delivered illustrious in our history--three, and there is no fourth." He refers to the speech of Patrick Henry in Williamsburg, Virginia, of Lincoln in Gettysburg, and the first address of Wendell Phillips in Faneuil Hall. If it was the purpose of Mr. Curtis to offer the three notable deliverances above mentioned as the best and foremost examples of American oratory, the author cannot agree with him. In his opinion we shall have but little difficulty in picking out the three entitled to that distinction, provided we go to the discussion of the slavery question to find them. That furnished the greatest occasion, being with its ramifications and developments, by far the greatest issue with which Americans have had to deal. The three speeches to which the writer refers were the more notable because they were altogether impromptu. They were what we call "off hand." They were delivered in the face of mobs or other bitterly hostile audiences--a circumstance that probably contributed not a little to their effectiveness. John Quincy Adams, who was unquestionably one of the greatest of American orators, made several speeches in Congress that will always command our highest admiration; but the one to which a somewhat extended reference is made in another chapter, when an attempt was made by the slaveholders to expel him from that body, easily ranks among the first three exhibitions of American eloquence. I quite agree with Mr. Curtis in giving the Faneuil Hall speech of Wendell Phillips a pre-eminent place. A meeting had been called to denounce the murder of Lovejoy, the Abolitionist editor. The audience was composed in large part of pro-slavery rowdies, who were bent on capturing or breaking up the meeting. One of their leaders--a high official of the State of Massachusetts, by the way--made a speech in which he justified the murderous act. "That speech must be answered here and now," exclaimed a young man in the audience. "Answer it yourself," shouted those about him. "I will," was the reply, "if I can reach the platform." To the platform he was assisted, and although an attempt was made for a time to howl him down, he persisted, and before long so interested and charmed his hearers that his triumph was complete. It did not take the country long to realize that in that young man, who was Wendell Phillips, a new oratorical luminary had arisen. He took up the work of lecturing as a profession, treating on other subjects as well as slavery; but when slavery was the subject no charge was made for his services. Said Frederic Hudson, the noted New York editor, in 1860: "It is probable that there is not another man in the United States who is as much heard and read as Henry Ward Beecher, unless the other man be Wendell Phillips." The mention of Henry Ward Beecher's name is suggestive of oratory of the very highest order. It will not be denied by any competent and unprejudiced person that his great speech in England--there were five addresses, but the substance was the same--upon the American question (which directly involved the slavery issue) during our Civil War was far and away the finest exhibition of masterful eloquence that is to be credited to any of our countrymen. The world has never beaten it. Mr. Beecher found himself in England by a fortunate accident at a most critical period in our national affairs. A crisis had there been reached. A powerful party, including a large majority of the public men of Great Britain, favored intervention in behalf of the South. Southern agents were at work all over the kingdom, and were remarkably effective in propagating their views. It looked as if the Rebel interest was on the point of winning, when Mr. Beecher appeared on the scene. He had not gone to England to make public speeches. He was there for health and recreation, but, realizing the situation with his quick perceptiveness, he took up the gage of battle. It was a fearful resolution on his part. The chances seemed to be all against him. It was one man against thousands. His victory, however, was complete. His five great speeches in the business centres of England and Scotland were not only listened to by thousands, but they went all over the country in the public prints. They completely changed the current of public opinion. Mr. Beecher's first address was in Manchester, which, owing to the interest of the leading business men of that city in the cotton trade and the furnishing of ships and supplies for blockade running, was a seething hot bed of Rebel sentiment. When he arrived in that place on the day he was to speak, he was met at the depot by friends with troubled faces, who informed him that hostile placards--significantly printed in red colors--had been posted all over the city, and, if he persisted in trying to speak, he would have a very uncomfortable reception. He was asked how he felt about trying to go on. "I am going to be heard," was his reply. The best description of the scene that ensued is supplied in Mr. Beecher's own words: "The uproar would come in on this side, and then on that. They would put insulting questions and make all sorts of calls to me, and I would wait until the noise had subsided and then get in about five minutes of talk. The reporters would get that down, and then up would come another noise. Occasionally I would see things that amused me, and I would laugh outright, and the crowd would stop to see what I was laughing at. Then I would sail in with another sentence or two. A good many times the crowd threw up questions that I caught and threw back. I may as well at this point mention a thing that amused me hugely. There were baize doors that opened both ways into side alleys, and there was a huge burly Englishman standing right in front of one of these doors and roaring like a bull of Bashan. One of the policemen swung his elbow round and hit him in the belly and knocked him through the doorway, so that the last part of his bawl was out in the alleyway. It struck me so ludicrously to think how the fellow must have looked when he found himself 'hollering' outside, that I could not refrain from laughing outright. The audience immediately stopped its uproar, wondering what I was laughing at. That gave me another chance, and I caught on to it. So we kept it up for about an hour and a half before the people became so far calmed down that I could go on peaceably with my speech. My audience got to like the pluck I showed. Englishmen like a man that can stand on his feet and give and take, and so for the last hour I had pretty much clear sailing. The next morning every great paper in England had the whole speech down. "And when the vote came to be taken--for in England it is customary for audiences to express their decision on the subject under discussion--you would have thought it was a tropical thunder-storm that swept through the hall as the Ayes were thundered, while the Nays were an insignificant and contemptible minority. It had all gone on our side, and such enthusiasm I never saw." It has been repeatedly stated, and to this day is generally believed,--is so stated in several of Mr. Lincoln's biographies, I believe,--that Mr. Beecher went to England at the President's request, and for the purpose of making a speaking tour. The best answer is that given by Mr. Beecher himself. "It has been asked," said he, "whether I was sent by the government. The government took no stock in me at that time. I had been pounding Lincoln in the earlier years of the war, and I don't believe there was a man down there, unless it was Mr. Chase, who would have trusted me with anything. At any rate, I went on my own responsibility." But in referring to Abolition orators, and especially orators whose experience it was to encounter mobs, the writer desires to pay a tribute to one of them whose name he does not even know. A meeting that was called to organize an Anti-Slavery society in New York City was broken up by a mob. All of those in attendance made their escape except one negro. He was caught and his captors thought it would be a capital joke to make him personify one of the big Abolitionists. He was lifted to the platform and directed to imagine himself an Anti-Slavery leader and make an Abolition speech. The fellow proved to be equal to the occasion. He proceeded to assert the right of his race to the privileges of human beings with force and eloquence. His hearers listened with amazement, and possibly with something like admiration, until, realizing that the joke was on them, they pulled him from the platform and kicked him from the building. CHAPTER XII LINCOLN AND DOUGLAS In speaking of the orators and oratory that were evolved by the Slavery issue, there are two names that cannot be omitted. These are Abraham Lincoln and Stephen A. Douglas. It was the good fortune of the writer to be an eye and ear witness of the closing bout, at Alton, Illinois, between those two political champions in their great debate of 1858. The contrast between the men was remarkable. Lincoln was very tall and spare, standing up, when speaking, straight and stiff. Douglas was short and stumpy, a regular roly-poly man. Lincoln's face was calm and meek, almost immobile. He referred to it in his address as "my rather melancholy face." Although plain and somewhat rugged, I never regarded Lincoln's face as homely. I saw him many times and talked with him, after the occasion now referred to. It was a good face, and had many winning lines. Douglas's countenance, on the other hand, was leonine and full of expression. His was a handsome face. When lighted up by the excitement of debate it could not fail to impress an audience. Lincoln indulged in no gesticulation. If he had been addressing a bench of judges he would not have been more impassive in his manner. He was an animate, but not an animated, bean-pole. He poured out a steady flow of words--three to Douglas's two--in a simple and semi-conversational tone. He attempted no witticisms and indulged in no oratorical claptrap. His address was pure argument. Douglas's manner was one of excitement, and accompanied and emphasized by almost continuous bodily movement. His hands and his feet, and especially that pliable face of his, were all busy talking. He said sharp things, evidently for their immediate effect on his audience, and showed that he was not only master of all the arts of the practical stump orator, but was ready to employ them. But the most noticeable difference was in the voices of the men. Douglas spoke first, and for the first minute or two was utterly unintelligible. His voice seemed to be all worn out by his speaking in that long and principally open-air debate. He simply bellowed. But gradually he got command of his organ, and pretty soon, in a somewhat laborious and painful way, it is true, he succeeded in making himself understood. Lincoln's voice, on the contrary, was without a quaver or a sign of huskiness. He had been speaking in the open air exactly as much as Douglas, but it was perfectly fresh, not a particle strained. It was a perfect voice. Those who wanted to understand Douglas had to press up close to the platform from which he was speaking, and there was collected a dense, but not very deep, crowd. There was no crowding in front of Lincoln when he was speaking. He could be heard without it. There was a line of wagons and carriages on the outskirts of the audience, and I noticed, when Lincoln was speaking, that they were filled with comfortably seated people listening to his address. They did not need to go any nearer to him. The most of the shouting was done by Douglas's partisans, composing a clear majority of the crowd, but it was very manifest that Lincoln commanded the attention of the greater number of those who were interested in the arguments. He did not act as if he cared for the applause of the multitude. He said nothing, apparently, simply to tickle the ears of his hearers. Rather strange was it that the only points on which there did not appear to be much, if any, difference between the two men were reached when they came to the propositions they advocated. Douglas was avowedly pro-slavery. He was talking in southern Illinois and on the border of Missouri, to which many of his hearers belonged, and his audience was mostly Southern in its feelings. He was plainly trying to please that element. He not only approved of slavery where it was, but metaphorically jumped on the negro and trampled all over him. He denied that the negro was a "man" within the meaning of the Declaration of Independence. Lincoln, however, as far as slavery in the States was involved, met Douglas on his own ground, and "went him one better." He said, "I have on all occasions declared as strongly as Judge Douglas against the disposition to interfere with the existing institution of slavery." If a stranger who knew nothing of the speakers and their party associations had heard the two men on that occasion, he would have concluded that one was strongly in favor of slavery and the other was not opposed to it. Their only disagreement was as to slavery in the Territories, and that was more apparent than real. Lincoln contended for free soil through the direct action of the general government. Douglas advocated a roundabout way that led up to the same result. His proposition, which he called "popular sovereignty," was to leave the decision to the people of the Territories, saying he did not care whether they voted slavery up or voted it down. That was a practical, although indirect declaration in favor of free soil. The outcome of the contests in Kansas and California showed that at that game the free States with their superior resources were certain to win. The shrewder slaveholders recognized that fact, and their antagonism to Douglas grew accordingly. They deliberately defeated him for the Presidency in 1860, when he was the regular candidate of the Democratic party, by running Breckenridge as an independent candidate. Otherwise Mr. Douglas would have become President of the United States. Out of a total of 4,680,193 votes, Mr. Lincoln had only 1,866,631. The rest were divided between his three antagonists. As between Lincoln and Douglas, who together held the controlling hand, the slaveholders preferred Lincoln, against whom they had no personal feeling, while they knew that his policy was no more dangerous to their interests than the other man's, if faithfully adhered to and carried out. Besides that, by this time many of them had reached that state of mind in which they wanted a pretext for secession from the Union. Lincoln's election would give them that pretext while Douglas's would not. On a boat that carried a portion of the audience, including the writer, from Alton to St. Louis, after the debate was over, was a prominent Missouri Democrat, afterwards a Confederate leader, who expressed himself very freely. He declared that he would rather trust the institutions of the South to the hands of a conservative and honest man like "Old Abe," than to those of "a political jumping-jack like Douglas." The most of the other Southern men and slaveholders present seemed to concur in his views. It is a fact that a good many of the Anti-Slavery leaders living outside of Illinois, and a good many of those living within it, wanted the Republicans of that State to let Douglas go back to the Senate without a contest, believing that he would be far more useful to them there than a Republican would be. It is not improbable that enough of the Illinois Republicans took that view of the matter, and helped to give Douglas the victory in what was a very close contest. A portion of Douglas's speech was a spirited defense of his "squatter sovereignty" doctrine against the denunciations of members of his own political party, in the course of which he gave President Buchanan a savage overhauling. It showed him to be a master of invective. "Go it, husband; go it, bear," was Mr. Lincoln's comment on that part of Douglas's address. I went to the debate with a very strong prejudice against Douglas, looking upon him as one of the most time-serving of those Northern men whom the Abolitionists called "dough-faces." I confess that my views of the man were considerably modified. I admired the pluck he showed in speaking when his voice was in tatters. Still more did I like the resolution he displayed in defying those leaders of his own party, including the President, who wanted him to retreat from the ground he had taken, seeing that it had become practically Anti-Slavery. At the same time I had an almost worshipful admiration for Lincoln, whom I had not before seen or heard. I expected a great deal from him. I thought his closing appeal in that great debate would contain some ringing words for freedom. He had, as I supposed, a great opportunity for telling eloquence. He stood almost on the ground that had drunk the blood of Lovejoy, the Anti-Slavery martyr. I felt that that fact ought to inspire him. I was disappointed. Mr. Lincoln's speech was altogether colorless. It was an argument, able but perfectly cold. It was largely technical. There was no sentiment in it. Lovejoy had died in vain so far as that address was concerned. I am free to say that I was led to doubt whether Mr. Lincoln was then in hearty sympathy with any movement looking to the freedom of the slave, and this impression was not afterwards wholly removed from my mind. CHAPTER XIII ANTI-SLAVERY WOMEN My father was a subscriber to the _National Era_, the Anti-Slavery weekly that was published in Washington City before the war by Dr. Gamaliel Bailey. Being the youngest member of the family, I usually went to the post-office for the paper on the day of its weekly arrival. One day I brought it home and handed it to my father, who, as the day was warm, was seated outside of the house. He was soon apparently very much absorbed in his reading. A call for dinner was sounded, but he paid no attention to it. The meal was delayed a little while and then the call was repeated, but with the same result. At last the meal proceeded without my father's presence, he coming in at the close and swinging the paper in his hand. His explanation, by way of apology, was that he had become very much interested in the opening installment of a story that was begun in the _Era_, and which he declared would make a sensation. "It will make a renovation," he repeated several times. That story, it is almost needless to say, was _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, and it is altogether needless to say that it fully accomplished my father's prediction as to its sensational effects. Since the appearance of the Bible in a form that brought it home to the common people, there has been no work in the English language so extensively read. The author's name became at once a cynosure the world over. When Henry Ward Beecher, the writer's distinguished brother, delivered his first lecture in England, he was introduced to the audience by the chairman as the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher Stowe. The way in which the idea of writing the book came to the author was significant of the will that produced it. A lady friend wrote Mrs. Stowe a letter in which she said, "If I could use a pen as you can, I would write something that would make the whole nation feel what an accursed thing slavery is." When the letter reached its destination, and Mrs. Stowe came to the passage above quoted, as the story is told by a friend who was present, she sprang to her feet, crushed the letter in her hand in the intensity of her feeling, and with an expression on her face of the utmost determination, exclaimed, "If I live, I will write something that will do that thing." The circumstances under which she executed her great task would ordinarily be looked upon as altogether prohibitory. She was the wife of a poor minister and school-teacher. To eke out the family income she took boarders. She had five children of her own, who were too young to be of any material assistance, and, in addition, she occasionally harbored a waif that besought her protection when fleeing from slavery. Necessarily the most of her time was spent in the kitchen. There, surrounded by meats and vegetables and cooking appliances, with just enough of the common deal table cleared away to give space for her writing materials, she composed and made ready for the publisher by far the most remarkable work of fiction this country has produced. Slavery is dead, but Mrs. Stowe's masterpiece lives, and is likely to live with growing luster as long as our free institutions survive, which it is to be hoped will be forever. One of the most remarkable early workers in the Abolition cause was Mrs. Lucretia Mott, a little Quaker woman of Pennsylvania. The writer saw her for the last time shortly before her death. She was then acting as presiding officer of an "Equal Rights"--meaning equal suffrage--meeting. Sitting on one hand was Susan B. Anthony, and on the other Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and next to one of them sat a stately negro. She was then an aged woman, but her eye seemed to be as bright and her movements as alert as they had ever been. Framed by her becoming Quaker bonnet, which she retained in her official position, the face of the handsome old lady would have been a splendid subject for an artist. Mrs. Mott gave much of her time and all the means she could control to the cause of the slave. She was an exceedingly spirited and eloquent speaker. On one lecturing tour she traveled twenty-four hundred miles, the most of the way in old-fashioned stage-coaches. By a number of taverns she was denied entertainment. Like other pioneers in the same movement, Mrs. Mott was the victim of numerous mobbings. One incident shows her courage and resourcefulness. An Anti-Slavery meeting she was attending was broken up by rowdies, and some of the ladies present were greatly frightened. Seeing this Mrs. Mott asked the gentleman who was escorting her, to leave her and assist some of the others who were more timid. "But who will take care of you?" he asked. "This man," she answered, lightly laying her hand on the arm of one of the roughest of the mob. The man, completely surprised, responded by respectfully conducting her through the tumult to a place of safety. But before Mrs. Stowe and Mrs. Mott had taken up the work for the bondman, two other remarkable women had become interested in his cause. Their history has some features that the most accomplished novel-writer could not improve upon. They were sisters, known as the Grimké sisters, Sarah and Angelina, the latter becoming the wife of Theodore W. Weld, a noted Abolition lecturer. They were daughters of a Judge of the Supreme Court of South Carolina, their early home being in Charleston. The family was of the highest pretension, being related to the Rhetts, the Barnwells, the Pickenses, and other famous representatives of the Palmetto aristocracy. It was wealthy, and of course had many slaves. The girls had their colored attendants, whose only service was to wait upon them and do their bidding. That circumstance finally led to trouble. At that time there was a statute in South Carolina against teaching slaves to read and write. The penalties were fine and imprisonment. The Grimké girls, however, had little respect for or fear of that law. The story of their offending is told by Sarah. Her attendant, when she was little more than a child, was a colored girl of about the same age. She says, "I took an almost malicious satisfaction in teaching my little waiting maid at night, when she was supposed to be occupied in combing and brushing my long hair. The light was put out, the key-hole screened, and flat on our stomachs before the fire, with the spelling-book under our eyes, we defied the law of South Carolina." South Carolina was long noted for its rebels, but it never had a more interesting one than the author of the above narrative; nor a braver one. As the sisters grew up, they more and more showed their dislike of slavery and their disposition to aid such colored people as were within their circle. Such conduct could not escape observation, and the result was their banishment from their Southern home. They were given the alternative of "behaving themselves" or going North to live. They were not long in deciding, and they became residents of Philadelphia. Here they joined the Quakers, because of their coincidence of views on the slavery question. They had before been Presbyterians, having been raised as such. They became industrious and noted Anti-Slavery lecturers. To one of them is to be credited a notable oratorical achievement. Being no longer able to ignore the growing Anti-Slavery sentiment of its constituency, the Massachusetts Legislature in 1838 appointed a committee to consider the part that that State had in the subject of slavery, and especially in connection with slavery in the District of Columbia. The committee asked an expression of their views from those entertaining different sentiments on the subject. The Anti-Slavery people invited Angelina Grimké to represent them. The sessions of the committee were to be held in the great hall of the Legislature in the State House, where, up to that time, no woman had ever spoken. The chairman of the committee, however, consented that Miss Grimké should be heard, and the fact that she was a woman probably helped to bring out an immense audience. She spoke for two hours, and then, being asked to speak again, at the next meeting, she spoke for two hours more. The impression she produced may be inferred from the fact that the chairman of the committee was in tears nearly the whole time she was speaking. The effect upon all who heard her was admitted to be very great. The sincerity of these women was put to an unusual test. They had a brother who remained in South Carolina, where he was a prominent citizen and a large slave-owner. Like many sharing the privileges of "the institution," he led a double life. He was married to a white woman by whom he had children. He also had a family by a colored woman who was one of his slaves. In his will he bequeathed his slave family to a son by his lawful wife, with the stipulation that they should not be sold or unkindly treated. Of these things the Grimké sisters knew nothing until after the war which had freed their illegitimate relatives. Then all the facts came to their knowledge. What should they do about it? was the question that immediately confronted them. Should they--"Carolina's high-souled daughters," as Whittier describes them, and not without some part in the pride of the family to which they belonged--acknowledge such a disreputable relationship? Not a day nor an hour did they hesitate. They sent for their unfortunate kinspeople, accepted them as blood connections, and took upon themselves the duty of promoting their interests as far as it was in their power to do so. Although a quiet and retiring person, and, moreover, so much of an invalid that the greater part of her time was necessarily passed in a bed of sickness, a New England woman had much to do with publishing the doctrines of Abolitionism, through the lips of the most eloquent man in the country. She was the wife of Wendell Phillips, the noted Anti-Slavery lecturer. "My wife made me an Abolitionist," said Phillips. How the work was done is not without its romantic interest. It was several years before he made his meteoric appearance before the public as a platform talker, and while yet a law student, that Phillips met the lady in question. The interview, as described by one of the parties, certainly had its comical aspect. "I talked Abolitionism to him all the time we were together," said Mrs. Phillips, as she afterwards related the affair. Phillips listened, and that he was not surfeited nor disgusted appears from the fact that he went again and again for that sort of entertainment. When Phillips asked for her hand, as the story goes, she asked him if he was fully persuaded to be a friend of the slave, leaving him to infer that their union was otherwise impossible. "My life shall attest the sincerity of my conversion," was his gallant reply. CHAPTER XIV MOBS In his _Recollections_, the Rev. Samuel T. May, who was one of the most faithful and zealous of the Anti-Slavery pioneers, and belonged to that band of devoted workers who were known as Abolition lecturers, tells of his experience in delivering an Anti-Slavery address in the sober New England city of Haverhill. "It was a Sabbath evening," he says. "I had spoken about fifteen minutes when the most hideous outcries--yells and screeches--from a crowd of men and boys, who had surrounded the house, startled us, and then came heavy missiles against the doors and the blinds of the windows. I persisted in speaking for a few minutes, hoping the doors and blinds were strong enough to withstand the attack. But presently a heavy stone broke through one of the blinds, scattered a pane of glass, and fell upon the head of a lady sitting near the center of the hall. She uttered a shriek and fell bleeding on the floor." There was a panic, of course, and the Abolition lecturer would have been roughly handled by the mob if a young lady, a sister of the poet Whittier, had not taken him by the arm, and walked with him through the astonished crowd. They did not feel like attacking a woman. There was nothing unusual, except the part performed by the young lady, in the affair described in the foregoing narrative. Mobs were of constant occurrence in the period of which we are speaking. It was not in the slave States that they were most frequent. Northern communities that were regarded as absolutely peaceable and perfectly moral thought nothing of an anti-Abolitionist riot now and then. They occurred "away up North" and "away down East." Even sleepy old Nantucket, in its sedentary repose by the sea, woke up long enough to mob a couple of Abolition lecturers, a man and a woman. The community in which the writer resided when a boy, was fully up to the pacific standard of most Northern neighborhoods. Yet it was the scene of many turmoils growing out of Anti-Slavery meetings. The district schoolhouse, which was the only public building in the village that was open for such gatherings, called for frequent repairs on account of damages done by mobs. Broken windows and doors were often in evidence, and stains from mud-balls, decayed vegetables, and antiquated eggs, which nobody took the trouble to remove, were nearly always visible. On one occasion, at an evening meeting, the lecturer was a young professor, who was "down" from Oberlin College, against which, as "an Abolition hole," there was a very strong prejudice. He had not got more than well started, when rocks, bricks, and other missiles began to crash through the windows. The mob was resolved to punish that young man, and had come prepared to give him a coating of unsavory mixture. He was a preacher as well as a teacher, and his "store clothes" were likely to betray him; but some thoughtful person had brought an old drab overcoat and a rough workman's cap, and arrayed in these garments he walked through the crowd without his identity being suspected. But another party was not so fortunate. He was a respected citizen of the village, an elder in the Presbyterian church, and a strong pro-slavery man. He dressed in black and his appearance was not unlike that of the lecturer. By some hard luck he happened to be passing that way when the crowd was looking for the Abolitionist, and was discovered. "There he goes," was the cry that was raised, and a fire of eggs and other things was opened upon him. He reached his home in an awful plight, and it was charged that his conversation was not unmixed with profanity. On another occasion the writer was present when the friends of the lecturer undertook to convey him to a place of safety. They formed a circle about him and moved away while the mob followed, hurling eggs and clods and sticks and whatever else came handy. We kept quietly on our way until we reached a place in the road that had been freshly graveled, and where the surface was covered with stones just suited to our use. Here we halted, and, with rocks in hand, formed a line of battle. It took only one volley to put the enemy to rout, and we had no further trouble. At last, after several men had been prevented from speaking in our village, the services of a female lecturer were secured. The question then was, whether the mob would be so ungallant as to disturb a woman. The matter was settled by the rowdies on that occasion being more than usually demonstrative. The lecturer showed great courage and presence of mind. She closed the meeting in due form, and then walked calmly through the noisy throng that gave her no personal molestation or insult. Deliberately she proceeded to a place of safety--and then went into hysterics. Finding that it was impossible to hold undisturbed public meetings, the Abolitionists adopted a plan of operations that was altogether successful. They met in their several homes, taking them in order, and there the subject they were interested in was uninterruptedly discussed. Intelligent opponents of their views were invited to attend, and frequently did so. So warm were the discussions that arose that the meetings sometimes lasted for entire days, and conversions were not unusual. It was in one of these neighborhood gatherings that the writer first became an active Anti-Slavery worker. He had memorized one of Daniel O'Connell's philippics against American slavery, and, being given the opportunity, declaimed it with much earnestness. After that he was invited to all the meetings, and had on hand a stock of selections for delivery, his favorite being Whittier's _Slave Mother's Lament over the Loss of Her Daughters_: "Gone, gone--sold and gone To the rice swamp dank and lone, Where the slave whip ceaseless swings, Where the noisome insect stings; Where the fever demon strews Poison with the falling dews; Where the sickly sunbeams glare Through the hot and misty air. Gone, gone--sold and gone To the rice swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters-- Woe is me my stolen daughters!" It was marvelous how little damage all the mobs effected. Lovejoy of Illinois was killed--a great loss--and occasionally an Abolitionist lecturer got a bloody nose or a sore shin. Professor Hudson, of Oberlin College, used to say that the injury he most feared was to his clothes. He carried with him what he called "a storm suit," which he wore at evening meetings. It showed many marks of battle. Among those who suffered real physical injury was Fred. Douglass, the runaway slave. While in bondage he was often severely punished, but he encountered rougher treatment in the North than in the South. He was attacked by a mob while lecturing in the State of Indiana; was struck to the earth and rendered senseless by blows on the head and body, and for a time his life was supposed to be in danger. Although in the main he recovered, his right hand was always crippled in consequence of some of its bones having been broken. CHAPTER XV ANTI-SLAVERY MARTYRS If any one is desirous of estimating the extent of the sacrifice of life, of treasure, of home and family comforts, and of innumerable fair hopes that the institution of slavery, in its struggle, not merely for existence, but for supremacy, cost this country, let him visit a government cemetery in the neighborhood of one of the great battle-fields of the Rebellion, and there, while looking down the long avenues lined with memorial stones that a grateful country has set up, make inquiry as to the number of those that are there bivouacked "in fame's eternal camping ground." Some idea--a faint one it is true--will then be had of the multitudes that gave up all they possessed that liberty might live and rule in this fair land of ours. They were martyrs in the very highest sense to Freedom's immeasurable cause. The war was the product of slavery. It was the natural outcome of the great moral conflict that had so long raged in this country. It was simply the development of an agitation that had begun on other lines. But there were martyrs to the cause of freedom before the war. Everybody knows more or less of the story of John Brown, of Ossawatomie, whose soul kept "marching on," although his body was "a-mouldering in the grave." There was another case involving the surrender of life to that cause, which has always struck me as having stronger claims to our sympathies than that of John Brown and his comrades in self-sacrifice. I have already referred to Elijah P. Lovejoy who was a young Congregational clergyman, who went from the State of Maine to St. Louis, Missouri, in 1839. He became the editor of a religious journal in which he expressed, in very moderate terms, an opinion that was not favorable to slave-holding. The supporters of the institution were aroused at once. They demanded a retraction. "I have sworn eternal hostility to slavery, and by the blessing of God I will never go back," was his reply. He also declared, "We have slaves here, but I am not one of them." It was deemed advisable by Mr. Lovejoy and his friends to move his printing establishment to Alton, opposite Missouri, in the free State of Illinois. There, however, a pro-slavery antagonism immediately developed. His press was seized and thrown into the Mississippi River. The same fate awaited two others that were procured. But, undismayed, Mr. Lovejoy and his friends once more decided that their rights and liberties should not be surrendered without a further effort. Another press was sent for. But in the meanwhile a violent public agitation had arisen. At the instance of certain pro-slavery leaders in the community a public meeting had been called to denounce the Abolitionists. Mr. Lovejoy was invited to attend it and declare what he would do. "Gentlemen," said he, "as long as I am an American citizen; as long as American blood runs in my veins, I shall hold myself at liberty to speak, to write, and to publish whatever I please on any subject, being amenable to the laws of my country for the same." The fourth press arrived. It was landed from a passing boat in the small hours of the morning, and was safely conveyed to a warehouse where Mr. Lovejoy and several of his friends assembled with a view to its protection. What followed is thus described: "An hour or two afterwards there came from the grog-shops a crowd of people who knocked at the door and demanded the press. One of the owners of the warehouse informed them it would not be given up. Presenting a pistol, the leader of the mob announced that they were resolved to have the press at any cost. Stones were thrown, windows broken, and shots were fired at the building. The cry of 'burn them out' was raised. Ladders were procured, and some of the rioters mounted to the roof of the building and set it on fire. Mr. Lovejoy at this point stepped out of the building for the purpose of having a talk with his enemies, when he was fired upon. He received five balls, three in his breast. He was killed almost instantly." The animosity of his enemies was such that they followed his remains with scoffings and insults on its way to the grave. But the most cruel and brutal persecutions by the slave power were not always those that involved the sacrifice of life. In Canterbury, in the State of Connecticut, lived a Quaker lady of the name of Prudence Crandall. She conducted a school for young ladies. Among those she admitted was a colored girl. The fact becoming known, objection was raised by the citizens of the place. The position in which Miss Crandall was placed was a most trying one. Having invested all her means in the school building and its equipment, she was confronted with the alternative of losing her business and her property, or dismissing the colored student who had done no wrong. She chose to stand by her principles. A public meeting was called, and a resolution to prevent the maintenance of the school, if colored students were admitted, was adopted by the citizens. Nevertheless, that brave Quakeress opened her doors to several colored young women. That brought the issue to a head, and then began a system of most remarkable persecutions. The school building was bombarded with clubs and stones, the proprietress found the stores of the village closed against her, and the young lady students were grossly insulted when they appeared upon the streets. Even the well from which drinking water was obtained was polluted. Finding that there was no law in Connecticut under which the instruction of colored people could be prohibited and punished, the enemies of Miss Crandall went to the Legislature of the State and asked for such an enactment, and, to the eternal disgrace of that body, their request was complied with. It was made a crime in Connecticut to instruct colored people in the rudiments of an ordinary education. Miss Crandall, as she made no change in her course of action, was arrested, brought before a committing magistrate, and sent to jail. A man had shortly before been confined in the same prison for the murder of his wife, and therefrom had gone to execution. Miss Crandall was confined in the cell this man had occupied. Other indignities were heaped upon this devoted and courageous lady. Physicians refused to attend the sick of her household, and the trustees of the church she was accustomed to attend notified her that she and the members of her family were denied admission to that sanctuary. Miss Crandall was finally convicted of the crime with which she was charged, but the case, being carried to the highest court of the State, was dismissed on a technicality. But, although the legal prosecution of this poor woman reached an end, her enemies did not cease their opposition. The mob made an attack upon her dwelling, which was also her schoolhouse. Doors and windows were broken in, and the building was so thoroughly wrecked as to be uninhabitable. Having no money with which to make repairs, she was forced to abandon the structure and her educational business at the same time. The Crandall family became noted for its martyrs. A brother of Prudence Crandall was Dr. Reuben Crandall, of Washington City. He was a man of high attainments, being a lecturer in a public scientific institution. While engaged in his office he received some packages that had been wrapped in newspapers, among which happened to be a copy or two of Abolition journals. At the request of a gentleman who was present at the unpacking he gave him one of the publications. Having looked it over the gentleman dropped it, where it was picked up by some one who was on the lookout for incendiary publications. No little excitement followed its discovery. The community was aroused. Indeed, so great was the agitation occasioned that Dr. Crandall, to whom the inhibited paper had been traced, was in great physical danger from mob violence. He was arrested, and, partly to save his life, was thrust into jail, where he remained for eight months. He was tried and, although acquitted, was really made the subject of capital punishment. Tuberculosis developed as the result of his incarceration, and death soon followed. Of many cases of the kind that might be cited, perhaps none is more strikingly illustrative than that of Charles Turner Torrey, a New England man. He was accused of helping a slave to escape from the city of Baltimore, and being convicted on what was said to be perjured testimony, was sent to the penitentiary for a long term of years. The confinement was fatal, a galloping consumption mercifully putting a speedy end to his confinement. And then a remarkable incident occurred. Torrey was a minister in good standing of the Congregational denomination, and also a member of the Park Avenue Church of Boston. Arrangements were made for funeral exercises in that church, but its managers, taking alarm at the threats of certain pro-slavery men, withdrew their permission and locked the sanctuary's doors. Slavery punished the dead as well as the living. The case of Amos Dresser, a young Southerner, may not improperly be mentioned here. He had gone to a Northern school, and had become a convert to Abolitionism. He went to Nashville, Tennessee, to canvass for a book called the _Cottage Bible_ which would not ordinarily be supposed to be dangerous to well regulated public institutions. While peaceably attending to his business he was accused of Anti-Slaveryism. He did not deny the charge and was arrested, his trunk being broken open and its contents searched and scattered. He was taken before a vigilance committee and by it was condemned to receive twenty lashes on his bare back, "well laid on," and then to be driven out of town. The sentence was carried out, we are told, in the presence of thousands of people of both sexes. Of the many somewhat similar instances that might here be referred to the writer will make room for only one more. A seafaring man of the name of Jonathan Walker undertook to convey in a sloop of which he was the owner seven colored fugitives to the Bahama Islands, where they would be free. Owing to an accident to his boat, he and his companions were captured. He was sentenced, among other things, to have his hand branded with the letters S.S., signifying "Slave Stealer." The incident just referred to inspired one of the finest productions of Whittier's pen. Singing of that "bold plowman of the wave" he proceeds: "Why, that hand is highest honor, Than its traces never yet Upon old memorial hatchments was A prouder blazon set; And the unborn generations, as they Tread our rocky strand, Shall tell with pride the story of Their father's branded hand." CHAPTER XVI THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD The prescribed penalties for assisting in the escape of fugitive slaves were severe. By the terms of the Fugitive Slave Act, as it was called, any one convicted of that offense, besides a liability for one thousand dollars damages recoverable in a civil action, was subject to a five-hundred-dollars fine and imprisonment in a penitentiary for one year. As the writer has not "done time" for participation in certain transactions dating back to his earlier days, in which the legal rights of slave-owners were indifferently respected, he thinks it advisable to be somewhat reserved in his recital of personal experiences when taking the public into his confidence. The Fugitive Slave Law--and for that fact we should give "most hearty thanks"--is about as dead as any statute can be, but as in the case of a snake that has been killed, it may be the wiser course not to trifle with its fangs. Therefore, instead of telling my own story in the first person singular, I offer as a substitute the confession of one John Smith, whose existence no one will presume to dispute. Here is his statement: "There was an old barn on my father's farm. It was almost a ruin. One end of the roof had fallen in, pretty much all the windows were gone, and there was a general air of dilapidation about the place. A dwelling-house, to which it was an appendage, had been burned and not rebuilt, and the barn had been left to fight a battle with the elements and other foes in pretty much its own way. "Not that it was wholly abandoned. There was one mow that was kept pretty well supplied with grass, and there were two or three horse stalls that were in tolerable order, although but rarely used. There were a number of excellent hiding-places about the old rookery. In the basement all sorts of rubbish, including unused vehicles and machinery, had been stored away, and so wedged and packed was it that it would have taken hours to uncover man or beast seeking concealment there. "One of the curious features of the situation was that the building was in sight of none of the roads in the neighborhood, while less than a hundred feet from it was a strip of woods in which the removal of the larger trees had stimulated a sturdy and densely matted undergrowth that was penetrable only by means of paths that had been made by the cattle. It was what was called a 'woods pasture.' With this cover for his movements any one could approach or leave the old barn with little danger of discovery. "Naturally enough, such a ramshackle was in ill-repute. There were tales about it in the neighborhood. Some children had gone there to play on one occasion, and had been badly frightened by a big--as big as a half-bushel, they asserted--black face that was seen to be watching them. They fled from the premises in great alarm, and for a time there was talk of an investigation by their friends. The incident, however, was soon forgotten. "That old barn was a regular station on one of the underground railroads that extended from the Ohio River to Canada. To but few persons was its true character known, and they were very close-mouthed about it. I was one of the few that were in the secret. Being the youngest member of the family, it fell to my lot to drive the horses and cows to and from the pasture in which the old barrack was located, and while there it was an easy matter to visit that establishment and ascertain if it sheltered any fresh arrivals. "One day I had to report that two fugitives were in the barn, being a mother and child. Then came the question--which in that instance was a difficult one to answer--as to who should convey them to the next station on the line, twenty miles away. A brother, between five and six years older than I was, and who was something of a dare-devil, did the most of the work of transportation, but he was in bed with typhoid fever. A hired man, who was employed partly because he was in hearty accord with the humanitarian views of the household, and who on several occasions had taken my brother's place, was absent. There was nobody but myself who was ready to undertake the job, and I was only eleven years old. There was no help for it, however. The slaves had to be moved on, and I was greatly rejoiced in the prospect of adventure that was opened up to me. The journey had to be made at night, but for that I cared nothing, as I had repeatedly gone over the route by daylight, and thought I knew the road perfectly. "Midnight found me on the highway, and on the driver's seat of one of our farm wagons, to which was attached a span of horses moving in the direction of the north star. That luminary was not on this occasion visible. The sky was heavily overcast and the night was very dark. A light rain was falling. With all the confidence I had in my own ability, more than once would I have lost the way, but for the sagacity of the horses, which had gone over that route a number of times under similar circumstances. They acted as if altogether familiar with it. Those horses proved themselves to be excellent Abolitionists. "The inclemency of the night was in one respect a great advantage. It kept at home those who might incline to be too inquisitive. The few travelers we met passed on with a word of greeting, while I whistled unconcernedly. "Over the bottom of the wagon was scattered some hay that might be used either as feed for the horses or as a bed for weary travelers. There was also an old-fashioned buffalo-robe, somewhat dilapidated, that could serve for concealment or as shelter from the elements. Two or three empty baskets suggested a return from the market. There was another article that one would hardly have looked for. This was a smoke-cured ham loosely wrapped in some old sacking. It had gone over that route a number of times. Its odor neutralized the smell by which the presence, immediate or recent, of negroes might be detected. "My fellow-travelers, as my passengers might be called, were interesting companions. Both, in one sense, were children, the mother certainly not being over seventeen years old. She was a comely half-breed mulatto. Her baby--a pretty boy of two years--was one degree nearer white. "The girl was inclined to be confidential and talkative. She said she was 'old mas'r's' daughter. Her mother had been one of 'old mas'r's' people. She had grown up with the other slave children on the place, being in no way favored because of her relationship to her owner. The baby's father was 'young mas'r'--old master's son, as it appeared--and who, consequently, was a half-brother of the youthful mother. Slavery sometimes created singular relationships. "As the story ran, all the people, including the narrator and her baby, when 'ole mas'r' died were 'leveled' on by the Sheriff's man. She did not quite understand the meaning of it all, but it was doubtless a case of bankruptcy. "'Young mas'r,' she said, 'tole' her she had to run away, taking the baby of course. 'Oh, yes," she said very emphatically, 'I never would have left Kentuck without Thomas Jefferson'--meaning her little boy. 'Young mas'r,' according to her account, arranged the whole proceeding, telling her what course to take by night, where to stop and conceal herself by day, and what signal to give when she reached the 'big river.' "When the Ohio had been crossed her young master met her, evidently to the great delight of the poor creature. He gave her some money, and told her that when she reached her destination he would send her some 'mo.' After putting her in charge of some kind people, evidently representatives of the underground line, they had parted, according to her description of the incident, in an affecting way. 'He kissed me and I cried,' was her simple statement. Notwithstanding the boasted superiority of one race over another, human nature seems to be very much the same, whether we read it in a white face or in a black one. "The little girlish mother was very much alarmed for the safety of her boy and herself when we began our journey, wanting to get out and conceal herself whenever we heard any one on the road. After several detentions from that cause, the weary creature stretched herself upon the hay beside her sleeping infant and almost immediately fell into a heavy slumber. She could stand the strain no longer. I drew the buffalo-robe over the two sleepers, and there they rested in blissful unconsciousness until the journey was ended. "Half-way between the termini of my route was a village in which lived a constable who was suspected of being in the employ of the slave-owners. It was thought advisable that I should avoid that village by taking a roundabout road. That I did, although it added an extra half to my trip. The result was that the sun was just peeping over the eastern hills, as I reached a set of bars showing an entrance into a pasture lot on one side of the highway. Removing the bars, I drove into the field, and passing over a ridge that hid it from the road, I stopped in front of a log cabin that had every appearance of being an abandoned and neglected homestead. That was the station I was looking for. Arousing my sleeping passengers, I saw them enter the old domicile, where I bade them good-by, and received the tearful and repeated thanks of the youthful slave mother, speaking for herself and her offspring. I never saw them again, but in due time the news came back, over what was jocularly called the 'grape-vine telegraph,' that they had safely reached their destination. "At the home of the station agent I was enthusiastically received. That a boy of eleven should accomplish what I had done was thought to be quite wonderful. I was given an excellent breakfast, and then shown to a room with a bed, where I had a good sleep. On my awakening I set out on the return journey, this time taking the most direct route, as I had then no fear of that hireling constable. "Subsequently I passed through several experiences of a similar kind, some of them involving greater risks and more exciting incidents, but the recollection of none of them brings me greater satisfaction than the memory of my first conductorship on the Underground. "All of which is respectfully submitted by "JOHN SMITH." CHAPTER XVII COLONIZATION I have had a good deal to say about Anti-Slavery societies. There was another society which was called into existence by the slavery situation. Whether it was pro-slavery or anti-slavery was a question that long puzzled a good many people. It was the Colonization Society. A good many Anti-Slavery people believed in it for a time and gave it their support. "I am opposed to slavery, but I am not an Abolitionist: I am a Colonizationist," was a declaration that, when I was a boy, I heard many and many times, and from the lips of well-intending people. It did not take the sharp-sighted leaders of the Abolition movement very long to discover that one of the uses its managers expected to make of the Colonization Society was as a shield for slavery. It kept a number of excellent people from joining in an aggressive movement against it, took their money, and made them believe that they were at work for the freedom of the negro. Strangely as it might appear, the negroes, who were assumed to be the beneficiaries of the colonization scheme, were opposed to it. Quicker than the white people generally did, they saw through its false pretense, and, besides, they could not understand why they should be taken from the land of their nativity, and sent to the country from which their progenitors had come, any more than the descendants of Scotch, English, and German immigrants should be deported to the lands of their ancestors. Equally strange was it that the Colonization Society, if really friendly to the negro, should find its most zealous supporters among slaveholders. Its first president, who was a nephew of George Washington, upon learning that his slaves had got the idea that they were to be set at liberty, sent over fifty of them to be sold from the auction block at New Orleans. That was intended as a warning to the rest. One of its presidents was said to be the owner of a thousand slaves and had never manumitted one of them. The principal service that the colonization movement was expected to do for the slave-owners was to relieve them of the presence of free negroes. These were always regarded as a menace by slave-masters. They disseminated ideas of freedom and manhood among their unfortunate brethren. They were object-lessons to those in bondage. The slave-owners were only too glad to have them sent away. They looked to Liberia as a safety-valve. It did not take long for intelligent people who were really well-wishers of the black man to perceive these facts. The severest blow that the Colonization Society received in America was from the pen of William Lloyd Garrison, who, under the title of _Thoughts on African Colonisation_, published a pamphlet that had wide distribution. It completely unmasked the pretended friendship of the Colonizationists for the negroes, free or slave. From that time they lost all support from real Anti-Slavery people. There was, however, to be a battle fought, in which the Colonization Society figured as a party, that furnished one of the most interesting episodes of the slavery conflict. England, at the time of which we are speaking, was full of Anti-Slavery sentiment. Slavery, at the end of a long and bitter contest, had been abolished in all her colonies. Her philanthropists were rejoicing in their victory. The managers of the Colonization Society resolved, if possible, to capture that sentiment, and with it the pecuniary aid the British Abolitionists might render. It was always a tremendous beggar. They, accordingly, selected a fluent-tongued agent and sent him to England to advocate their cause. He did not hesitate to represent that the Colonization Society was the especial friend of the negro, working for his deliverance from bondage, and, in addition, that it had the support of "the wealth, the respectability, and the piety of the American people." When these facts came to the knowledge of the members of the newly formed New England Anti-Slavery Society, they were naturally excited, and resolved to meet the enemy in this new field of operations. This they decided to do by sending a representative to England, who would be able to meet the colonization agent in discussion, and otherwise proclaim and champion their particular views. For this service the man selected was William Lloyd Garrison, who was then but twenty-eight years old. Remarkable it was that one who was not only so young, but imperfectly educated, being a poor mechanic, daily toiling as a compositor at his printer's case, should be chosen to meet the most polished people in the British Empire, and hold himself ready to debate the most serious question of the time. That such a person should be willing to enter upon such an undertaking was almost as remarkable. But Garrison showed no hesitation in accepting the task for which he was selected. On his arrival in England, Garrison sent a challenge to the colonization agent for a public debate. This the Colonizationist refused to receive. Two more challenges were sent and were treated in the same way. Then Garrison, at a cost of thirty dollars, which he could ill afford to pay, published the challenge in the London _Times_, with a statement of the manner in which it had been so far treated. Of course, public interest was aroused, and when Garrison appeared upon the public platform, as he at once proceeded to do, he was greeted with the attendance of multitudes of interested hearers. Exeter Hall in London was crowded. The most distinguished men in England sat upon the stage when he spoke, and applauded his addresses. Daniel O'Connell, the great Irish orator, paid them a most florid compliment. They were, unquestionably, most remarkable samples of effective eloquence--plain in statement, simple in style, but exceedingly logical and forcible. They were widely published throughout England at the time of their delivery. One of the results was that the leading emancipationists of Great Britain signed and published a warning against the colonization scheme, denouncing it as having its roots in "a cruel prejudice," and declaring that it was calculated to "increase the spirit of caste so unhappily predominant," and that it "exposed the colored people to great practical persecution in order to force them to emigrate." As for the poor agent of the Colonizationists, seeing how the battle was tending, he left England in a hurry, and was nevermore heard of in that part of the world. Garrison's personal triumph was very striking, and it was splendidly earned. He was made the recipient of many compliments and testimonials. A curious incident resulted from this great popularity. He was invited to breakfast by Sir Thomas Buxton, the noted English philanthropist, with a view to making the acquaintance of a number of distinguished persons who were to be present. When Mr. Garrison presented himself, his entertainer, who had not before met or seen him, looked at him in great astonishment. "Are you William Lloyd Garrison?" he inquired. "That is who I am," replied Mr. Garrison, "and I am here on your invitation." "But you are a white man," said Buxton, "and from your zeal and labors in behalf of the colored people, I assumed that you were one of them." Garrison left England in what, metaphorically, might be described as "a blaze of glory." Hundreds attended him when he went to embark on his homeward voyage, and he was followed by their cheers and benedictions. Wonderfully different was the treatment he received on his arrival in his own country. Not long afterwards he was dragged through Boston streets by a hempen rope about his body, and was assigned to a prison cell, as affording the most available protection from the mob. Nevertheless, we have had some excellent people--not slave-owners--who, out of compassion for the black man, or from prejudice against his color, and, perhaps, from a little of both, have favored a policy of colonization in this country. Mr. Lincoln was one of them. "If all earthly power were given me, I should not know what to do with the existing institution. My first impulse would be to free the slaves and send them to Liberia." So said Mr. Lincoln in one of his debates with Douglas. "I cannot make it better known than it already is," said Mr. Lincoln in a message to Congress, dated December 1, 1862, "that I strongly favor colonization." At Lincoln's instance Congress appropriated several large sums of money--then much needed in warlike operations--for colonizing experiments. One of these has a curious and somewhat pathetic history. A sharper by the name of Koch, having worked himself into the confidence of the President and some other good people, got them to buy from him an island in the West Indies, called Ile a'Vache, which he represented to be a veritable earthly paradise. Strangely enough, it was wholly uninhabited, and therefore ready for the uses of a colony. Several hundred people--colored, of course--were collected, put aboard a ship, and dumped upon this unknown land. It will surprise no one to learn that pretty soon these people, poisoned by malaria, stung by venomous insects and reptiles, and having scarcely anything to eat, were dying like cattle with the murrain. In the end a ship was sent to bring back the survivors. Nevertheless, the kind-hearted President did not give up the idea. At his request a delegation of Washington negroes called upon him. He made them quite a long speech, telling them that Congress had given him money with which to found a colony of colored people, and that he had found what seemed to be a suitable location in Central America. He appealed to them to supply the colonists. The negroes, not anxious for exile, diplomatically said they would think the matter over. In the end it was discovered that Central America did not want the negroes, and that the negroes did not want Central America. A story that is curiously illustrative of Mr. Lincoln's attachment to the policy of removing the colored people is told by L.E. Chittenden in his _Recollections of President Lincoln_. Mr. Chittenden was a citizen of Vermont and Register of the Treasury under Lincoln, with whom he was in intimate and confidential relations: "During one of his welcome visits to my office," says Mr. Chittenden, "the President seemed to be buried in thought over some subject of great interest. After long reflection he abruptly exclaimed that he wanted to ask me a question. "'Do you know any energetic contractor?' he inquired; 'one who would be willing to take a large contract attended with some risk?' "'I know New England contractors," I replied, 'who would not be frightened by the magnitude or risk of any contract. The element of prospective profit is the only one that would interest them. If there was a fair prospect of profit, they would not hesitate to contract to suppress the Rebellion in ninety days." "'There will be profit and reputation in the contract I may propose,' said the President. 'It is to remove the whole colored race of the slave States into Texas. If you have any acquaintance who would take that contract, I would like to see him.' "'I know a man who would take that contract and perform it,' I replied. 'I would be willing to put you into communication with him, so that you might form your own opinion about him.' "By the President's direction I requested John Bradley, a well-known Vermonter, to come to Washington. He was at my office the morning after I sent the telegram to him. I declined to give him any hint of the purpose of my invitation, but took him directly to the President. When I presented him I said: 'Here, Mr. President, is the contractor whom I named to you yesterday.' "I left them together. Two hours later Mr. Bradley returned to my office overflowing with admiration for the President and enthusiasm for his proposed work. 'The proposition is,' he said, 'to remove the whole colored race into Texas, there to establish a republic of their own. The subject has political bearings of which I am no judge, and upon which the President has not yet made up his mind. But I have shown him that it is practicable. I will undertake to remove them all within a year.'" It is unnecessary to state that the Black Republic of Texas was a dream that never materialized. CHAPTER XVIII LINCOLN AND EMANCIPATION Messrs. Nicolay and Hay, who were Mr. Lincoln's private secretaries during the time he was President, and afterwards the authors of his most elaborate biography, say: "The blessings of an enfranchised race must forever hail him as their liberator." Says Francis Curtis in his _History of the Republican Party_, in speaking of the President's Emancipation Proclamation: "On the 1st day of January, 1863, the final proclamation of freedom was issued, and every negro slave within the confines of the United States was at last made free." Other writers of what is claimed to be history, almost without number, speak of the President's pronouncement as if it caused the bulwarks of slavery to fall down very much as the walls of Jericho are said to have done, at one blast, overwhelming the whole institution and setting every bondman free. Indeed, there are multitudes of fairly intelligent people who believe that slaveholding in this country ceased the very day and hour the proclamation appeared. In a recent magazine article, so intelligent a man as Booker Washington speaks of a Kentucky slave family as being emancipated by Mr. Lincoln's proclamation, when, in fact, the proclamation never applied to Kentucky at all. The emancipationists of Missouri were working hard to free their State from slavery, and they would have been only too glad to have Mr. Lincoln do the work for them. They appealed to him to extend his edict to their State, but got no satisfaction. The emancipationists of Maryland had much the same experience. Both Missouri and Maryland were left out of the proclamation, as were Tennessee and Kentucky and Delaware, and parts of Virginia and Louisiana and the Carolinas. (See Appendix.) The explanation is that the proclamation was not intended to cover all slaveholding territory. All of it that belonged to States that had not been in rebellion, or had been subdued, was excluded. The President's idea was to reach only such sections as were then in revolt. If the proclamation had been immediately operative, and had liberated every bondman in the jurisdiction to which it applied, it would have left over a million slaves in actual thraldom. Indeed, Earl Russell, the British premier, was quite correct when, in speaking of the proclamation, he said: "It does not more than profess to emancipate slaves where the United States authorities cannot make emancipation a reality, and emancipates no one where the decree can be carried into effect." For the failure of the proclamation to cover all slaveholding territory there was a plausible reason. Freedom under it was not decreed as a boon, but as a penalty. It was not, in theory at least, intended to help the slave, but to chastise the master. It was to be in punishment of treason, and, of course, could not consistently be made to apply to loyal communities, or to such as were under government control. The proclamation, it will be recollected, was issued in two parts separated by one hundred days. The first part gave the Rebels warning that the second would follow if, in the meanwhile, they did not give up their rebellion. All they had to do to save slavery was to cease from their treasonable practices. Had the Rebels been shrewd enough, within the hundred days, to take the President at his word, he would have stood pledged to maintain their institution, and his proclamation, instead of being a charter of freedom, would have been a license for slaveholding. The proclamation did not, in fact, whatever it may have otherwise accomplished at the time it was issued, liberate a single slave. What is more, slavery as an institution was altogether too securely rooted in our system to be abolished by proclamation. The talk of such a thing greatly belittles the magnitude of the task that was performed. Its removal required a long preliminary work, involving, as is made to appear in previous chapters of this work, almost incalculable toil and sacrifice, to be followed by an enormous expenditure of blood and treasure. Its practical extinguishment was the work of the army, while its legal extirpation was accomplished by Congress and the Legislatures of the States in adopting the Thirteenth Amendment to the Federal Constitution, which forbids all slaveholding. That amendment was a production of Congress and not of the Executive, whose official approval was not even required to make it legally effective. The story of the proclamation, with not a few variations, has often been told; but the writer fancies that the altogether correct account has not always been given. It may be presumptuous on his part, but he will submit his version. To understand the motive underlying the proclamation we must take into account its author's feeling toward slavery. Notwithstanding various unfriendly references of an academic sort to that institution, he was not at the time the proclamation appeared, and never had been, an Abolitionist. Not very long before the time referred to the writer heard Mr. Lincoln, in his debate with Stephen A. Douglas at Alton, Illinois, declare--laying unusual emphasis on his words: "I have on all occasions declared as strongly as Judge Douglas against the disposition to interfere with the existing institution of slavery." Judge Douglas was what was then called a "dough-face" by the Abolitionists--being a Northern man with Southern principles, or "proclivities," as he called them. Only a little earlier, and several years after Mr. Lincoln had claimed to be a Republican, and a leader of the Republicans, he had, in a speech at Bloomington, Illinois, asserted that, "the conclusion of it all is that we must restore the Missouri Compromise." Now the adoption of the Missouri Compromise was the hardest blow ever inflicted on the cause of free soil in America. It did more to encourage the supporters of slavery and to discourage its opponents than anything else that ever happened. Its restoration would undoubtedly have produced a similar effect. Although he is not to be credited with any philanthropic motive, Stephen A. Douglas did an effective work for freedom when he helped to overthrow that measure. Leading Abolitionists have accorded him that meed of praise. But there was that proposition which Mr. Lincoln was so fond of repeating, that the nation could not remain half free and half slave--"a divided house"--but the remedy he had to propose was not manumission at any proximate or certain time, but the adoption of a policy that, to use his own words, would cause "the public mind to rest in the belief that it [slavery] was in the course of ultimate extinction." Practically that meant very little or nothing. What the public mind then needed was not "rest," but properly directed activity. But the declarations above quoted were all before Mr. Lincoln had become President or had probably thought of such a thing. Did the change of position lead to a change of opinion on his part? We are not left in uncertainty on this point. His official views were declared in what might be called a State paper. Soon after his inauguration, his Secretary of State sent Minister Dayton, at Paris, a dispatch that he might use with foreign officials, in which, in speaking of the Rebellion, he said: "The condition of slavery in the several States will remain just the same whether it succeeds or fails.... It is hardly necessary to add to this incontrovertible statement the further fact that the new President has always repudiated all designs, whenever and wherever imputed to him, of disturbing the system of slavery as it has existed under the Constitution and laws." About the same time Mr. Lincoln stated to a party of Southern Congressmen, who called upon him, that he "recognized the rights of property that had grown out of it [slavery] and would respect those rights as fully as he would similar rights in any other property." No steps were taken by Mr. Lincoln to recall or repudiate the foregoing announcements. On the contrary, he confirmed them in his official action. He annulled the freedom proclamations of Frémont and Hunter. He did not interfere when some of his military officers were so busy returning fugitive slaves that they had no time to fight the masters. He approved Hallock's order Number Three excluding fugitives from the lines. He even permitted the poor old Hutchinsons to be sent away from the army very much as if they had been colored people, when trying to rouse "the boys" with their freedom songs. In many ways Mr. Lincoln showed that in the beginning and throughout the earlier part of his Administration he hoped to re-establish the Union without disturbing slavery. In effect he so declared in his introduction to his freedom proclamation. He gave the rebel slaveholders one hundred days in which to abandon their rebellion and save their institution. In view of such things it is no wonder that Henry Wilson, so long a leading Republican Senator from Massachusetts, in his _Rise and Fall of the Slave Power_, in speaking of emancipation, said "it was a policy, indeed, which he [the President] did not personally favor except in connection with his favorite idea of colonization." It is needless to say that the President's attitude was a great surprise and a sore disappointment to the more radical Anti-Slavery people of the country, who had supported him with much enthusiasm and high hopes. They felt that they had been deceived. They said so very plainly, for the Abolitionists were not the sort of people to keep quiet under provocation. Horace Greeley published his signed attack (see Appendix) entitled, _The Prayer of Twenty Millions_, which is, without doubt, the most scathing denunciation in the English language. Henry Ward Beecher "pounded" Mr. Lincoln, as he expressed it. Wendell Phillips fairly thundered his denunciations. There was a general under-swell of indignation. Now, Mr. Lincoln was not a man who was incapable of reading the signs of the times. He saw that he was drifting towards an irreparable breach with an element that had previously furnished his staunchest supporters. As a politician of great native shrewdness, as well as the head of the Government, he could not afford to let the quarrel go on and widen. There was need of conciliation. Something had to be done. We know what he did. He issued his Emancipation Proclamation. As far as freeing any slaves was concerned, he knew it amounted to very little, if anything. He said so. Less than two weeks before the preliminary section of the proclamation appeared, Mr. Lincoln was waited on by a delegation of over one hundred Chicago clergymen, who urged him to issue a proclamation of freedom for the slaves. "What good would a proclamation from me do, especially as we are now situated?" asked Mr. Lincoln by way of reply. "I do not want to issue a document that the whole world would see must necessarily be inoperative, like the Pope's bull against the comet. Would my word free the slaves, when I cannot even enforce the Constitution in the rebel States?" In contemplating a proclamation applicable to the rebel States, it is hardly to be supposed that Mr. Lincoln did not understand the situation two weeks earlier quite as well as when the document appeared. If Mr. Lincoln had been told, when he entered on the Presidency, that before his term of office would expire he would be hailed as "The Great Emancipator," he would have treated the statement as equal to one of his own best jokes. Slavery was a thing he did not then want to have disturbed. He discountenanced all radical agitators of the subject, and especially in the border slave States, where he was able to hold them pretty well in check, except in Missouri. There they stood up and fought him, and in the end beat him. One of the rather curious results of this condition of things was that, when the States came to action on the Thirteenth Constitutional Amendment, the one absolutely abolishing slavery, the three border slave States of Kentucky, Maryland, and Delaware, over which the President's influence was practically supreme, gave an adverse vote of four to one, while Missouri, with whose radical emancipationists he had continuously been at loggerheads, ratified the amendment by a legislative vote of one hundred and eleven ayes to forty nays. Nevertheless, notwithstanding the President, at the beginning of his official term, opposed Anti-Slavery agitation and Anti-Slavery action with all his might, he promptly faced about as soon as he discovered that the subject was one that would not "down." No one ever worked harder to find a solution of a difficult problem than he did of the slavery question. He began to formulate plans to that end, the most distinguishing feature, however, being the spirit of compromise by which they were pervaded. All of them stopped before an ultimatum was reached. Besides his proclamation, which, as we have seen, applied to only a part of the slaves, he devised a measure that would have been applicable to all of them. In his special message of December, 1863, he proposed to Congress the submission of a constitutional amendment that would work universal liberation. There were conditions, however. One was that the slaves should be paid for by the Government; another that the masters might retain their uncompensated services until January 1, 1900; that is, for a period of thirty-seven years, unless they were sooner emancipated by the grave, as the most of them would be. (See Appendix.) The President's somewhat fantastic proposition was not claimed by him to be for the bondman's benefit. He urged it as a measure of public economy, holding that, as slavery was the admitted cause of the Rebellion, the quickest and surest way to remove that cause would be by purchase of all the slaves, which, he insisted, "would shorten the war, and thus lessen the expenditure of money and blood." The public did not take to the President's plan at all, especially the Abolitionists did not. They no more favored the buying of men by the Government than by anybody else. They held that if the master had no right to the person of his bondman, he had no right to payment for him. And as for an arrangement that might prolong slaveholding for thirty-seven years, they saw in it not only a measure of injustice to the men, women, and children then in servitude, the most of whom would be doomed to bondage for the rest of their natural lives, but a possible plan for side-tracking a genuine freedom movement. In the proposition just considered we have not only the core of the President's policy during much of his official tenure, but an explanation of his mental operations. He was sentimentally opposed to slavery, but he was afraid of freedom. He dreaded its effect on both races. He was opposed to slavery more because it was a public nuisance than because of its injustice to the oppressed black man, whose condition, he did not believe, would be greatly, if at all, benefited by freedom. Hence he wanted manumission put off as long as possible. It was "ultimate extinction" he wanted, to be attended with payment to the master for his lost property. Another thing he favored--and which he seems to have thought entirely practicable--as a condition to liberation, was the black man's removal to a place or places out of contact with our white population. But in entire fairness to Mr. Lincoln, it should be said that, although his proclamation was inoperative for the immediate release of any slaves, it was by no means wholly ineffectual. Its moral influence was considerable. It helped to hasten a movement that had, however, by that time become practically irresistible. Its political results were far more marked and important. If it did not fully restore cordiality between the President and the Abolition leaders, it prevented an open rupture. It served as a bridge between them. Although they never took Mr. Lincoln fully into their confidence again, the Abolitionists interpreted his proclamation as a concession and an abandonment of his previous policy, which it was much more in appearance than actually. At all events, it was splendid politics. The somewhat theatrical manner in which it was worked up and promulgated in installments, thus arousing in advance a widespread interest and curiosity, showed no little strategic ability. No more skillful move is recorded in the history of our parties and partisans than this act of Mr. Lincoln, by which he disarmed his Anti-Slavery critics without giving them any material advantage or changing the actual situation. I am not now speaking of the motive underlying the proclamation of the President, but of its effect. Without it he could not have been renominated and re-elected. Another observation, in order to be entirely just to Mr. Lincoln, after what has been stated, would at this point seem to be called for. There is no doubt that from the first he was at heart an Anti-Slavery man, which is saying a good deal for one born in Kentucky, raised in southern Indiana and southern Illinois, and who was naturally of a conservative turn of mind. Nevertheless, he was never an Abolitionist. He was opposed to immediate--what he called "sudden"--emancipation. He recognized the "right"--his own word--of the slave-owner to his pound of flesh, either in the person of his bondman or a cash equivalent. He was strongly prejudiced against the negro. Of that fact we have the evidence in his colonization ideas. He favored the banishment of our American-born black people from their native land. It was a cruel proposition. True, the President did move from his first position, which, as we have seen, was far from that occupied by the Abolitionists, but from first to last he was more of a follower than leader in the procession. And here the author wishes to add, in justice to himself, that if, by reason of anything he has said in this chapter, or elsewhere in this work, in criticism of Mr. Lincoln's dealings with the slavery issue, he should be accused of unfriendliness toward the great martyr President, he enters a full and strong denial. He holds that, in view of all the difficulties besetting him, Mr. Lincoln did well, although he might have done better. Much allowance, must be made to one situated as he was. He undoubtedly deserves the most of the encomiums that have been lavished upon him. At the same time, the conclusion is inevitable that his fame as a statesman will ultimately depend less upon his treatment of the slavery issue than upon any other part of his public administration. The fact will always appear that it was the policy of Salmon P. Chase, Charles Sumner, Thaddeus Stevens, Horace Greeley, Henry Ward Beecher, and other advocates of the radical cure, with whom the President was in constant opposition, that prevailed in the end, and with a decisiveness that proves it to have been feasible and sound from the beginning. Mr. Lincoln's most ultra prescription--his Emancipation Proclamation--was ineffective. If it was intended to eradicate slavery altogether, it was too narrow; if to free the slaves of Rebels only, it was too broad. So with his other propositions. His thirty-seven-year-liberation scheme, his "tinkering off" policy (as he called it) for Missouri, his reconstruction proposals, and his colonization projects, all failed. Indeed, if we take his official action from first to last, it is a question whether the President, owing to his extreme conservatism, was not more of an obstructionist than a promoter of the Anti-Slavery cause. Not that any change of opinion on the point just stated will materially affect the general estimate in which Mr. Lincoln is held. Although his popularity, due, in part at least, to the extravagance of over-zealous admirers, has without much doubt already passed its perihelion, it can never disappear or greatly diminish. His untiring and exhaustive labors for the Union, the many lovable traits of his unique personality, his unquestionable honesty, his courage, his patriotism, and, above all, his tragic taking off, have unalterably determined his place in the regard of his countrymen. Indeed, so strong is the admiration in which he is held, that it would be vain to attempt to disabuse many, by any amount of proof and argument, of the opinion that African slavery in this country was actually and exclusively killed by a presidential edict. So firmly fixed in the popular belief is that historical myth that it will undoubtedly live for many years, if not generations, although history in the end will right it like all other misunderstandings. Mr. Lincoln had his weaknesses and limitations, like other men. All must admit that his treatment of the slavery question was not without its mistakes. It has always seemed to the writer that his most ardent admirers seriously blunder in claiming superlativeness for him in that regard, and more especially in giving him credit for results that were due to the efforts of other men. His fame is secure without such misappropriation. He would not ask it if living, and it will in due time be condemned by history. CHAPTER XIX THE END OF ABOLITIONISM The original and distinctive Abolition movement that was directed against slavery in all parts of the land without regard to State or territorial lines, and because it was assumed to be wrong in principle and practice, may be said, as far as the country at large was concerned, to have culminated at the advent of the Republican party. To a considerable extent it disappeared, but its disappearance was that of one stream flowing into or uniting with another. The union of the two currents extended, but did not intensify, the Anti-Slavery sentiment of the country. It diluted it and really weakened it. It brought about a crisis of great peril to the cause of Anti-Slaveryism--in some respects the most critical through which it was called upon to pass. Many of those attaching themselves to the Republican party, as the new political organization was called, were not in sympathy with Abolitionism. They were utterly opposed to immediate emancipation; or, for that matter, to emancipation of any kind. They wanted slavery to remain where it was, and were perfectly willing that it should be undisturbed. They disliked the blacks, and did not want to have them freed, fearing that if set at liberty they would overrun what was then free soil. The writer recollects hearing a prominent man in the new party, who about that time was making a public speech, declare with great emphasis that, "as for the niggers, they are where they ought to be." The speaker on that occasion was one of many who belonged to the _débris_ of the broken-up Whig party, and who drifted into Republicanism because there was no other more attractive harbor to go to. One of these men was Abraham Lincoln, whom I heard declare in his debate with Douglas at Alton, Illinois: "I was with the old-line Whigs from the origin to the end of their party." The Whigs were never an Anti-Slavery party. The recruits to Republicanism from that quarter were generally very tender on "the nigger question," and the most they were prepared to admit was that they were opposed to slavery's extension. These men largely dominated the new party. They generally dictated its platforms, which, compared with earlier Abolition utterances, were extremely timid, and they had much to do with making party nominations. Their favorite candidates were not those whose opinions on the slavery question were positive and well understood, but those whose views were unsettled if not altogether unknown. When General Frémont was nominated for the Presidency, not one in ten of those supporting him knew what his opinions on that subject were, and a good many of them did not care. Mr. Lincoln was accepted in much the same way. It is true that, from certain expressions about the danger to our national house from being "half free" and "half slave," and other generalizations of a more or less academic sort, it was known that Mr. Lincoln was antagonistic to slavery; but as to whether he favored that institution's immediate or speedy extinguishment, and, if so, by what measures, was altogether unknown. We now know, from what has been set forth in another chapter, that at the time of his first nomination and election, he had very few things in common with the Abolitionists. He then evidently had no thought of being hailed as the "liberator of a race." He preferred, for the time at least, that the race in question should remain where it was, and as it was, unless it could be bodily transported to some other country and be put under the protection of some other flag. He did not break with the Abolitionists, although he kept on the edge of a quarrel with them, and especially with what he called the "Greeley faction," a good part of the time. He never liked them, but he was a shrewd man--a born politician--and was too sagacious to discard the principal round in the ladder by which he had climbed to eminence. He managed to keep in touch with the Anti-Slavery movement through all its steady advancement, but, as elsewhere stated, it was as a follower rather than as a leader. While a resident of the slave State of Missouri, I twice voted for Mr. Lincoln, which was some evidence of my personal feeling toward him. Both times I did it somewhat reluctantly. On the first occasion there were four candidates. Breckenridge and Bell were Southern men--both by residence and principle--and had no claim on Anti-Slavery support. But with Douglas the case was different. He had quarreled with the pro-slavery leaders, although of his own party. He had defied President Buchanan in denouncing border-ruffianism in Kansas. He had refused to give up his "popular sovereignty" dogma, although it clearly meant ultimate free soil. The slave-masters hated him far more than they did Lincoln. I heard them freely discuss the matter. They were more afraid of the vindictiveness of the fiery Douglas than of the opposition of good-hearted, conservative Lincoln. In my opinion there was good reason for that feeling. Douglas, as President, would undoubtedly have pushed the war for the Union with superior energy, and slavery would have suffered rougher treatment from his hands than it did from Mr. Lincoln's. There was another reason why the slaveholders preferred the election of Lincoln to that of Douglas. Lincoln's election would furnish the better pretext for the rebellion on which they were bent, and which they had already largely planned. They were resolved to defeat Douglas at all hazards, and they succeeded. Douglas had been very distasteful to the Abolitionists. They called him a "dough-face." Nevertheless, quite a number of them where I lived in Missouri voted for him. Missouri was the only State he carried, and there he had less than five hundred majority. He got more than that many free-soil votes. I was strongly tempted to give him mine. Chiefly on account of political associations, I voted for Lincoln. When it came to the second election, I again voted for Mr. Lincoln with reluctance. The principal reason for my hesitancy was his treatment of the Anti-Slavery people of the border slave States, and especially of Missouri. The grounds for my objection on that score will appear in the next chapter, which deals with the Missouri embroglio, as it was called. From what has just been stated, it will be seen that the cause of Anti-Slaveryism had, at the formation of the Republican party, reached a most perilous crisis. It was in danger of being submerged and suffocated by unsympathetic, if not positively unfriendly, associations. It ran the risk, after so many years of toil and conflict, of being undone by those in whose support it was forced to confide. Such would undoubtedly have been its fate if, owing to circumstances over which no political party or other organization of men had control, the current of Anti-Slavery sentiment had not risen to a flood that swept all before it. It is rather a curious circumstance that, at the crisis just alluded to, the nearest approach to original Abolitionism that was to be found, was in a slave State. In Missouri there was an organized opposition to slavery that had been maintained for several years, and which was never abandoned. The vitality displayed by this movement was undoubtedly due in large measure to the inspiration of the man who was its originator, if not its leader. That man was Thomas H. Benton. Whether Benton was ever an Abolitionist or not, has been a much-disputed question, but one thing is certain, and that is that the men who sat at his feet, who were his closest disciples and imbibed the most of his spirit--such as B. Gratz Brown, John How, the Blairs, the Filleys, and other influential Missourians,--were Abolitionists. Some of them weakened under the influence of the national administration, but not a few of them maintained their integrity. Even in the first days of the Civil War, when all was chaos there, an organization was maintained, although at one time its only working and visible representatives consisted of the members of a committee of four men--a fifth having withdrawn--who were B. Gratz Brown, afterwards a United States Senator; Thomas C. Fletcher, afterwards Governor of the State; Hon. Benjamin R. Bonner, of St. Louis, and the writer of this narrative. They issued an appeal that was distributed all over the State, asking those in sympathy with their views to hold fast to their principles, and to keep up the contest for unconditional freedom. To that appeal there was an encouraging number of favorable responses. And thus it was that when Abolitionism may be said to have been lost by merger elsewhere, it remained in its independence and integrity in slaveholding Missouri, where it kept up a struggle for free soil, and in four years so far made itself master of the situation that a constitutional State convention, chosen by popular vote, adopted an ordinance under which an emancipationist Governor issued his proclamation, declaring that "hence and forever no person within the jurisdiction of the State shall be subject to any abridgment of liberty, except such as the law shall prescribe for the common good, or know any master but God." The writer entered on this work with no purpose of relating or discussing the story of the Republican party, in whole or in any part. His subject was Abolitionism, and his task would now be completed but for the movement in the State of Missouri, to which reference has just been made. That manifestation, he thinks, is deserving of recognition, both on its own account and as a continuation of the original movement, and he is the more inclined to contribute to its discussion because he was then a Missourian by residence, and had something to do with its successful prosecution. CHAPTER XX MISSOURI In his interesting, though rather melodramatic, romance, _The Crisis_, Winston Churchill tells the imaginary story of a young lawyer who went from New England to St. Louis, and settled there shortly before the outbreak of the Civil War. Having an abundance of leisure, and being an Abolitionist, he devoted a portion of the time that was not absorbed by his profession to writing articles on slavery for the _Missouri Democrat_, which, notwithstanding its name, was the organ of the Missouri emancipationists, and lived in part on the money he received as compensation for that work. That in part describes the author's experience. He was at that time a young lawyer in St. Louis, to which place he had come from the North, and those who have read the earlier chapters of this work are aware that he was an Abolitionist. Having a good deal of time that was not taken up by his professional employments, he occupied a portion of it in writing Anti-Slavery contributions to the _Democrat_, and, so far as he knows, he was the only person who to any extent did so. A collection was made of a portion of his articles, and with money contributed by friends of the cause, they were published in pamphlet form under the title of _Hints toward Emancipation in Missouri_, and distributed throughout the State. There the parallelism of the cases ceases. The writer got no pecuniary compensation for his labor. He asked for none and expected none. The _Democrat_ was then in no condition to pay for volunteer services, having a hard struggle for existence. He was able to do it a service that, possibly, saved it from at least a temporary suspension. One of its chief difficulties was in getting printing paper, the manufacturer it had been patronizing declining to furnish it except for cash, while the _Democrat_ needed partial credit. At that time Louis Snyder, of Hamilton, Ohio, a large paper-maker, visited St. Louis on business that called for legal assistance, and I was employed by him. When the work in hand was finished, I remarked that there was something else he might do in St. Louis that would pay him. I explained the situation of the _Democrat_, and assured him that, in my opinion, he would be perfectly safe in giving trust to its proprietors, who were honest men. "Will you indorse their paper?" he asked. Mr. Snyder was a crafty as well as a thrifty German. I replied that, as I was not a wealthy man, the question did not seem to be pertinent. "Will you indorse their paper for one thousand dollars?" was his next question. Being by this time somewhat "spunked up," I replied that I would. "Then I shall be pleased to meet your friends," said Mr. Snyder. The result of the interview that followed was such that the _Democrat_ was materially assisted in continuing its publication. It is hardly necessary to state that I never heard anything more of the one-thousand-dollar indorsement, the sole purpose of which was, doubtless, to test my sincerity. Soon afterwards I was offered the political editorship of the _Democrat_, which I accepted on the one condition that there was to be "no let-up on emancipation." I held the position until Missouri was a free State. In a surprisingly short time after the question of Missouri's status in reference to the Union was decided, the issue between Pro-Slaveryism and Anti-Slaveryism came up. Political parties ranged themselves upon it. Those who favored slavery's immediate or speedy abolishment became known as Radicals, while those advocating its prolongation were called Conservatives. Those descriptives, however, were too mild for such a time, and they were quickly superseded by a more expressive local nomenclature. The Radicals, because of their alleged sympathy with the negro, were branded as "Charcoals," and their opponents, made up of Republicans, Democrats, and Semi-Unionists, because of the variegated complexion of the mixture, were set down as "Claybanks." Mulattoes are Claybanks. The Claybanks, or Conservatives, at the outset enjoyed a decided advantage in having the State government on their side. This was not the regularly elected administration, which was driven out because of its open support of secession, but its provisional successor. In trying to take the State out of the Union with a show of legality, the lawful Governor and his official associates made provision for a State convention to be chosen by the people, which they expected to control, but which, having a Unionist majority, played the boomerang on them by sending them adrift and taking the affairs of the State into its own hands. In this it had opposition. The most progressive men of the State insisted that, after it had settled the question of Missouri's relations to the Union, with reference to which it was specially chosen, it was _functus officio_. They held that there should be a new and up-to-date convention, especially as the old one, owing to the desertion of many of its treasonably inclined members, including General Sterling Price, of the Confederate Army, who was its first president, had become "a rump," and so there were old-conventionists and new-conventionists. The old-convention men, however, were in the saddle. They had the governmental machinery, and were resolved to hold on to it. In that spirit the convention proceeded to fill the vacant offices. It was in sentiment strongly pro-slavery, as was shown by the fact that a proposal looking to the very gradual extinguishment of slavery was rejected by it in an almost unanimous vote, a circumstance that led the leading pro-slavery journal of the State to boast that the convention had killed emancipation "at the first pop." Very naturally such a body selected pro-slavery officials. Hamilton R. Gamble, whom it made Governor, was a bigoted supporter of "the institution." He had not long before been mixed up in the proceedings that compelled Elijah P. Lovejoy to leave Missouri for Alton, Illinois, where he was murdered by a pro-slavery mob. Gamble was an able and ambitious man. The Conservatives, likewise, had the backing of the Federal Administration--a statement that to a good many people nowadays will be surprising. There were reasons why such should be the case. Judge Bates, of Missouri, who was Attorney-General in Lincoln's Cabinet, had long been Gamble's law partner and most intimate friend. He never was more than nominally a Republican. Another member of the Cabinet was Montgomery Blair, of Maryland, who had been a resident of Missouri, and was a brother of General Francis P. Blair, Jr., of St. Louis. General Blair had been the leader of the Missouri emancipationists, but had turned against them. For his face-about there were, at least, two intelligible reasons. One was that in the quarrel between him and Frémont the most of his former followers had sided with Frémont. That was enough to sour him against them. The other was a very natural desire to be solid with the administration at Washington, which, as elsewhere shown, was not then actively Anti-Slavery. It did not want the question of slavery agitated, especially in the border slave States. The Blairs were a clan as well as a family. The quarrel of one was the quarrel of all, and the Missouri Radicals had no more effective antagonist than the old Washington editor and politician, Francis P. Blair, Sr., the family's head, who was so intimate with the President that it was understood he could at any time enter the White House by the kitchen door. The writer was once a member of a delegation of Missouri "Charcoals" that went to Washington to see the President. An hour was set for the interview, and we were promptly at the door of the President's chamber, where we were kept waiting for a considerable time. At last the door opened, but before we could enter, out stepped a little old man who tripped away very lightly for one of his years. That little old man was Francis P. Blair, Sr., and we knew that we had been forestalled. The President received us politely and patiently listened to what we had to say, but our mission was fruitless. The Radicals of Missouri sent deputation after deputation to the White House, and got nothing they wanted. The Conservatives never sent a deputation, and got all they wanted. They had advocates at the President's elbows all the time. With both State and Federal administrations against them, the Missouri Charcoals may be regarded as foolhardy in persisting in the fight they made for the deliverance of their State from slavery. They did persist, however, and with such success in propagating their views that Governor Gamble and the other Conservative leaders decided that heroic measures to hold them in check were necessary. He undertook to cut the ground from under their feet. The old convention that had killed emancipation "at the first pop," or as much of it as was in existence, was called together by the Governor, who appealed to it to take such action as would quiet agitation on the slavery question. Accordingly, it proceeded to enact what was called an emancipation ordinance. The trouble with it was that it emancipated nobody. It provided for the liberation of part of the slaves at a distant future day, allowing the rest to remain as they were. The Radicals simply laughed at the measure. They pronounced it a snare and a fraud, and went right on with their work for unconditional freedom, and the slave-owners continued to hold their human property the same as before. The Conservatives, however, had not exhausted their resources. They sought to secure the military as well as the civil control. On the assurance that he could maintain peace and order, Governor Gamble was given authority by the President to recruit an army of State troops, which, although equipped and paid out of the national treasury, he was to officer and direct. The organization was entrusted to General John M. Scofield, a resident of Missouri, and one of the Governor's friends. The political advantage to the Conservatives of exercising military control at such a time is obvious enough. But at first there was an obstruction in the person of General Samuel R. Curtis, the Federal commander of the district, who was not a man to waive his superior prerogative at a time when martial law prevailed, and who was, besides, openly in sympathy with the Radicals. They got not only protection from him, but about all the patronage he had to give. Pretty soon it was discovered that active efforts for the removal of Curtis were in progress. Charges of irregularities--afterwards shown to be without any foundation--were circulated against him. Indignant because of such injustice to their friend, the Radicals were further incensed when they learned that the scheme was to make Scofield his successor. Against General Scofield, as a gentleman and soldier, they had nothing to say; but his affiliation with their opponents made him obnoxious to them, and they sent a vigorous protest against his appointment to the President. The proposed change, however, was made, and the inevitable disagreement between the new commander and the Radicals quickly developed. Scofield's administration was not successful. The principal cause of failure was the adoption of Governor Gamble's policy of trying to run the State without the help of Federal troops. They were pretty much all sent away, and an elaborate plan for substituting an "enrolled militia" was put in operation. Here was an opportunity of which the Rebels were quick to take advantage. They had a wholesome regard for United States soldiers, particularly under Curtis, who at Pea Ridge had given them the worst drubbing they ever received west of the Mississippi, but they cared little for "Gamble's militia," into which a good many of their friends were mustered, and when the pressure of Curtis's strong hand was removed they at once aroused to pernicious activity. At this time it can be safely said that nowhere, outside of hell, was there such a horrible condition as prevailed in Missouri. Singly and in squads a good many of Price's men returned from the South, and with local sympathizers forming guerrilla bands under such leaders as "Bill" Anderson, Poindexter, Jackson, and Quantrell, soon had practical possession of the greater part of the State. The Radicals were the principal sufferers. Conservatives, except by the occasional loss of property, were rarely molested. Between them and the Rebels there was often an agreement for mutual protection--in fact, it was not always easy to draw the line between them,--but the Charcoals, especially if they were "Dutchmen," could look for no compassion. They were shot down in their fields. They were called to their doors at night and there dispatched. Their houses were burned and their stock stolen. Many families of comparative wealth and refinement, including women and children, because of the insecurity of their homes, slept in the woods for weeks and months. The Radicals were not always fortunate enough to escape bodily torture. Having captured one of the best known among them, an old man and a civilian, some of "Bill" Anderson's men set him up against the wall of his house as a target for pistol practice. Their play consisted in seeing how near they could put their shots without hitting, and this amusement they kept up while his wife was running about in an effort to raise the amount of money that was demanded for his ransom. So successful were the Rebel bands at this time that Missouri was not large enough to hold them. One of them, led by Quantrell, crossed the Kansas line, captured the city of Lawrence, and butchered two hundred of its peaceable inhabitants, while the border towns and cities of Iowa and Illinois were greatly alarmed for their safety. So intolerable did the situation become, that the Radicals from all parts of the State met in conference and decided to send a delegation to ask Mr. Lincoln to change the department commander, in the hope that it would bring a change of policy. It is to be presumed that no President was ever confronted with such a motley crowd of visitors as the members of that delegation--between seventy and eighty in number--as they formed in line around three sides of the East Room in the White House. Their garments were a sight! Some of the men were in full military dress and some in civilian clothes, but the costumes of a majority were a mixture of both kinds, just as accident had arranged it, and pretty much all showed evidences of hard usage. One of the most forward of the delegates had neither cuffs nor collar, and his shirt had manifestly not been near a laundry for a long time. He apologized to the President for his appearance, saying that he had been sleeping in the woods where toilet accommodations were very indifferent. Two or three of the men bore marks of battle with the guerrillas, in patched-up faces, and one of them carried an arm that had been disabled by a gun shot in a red handkerchief sling. In speaking of these visitors, the President afterwards jocularly referred to them as "those crackerjacks from Missouri." A formal address was presented, the principal point being that, as the Missouri Unionists had furnished many thousand recruits to the Federal Army, they had a right to look to the Government for soldiers to assist in protecting their families and their property. And here it will do no harm to state that, notwithstanding the heavy drain made by the Confederacy, Missouri, during the war, furnished 109,000 men to the national army. After their formal address had been presented to the President, the members of the delegation tackled him, one after the other, as the spirit moved them, and it can truthfully be said that in some of the bouts that ensued he did not come out "first best." He admitted as much when, afterwards referring to this meeting, he spoke of the Missouri Radicals as "the unhandiest fellows in the world to deal with in a discussion." The conclusion of the interview was attended with an unexpected incident. The recognized leading spokesman of the Missourians was the Hon. Charles D. Drake, of St. Louis, who was made Chief Justice of the Court of Claims at Washington by Grant, when he became President. He was a very forcible speaker. As Mr. Lincoln indicated by rising from his seat that the conference was at an end, Mr. Drake stepped forward and in well-chosen words thanked him for the lengthy and courteous hearing he had given his visitors, and in their names bade him good-by. Then he started for the door, but something seemed to arrest him. Turning sharply to Mr. Lincoln, he said: "Mr. President, we are about to return to our homes. Many of these men before you live where rebel sentiments prevail and where they are surrounded by deadly enemies. They return at the risk of their lives, and let me tell you that if any of their lives are sacrificed by reason of the military administration you maintain in Missouri, their blood will be upon your garments and not upon ours." The President, evidently greatly surprised, made no oral reply. Instead of speaking he raised his handkerchief to his eyes. Seeing that he was weeping, the delegates quietly and quickly filed out, leaving Mr. Lincoln with his face still concealed. The President denied the delegation's request, although his formal decision was not announced for several days, and its members returned to their homes, when fortunate enough to have them, sorely disappointed. It is here well enough to state that two or three months later the President relieved Scofield from his Missouri command and sent him to the front in the South, much to the betterment of his military reputation, and doubtless to his own personal gratification. Rosecrans was made his successor. Among the earliest things he did was the bringing into the State of a considerable force of Federal troops under Generals Pleasanton and A.J. Smith. These were sent through the State. The effect was almost magical. Some of the guerrilla bands went South to join Price, but the most of them dissolved and disappeared. Their members, doubtless, went back to their former occupations, and that was the last of them. Missouri was pacified. But were the Missouri Radicals so far disheartened by their rebuffs from the President that they gave up the fight? Not a bit of it. There was a tribunal in some respects higher than the President, and to that they resolved to go. The National Republican Convention to nominate a successor to Mr. Lincoln was approaching, and they decided to appeal to it in a way that would compel a decision between them and the President. They appointed a delegation to the convention, which they instructed for General Grant. The Claybanks also appointed a delegation, which they instructed for Mr. Lincoln, and thus the issue was made. The convention, although nominating Mr. Lincoln by a vote that, outside of Missouri's, was unanimous, admitted the Charcoals and excluded the Claybanks by the remarkable vote of four hundred and forty to four. While of no special consequence, some rather humorous experiences in connection with the events just spoken of may not be lacking in interest or altogether out of place in a work like this. Before leaving Missouri for the National Republican Convention, which was held in Baltimore, June 8, 1864, the Radical delegates, including the writer, decided to go by way of Washington and call upon the President, thinking that, as there was a contest ahead with his professed Missouri supporters, a better understanding with him might be of advantage. As they were pledged to vote for another man, such a proceeding on their part was certainly somewhat audacious; nevertheless, Mr. Lincoln received us graciously and listened patiently to what we had to say. "Mr. President," said one of the delegates, "if you were to go out to Missouri you would find your best friends as well as practically all the good Republicans of the State on our side of the dividing line." "Well," remarked the President very deliberately, "in speaking of dividing lines, the situation in Missouri recalls the story of the old man who had an unruly sow and pigs. One day, when they escaped from their enclosure and disappeared, he called his boys and started out to hunt the runaways. Up one side of the creek they went; but while they discovered plenty of tracks and rootings, they found no hogs. 'Now let us go over to the other side of the creek,' said the old gentleman; but the result was the same--many signs but no pigs. 'Confound those swine!' exclaimed the old man, 'they root and root on both sides, but it's mighty hard to find them on either.'" We, of course, were left to make the application to ourselves, and that was all the satisfaction we got. Being greatly elated over our victory in the convention, and thinking it settled some, if not all, disputed points, we decided to return by way of Washington and again call on the President. We wanted to come to some sort of understanding with him. As we had just voted against his nomination such a step may have been more audacious than our previous action. But, for all that, a pretty late hour on the night of the convention found us at the door of the President's room, seeking an interview that had been promised us in answer to a telegram. Now, we had in our delegation a gentleman who was accustomed to imbibe somewhat freely on occasions like that. He had pushed himself to the front, and, when the door opened for us, in he rushed shouting: "Mr. President! Mr. President! Mr. President! we have found that old sow and pigs for you!" The President, who was standing on the opposite side of the room, looked somewhat startled at first; but as he evidently recalled the illustration he had given to us, and which was being returned to him, a broad grin went over his face, although nothing further was said about the swine. But the incident was disastrous to our business. We were relying on a prominent St. Louis lawyer, who was with us, to present our case in a calm and impressive way; but he, taking offense at being so unceremoniously forestalled, kept his intended speech to himself. His dignity was hurt, and he had nothing to say. In fact, he walked away and left us. The result was that our claims were rather lamely presented, except by the first speaker, and we left the official presence not a little chagrined and with no favorable assurance having been obtained. By all recognized party rules, when the nominating convention had given the Missouri Radicals the stamp of regularity, the President was bound to prefer them in the bestowal of patronage. He did nothing of the kind. At his death, practically all of the offices in Missouri that were under his control were held by Claybanks. These men became enthusiastic supporters of Andrew Johnson, and, at the end of his term, to a man went over to the Democratic party, of which their leader, General Blair, was soon made, on the ticket with Horatio Seymour, the Vice-Presidential candidate. At Lincoln's death, the Claybanks, as an organization, went out of business. Very different was the treatment the Charcoals received at the hands of General Grant when he became President. He made the leader of the anti-Scofield delegation to Washington Chief Justice of the Court of Claims. He made two or three other leading Missouri Radicals foreign ministers and officially remembered many of the rest of them. He had been a Missourian, and it was well known that he was in sympathy with the Radicals in their fight with Lincoln. Although the Missouri Radicals did not favor Mr. Lincoln's candidature, with the exception of a few supporters of Frémont, they gave him their loyal support at the polls, and through this a large majority in the State. They acted towards him much more cordially than he ever acted toward them. That Mr. Lincoln, in antagonizing the Missouri Free Soilers, acted otherwise than from the most conscientious impulses the writer does not for a moment believe. He opposed them because he disapproved of their views and policy. He said so most distinctly on one occasion. Certain German societies of St. Louis, having adopted a set of resolutions, entrusted them to James Taussig, a leading lawyer of that city, to present to the President in person. Mr. Taussig's report of the results of a two hours' interview can be found in several of Mr. Lincoln's biographies. One passage from the report is here given because it clearly shows Mr. Lincoln's attitude toward the Missouri problem. "The President," says Mr. Taussig, "said that the Union men in Missouri who are in favor of gradual emancipation, represented his views better than those who are in favor of immediate emancipation. In explanation of his views on this subject the President said that in his speeches he had frequently used as an illustration the case of a man who had an excrescence on the back of his neck, the removal of which in one operation would result in the death of the patient, while tinkering it off by degrees would preserve life." "Although sorely tempted," continues Mr. Taussig, "I did not reply with the illustration of the dog whose tail was amputated by inches, but confined myself to arguments. The President announced clearly that, so far as he was at present advised, the Radicals in Missouri had no right to consider themselves the representatives of his views on the subject of emancipation in that State." The foregoing interview, it is well enough to state, was long after the issuance of Mr. Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation. In addition to carrying the State for Mr. Lincoln, the Missouri Radicals carried it for themselves. They elected a constitutional convention that promptly passed an unconditional freedom ordinance. And thus terminated what is certainly one of the most notable contests in our political history, bringing about, as it did, the triumph of a reform of unquestionable value to civilization and humanity, which was accomplished by men working without patronage or other outside help, with no pecuniary interest at stake, and no incentive beyond the principle involved. CHAPTER XXI MISSOURI--_Continued_ Here follows an extract from the published proceedings of the National Republican Convention of 1864, in which Mr. Lincoln was renominated. "When that State [Missouri] was called, Mr. J.F. Hume addressed the convention as follows: "'It is a matter of great regret that we differ from the majority of the convention that has been so kind to the Radicals of Missouri, but we came here instructed. We represent those who are behind us at home, and we recognize the right of instruction and intend to obey our instruction; but, in doing so, we declare emphatically that we are with the Union party of the nation, and we intend to fight the battle through to the end with it, and assist in carrying it to victory. We will support your nominees be they whom they may. I will read the resolution adopted by the convention that sent us here.'" [Here resolution of instruction was read.] "'Mr. President, in the spirit of that resolution I cast the twenty-two votes of Missouri for them an who stands at the head of the fighting Radicals of the nation--General U.S. Grant.'" The contention between the Missouri Radical and Conservative delegations was thrashed out before the committee on delegates, at an evening session. Judge Samuel M. Breckenridge, of St. Louis, sustained the cause of the Conservatives in a very ingenious argument, while the writer spoke for the Radicals. The result was very satisfactory to the latter, being, with the exception of one vote for compromise, a unanimous decision in their favor. That decision was sustained by the convention in its next day's session by a vote of four hundred and forty to four. Anticipating that the subject would be discussed on the floor of the convention,--which was not the case, however,--I asked a very eloquent St. Louis lawyer to take my place as chairman of the Radical delegation and conduct the debate on the Radical side. He declined. I then went to three or four Congressmen who were members of the Radical delegation and made the same appeal to each one of them. All declined. I suspected at the time that apprehension that a vote for anybody else would be hissed by Lincoln's friends, had something to do with their reticence. I had no such apprehension. I did not believe there was anybody in that convention who would dare to hiss the name of Grant. If Grant had been a candidate before the convention he would have been nominated. When, as chairman of my delegation, I pronounced his name as Missouri's choice I remained on my feet for fully a minute while a dead silence prevailed. Meanwhile all eyes were turned upon me. Then came a clap from a single pair of hands, being the expression of a Missouri delegate. Others followed, both inside and outside of the delegation, increasing until there was quite a demonstration. When the clamor had subsided I made the next move according to the programme agreed upon, and the incident was closed. And here it can do no harm to state that General Grant knew that he was to receive the vote of the Missouri Radicals if they were admitted to the convention--the newspapers having generally published the fact--and did not decline the intended compliment. Grant lived in Missouri for a considerable period, married there, and was on most friendly terms with the Radical leaders, many of whom he generously remembered when he got to be President. For their action in voting for Grant, the Missouri Radical delegates were sharply criticised at the time, on the alleged ground that they secured admission to the convention from Lincoln's supporters by concealing the fact--or at least not revealing it--that they intended to vote for somebody else. The fact, however, is that there was not a person in the convention who did not from the first understand where they stood, and exactly what they intended to do. Their Conservative contestants had distributed a leaflet, intended as an appeal to the Lincoln men, setting forth the instructions to both delegations. Instead of the openly avowed opposition of the Radicals to Mr. Lincoln's nomination being an impediment in their way, it strengthened them with the convention, which, notwithstanding its seeming harmony in his support, contained many delegates who would very much have preferred nominating somebody else; but who, for lack of organized opposition, were compelled to vote for him. A sufficient evidence of that fact was the presence in the convention of a large number of Congressmen whose antagonism to the President was notorious. An incident that strikingly illustrated Congressional sentiment toward the President at that time, is given in the _Life of Lincoln_, by Isaac N. Arnold, then a member of Congress from Illinois. A Pennsylvanian asked Thaddeus Stevens, the Republican Congressional leader, to introduce him to "a member of Congress who was friendly to Mr. Lincoln's renomination." Thereupon Stevens took him to Arnold, saying: "Here is a man who wants to find a Lincoln member of Congress, and as you are the only one I know of I bring him to you." The same feeling largely prevailed among leading Republicans outside of Congress. Henry J. Raymond, of the New York _Times_, in his _Life of Lincoln_, says that at that time "nearly all the original Abolitionists and many of the more decidedly Anti-Slavery members of the Republican party were dissatisfied with the President." More explicit testimony is the statement, in his _Political Recollections_, of George W. Julian, for many years a leading member of Congress from Indiana. He says: "The nomination of Mr. Lincoln was nearly unanimous, only the State of Missouri opposing him, but of the more earnest and thoroughgoing Republicans in both Houses of Congress, probably not more than one in ten really favored it. It was not only very distasteful to a large majority of Congress, but to many of the more prominent men of the party throughout the country." The writer had an opportunity of witnessing a peculiar manifestation of the feeling that has just been spoken of. He attended a conference of radical Anti-Slavery people that was held in a parlor of one of the old Pennsylvania Avenue hotels in Washington, a few months before the nominating convention. A number of well-known politicians were present, but probably the most prominent was Horace Greeley. The writer had never before seen the great editor, and was considerably amused by his unconventional independence on that occasion. He occupied an easy chair with a high back. Having given his views at considerable length, he laid his head back on its support and peacefully went to sleep; but the half-hour lost in slumber did not prevent him from joining vigorously in the discussion that was going on as soon as he awoke. There seemed to be but one sentiment on that occasion. All entertained the opinion that, owing to Mr. Lincoln's peculiar views on reconstruction, and especially his manifest inclination to postpone actual freedom for the negro to remote periods, and other "unhappy idiosyncrasies," as one of the speakers expressed it, his re-election involved the danger of a compromise that would leave the root of slavery in the soil, and hence his nomination by the Republicans should be opposed. Chase was clearly the choice of those present, but no one had a plan to propose, and, while some committees were appointed, I never heard anything more of the matter. Two or three of those present on that occasion were in the nominating convention and quietly voted with the majority for Mr. Lincoln. The writer was the only one in both gatherings that maintained his consistency. All this, it is well enough to remember, was long after the President's Emancipation Proclamation had appeared. There was, however, another manifestation of the antagonism spoken of which the public, for some reason, never seemed to "get on to," that at one time threatened very serious consequences, and which, if it had gone a little farther, might have materially changed the history of the country. That was a movement, after Mr. Lincoln's nomination, to compel him to retire from the ticket, or to confront him with a strong independent Republican candidate. According to Messrs. Nicolay and Hay, Mr. Lincoln's private secretaries and his biographers, the movement started in New York City and had its ramifications in many parts of the country. One meeting was held at the residence of David Dudley Field, and was attended by such men as George William Curtis, Noyes, Wilkes, Opdyke, Horace Greeley, and some twenty-five others. In the movement were such prominent people as Charles Sumner, of Massachusetts, and Benjamin F. Wade, of Ohio. One of the men favorable to the proposition was Governor Andrew of Massachusetts. "He," says his biographer, Peleg W. Chandler, "was very busy in the movement in 1864 to displace the President." "The secrecy," he adds, "with which this branch of the Republican politics of that year has been ever since enveloped is something marvelous; there were so many concerned in it. When it all comes out, if it ever does, it will make a curious page in the history of the time." The signal for the abandonment of the movement, according to Mr. Chandler, was given by Mr. Chase. Almost at the beginning of the movement the _Missouri Democrat_, doubtless because of its supposed opposition to Mr. Lincoln, was approached on the subject. If the statements made to it were anywhere near correct, the conspiracy, as it might be called, had the countenance of a surprisingly great number of weighty Republicans. The _Democrat_ declined to become a party to the proposed insurrection. It held that after what had occurred in the Baltimore convention, it could not consistently and honorably do so. There was another reason why it stood aloof. Before the nomination it was, naturally enough, looking out for some one who might be urged as a suitable competitor for Mr. Lincoln's place. Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, was then quite popular with a good many people of radical views. The writer prepared an article discussing his availability as presidential timber and suggested him as a good man for the nomination. The article appeared as a leader in the _Democrat_, and was followed by others in the same vein. The suggestion attracted attention and led to a good deal of newspaper discussion. Herein we have, according to the writer's opinion, the leading cause of Johnson's nomination for the Vice-Presidency. At all events, he was on the ticket with Lincoln, and the _Democrat_ could not very well go back on its own man. The new departure, as the proposition for another Republican candidate in case Mr. Lincoln resolved to stick might be called, that appeared so formidable at one time, faded away without the public knowing anything of its existence. The reason was that it had no candidate. It had relied on Chase, knowing the unfriendliness there was between him and the President, but Chase said "No," and that was the end of it. The nomination of Mr. Chase for the Chief Justiceship has always been regarded as an act of great magnanimity on Mr. Lincoln's part, as well as a clear perception of merit. It was doubtless all that, but the actions of the two men at this time certainly make out a case of striking coincidence. Such things rarely come by accident. From what has been stated, it will be seen that the Missouri Radicals were by no means alone in their opposition to the President's nomination, for which they are so sharply taken to task by some of his biographers and eulogists. They had plenty of company, the only difference being that they stood out in the open while the others acted covertly. The Missouri Germans, who mostly approved the candidature of Frémont, and some of whom refused to vote for Lincoln, have been particularly assailed. Messrs. Nicolay and Hay, in their Lincoln biography, even go so far as to attack them on the ground of their religious, or rather anti-religious, beliefs, calling them "materialist Missourians," "Missouri agnostics," etc., etc. Now, after having lived among the Missouri Germans at the time of our civil troubles, the writer is impelled to say a few words in their behalf. He does not hesitate to say that, in his opinion, there was no body of men of equal numerical strength in this country to whom, at that crisis, the Government and country had cause to feel under greater obligation, and justice would require its acknowledgment at this time. But for them the enemies of the Union would have captured the city of St. Louis with its great Government arsenal, and with the arms and ammunition thus secured would have overrun both the States of Missouri and Kansas. A large preponderance of the American-born citizens of St. Louis were Rebels. The Union people of that city who saved the day, were principally the "Dutch," as they were called. A large army was needed at that point to protect the Government's interests, when it had practically no available forces. There was no law under which it could be organized on the spot. No man could be made to serve. No pay for service was assured, or even promised. The army, however, was created by the voluntary and patriotic action of its members. Nearly a dozen full regiments were organized and equipped. Nine tenths of their members were Germans. They did not wait for hostilities to begin. Foreseeing the emergency near at hand, they organized into companies and regiments, and put themselves on a war footing before a blow had been struck or a shot had been fired. They met by night to drill in factory lofts, in recreation halls, and in whatever other places were most available, the words of command being generally delivered in German. The writer has a lively recollection of the difficulties involved in trying to learn military evolutions from instructors speaking a language he did not understand. Many of the Germans of Missouri had seen service in the Old World. They had served under Sigel in the struggle of 1848. They found themselves under Sigel again. It was with the step and bearing of veterans that they marched (the writer was an eye-witness) in May of 1861, only a few days after Sumter had been fired on, to open the military ball in the West at Camp Jackson, near St. Louis. The same people went with Lyon to the State capital, from which the Rebel officials were driven, never to return. They were with Lyon at Wilson's Creek, and with him many of them laid down their lives on that bloody field. They were wherever hard fighting was to be done in that part of the country. The writer believes he is correct in saying they furnished more men to the Government's service than any other numerically equal body of citizens. So large was their representation in the Union's forces in that region, that the Rebels were accustomed to speak of the Union soldiers as "the Dutch." The fact that the Germans were fighting for an adopted government makes their loyalty more conspicuous. What they did was not from a love of war, but because they were Abolitionists. They were opposed to slavery. They owned no slaves. They wanted the Government sustained, because they believed that meant the end of slaveholding. They supported Frémont largely because of his freedom proclamation. And here the writer, before closing his work, wants to say something about Frémont. He believes no man in this country was made the victim of greater injustice than he was. It has always been the opinion of the writer that, if Frémont had been permitted to take his own way in his Western command a little longer, he would have achieved a brilliant military success. He was a weak man in some respects, being over fond of dress parade. The financial management of his department was bad, or, rather, very careless. Of these shortcomings, which were considerably misrepresented and exaggerated, Frémont's enemies took advantage, and succeeded in effecting his overthrow in the Western Department. But, notwithstanding his admitted failings, he gave evidence of military ability. He showed that he possessed both physical and moral courage, and he knew how to plan a campaign. He undoubtedly formulated the movement that resulted in the capture of Forts Donelson and Henry in Tennessee, taking the initial steps, but of which Halleck got the credit. He was removed from command when in the field, and almost on the eve of battle. He had an enthusiastic army and the prospect of a decisive victory. His recall gave up nearly the whole of Missouri to the enemy, and was one of the causes of complaint that the Missouri Unionists had against the National Administration. Not long afterwards, with no more than even chances, Frémont defeated Stonewall Jackson in Virginia--at Cross Keys--which was more than any of the other Union generals then in that department could do. His prompt removal made it sure that he should not do it again. It was the misfortune of Frémont that his independence caused him to clash with selfish interests, and he was sacrificed. He was selected for the Trans-Mississippi command by the Blairs, evidently with the expectation that he would bend to their wishes. He soon showed that he was his own master, and the trouble began. The Union people of his department were mostly with him, but the Blairs had control of the administration in Washington. As for his freedom proclamation, it was, to a certain extent, an act of insubordination, but it was right in principle and sound in policy. Its adoption by the General Government would have saved four years of contention and turmoil in Missouri, spent in upholding a tottering institution that was doomed from the first shot of the Rebellion. The President, however, for reasons elsewhere explained, did not at that time want slavery interfered with. The story of Frémont's fall is best told by Whittier in four lines: "Thy error, Frémont, simply was to act A brave man's part without the statesman's tact, And, taking counsel but of common-sense, To strike at cause as well as consequence." CHAPTER XXII SOME ABOLITION LEADERS The references that have been made to General Frank P. Blair of Missouri have not been complimentary to that individual. They would indicate on the part of the writer no very exalted admiration for or estimate of the man. In that particular they are not altogether just. The stormy period of the Rebellion brought out few more picturesque figures than his, or in some respects more admirable characters. There is no question that, but for the efforts of Blair, the Rebels would have effected the capture of St. Louis at the beginning of the war, to be followed by the at least temporary control of the entire State of Missouri, and possibly of Kansas as well. To that end preparations had been carefully and skillfully made. The leader in the movement was none other than Missouri's Governor, Claiborne F. Jackson, who was justly looked upon as one of the most consummate and accomplished schemers of the time. He was a Rebel from head to foot. He had taken office with the deliberate purpose of swinging his State into the Confederate column, and without regard to the wishes of the majority of the people whom he officially represented. He was supported by a sympathetic corps of official assistants, including a majority of the Legislature of his State, who gave him whatever legislation he wanted. Every advantage seemed to be on his side. He would undoubtedly have succeeded but for the opposition of Blair. In him he encountered an equal in cunning, and more than a match in courage and energy. When the Governor and his helpers were busy raising an army pursuant to the conditions of a law that had been enacted for the purpose, and which hampered their operations, Blair went ahead in raising and equipping an army on the other side without the slightest regard to law. The presence or absence of a statute did not trouble him in the least. He called on the Unionists to organize and arm, and when a sufficient force, composed in greater part of loyal Germans, had responded he struck the first blow. In a legal aspect the whole proceeding was irregular, but it was none the less effective. When the Governor's army was quietly encamped on the outskirts of St. Louis, for the capture and occupancy of which it was getting ready, it found itself unexpectedly surrounded by a superior force, and its surrender was demanded in a way that admitted of no denial. The writer was present on the occasion. From a convenient eminence he witnessed the whole proceeding. When Jackson's men--the rendezvous had in honor of his Excellency the Governor been named Camp Jackson--were enjoying themselves on a pleasant summer's day, sleeping on the grass, playing cards, or escorting their lady friends and other visitors about the grounds, suddenly they realized that their position was commanded by hostile guns. Pointing downward from higher ground not far off were nearly a score of frowning cannons, behind which stood men with burning fuses. I had watched the Union forces as they approached. At the foot of the hill that hid them from the camp they paused for a few moments, and then up the hill went the horses that were dragging the cannons at a run. They were wheeled when the summit was reached, and the guns thrown into position. Everything was ready for action. At the same time large bodies of armed men, their arms glittering in the sunlight, were seen approaching from all sides on the double quick. The Rebels were completely entrapped, and their immediate capitulation was a thing of course. The credit for the manoeuvres of the day was given to Captain--afterwards General--Nathaniel Lyon, who was in immediate command of the Unionists, but everybody understood that the real leader, as well as instigator, of the movement was Blair. Blair had been the admitted leader of the Missouri Abolitionists. He was as radical as any man among them. One day he stopped me on the street for the purpose of thanking me for a paper I had contributed to the _Missouri Democrat_, in which I had favored what was practically immediate emancipation in Missouri. He said that was the right kind of talk, and what we had to come to. I felt greatly flattered, because there was nothing in the article that disclosed its authorship, and Mr. Blair had taken the trouble to inquire about it. Blair turned against the Missouri Abolitionists when a decided majority of them turned against him in his quarrel with Frémont. They indorsed Frémont's emancipation proclamation, which the President, at Blair's instigation, it was charged at the time, revoked. Blair was a man not only of strong ambition but of arbitrary temperament. He could not tolerate the idea of a newcomer pre-empting what he had considered his premises. If he could not rule he was ready to ruin. That disposition accorded with both his mental and physical make-up. Bodily he was a bundle of bones and nerves without a particle of surplus flesh. His hair was red, his complexion was sandy, and his eyes, when he was excited and angry, had a baleful expression that led some one in my presence on a certain occasion to speak of them as "brush-heaps afire." He was not an eloquent man, although a ready and frequent public speaker. His voice was not musical. His strong forte was invective. He was nearly always denouncing somebody. Apparently, he was never so happy as when making another miserable. Sometimes his personal allusions were very broad. He was accustomed in his speeches to refer to one of Missouri's United States Senators as "that lop-eared vulgarian." That he was not almost all the time in personal difficulties was due to the fact that he was known to be a man of exceptional courage. He was a born fighter. Physically I think he was the bravest man I ever knew. I witnessed several manifestations of his fearlessness, but one particularly impressed me. I have spoken of the Camp Jackson affair. Although the people in the Rebel encampment surrendered without a blow, the incident was attended with considerable bloodshed. A mob of Rebel sympathizers, consisting largely of half-grown boys--I was in the midst of the throng at the time--with their pistols opened fire on a German Union regiment and killed several of its men. The troops, in return, poured a volley into the crowd of spectators from which the shots had come, killing or wounding over forty persons, the most of them, as is usual in such cases, being inoffensive onlookers. A man standing beside me and, like myself, a spectator, had the top of one ear clipped off by a Minié ball as cleanly as if it had been done with a knife. I found when, soon afterwards, I reached the business center of the city, where the Rebel element then largely predominated, that the story of the tragedy had swelled the number of the victims to one thousand. Intense excitement and the most furious indignation prevailed. Hundreds of men, with flaming faces, were swearing the most dreadful oaths that they would shoot Frank Blair, whom they seemed to regard as wholly responsible, on sight. Many of them were flourishing pistols in confirmation of their bloody purpose. Just then the attention of the crowd was drawn to an unusual spectacle. Down Fourth Street, which was then the leading business avenue of St. Louis, and at that time densely packed with the excited people, came the Union soldiers with the prisoners from Camp Jackson on their way to the United States Arsenal grounds. At the head of the procession marched the men of the First Missouri volunteer regiment, their guns "aport" and ready for immediate service, and at their head--the only mounted man in the regiment, according to my recollection--rode their Colonel, who was Frank Blair. He was in full uniform, which made him still more conspicuous. No better target could have been offered. I watched the audacious man, expecting to hear a shot at any moment from the sidewalk, or from a window of one of the high buildings lining the street, and to see him topple from his saddle. He understood very well the danger he was braving. He knew that in that throng, where everybody was armed, there were hundreds toying with the triggers of their guns, and trying to muster sufficient courage to shoot him down. Slowly, and as calmly as if on ordinary dress parade, he led the way until he passed out of sight. I thought then, and still think, it was the pluckiest thing I ever witnessed. The effect of the breaking up and capture of Camp Jackson was something wonderful. Up to that time, the Rebels of St. Louis and their sympathizers had been very demonstrative. In portions of the city the Rebel cockade, which was a red rosette pinned to the side of the hat, was conspicuous, and any one not displaying that decoration was in danger of having his hat smashed upon his head. After Camp Jackson's surrender, I never saw a Rebel cockade openly worn in St. Louis. At the same time there was an extensive shifting of positions. A good many men of prominence and wealth, who had been leaning over towards the South, suddenly straightened up, and not a few of them showed a strong inclination the other way. Some of the evolutions they executed were amusing. One of the first to discuss with the writer the Union defeat at Bull Run was a former United States Government official. He was tremendously excited and correspondingly exultant. After describing how the Southerners had vanquished the Government's men, and particularly how the South Carolina "black horse" had ridden them down in deadly slaughter, he cried out, "That's the way we will give it to you fellows all the time." Not very long afterwards General Grant, having entered Tennessee, and captured Fort Donelson, and many prisoners, was about to visit St. Louis, and the leading Unionists there decided to give him a grand reception and an elaborate dinner. Money had to be raised, and among those I met who were soliciting it was my ex-Government-official friend. He was fully as happy as he had been before, when the Fort Donelson affair was alluded to. "Didn't we give it to those fellows down there?" he exclaimed. Out in western Missouri was a young lawyer of great ambition and considerable promise. He was afterwards a member of Congress. Like a good many others he was at first puzzled to know what course to take. In his dilemma he concluded to consult an old politician in that section who was much famed for his sagacity, and who bore the military title of General. "If you contemplate remaining in Missouri," said the older man to the junior, "you should take the Southern side. Missouri is a slave State and a Southern State, and she will naturally go with her section." The young man availed himself of an opportunity to make a public address, in which he aligned himself in the strongest terms with those who had gone into rebellion. But scarcely had this been done when Lincoln issued his first call for troops, and among those nominated to command them was the old Missouri General. It was announced that he had accepted the appointment. The younger man was amazed. He went in hot haste for an explanation. "It's all true," said the General. "The fact is, when I talked with you before, I did not think the Northern people would fight for the Union, but I now see that I was mistaken; and when the Northern people, being the stronger and richer, do decide to go to war, they are almost certain to win. You had better take the Northern side." "But it is too late," said the youngster. "I have committed myself in that speech I made." "Oh! as for that matter," was the reply, "it's of very little consequence if you have committed yourself. It's easy to make a speech on the other side and take the first one back. Nobody looks for consistency in times like these." Many Missourians, as well as many citizens of other border slave States, at the beginning of the trouble advocated a policy of neutrality. They saw no necessity for taking sides. I was at a meeting out in the interior of Missouri, where many citizens had come together to consult as to the policy they had better pursue. Among them was an old gentleman who seemed to be looked upon by his neighbors as a regular Nestor. He was called upon for his views. "Gentlemen," said he, "we have got to take sides and maintain our neutrality." In that section of the country was another distinguished and unique personage who conspicuously figured in the events that are here being dealt with. I knew him intimately. I now refer to James H. Lane, who was better known as "Jim Lane," of Kansas. Like Blair, Lane was a born leader of men, and a leader under exceptional conditions. He was generally credited with being a fighter--a dare-devil, in fact--and a desperado; but in the writer's opinion he was by no means Blair's equal in personal courage. He had a great deal to do in raising troops and organizing military movements, but he did not go to the front. His fighting was chiefly in "private scraps," in one of which he killed his adversary. His paramount ability was as a talker rather than as a fighter. He was an orator, and his oratory was of a kind that was exactly suited to his surroundings. No man could more readily adapt himself to the humor of his hearers. He knew precisely how to put himself on their level. I have seen him face an audience that was distinctly unfriendly, that would scarcely give him a hearing; and in less than half an hour every man in the crowd would be shouting his approval. He could go to his hearers if he could not bring them to him. I witnessed one of his performances in that line. He was a candidate for re-election to the United States Senate. There was one rival that he particularly feared. The man was the late General Thomas Ewing, then a resident of Kansas. At that particular time he was in the Army and the commandant of the St. Louis District in Missouri. Lane came to St. Louis and had a talk with the writer, freely admitting his dread of Ewing and asking for the _Missouri Democrat's_ support. Having a considerable admiration for Lane as well as a liking for the man, I promised him such assistance as I could reasonably give. It happened to be at the time when General Sterling Price, in making his last raid into Missouri, was threatening St. Louis with an army of nearly twenty thousand men, and there was no adequate opposing force at hand. Ewing, with barely a tenth as many troops, went to the front and heroically engaged the enemy. With no protection but the walls of a little mud fort he succeeded in repelling the attack of his powerful adversary. That timely action probably saved St. Louis. At this particular time it was arranged that there should be a meeting of the Republicans of St. Louis--it was in the midst of an exciting presidential campaign--at which Lane was to be the principal speaker. The meeting was held and Lane was addressing a large audience with great acceptance when the news of Ewing's achievement was received. It was then customary, when war intelligence arrived in the course of any political gathering, and sometimes of religious gatherings, to suspend all other proceedings until it had been announced and the audience had time enough to manifest its feeling on the subject. Lane was in the midst of an eloquent passage when he was interrupted by the arrival of the news referred to. He stepped back, and the news-bearer, taking his place, proceeded to give a graphic description of Ewing's performance, concluding with a glowing eulogy on that personage, and which was received with tremendous cheering. Understanding Lane's feelings towards Ewing, I watched his face while these events were passing. It plainly showed his vexation. It was almost livid with suppressed emotion. But the time for him to resume his address had come. What would he do was the question I asked myself. He answered it very promptly. Jauntily stepping forward with his countenance fairly wreathed in smiles, he exclaimed, "Ladies and gentlemen, that is glo-o-orious news for us, but it 's ter-r-r-ible for the other fellows." Lane's enemies were confident they had him beaten as a candidate for the Senate. He had done certain things that rendered him unpopular with his constituents. So certain were they that they did not think it necessary to make an effort, and, in consequence, remained inactive. Not so with Lane. He quietly waited until a few days before the choosing of the Legislature that was to decide on his case, and then he entered on a lightning canvass. Arranging for relays of fast horses--it was before the days of railroads in Kansas--he began a tour that would bring him practically face to face with every voter in the State. He traveled and spoke both by day and by night. Sometimes he addressed as many as a dozen audiences in twenty-four hours. The excitement attending his progress was great. Men came many miles to hear him, sometimes bringing their families with them. He succeeded in completely revolutionizing public opinion. It was too late for his adversaries to attempt a counter-movement, and the result was that Lane was re-elected by an almost unanimous vote. There was no doubt about Lane's attitude on the slavery question. He was not only a radical Abolitionist, but the acknowledged leader of the Free-State men of Kansas. He recognized no right of property in man, as many Missouri slaveholders learned to their sorrow. I was present when he congratulated a Kansas regiment that had just returned from a raid into Missouri, bringing many black people with it. "Fellow soldiers," he shouted, "you entered Missouri a white body, but you have returned surrounded by a great black cloud. It is the work of the Lord." There was another man whose name, the author thinks, properly belongs under the heading of this chapter, and to whom, on account of pleasant personal recollections, he would like to refer. He was not a fighter like Blair and Lane, with whom his life was in striking contrast. He was essentially a man of peace. He was a Quaker. Although born in Kentucky he was an Abolitionist. I now refer to Levi Coffin of Cincinnati, who was credited with successfully assisting over three thousand runaway slaves on their way to freedom, and, in consequence, became distinguished among both friends and foes as the "President of 'The Underground Railroad.'" The most remarkable thing in his case was his immunity from legal punishment. The slaveholders knew very well what he was doing, but so expert was he in hiding his tracks that they could never get their clutches upon him. I had rather an amusing experience with Coffin. Having when a boy heard so much about him, I was anxious to see him and make his acquaintance. On the occasion of a visit to Cincinnati, with a letter of introduction from an acquaintance of Coffin, I went to his office, but not without trepidation. I found the great man engaged in a conversation with some one, his back being toward me, as I took my stand just inside of his door. How he became aware of my presence I don't know--I certainly made no noise to attract him--but he certainly knew I was there. Suspending the conversation in which he was engaged--he was seated in a revolving chair--he suddenly turned so as to confront me, and silently looked me over. At last he arose, and, stepping up to me, lifted my hat with one hand, and laid the other upon my head. I understood very well what his movements meant. He was looking for outward evidences of negro blood. So far as my complexion went a suspicion of African taint might very well have been entertained. I had been assisting my father in harvesting his wheat crop, and my face and hands had a heavy coating of tan, but my hair was straight and stiff. I could see that the old gentleman was puzzled. Not a word, so far, had been spoken on either side. "Where is thee from?" was the question that broke the silence. I answered that I was from Clark County, meaning Clark County, Ohio. Coffin, however, evidently thought I referred to Clark County, Kentucky, from which there had been many fugitives, and that settled the matter in his mind. "But, my boy, thee seems to have had a good home," continued the old gentleman as he looked over my clothes and general appearance. "Why is thee running away?" Then came the explanation and the solemn Quaker indulged in a hearty laugh. He remarked that he knew my family very well by reputation, and that he had met my father in Abolitionist conventions--meetings he called them. Then he invited me to go to his home and break bread with him. I vainly tried to decline. The old man would accept no excuse. "Thy father would not refuse my hospitality." That settled the matter, and I accompanied my entertainer to his domicile. I was glad that I did so, as it gave me the opportunity to see and greet Coffin's wife, who was a charming elderly Quaker lady. She had gained a reputation as a helper of the slave almost equal to that of her husband. When runaways set out on their venturesome journeys, they were generally very indifferently equipped. Ordinarily they had only the working garments they wore on the plantations, and these furnished but slight relief for a condition very near to nudity. Mrs. Coffin set apart a working room in her house, and there sympathizers of both races joined her in garment-making, the result being that very few fugitives left Cincinnati without being decently clothed. At the Coffin table were several guests beside myself. One was a colored man. He had been a slave, I learned, but his freedom had been purchased, largely through the Coffins' efforts. After I left the Coffin mansion, I remembered my unused letter of introduction, which I had altogether forgotten. It was no longer called for. CHAPTER XXIII ROLLS OF HONOR The first honors of Abolitionism unquestionably belong to the organizers of the first societies formed for its promotion. The first of these in the order of time was the New England Anti-Slavery Society, which came into being on the first day of January, 1832. William Lloyd Garrison was chief promoter and master spirit. It consisted at the outset of twelve men, and that was not the only evidence of its apostolic mission. It was to be the forerunner in an ever-memorable revolution. The names of the twelve subscribers to its declaration of views and aims will always have a place in American history. They were William Lloyd Garrison, Oliver Johnson, William J. Snelling, John E. Fuller, Moses Thatcher, Stillman E. Newcomb, Arnold Buffum, John B. Hall, Joshua Coffin, Isaac Knapp, Henry K. Stockton, and Benjamin C. Bacon. As a suggestion from, if not an offshoot of, the New England organization, came the National Anti-Slavery Society, which was organized in Philadelphia in 1834. It was intended that the meeting of its promoters should be held in New York, but so intense was the feeling against the Abolitionists in that city that no suitable room could there be found, and the "conspirators," as they were called by their enemies, were compelled to seek for accommodation and protection among the Philadelphia Quakers. In that circumstance there was considerable significance. Two great declarations of independence have issued from Philadelphia. One was for political freedom; the other was for personal freedom. One was for the benefit of its authors as well as of others. The other one was wholly unselfish. Which had the loftier motive? Ten States were represented in the Philadelphia meeting, which, considering the difficulties incident to travel at that time, was a very creditable showing. One man rode six hundred miles on horseback to attend it. The following is the list of those in attendance, who became subscribers to the declaration that was promulgated: _Maine_ David Thurston, Nathan Winslow, Joseph Southwick, James F. Otis, Isaac Winslow. _New Hampshire_ David Campbell. _Massachusetts_ Daniel Southmayd, Effingham C. Capron, Amos Phelps, John G. Whittier, Horace P. Wakefield, James Barbadoes, David T. Kimball, Jr., Daniel E. Jewitt, John R. Campbell, Nathaniel Southard, Arnold Buffum, William Lloyd Garrison. _Rhode Island_ John Prentice, George W. Benson. _Connecticut_ Samuel J. May, Alpheus Kingsley, Edwin A. Stillman, Simeon Joselyn, Robert B. Hall. _New York_ Beriah Green, Lewis Tappan, John Rankin, William Green, Jr., Abram T. Cox, William Goodell, Elizur Wright, Jr., Charles W. Denison, John Frost. _New Jersey_ Jonathan Parkhurst, Chalkly Gillinghamm, John McCullough, James White. _Pennsylvania_ Evan Lewis, Edwin A. Altee, Robert Purviss, James McCrummill, Thomas Shipley, Bartholomew Fussell, David Jones, Enoch Mace, John McKim, Anson Vickers, Joseph Loughead, Edward P. Altee, Thomas Whitson, John R. Sleeper, John Sharp, Jr., James Mott. _Ohio_ Milton Sutliff, Levi Sutliff, John M. Sterling. * * * * * The writer finds it quite impossible to carry out the idea with which this chapter was begun, which was to furnish a catalogue embracing all active Anti-Slavery workers who were Abolitionists. Space does not permit. He will therefore condense by giving a portion of the list, the selections being dictated partly by claims of superior merit, and partly by accident. As representative men and women of the East--chiefly of New England and New York--he gives the following: David Lee Child, of Boston, for some time editor of the _National Anti-Slavery Advocate_. He was the husband of Lydia Maria Child, who wrote the first bound volume published in this country in condemnation of the enslavement of "those people called Africans"; Samuel E. Sewell, another Bostonian and a lawyer who volunteered his services in cases of fugitive slaves; Ellis Gray Lowell, another Boston lawyer of eminence; Amos Augustus Phelps, a preacher and lecturer, for whose arrest the slaveholders of New Orleans offered a reward of ten thousand dollars; Parker Pillsbury, another preacher and lecturer, who at twenty years of age was the driver of an express wagon, and with no literary education, but who, in order that he might better plead the cause of the slave, went to school and became a noted orator; Theodore Weld, who married Angelina Grimke, the South Carolina Abolitionist, and who as an Anti-Slavery advocate was excelled, if he was excelled, only by Henry Ward Beecher and Wendell Phillips; Henry Brewster Stanton, a very vigorous Anti-Slavery editor and the husband of Elizabeth Cady Stanton, the champion of women's rights; Theodore Parker, the great Boston divine; O.B. Frothingham, another famous preacher; Thomas Wentworth Higginson, the writer; Samuel Johnson, C.L. Redmond, James Monroe, A.T. Foss, William Wells Brown, Henry C. Wright, G.D. Hudson, Sallie Holley, Anna E. Dickinson, Aaron M. Powell, George Brodburn, Lucy Stone, Edwin Thompson, Nathaniel W. Whitney, Sumner Lincoln, James Boyle, Giles B. Stebbins, Thomas T. Stone, George M. Putnam, Joseph A. Howland, Susan B. Anthony, Frances E. Watkins, Loring Moody, Adin Ballou, W.H. Fish, Daniel Foster, A.J. Conover, James N. Buffum, Charles C. Burleigh, William Goodell, Joshua Leavitt, Charles M. Denison, Isaac Hopper, Abraham L. Cox. To the above should be added the names of Alvin Stewart of New York, who issued the call for the convention that projected the Liberty party, and of John Kendrick, who executed the first will including a bequest in aid of the Abolition cause. And here must not be omitted the name of John P. Hale, of New Hampshire, who was a candidate for the Presidency on the Liberty party ticket, and also a conspicuous member of the U.S. Senate. Going westward, we come to Ohio, which became, early in the movement, the dominating center of Abolitionist influence. Salmon P. Chase was there. James G. Birney, after being forced out of Kentucky, was there. Ex-United States Senator Thomas Morris, a candidate for the Vice-Presidency on the Liberty party ticket, was there. Leicester King and Samuel Lewis, Abolition candidates for the governorship of the State, were there. Joshua R. Giddings and United States Senator Ben. Wade were there. One great advantage the Ohio Abolitionists enjoyed was that they were harmonious and united. In the East that was not the case. There was a bitter feud between the Garrisonians, who relied on moral suasion, and the advocates of political action. All Ohio Abolitionists were ready and eager to employ the ballot. There is another name, in speaking of Ohio, that must not be omitted. Dr. Townsend was the man who made Salmon P. Chase a United States Senator, and at a time when the Abolition voting strength in Ohio was a meager fraction in comparison with that of the old parties--numbering not over one in twenty. It happened to be a time when the old parties--the Whigs and the Democrats--had so nearly an equal representation in the State Legislature that Townsend, who was a State Senator, and two co-operating members, held a balance of power. Both parties were exceedingly anxious to control the Legislature, as that body, under the State constitution then in force, had the distribution of a great deal of patronage. The consideration for the deciding vote demanded by Townsend and his associates was the election of Chase to the Senate. They and the Democrats made the deal. Naturally enough, the Whigs expressed great indignation until it was shown that they had offered to enter into very much the same arrangement. Some years before the events just spoken of, Townsend had been a medical student in Cincinnati. One day he stepped into the courthouse, where a fugitive-slave case was being tried. There he listened to an argument from Salmon P. Chase, the negro's defender, that made an Abolitionist of him. The senatorial incident naturally followed. There was another Ohioan--not an individual this time, but an institution--that will always hold a high place in the annals of Abolitionism. Oberlin College was a power in the land. It had a corps of very able professors who were, without exception, active Anti-Slavery workers. They regarded themselves as public instructors as well as private teachers. There was scarcely a township in Ohio that they did not visit, either personally or through their disciples. They were as ready to talk in country schoolhouses as in their own college halls. Of course, they were violently opposed. Mobs broke up their meetings very frequently, but that only made them more persistent. Their teachings were viciously misrepresented. They were accused of favoring the intermarriage of the races, and parents were warned, if they sent their children to Oberlin, to look out for colored sons-in-law and daughters-in-law. For such slanders, however, the men and women of Oberlin--for both sexes were admitted to faculty and classes--seemed to care no more than they did for pro-slavery mobs. There is another name which, although it belongs exclusively neither to the East nor to the West, to the North nor to the South, should not be omitted from a record like this. Doctor Gamaliel Bailey resided in the District of Columbia, and issued the _National Era_ from Washington city. Although a journal of small folio measurement and issued but once a week, it was for a considerable time the most influential organ of the Abolitionists. Its circulation was large and its management very able. Of course, it took no little courage and judgment to conduct such a publication in the very center of slaveholding influence, and more than once it barely escaped destruction by mobs. If there was nothing else to his credit there was one thing accomplished by the _Era's_ owner that entitles him to lasting remembrance. He was the introducer, if not the real producer, of _Uncle Tom's Cabin._ It first appeared in the _Era_ in serial numbers. It is perfectly safe to say that no other newspaper in the country, of any standing, would have touched it. Without Dr. Bailey's encouragement the work would not have been written. This was admitted by Mrs. Stowe. Up to this point the people whose names have been mentioned in these pages have, to a certain extent, been public characters and leaders. They were generals, and colonels, and captains, and orderly sergeants, in the army of emancipation. There were, also, privates in the ranks whose services richly deserve to be commemorated, showing, as they do, the character of the works they performed. The writer cannot resist the temptation to refer to two of them in particular, although, doubtless, there were many others of equal merit. A reason for the preference he shows in this case, that will not be misunderstood, is the fact that one of the men was his uncle and the other his father. James Kedzie and John Hume were plain country farmers residing in southwestern Ohio, neither very rich nor very poor. They were natives of Scotland, and stating that fact is almost equivalent to saying they were Abolitionists. None of the Scotch of the writer's personal knowledge, at the period referred to, were otherwise than strongly Anti-Slavery. There are said to be exceptions to all rules, and there was one in this instance. He was a kinsman of the author, and a "braw" young Scotchman who came over to this country with the expectation of picking up a fortune in short order. Finding the North too slow, he went South. There he met a lady who owned a valuable plantation well stocked with healthy negroes. He married the woman, and became something of a local nabob, with the reputation of great severity as a master. One day, with his own hand, he inflicted a cruel flogging on a slave who had the name of a "bad nigger." That night, when the master was playing chess with a neighbor by candlelight on the ground floor of his dwelling, all the windows being open, the negro crept up with a loaded gun and shot him dead. The sad affair was regretfully commented on by the dead man's relatives, who, I remember, referred to his untimely ending as "his judgment," and as a punishment he had brought upon "himself." My uncle and father did not conceal their unpopular views. They openly voted the Abolition ticket. In eight years, beginning with their two ballots, they raised the third party vote in their immediate vicinity to eight, and they boasted of the progress they had made. They did not make public addresses, but they faithfully listened to those made by others in support of the cause. They attended all Abolition meetings that were within reach. They took the _National Era_. Not only that, but they got up clubs for it. The first club I recollect my father's securing consisted of half a dozen subscribers, for one half of which he paid. The next year's was double in size, and so was my father's contribution. There was no fund for the promotion of the Abolitionist cause, for which they were called upon, to which they did not cheerfully pay according to their means. All Abolition lecturers and colporteurs were gratuitously entertained, although their presence was sometimes a cause of abuse, and even of danger. There were other travelers who sometimes applied for help. Their faces were of dusky hue, and their great whitish eyes were like those of hunted beasts of the forest. They went on their way strengthened and rejoicing--always in the direction of the North Star. The men are dead, but Slavery is dead also, partly through their labors and sacrifices. Their unpretentious, patient, earnest lives were not in vain. They contributed to the final triumph of Freedom's holy cause. APPENDIX EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION January 1, 1863.--Whereas, on the 22d day of September, 1862, a proclamation was issued by the President of the United States, containing, among other things, the following, to wit: That on the 1st day of January, 1863, all persons held as slaves within any State or designated part of a State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward and forever free, and the Executive government of the United States, including the naval and military authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons or any of them in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom. That the Executive will on the first day of January aforesaid, by proclamation, designate the States and parts of States, if any, in which the people thereof, respectively, shall then be in rebellion against the United States; and the fact that any State, or the people thereof, shall on that day be in good faith represented in the Congress of the United States, by members chosen thereto at elections, wherein a majority of the qualified voters of such States have participated, shall, in the absence of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed conclusive evidence that such State, and the people thereof, are not then in rebellion against the United States. Now, therefore, I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, by virtue of the power in me vested as Commander-in-chief of the Army and Navy of the United States, in time of actual armed rebellion against the authority and government of the United States, and as a fit and necessary war measure for suppressing said rebellion, do on this first day of January, 1863, and in accordance with my purpose so to do, publicly proclaimed for the full period of one hundred days from the day first above mentioned, order and designate as the States and parts of States wherein the people thereof respectively are this day in rebellion against the United States, the following, to wit: Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana (except the Parishes of St. Bernard, Plaquemines, Jefferson, St. John, St. Charles, St. James, Ascension, Assumption, Terre Bonne, Lafourche, St. Mary, St. Martin, and Orleans, including the City of New Orleans), Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia, (except the forty-eight counties designated as West Virginia, and also the counties of Berkeley, Accomac, Northampton, Elizabeth City, York, Princess Ann, and Norfolk and Portsmouth) and which excepted parts are for the present left precisely as if this proclamation were not issued. And by virtue of the power and for the purpose aforesaid, I do order and declare that all persons held as slaves within said designated States and parts of States are, and henceforward shall be, free, and that the Executive government of the United States, including the military and naval authorities thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons. And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defense; and I recommend to them that, in all cases when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages. And I further declare and make known that such persons, of suitable condition, will be received into the armed service of the United States, to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service. And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of Almighty God. IN WITNESS WHEREOF I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed. Done at the City of Washington this first day of January, 1863, and of the independence of the United States the Eighty-seventh. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. By the President: WILLIAM H. SEWARD, Secretary of State. BORDER SLAVE-STATE MESSAGE Amendment to the National Constitution recommended by President Lincoln in his Message to Congress of December I, 1862. _Resolved_ by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled: that the following articles be proposed to the Legislatures (or conventions) of the several States as amendments to the Constitution of the United States, all or any of which Articles, when ratified by three fourths of the said Legislatures (or conventions) to be valid as parts of the said Constitution, namely: Article.--Every State wherein Slavery now exists, which shall abolish the same therein, at any time or times before the 1st day of January in the year of our Lord one thousand nine hundred, shall receive compensation from the United States as follows, to wit: (Then follows a provision to issue bonds of the United States Government, which shall be delivered to the States in amounts sufficient to compensate the owners of slaves within their jurisdictions for the loss of their slave property.) Article.--All slaves who shall have enjoyed actual freedom by the chances of the war, at any time before the end of the rebellion, shall be forever free; but all owners of such, who shall not have been disloyal, shall be compensated for them at the same rates as is provided for States adopting abolishment of slavery, but in such way that no slave shall be twice accounted for. Article.--Congress may appropriate money and otherwise provide for colonizing free colored persons, with their own consent, at any place or places without the United States. "PRAYER OF TWENTY MILLIONS" On the 19th of August, 1862, Horace Greeley, under the above heading, addressed a letter to the President, which appeared over his signature in the New York _Tribune_ of that date. The conclusion of Mr. Greeley's epistle was as follows: "On the face of this wide earth, Mr. President, there is not one disinterested, determined, intelligent champion of the Union cause who does not feel that all attempts to put down the rebellion, and at the same time uphold its inciting cause, are preposterous and futile--that the rebellion, if crushed out to-morrow, would be renewed within a year if Slavery were left in full vigor--that army officers who remain to this day devoted to Slavery can at best be but halfway loyal to the Union--and that every hour of deference to Slavery is an hour of added and deepened peril to the Union. I appeal to the testimony of your embassadors in Europe. Ask them to tell you candidly whether the seeming subserviency of your policy to the slaveholding, slavery-upholding interest is not the perplexity, the despair of statesmen of all parties, and be admonished by the general answer." INDEX Abolitionism, and Republicanism, 8, 9; end of, 150-156. Abolitionist movement, v. Abolitionists, hysterical praise of, 1; and dissolution of the Union, 1, 2; effect, 2; struggles, 3; and political expediency, 5; convention at Pittsburgh, 7; third-party, 7; vote of, 7; founders of Republican party, 8; pro-slavery mobbing, 9; voting strength, 9; organization, 10; lecturers, 11; stump orators, 11; newspapers, 11; preparatory work, 12; hostility to Union, 13; disloyalty, 13; treason, 13; place in history, 15; Quakers, 16; physical courage, 16; unselfishness of, 16; motives, 18; persecution of, 20; feelings against, 22; hopefulness of, 26; first presidential ticket, 28; prejudice against, 30; abuse by "gentlemen," 32; women, 38; preliminary victory of, 47; denunciation of early, 49; leaders, 186-198. Adams, John Quincy, 21, 41; attempted expulsion of, from Congress, 69-71; speech in his own defense in Congress, 89. Altee, Edward P., 203. Altee, Edwin A., 203. "Amalgamation," 35. Anderson "Bill," 165. Andrew, Governor, of Massachusetts, Peleg's _Life of_, 179. Anthony, Susan B., 102, 205. Anti-Slavery, causes, 2; matter excluded from United States mails, 4; formation of party, 13; pioneers, 49-58; lecturers, 76-78; orators, 88-93; women, 100-107; mobs, 108-112; in Haverhill, 108; in Nantucket, 109; martyrs, 113-120; sentiment, in England, 130. Anti-Slavery societies, organization, 26; in New England, 72, 74, 75, 130, 201; National, 76, 79, 87, 201. Anti-Unionist, 13. * * * * * Bacon, Benjamin C., 201. Bailey, Dr. Gamaliel, 100, 207. Ballou, Adin, 205. Barbadoes, James, 202. Bates, Judge, 161. Beecher, Henry Ward, 90, 142, 148; speech in England, 90-93; and Lincoln, 92. Bell, 152. Benson, George W., 203. Benton, Thomas H., 154. Birney, Jas. G., 2, 5, 42, 56-58, 205. "Black laws" 35; in Ohio, 35. Black Republic of Texas, 135. Blair, Gen. Prank P., 158, 186-191; and Missouri emancipationists, 161; and Missouri Abolitionists, 188; appearance of, 189; fearlessness, 189; quarrel with Frémont, 189; and capture of Camp Jackson, 189-191; threats against, 190. Blair, Montgomery, 158, 161. Bonner, Hon. Benjamin R., 155. Border-ruffianism, 153. Border Slave-State message, text of, 213-214. Boyle, James, 205. Bradley, John, 135. Breckenridge, 152; factions, 11. Breckenridge, Judge Samuel M., 175. Brodburn, George, 205. Brown, B. Gratz, 155. Brown, John, 45, 113. Brown, William Wells, 205. Buchanan, James 153. Buffum, Arnold, 201, 203. Buffum, James N., 205. Bull Run, 192. Burleigh, Charles C., 205. Buxton, Sir Thomas, 132. * * * * * Camp Jackson (St. Louis), 183; "affair" at, 186-188; effect of capture, 191-194. Campbell, David, 202. Campbell, John R., 202. Capron, Effingham C., 202. Carlisle, Earl of, 18. Chapman, Mrs. Henry, 33. "Charcoals," Missouri, 159; delegation to President, 162, 166; fight for "Free Missouri," 162; appeal to President for protection, 166-168. Chase, Salmon P., 10, 13, 14, 59-61, 148, 205; financial policy, 60; espousal of Abolitionism, 61; and "third party," 64; election to United States Senate, 206. Child, David Lee, 204. Child, Lydia Maria, 204. Chittenden, L.E., 134. Churchill's _Crisis_, 157. Civil War, 11; due to Abolitionists, 12. Clay, Henry, 2, 6. "Claybanks," 159; exclusion from National Convention, 169. Coffin, Joshua, 201. Coffin, Levi, 197-198; "President of 'The Underground Railroad,'" 197. Colonization, 128-135; Society, 128; and England, 130-132; Lincoln's opinion, 133; experiments, 133-134. Colonizationists, pretended friendship for negroes, 130. Compromise of 1850, 6. Conover, A.J., 205. Cotton-gin, invention of, 31. Cox, Abram L., 203, 205. Crandall, Prudence, persecution of, 116-117. Crandall, Dr. Reuben, 117-118. _Crisis, The_, 157. Cross Keys, battle of, 184. Curtis, Geo. William, 88, 179. Curtis, Gen. Samuel R., and military control of Missouri, 163-164; charges against, 163. * * * * * Democratic party, division of, 11. Democrats, 4, 7; Anti-Nebraska, 9; of New York, 9. Denison, Charles M., 203, 205. Dickinson, Anna E., 205. Dissolution of Union, petition for, 2. "Doughface," 4. Douglas, Stephen A., 12; dislike of, by slaveholders' factions, 11; defeated for President, 94-99; and Abolitionists, 153; hated by slave-owners, 153. Douglass, Fred., 112. Drake, Hon. Charles D., 167. Dred Scott decision, 45-46; too late for South's purpose, 47. Dresser, Amos, whipped, 119. * * * * * Emancipation proclamation, 137-138; due to Abolitionists, 12; story of, 139; moral influence of, 146; Lincoln's reasons for, 146; ineffective, 148; text of, 211-213. Ewing, Gen. Thomas, 194; repulsion of General Price, 195. * * * * * Field, David Dudley, 179. Fish, W.H., 205. Fletcher, Thomas C., 155. Fort Donelson, capture of, 184, 192. Fort Henry, capture of, 184. Foss, A.T., 205. Foster, Daniel, 205. Foster, Stephen, 39. "Free-Soil" party, 65. Frémont, General, 151; and western command, 184-185; financial bad management, 184; defeats Stonewall Jackson, 184; removal, 185; freedom proclamation, 185. Frost, John, 203. Frothingham, O.B., 204. Fugitive Slave Law, 5, 121. Fuller, John E., 201. Fussell, Bartholomew, 203. * * * * * Gamble, Hamilton R., 160; and emancipation ordinance of, 163; and military control of Missouri, 163. Garrison, William Lloyd, 13, 21, 26, 201, 202; Dragged through streets of Boston, 32; imprisonment for libel, 54; reception in England, 131-132; speech at Exeter Hall, 131. _Genius of Universal Emancipation, The,_ 51. Giddings, Joshua R., 2, 6, 205. Gillinghamm, Chalkly, 203. Goodell, William, 203, 205. Grant, General, 44; And "Charcoals," 172; Nomination by Missouri Radicals, 174-176; capture of Fort Donelson, 192. Greeley, Horace, 142, 148, 178, 179. Green, Beriah, 203. Green, William, Jr., 203. Grimké sisters, 38, 103-106, 204. * * * * * Hale, John P., 10, 205. Hall, John B., 201. Hall, Robert B., 203. Hallock's Order Number Three, 141. Harrison, Wm. Henry, 5. Hay, John, 136. Henry, Patrick, Williamsburg speech, 88. Higginson, Thomas Wentworth, 204. _Hints toward Emancipation in Missouri_, 158. Hollie, Sally, 205. Hopper, Isaac, 205. How, John, 155. Howland, Joseph A., 205. Hudson, Professor, 35, 112, 205. Hudson, Frederic, 89. Hume, John, 208-210. Hutchinsons, the, 141. * * * * * Ile a'Vache, 133. Indiana, introduction of slavery into, 5. * * * * * Jackson, Claiborne F., 186; attempt to make Missouri secede, 186-188; outwitted by Nathaniel Lyon, 188. Jackson, Stonewall, defeat of, 184. Jewitt, Daniel E., 202. Johnson, Andrew, 171, 180. Johnson, Oliver, 73, 201. Johnson, Samuel, 205. Jones, David, 203. Joselyn, Simeon, 203. Julian, Geo. W., _Political Recollections_, 177. * * * * * Kansas-Nebraska Bill, 44. Kedzie, James, 208-210. Kelly, Abby, 38-39. Kendrick, John, 205. Kentucky, 21. Kimball, David T., Jr., 202. King, Leicester, 205. Kingsley, Alpheus, 203. Knapp, Isaac, 201. "Know-Nothings," 9. * * * * * Lafayette, 17. Lane, James H., 194-197; canvas for U.S. Senator, 196-197; attitude on slavery, 197. Lawrence, city of, capture by Quantrell, 165; butchery of inhabitants, 165. Leavitt, Joshua, 205. Lewis, Evan, 203. Lewis, Samuel, 205. Liberal party, 2, 3, 7, 8, 65. _Liberator_, 21; first issue, 55; South Carolina and Georgia offers reward for its circulation, 55-56; excluded from U.S. mails, 56; office wrecked by mob, 56; opposed to separate party action, 64. Lincoln, Abraham, 2, 8, 11, 41; election of, 11, 48; Gettysburg speech, 88; and Douglas, 94-99; debate of 1858, 94; and slavery, 96, 97; preferred by slaveholders, 98; _Recollections of_, 134-135; and emancipation, 136-149; and Missouri Compromise, 139; message to Minister Dayton of Paris, 140; proposed constitutional amendment, 144; special message to Congress, December, 1863, 144; emancipation policy, 145; and Abolitionists, 147; and Free-Soilers, 172; Congressional sentiment toward, 177; antagonism to, 177-180; _Life of_, by I.N. Arnold, 177. Lincoln, Sumner, 205. Longhead, Joseph, 203. Lovejoy, Elijah P., shooting of, 32, 89, 114-115, 161. Lowell, Ellis Gray, 204. Lundy, Benjamin, 27, 50-54; meeting with Garrison, 54. Lyon, Nathaniel, 188. * * * * * McCrummil, James, 203. McCullough, John, 203. McKim, John, 203. Mace, Enoch, 203. Manumittal, arguments against, 34-35. Marshall, "Tom," 70. Massachusetts Legislature and slavery, 105. May, Samuel J., 203. May, Rev. S.T., _Recollections_, 108. Mexican War, 44. Missouri, 157-185; Compromise, 6, 12, 139-140; admission to Union as slave State, 43; slavery contest, 67; and the Union, 159-160; Radicals, 159; Conservatives, 159; "Charcoals," 159; "Claybanks," 159; military control of, 163-166; guerrilla bands, 165; pacification of, 168; Radicals, opposition to Lincoln, in National Convention, 168-169; delegation to Lincoln, 169-171; Germans, attacks on, 181-182; loyalty of, 182-183. _Missouri Democrat, The_, 157-158; and Louis Snyder, 158-159; opposition to Lincoln, 180; support of Johnson, 180. Monroe, James, 205. Moody, Loring, 205. Morris, Senator, 205. Mott, Mrs. Lucretia, 38, 102-103. Mott, James, 203. * * * * * _National Anti-Slavery Advocate_, 204. _National Era, The_, 100, 207-208. Negroes, prejudice against, in North, 35; in Ohio, 36; stronger in North than in South, 36; suffrage, 80; failure as freemen, 80-81. Newcomb, Stillman E., 201. Nicolay, J.C., 136. "Nigger Hill," 26, 73. "Nigger-pens," 31. Noyes, 179. * * * * * Oberlin College, 207. O'Connell, Daniel, 131. Ohio, pro-slavery, 21; Abolitionists of, 21. Opdyke, 179. Ordinance of '87, 5. Otis, James F., 202. * * * * * Parker, Theodore, 204. Parkhurst, Jonathan, 203. Pennsylvania Hall, firing of, 30. "Peonage," 80. Phelps, Amos, 202, 204. Philippine Islands, 82-87; slavery in, 82; massacres in, 83; abuses in, 82-84; spoliation of, 85. Phillips, Wendell, 142; speech in Faneuil Hall, 88-89. Phillips, Mrs., 106-107. Pillsbury, Parker, 204. Pleasanton, General, 168. Pointdexter, 165. "Popular sovereignty," 153. Powell, Aaron M., 205. _Prayer of Twenty Millions, The_, 142; text of, 214-215. Prentice, John, 203. Presidential campaign of 1844, 7. Price, General Sterling, 160, 195. Prohibitionists, 2, 3, 14. Purviss, Robert, 203. Putnam, George M., 203. * * * * * Quantrell, 165. * * * * * Rankin, John, 203. Raymond, Henry J., _Life of Lincoln,_ 177. Redmond, C.L., 205. Republican party, 2, 3, 7, 8; elements of, 10; lack of policy, 10; and election of Lincoln, 11; existence due to Abolitionists, 12; and negro rights, 81; and Philippine Islands, 82; and Abolitionism, 150-151. _Republican Party, History of the_, Curtis, 136. _Rise and Fall of the Slave Power_, 142. Roosevelt, Theodore, and Abolitionists, 1-14. Rosecrans, General, 168. Russell, Earl 137. * * * * * Schofield, Gen. John M., and military control of Missouri, 163-164; charges against, 164; relieved from command, 168. Secession, pretext for, 48. Sewell, Samuel E., 204. Sharp, John, Jr., 203. Shipley, Thomas, 203. Sigel, General, 183. Slave-owners, mastery of, 32. Slave power, submission to, 5; northward march, 13. Slave production in Northern States, 31. Slavery, destruction of, 1; overthrow of, 3; in ante-bellum days, 20; and Biblical authority, 22; a State institution, 27; condemned by Washington, Jefferson, and Henry, 31; Northern support, 33-35, 68; spread of, 42; introduction into Territories, 43-44; practical extirpation, 138. Sleeper, John R., 203. Smith, Gen. A.J., 168. Snelling, William J., 201. Southard, Nathaniel, 202. South Carolina "black horse," 192. Southmayd, Daniel, 202. Southwick, Joseph, 202. Stanton, Elizabeth Cady, 102, 204. Stanton, Henry Brewster, 204. Stebbins, Giles B., 205. Sterling, John M., 203. Stevens, Thaddeus, 148, 177. Stewart, Alvin, 205. Stillman, Edwin A., 203. Stockton, Henry K., 201 Stone, Lucy, 205. Stone, Thomas T., 205. Stowe, Harriet Beecher 11, 101, 102. Sumner, Charles, 148, 179. Sutliff, Levi, 203 Sutliff, Milton, 203. * * * * * Tappan, Arthur, 34. Tappan, Lewis, 34, 203. Taussig, James, 172. Taylor, Gen. Z., 6. Texas, annexation of, 44. Thatcher, Moses, 201. Thirteenth Amendment, 138; vote on, 143-144. Thompson, Edwin, 205. _Thoughts on African Colonization_, 129. Thurston, David, 202. Toombs, Robert, 13. Torrey, Charles Turner, 118-119. Townsend, Dr., 205. _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, 100, 208. Underground railroad, 121-127; confession of John Smith, 121-127. United States in Far East, 85; Army increase of, 85; Navy increase of, 85. Van Buren, Martin, 4; a "doughface," 4; Free Soiler, 5. Van Zant case, 61. Vickers, Anson, 203. Virginia, 21. * * * * * Wade, Benjamin F., 44, 179, 205. Wakefield, Horace P., 202. Walker, Jonathan, branded, 119. Washington, Booker, 136. Watkins, Frances E., 205. Weld, Theodore W., 103, 204. Wheeling, Va., slavery traffic in, 50. Whigs, 2, 5-7, 9. White, James, 203. Whitney, Eli, 31. Whitney, Nathaniel, 205. Whitson, Thomas, 203. Whittier, John G., 202. Wilkes, 179. Winslow, Isaac, 202. Winslow, Nathan, 202. Wise, Henry A., 70. Wright, Elizur, Jr., 203. Wright, Henry C., 205. 
23	----	Note from the original file: This electronic book is being released at this time to honor the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. [Born January 15, 1929] [Officially celebrated January 20, 1992] NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE OF FREDERICK DOUGLASS AN AMERICAN SLAVE. WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. BOSTON PUBLISHED AT THE ANTI-SLAVERY OFFICE, NO. 25 CORNHILL 1845 ENTERED, ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE YEAR 1845 BY FREDERICK DOUGLASS, IN THE CLERK'S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT OF MASSACHUSETTS. CONTENTS PREFACE LETTER FROM WENDELL PHILLIPS, ESQ. FREDERICK DOUGLASS. CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI APPENDIX A PARODY PREFACE In the month of August, 1841, I attended an anti-slavery convention in Nantucket, at which it was my happiness to become acquainted with _Frederick Douglass_, the writer of the following Narrative. He was a stranger to nearly every member of that body; but, having recently made his escape from the southern prison-house of bondage, and feeling his curiosity excited to ascertain the principles and measures of the abolitionists,--of whom he had heard a somewhat vague description while he was a slave,--he was induced to give his attendance, on the occasion alluded to, though at that time a resident in New Bedford. Fortunate, most fortunate occurrence!--fortunate for the millions of his manacled brethren, yet panting for deliverance from their awful thraldom!--fortunate for the cause of negro emancipation, and of universal liberty!--fortunate for the land of his birth, which he has already done so much to save and bless!--fortunate for a large circle of friends and acquaintances, whose sympathy and affection he has strongly secured by the many sufferings he has endured, by his virtuous traits of character, by his ever-abiding remembrance of those who are in bonds, as being bound with them!--fortunate for the multitudes, in various parts of our republic, whose minds he has enlightened on the subject of slavery, and who have been melted to tears by his pathos, or roused to virtuous indignation by his stirring eloquence against the enslavers of men!--fortunate for himself, as it at once brought him into the field of public usefulness, "gave the world assurance of a MAN," quickened the slumbering energies of his soul, and consecrated him to the great work of breaking the rod of the oppressor, and letting the oppressed go free! I shall never forget his first speech at the convention--the extraordinary emotion it excited in my own mind--the powerful impression it created upon a crowded auditory, completely taken by surprise--the applause which followed from the beginning to the end of his felicitous remarks. I think I never hated slavery so intensely as at that moment; certainly, my perception of the enormous outrage which is inflicted by it, on the godlike nature of its victims, was rendered far more clear than ever. There stood one, in physical proportion and stature commanding and exact--in intellect richly endowed--in natural eloquence a prodigy--in soul manifestly "created but a little lower than the angels"--yet a slave, ay, a fugitive slave,--trembling for his safety, hardly daring to believe that on the American soil, a single white person could be found who would befriend him at all hazards, for the love of God and humanity! Capable of high attainments as an intellectual and moral being--needing nothing but a comparatively small amount of cultivation to make him an ornament to society and a blessing to his race--by the law of the land, by the voice of the people, by the terms of the slave code, he was only a piece of property, a beast of burden, a chattel personal, nevertheless! A beloved friend from New Bedford prevailed on _Mr. Douglass_ to address the convention. He came forward to the platform with a hesitancy and embarrassment, necessarily the attendants of a sensitive mind in such a novel position. After apologizing for his ignorance, and reminding the audience that slavery was a poor school for the human intellect and heart, he proceeded to narrate some of the facts in his own history as a slave, and in the course of his speech gave utterance to many noble thoughts and thrilling reflections. As soon as he had taken his seat, filled with hope and admiration, I rose, and declared that _Patrick Henry_, of revolutionary fame, never made a speech more eloquent in the cause of liberty, than the one we had just listened to from the lips of that hunted fugitive. So I believed at that time--such is my belief now. I reminded the audience of the peril which surrounded this self-emancipated young man at the North,--even in Massachusetts, on the soil of the Pilgrim Fathers, among the descendants of revolutionary sires; and I appealed to them, whether they would ever allow him to be carried back into slavery,--law or no law, constitution or no constitution. The response was unanimous and in thunder-tones--"NO!" "Will you succor and protect him as a brother-man--a resident of the old Bay State?" "YES!" shouted the whole mass, with an energy so startling, that the ruthless tyrants south of Mason and Dixon's line might almost have heard the mighty burst of feeling, and recognized it as the pledge of an invincible determination, on the part of those who gave it, never to betray him that wanders, but to hide the outcast, and firmly to abide the consequences. It was at once deeply impressed upon my mind, that, if _Mr. Douglass_ could be persuaded to consecrate his time and talents to the promotion of the anti-slavery enterprise, a powerful impetus would be given to it, and a stunning blow at the same time inflicted on northern prejudice against a colored complexion. I therefore endeavored to instil hope and courage into his mind, in order that he might dare to engage in a vocation so anomalous and responsible for a person in his situation; and I was seconded in this effort by warm-hearted friends, especially by the late General Agent of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, _Mr. John A. Collins_, whose judgment in this instance entirely coincided with my own. At first, he could give no encouragement; with unfeigned diffidence, he expressed his conviction that he was not adequate to the performance of so great a task; the path marked out was wholly an untrodden one; he was sincerely apprehensive that he should do more harm than good. After much deliberation, however, he consented to make a trial; and ever since that period, he has acted as a lecturing agent, under the auspices either of the American or the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. In labors he has been most abundant; and his success in combating prejudice, in gaining proselytes, in agitating the public mind, has far surpassed the most sanguine expectations that were raised at the commencement of his brilliant career. He has borne himself with gentleness and meekness, yet with true manliness of character. As a public speaker, he excels in pathos, wit, comparison, imitation, strength of reasoning, and fluency of language. There is in him that union of head and heart, which is indispensable to an enlightenment of the heads and a winning of the hearts of others. May his strength continue to be equal to his day! May he continue to "grow in grace, and in the knowledge of God," that he may be increasingly serviceable in the cause of bleeding humanity, whether at home or abroad! It is certainly a very remarkable fact, that one of the most efficient advocates of the slave population, now before the public, is a fugitive slave, in the person of _Frederick Douglass_; and that the free colored population of the United States are as ably represented by one of their own number, in the person of _Charles Lenox Remond_, whose eloquent appeals have extorted the highest applause of multitudes on both sides of the Atlantic. Let the calumniators of the colored race despise themselves for their baseness and illiberality of spirit, and henceforth cease to talk of the natural inferiority of those who require nothing but time and opportunity to attain to the highest point of human excellence. It may, perhaps, be fairly questioned, whether any other portion of the population of the earth could have endured the privations, sufferings and horrors of slavery, without having become more degraded in the scale of humanity than the slaves of African descent. Nothing has been left undone to cripple their intellects, darken their minds, debase their moral nature, obliterate all traces of their relationship to mankind; and yet how wonderfully they have sustained the mighty load of a most frightful bondage, under which they have been groaning for centuries! To illustrate the effect of slavery on the white man,--to show that he has no powers of endurance, in such a condition, superior to those of his black brother,--_Daniel O'Connell_, the distinguished advocate of universal emancipation, and the mightiest champion of prostrate but not conquered Ireland, relates the following anecdote in a speech delivered by him in the Conciliation Hall, Dublin, before the Loyal National Repeal Association, March 31, 1845. "No matter," said _Mr. O'Connell_, "under what specious term it may disguise itself, slavery is still hideous. _It has a natural, an inevitable tendency to brutalize every noble faculty of man._ An American sailor, who was cast away on the shore of Africa, where he was kept in slavery for three years, was, at the expiration of that period, found to be imbruted and stultified--he had lost all reasoning power; and having forgotten his native language, could only utter some savage gibberish between Arabic and English, which nobody could understand, and which even he himself found difficulty in pronouncing. So much for the humanizing influence of _The Domestic Institution_!" Admitting this to have been an extraordinary case of mental deterioration, it proves at least that the white slave can sink as low in the scale of humanity as the black one. _Mr. Douglass_ has very properly chosen to write his own Narrative, in his own style, and according to the best of his ability, rather than to employ some one else. It is, therefore, entirely his own production; and, considering how long and dark was the career he had to run as a slave,--how few have been his opportunities to improve his mind since he broke his iron fetters,--it is, in my judgment, highly creditable to his head and heart. He who can peruse it without a tearful eye, a heaving breast, an afflicted spirit,--without being filled with an unutterable abhorrence of slavery and all its abettors, and animated with a determination to seek the immediate overthrow of that execrable system,--without trembling for the fate of this country in the hands of a righteous God, who is ever on the side of the oppressed, and whose arm is not shortened that it cannot save,--must have a flinty heart, and be qualified to act the part of a trafficker "in slaves and the souls of men." I am confident that it is essentially true in all its statements; that nothing has been set down in malice, nothing exaggerated, nothing drawn from the imagination; that it comes short of the reality, rather than overstates a single fact in regard to _slavery as it is_. The experience of _Frederick Douglass_, as a slave, was not a peculiar one; his lot was not especially a hard one; his case may be regarded as a very fair specimen of the treatment of slaves in Maryland, in which State it is conceded that they are better fed and less cruelly treated than in Georgia, Alabama, or Louisiana. Many have suffered incomparably more, while very few on the plantations have suffered less, than himself. Yet how deplorable was his situation! what terrible chastisements were inflicted upon his person! what still more shocking outrages were perpetrated upon his mind! with all his noble powers and sublime aspirations, how like a brute was he treated, even by those professing to have the same mind in them that was in Christ Jesus! to what dreadful liabilities was he continually subjected! how destitute of friendly counsel and aid, even in his greatest extremities! how heavy was the midnight of woe which shrouded in blackness the last ray of hope, and filled the future with terror and gloom! what longings after freedom took possession of his breast, and how his misery augmented, in proportion as he grew reflective and intelligent,--thus demonstrating that a happy slave is an extinct man! how he thought, reasoned, felt, under the lash of the driver, with the chains upon his limbs! what perils he encountered in his endeavors to escape from his horrible doom! and how signal have been his deliverance and preservation in the midst of a nation of pitiless enemies! This Narrative contains many affecting incidents, many passages of great eloquence and power; but I think the most thrilling one of them all is the description _Douglass_ gives of his feelings, as he stood soliloquizing respecting his fate, and the chances of his one day being a freeman, on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay--viewing the receding vessels as they flew with their white wings before the breeze, and apostrophizing them as animated by the living spirit of freedom. Who can read that passage, and be insensible to its pathos and sublimity? Compressed into it is a whole Alexandrian library of thought, feeling, and sentiment--all that can, all that need be urged, in the form of expostulation, entreaty, rebuke, against that crime of crimes,--making man the property of his fellow-man! O, how accursed is that system, which entombs the godlike mind of man, defaces the divine image, reduces those who by creation were crowned with glory and honor to a level with four-footed beasts, and exalts the dealer in human flesh above all that is called God! Why should its existence be prolonged one hour? Is it not evil, only evil, and that continually? What does its presence imply but the absence of all fear of God, all regard for man, on the part of the people of the United States? Heaven speed its eternal overthrow! So profoundly ignorant of the nature of slavery are many persons, that they are stubbornly incredulous whenever they read or listen to any recital of the cruelties which are daily inflicted on its victims. They do not deny that the slaves are held as property; but that terrible fact seems to convey to their minds no idea of injustice, exposure to outrage, or savage barbarity. Tell them of cruel scourgings, of mutilations and brandings, of scenes of pollution and blood, of the banishment of all light and knowledge, and they affect to be greatly indignant at such enormous exaggerations, such wholesale misstatements, such abominable libels on the character of the southern planters! As if all these direful outrages were not the natural results of slavery! As if it were less cruel to reduce a human being to the condition of a thing, than to give him a severe flagellation, or to deprive him of necessary food and clothing! As if whips, chains, thumb-screws, paddles, blood-hounds, overseers, drivers, patrols, were not all indispensable to keep the slaves down, and to give protection to their ruthless oppressors! As if, when the marriage institution is abolished, concubinage, adultery, and incest, must not necessarily abound; when all the rights of humanity are annihilated, any barrier remains to protect the victim from the fury of the spoiler; when absolute power is assumed over life and liberty, it will not be wielded with destructive sway! Skeptics of this character abound in society. In some few instances, their incredulity arises from a want of reflection; but, generally, it indicates a hatred of the light, a desire to shield slavery from the assaults of its foes, a contempt of the colored race, whether bond or free. Such will try to discredit the shocking tales of slaveholding cruelty which are recorded in this truthful Narrative; but they will labor in vain. _Mr. Douglass_ has frankly disclosed the place of his birth, the names of those who claimed ownership in his body and soul, and the names also of those who committed the crimes which he has alleged against them. His statements, therefore, may easily be disproved, if they are untrue. In the course of his Narrative, he relates two instances of murderous cruelty,--in one of which a planter deliberately shot a slave belonging to a neighboring plantation, who had unintentionally gotten within his lordly domain in quest of fish; and in the other, an overseer blew out the brains of a slave who had fled to a stream of water to escape a bloody scourging. _Mr. Douglass_ states that in neither of these instances was any thing done by way of legal arrest or judicial investigation. The Baltimore American, of March 17, 1845, relates a similar case of atrocity, perpetrated with similar impunity--as follows:--"_Shooting a slave._--We learn, upon the authority of a letter from Charles county, Maryland, received by a gentleman of this city, that a young man, named Matthews, a nephew of General Matthews, and whose father, it is believed, holds an office at Washington, killed one of the slaves upon his father's farm by shooting him. The letter states that young Matthews had been left in charge of the farm; that he gave an order to the servant, which was disobeyed, when he proceeded to the house, _obtained a gun, and, returning, shot the servant._ He immediately, the letter continues, fled to his father's residence, where he still remains unmolested."--Let it never be forgotten, that no slaveholder or overseer can be convicted of any outrage perpetrated on the person of a slave, however diabolical it may be, on the testimony of colored witnesses, whether bond or free. By the slave code, they are adjudged to be as incompetent to testify against a white man, as though they were indeed a part of the brute creation. Hence, there is no legal protection in fact, whatever there may be in form, for the slave population; and any amount of cruelty may be inflicted on them with impunity. Is it possible for the human mind to conceive of a more horrible state of society? The effect of a religious profession on the conduct of southern masters is vividly described in the following Narrative, and shown to be any thing but salutary. In the nature of the case, it must be in the highest degree pernicious. The testimony of _Mr. Douglass_, on this point, is sustained by a cloud of witnesses, whose veracity is unimpeachable. "A slaveholder's profession of Christianity is a palpable imposture. He is a felon of the highest grade. He is a man-stealer. It is of no importance what you put in the other scale." Reader! are you with the man-stealers in sympathy and purpose, or on the side of their down-trodden victims? If with the former, then are you the foe of God and man. If with the latter, what are you prepared to do and dare in their behalf? Be faithful, be vigilant, be untiring in your efforts to break every yoke, and let the oppressed go free. Come what may--cost what it may--inscribe on the banner which you unfurl to the breeze, as your religious and political motto--"NO COMPROMISE WITH SLAVERY! NO UNION WITH SLAVEHOLDERS!" WM. LLOYD GARRISON BOSTON, _May_ 1, 1845. LETTER FROM WENDELL PHILLIPS, ESQ. BOSTON, APRIL 22, 1845. My Dear Friend: You remember the old fable of "The Man and the Lion," where the lion complained that he should not be so misrepresented "when the lions wrote history." I am glad the time has come when the "lions write history." We have been left long enough to gather the character of slavery from the involuntary evidence of the masters. One might, indeed, rest sufficiently satisfied with what, it is evident, must be, in general, the results of such a relation, without seeking farther to find whether they have followed in every instance. Indeed, those who stare at the half-peck of corn a week, and love to count the lashes on the slave's back, are seldom the "stuff" out of which reformers and abolitionists are to be made. I remember that, in 1838, many were waiting for the results of the West India experiment, before they could come into our ranks. Those "results" have come long ago; but, alas! few of that number have come with them, as converts. A man must be disposed to judge of emancipation by other tests than whether it has increased the produce of sugar,--and to hate slavery for other reasons than because it starves men and whips women,--before he is ready to lay the first stone of his anti-slavery life. I was glad to learn, in your story, how early the most neglected of God's children waken to a sense of their rights, and of the injustice done them. Experience is a keen teacher; and long before you had mastered your A B C, or knew where the "white sails" of the Chesapeake were bound, you began, I see, to gauge the wretchedness of the slave, not by his hunger and want, not by his lashes and toil, but by the cruel and blighting death which gathers over his soul. In connection with this, there is one circumstance which makes your recollections peculiarly valuable, and renders your early insight the more remarkable. You come from that part of the country where we are told slavery appears with its fairest features. Let us hear, then, what it is at its best estate--gaze on its bright side, if it has one; and then imagination may task her powers to add dark lines to the picture, as she travels southward to that (for the colored man) Valley of the Shadow of Death, where the Mississippi sweeps along. Again, we have known you long, and can put the most entire confidence in your truth, candor, and sincerity. Every one who has heard you speak has felt, and, I am confident, every one who reads your book will feel, persuaded that you give them a fair specimen of the whole truth. No one-sided portrait,--no wholesale complaints,--but strict justice done, whenever individual kindliness has neutralized, for a moment, the deadly system with which it was strangely allied. You have been with us, too, some years, and can fairly compare the twilight of rights, which your race enjoy at the North, with that "noon of night" under which they labor south of Mason and Dixon's line. Tell us whether, after all, the half-free colored man of Massachusetts is worse off than the pampered slave of the rice swamps! In reading your life, no one can say that we have unfairly picked out some rare specimens of cruelty. We know that the bitter drops, which even you have drained from the cup, are no incidental aggravations, no individual ills, but such as must mingle always and necessarily in the lot of every slave. They are the essential ingredients, not the occasional results, of the system. After all, I shall read your book with trembling for you. Some years ago, when you were beginning to tell me your real name and birthplace, you may remember I stopped you, and preferred to remain ignorant of all. With the exception of a vague description, so I continued, till the other day, when you read me your memoirs. I hardly knew, at the time, whether to thank you or not for the sight of them, when I reflected that it was still dangerous, in Massachusetts, for honest men to tell their names! They say the fathers, in 1776, signed the Declaration of Independence with the halter about their necks. You, too, publish your declaration of freedom with danger compassing you around. In all the broad lands which the Constitution of the United States overshadows, there is no single spot,--however narrow or desolate,--where a fugitive slave can plant himself and say, "I am safe." The whole armory of Northern Law has no shield for you. I am free to say that, in your place, I should throw the MS. into the fire. You, perhaps, may tell your story in safety, endeared as you are to so many warm hearts by rare gifts, and a still rarer devotion of them to the service of others. But it will be owing only to your labors, and the fearless efforts of those who, trampling the laws and Constitution of the country under their feet, are determined that they will "hide the outcast," and that their hearths shall be, spite of the law, an asylum for the oppressed, if, some time or other, the humblest may stand in our streets, and bear witness in safety against the cruelties of which he has been the victim. Yet it is sad to think, that these very throbbing hearts which welcome your story, and form your best safeguard in telling it, are all beating contrary to the "statute in such case made and provided." Go on, my dear friend, till you, and those who, like you, have been saved, so as by fire, from the dark prison-house, shall stereotype these free, illegal pulses into statutes; and New England, cutting loose from a blood-stained Union, shall glory in being the house of refuge for the oppressed,--till we no longer merely "_hide_ the outcast," or make a merit of standing idly by while he is hunted in our midst; but, consecrating anew the soil of the Pilgrims as an asylum for the oppressed, proclaim our _welcome_ to the slave so loudly, that the tones shall reach every hut in the Carolinas, and make the broken-hearted bondman leap up at the thought of old Massachusetts. God speed the day! _Till then, and ever,_ Yours truly, WENDELL PHILLIPS FREDERICK DOUGLASS. Frederick Douglass was born in slavery as Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey near Easton in Talbot County, Maryland. He was not sure of the exact year of his birth, but he knew that it was 1817 or 1818. As a young boy he was sent to Baltimore, to be a house servant, where he learned to read and write, with the assistance of his master's wife. In 1838 he escaped from slavery and went to New York City, where he married Anna Murray, a free colored woman whom he had met in Baltimore. Soon thereafter he changed his name to Frederick Douglass. In 1841 he addressed a convention of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society in Nantucket and so greatly impressed the group that they immediately employed him as an agent. He was such an impressive orator that numerous persons doubted if he had ever been a slave, so he wrote _Narrative Of The Life Of Frederick Douglass_. During the Civil War he assisted in the recruiting of colored men for the 54th and 55th Massachusetts Regiments and consistently argued for the emancipation of slaves. After the war he was active in securing and protecting the rights of the freemen. In his later years, at different times, he was secretary of the Santo Domingo Commission, marshall and recorder of deeds of the District of Columbia, and United States Minister to Haiti. His other autobiographical works are _My Bondage And My Freedom_ and _Life And Times Of Frederick Douglass_, published in 1855 and 1881 respectively. He died in 1895. CHAPTER I I was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, and about twelve miles from Easton, in Talbot county, Maryland. I have no accurate knowledge of my age, never having seen any authentic record containing it. By far the larger part of the slaves know as little of their ages as horses know of theirs, and it is the wish of most masters within my knowledge to keep their slaves thus ignorant. I do not remember to have ever met a slave who could tell of his birthday. They seldom come nearer to it than planting-time, harvest-time, cherry-time, spring-time, or fall-time. A want of information concerning my own was a source of unhappiness to me even during childhood. The white children could tell their ages. I could not tell why I ought to be deprived of the same privilege. I was not allowed to make any inquiries of my master concerning it. He deemed all such inquiries on the part of a slave improper and impertinent, and evidence of a restless spirit. The nearest estimate I can give makes me now between twenty-seven and twenty-eight years of age. I come to this, from hearing my master say, some time during 1835, I was about seventeen years old. My mother was named Harriet Bailey. She was the daughter of Isaac and Betsey Bailey, both colored, and quite dark. My mother was of a darker complexion than either my grandmother or grandfather. My father was a white man. He was admitted to be such by all I ever heard speak of my parentage. The opinion was also whispered that my master was my father; but of the correctness of this opinion, I know nothing; the means of knowing was withheld from me. My mother and I were separated when I was but an infant--before I knew her as my mother. It is a common custom, in the part of Maryland from which I ran away, to part children from their mothers at a very early age. Frequently, before the child has reached its twelfth month, its mother is taken from it, and hired out on some farm a considerable distance off, and the child is placed under the care of an old woman, too old for field labor. For what this separation is done, I do not know, unless it be to hinder the development of the child's affection toward its mother, and to blunt and destroy the natural affection of the mother for the child. This is the inevitable result. I never saw my mother, to know her as such, more than four or five times in my life; and each of these times was very short in duration, and at night. She was hired by a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve miles from my home. She made her journeys to see me in the night, travelling the whole distance on foot, after the performance of her day's work. She was a field hand, and a whipping is the penalty of not being in the field at sunrise, unless a slave has special permission from his or her master to the contrary--a permission which they seldom get, and one that gives to him that gives it the proud name of being a kind master. I do not recollect of ever seeing my mother by the light of day. She was with me in the night. She would lie down with me, and get me to sleep, but long before I waked she was gone. Very little communication ever took place between us. Death soon ended what little we could have while she lived, and with it her hardships and suffering. She died when I was about seven years old, on one of my master's farms, near Lee's Mill. I was not allowed to be present during her illness, at her death, or burial. She was gone long before I knew any thing about it. Never having enjoyed, to any considerable extent, her soothing presence, her tender and watchful care, I received the tidings of her death with much the same emotions I should have probably felt at the death of a stranger. Called thus suddenly away, she left me without the slightest intimation of who my father was. The whisper that my master was my father, may or may not be true; and, true or false, it is of but little consequence to my purpose whilst the fact remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that slaveholders have ordained, and by law established, that the children of slave women shall in all cases follow the condition of their mothers; and this is done too obviously to administer to their own lusts, and make a gratification of their wicked desires profitable as well as pleasurable; for by this cunning arrangement, the slaveholder, in cases not a few, sustains to his slaves the double relation of master and father. I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark that such slaves invariably suffer greater hardships, and have more to contend with, than others. They are, in the first place, a constant offence to their mistress. She is ever disposed to find fault with them; they can seldom do any thing to please her; she is never better pleased than when she sees them under the lash, especially when she suspects her husband of showing to his mulatto children favors which he withholds from his black slaves. The master is frequently compelled to sell this class of his slaves, out of deference to the feelings of his white wife; and, cruel as the deed may strike any one to be, for a man to sell his own children to human flesh-mongers, it is often the dictate of humanity for him to do so; for, unless he does this, he must not only whip them himself, but must stand by and see one white son tie up his brother, of but few shades darker complexion than himself, and ply the gory lash to his naked back; and if he lisp one word of disapproval, it is set down to his parental partiality, and only makes a bad matter worse, both for himself and the slave whom he would protect and defend. Every year brings with it multitudes of this class of slaves. It was doubtless in consequence of a knowledge of this fact, that one great statesman of the south predicted the downfall of slavery by the inevitable laws of population. Whether this prophecy is ever fulfilled or not, it is nevertheless plain that a very different-looking class of people are springing up at the south, and are now held in slavery, from those originally brought to this country from Africa; and if their increase do no other good, it will do away the force of the argument, that God cursed Ham, and therefore American slavery is right. If the lineal descendants of Ham are alone to be scripturally enslaved, it is certain that slavery at the south must soon become unscriptural; for thousands are ushered into the world, annually, who, like myself, owe their existence to white fathers, and those fathers most frequently their own masters. I have had two masters. My first master's name was Anthony. I do not remember his first name. He was generally called Captain Anthony--a title which, I presume, he acquired by sailing a craft on the Chesapeake Bay. He was not considered a rich slaveholder. He owned two or three farms, and about thirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under the care of an overseer. The overseer's name was Plummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable drunkard, a profane swearer, and a savage monster. He always went armed with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. I have known him to cut and slash the women's heads so horribly, that even master would be enraged at his cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if he did not mind himself. Master, however, was not a humane slaveholder. It required extraordinary barbarity on the part of an overseer to affect him. He was a cruel man, hardened by a long life of slaveholding. He would at times seem to take great pleasure in whipping a slave. I have often been awakened at the dawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieks of an own aunt of mine, whom he used to tie up to a joist, and whip upon her naked back till she was literally covered with blood. No words, no tears, no prayers, from his gory victim, seemed to move his iron heart from its bloody purpose. The louder she screamed, the harder he whipped; and where the blood ran fastest, there he whipped longest. He would whip her to make her scream, and whip her to make her hush; and not until overcome by fatigue, would he cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin. I remember the first time I ever witnessed this horrible exhibition. I was quite a child, but I well remember it. I never shall forget it whilst I remember any thing. It was the first of a long series of such outrages, of which I was doomed to be a witness and a participant. It struck me with awful force. It was the blood-stained gate, the entrance to the hell of slavery, through which I was about to pass. It was a most terrible spectacle. I wish I could commit to paper the feelings with which I beheld it. This occurrence took place very soon after I went to live with my old master, and under the following circumstances. Aunt Hester went out one night,--where or for what I do not know,--and happened to be absent when my master desired her presence. He had ordered her not to go out evenings, and warned her that she must never let him catch her in company with a young man, who was paying attention to her belonging to Colonel Lloyd. The young man's name was Ned Roberts, generally called Lloyd's Ned. Why master was so careful of her, may be safely left to conjecture. She was a woman of noble form, and of graceful proportions, having very few equals, and fewer superiors, in personal appearance, among the colored or white women of our neighborhood. Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders in going out, but had been found in company with Lloyd's Ned; which circumstance, I found, from what he said while whipping her, was the chief offence. Had he been a man of pure morals himself, he might have been thought interested in protecting the innocence of my aunt; but those who knew him will not suspect him of any such virtue. Before he commenced whipping Aunt Hester, he took her into the kitchen, and stripped her from neck to waist, leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entirely naked. He then told her to cross her hands, calling her at the same time a d----d b---h. After crossing her hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and led her to a stool under a large hook in the joist, put in for the purpose. He made her get upon the stool, and tied her hands to the hook. She now stood fair for his infernal purpose. Her arms were stretched up at their full length, so that she stood upon the ends of her toes. He then said to her, "Now, you d----d b---h, I'll learn you how to disobey my orders!" and after rolling up his sleeves, he commenced to lay on the heavy cowskin, and soon the warm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks from her, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping to the floor. I was so terrified and horror-stricken at the sight, that I hid myself in a closet, and dared not venture out till long after the bloody transaction was over. I expected it would be my turn next. It was all new to me. I had never seen any thing like it before. I had always lived with my grandmother on the outskirts of the plantation, where she was put to raise the children of the younger women. I had therefore been, until now, out of the way of the bloody scenes that often occurred on the plantation. CHAPTER II My master's family consisted of two sons, Andrew and Richard; one daughter, Lucretia, and her husband, Captain Thomas Auld. They lived in one house, upon the home plantation of Colonel Edward Lloyd. My master was Colonel Lloyd's clerk and superintendent. He was what might be called the overseer of the overseers. I spent two years of childhood on this plantation in my old master's family. It was here that I witnessed the bloody transaction recorded in the first chapter; and as I received my first impressions of slavery on this plantation, I will give some description of it, and of slavery as it there existed. The plantation is about twelve miles north of Easton, in Talbot county, and is situated on the border of Miles River. The principal products raised upon it were tobacco, corn, and wheat. These were raised in great abundance; so that, with the products of this and the other farms belonging to him, he was able to keep in almost constant employment a large sloop, in carrying them to market at Baltimore. This sloop was named Sally Lloyd, in honor of one of the colonel's daughters. My master's son-in-law, Captain Auld, was master of the vessel; she was otherwise manned by the colonel's own slaves. Their names were Peter, Isaac, Rich, and Jake. These were esteemed very highly by the other slaves, and looked upon as the privileged ones of the plantation; for it was no small affair, in the eyes of the slaves, to be allowed to see Baltimore. Colonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundred slaves on his home plantation, and owned a large number more on the neighboring farms belonging to him. The names of the farms nearest to the home plantation were Wye Town and New Design. "Wye Town" was under the overseership of a man named Noah Willis. New Design was under the overseership of a Mr. Townsend. The overseers of these, and all the rest of the farms, numbering over twenty, received advice and direction from the managers of the home plantation. This was the great business place. It was the seat of government for the whole twenty farms. All disputes among the overseers were settled here. If a slave was convicted of any high misdemeanor, became unmanageable, or evinced a determination to run away, he was brought immediately here, severely whipped, put on board the sloop, carried to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk, or some other slave-trader, as a warning to the slaves remaining. Here, too, the slaves of all the other farms received their monthly allowance of food, and their yearly clothing. The men and women slaves received, as their monthly allowance of food, eight pounds of pork, or its equivalent in fish, and one bushel of corn meal. Their yearly clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts, one pair of linen trousers, like the shirts, one jacket, one pair of trousers for winter, made of coarse negro cloth, one pair of stockings, and one pair of shoes; the whole of which could not have cost more than seven dollars. The allowance of the slave children was given to their mothers, or the old women having the care of them. The children unable to work in the field had neither shoes, stockings, jackets, nor trousers, given to them; their clothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts per year. When these failed them, they went naked until the next allowance-day. Children from seven to ten years old, of both sexes, almost naked, might be seen at all seasons of the year. There were no beds given the slaves, unless one coarse blanket be considered such, and none but the men and women had these. This, however, is not considered a very great privation. They find less difficulty from the want of beds, than from the want of time to sleep; for when their day's work in the field is done, the most of them having their washing, mending, and cooking to do, and having few or none of the ordinary facilities for doing either of these, very many of their sleeping hours are consumed in preparing for the field the coming day; and when this is done, old and young, male and female, married and single, drop down side by side, on one common bed,--the cold, damp floor,--each covering himself or herself with their miserable blankets; and here they sleep till they are summoned to the field by the driver's horn. At the sound of this, all must rise, and be off to the field. There must be no halting; every one must be at his or her post; and woe betides them who hear not this morning summons to the field; for if they are not awakened by the sense of hearing, they are by the sense of feeling: no age nor sex finds any favor. Mr. Severe, the overseer, used to stand by the door of the quarter, armed with a large hickory stick and heavy cowskin, ready to whip any one who was so unfortunate as not to hear, or, from any other cause, was prevented from being ready to start for the field at the sound of the horn. Mr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruel man. I have seen him whip a woman, causing the blood to run half an hour at the time; and this, too, in the midst of her crying children, pleading for their mother's release. He seemed to take pleasure in manifesting his fiendish barbarity. Added to his cruelty, he was a profane swearer. It was enough to chill the blood and stiffen the hair of an ordinary man to hear him talk. Scarce a sentence escaped him but that was commenced or concluded by some horrid oath. The field was the place to witness his cruelty and profanity. His presence made it both the field of blood and of blasphemy. From the rising till the going down of the sun, he was cursing, raving, cutting, and slashing among the slaves of the field, in the most frightful manner. His career was short. He died very soon after I went to Colonel Lloyd's; and he died as he lived, uttering, with his dying groans, bitter curses and horrid oaths. His death was regarded by the slaves as the result of a merciful providence. Mr. Severe's place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins. He was a very different man. He was less cruel, less profane, and made less noise, than Mr. Severe. His course was characterized by no extraordinary demonstrations of cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to take no pleasure in it. He was called by the slaves a good overseer. The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore the appearance of a country village. All the mechanical operations for all the farms were performed here. The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing, cartwrighting, coopering, weaving, and grain-grinding, were all performed by the slaves on the home plantation. The whole place wore a business-like aspect very unlike the neighboring farms. The number of houses, too, conspired to give it advantage over the neighboring farms. It was called by the slaves the _Great House Farm._ Few privileges were esteemed higher, by the slaves of the out-farms, than that of being selected to do errands at the Great House Farm. It was associated in their minds with greatness. A representative could not be prouder of his election to a seat in the American Congress, than a slave on one of the out-farms would be of his election to do errands at the Great House Farm. They regarded it as evidence of great confidence reposed in them by their overseers; and it was on this account, as well as a constant desire to be out of the field from under the driver's lash, that they esteemed it a high privilege, one worth careful living for. He was called the smartest and most trusty fellow, who had this honor conferred upon him the most frequently. The competitors for this office sought as diligently to please their overseers, as the office-seekers in the political parties seek to please and deceive the people. The same traits of character might be seen in Colonel Lloyd's slaves, as are seen in the slaves of the political parties. The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly allowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly enthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once the highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as they went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought that came up, came out--if not in the word, in the sound;--and as frequently in the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most pathetic sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment in the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to weave something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this, when leaving home. They would then sing most exultingly the following words:-- "I am going away to the Great House Farm! O, yea! O, yea! O!" This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject could do. I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers of his soul,--and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because "there is no flesh in his obdurate heart." I have often been utterly astonished, since I came to the north, to find persons who could speak of the singing, among slaves, as evidence of their contentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceive of a greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. At least, such is my experience. I have often sung to drown my sorrow, but seldom to express my happiness. Crying for joy, and singing for joy, were alike uncommon to me while in the jaws of slavery. The singing of a man cast away upon a desolate island might be as appropriately considered as evidence of contentment and happiness, as the singing of a slave; the songs of the one and of the other are prompted by the same emotion. CHAPTER III Colonel Lloyd kept a large and finely cultivated garden, which afforded almost constant employment for four men, besides the chief gardener, (Mr. M'Durmond.) This garden was probably the greatest attraction of the place. During the summer months, people came from far and near--from Baltimore, Easton, and Annapolis--to see it. It abounded in fruits of almost every description, from the hardy apple of the north to the delicate orange of the south. This garden was not the least source of trouble on the plantation. Its excellent fruit was quite a temptation to the hungry swarms of boys, as well as the older slaves, belonging to the colonel, few of whom had the virtue or the vice to resist it. Scarcely a day passed, during the summer, but that some slave had to take the lash for stealing fruit. The colonel had to resort to all kinds of stratagems to keep his slaves out of the garden. The last and most successful one was that of tarring his fence all around; after which, if a slave was caught with any tar upon his person, it was deemed sufficient proof that he had either been into the garden, or had tried to get in. In either case, he was severely whipped by the chief gardener. This plan worked well; the slaves became as fearful of tar as of the lash. They seemed to realize the impossibility of touching _tar_ without being defiled. The colonel also kept a splendid riding equipage. His stable and carriage-house presented the appearance of some of our large city livery establishments. His horses were of the finest form and noblest blood. His carriage-house contained three splendid coaches, three or four gigs, besides dearborns and barouches of the most fashionable style. This establishment was under the care of two slaves--old Barney and young Barney--father and son. To attend to this establishment was their sole work. But it was by no means an easy employment; for in nothing was Colonel Lloyd more particular than in the management of his horses. The slightest inattention to these was unpardonable, and was visited upon those, under whose care they were placed, with the severest punishment; no excuse could shield them, if the colonel only suspected any want of attention to his horses--a supposition which he frequently indulged, and one which, of course, made the office of old and young Barney a very trying one. They never knew when they were safe from punishment. They were frequently whipped when least deserving, and escaped whipping when most deserving it. Every thing depended upon the looks of the horses, and the state of Colonel Lloyd's own mind when his horses were brought to him for use. If a horse did not move fast enough, or hold his head high enough, it was owing to some fault of his keepers. It was painful to stand near the stable-door, and hear the various complaints against the keepers when a horse was taken out for use. "This horse has not had proper attention. He has not been sufficiently rubbed and curried, or he has not been properly fed; his food was too wet or too dry; he got it too soon or too late; he was too hot or too cold; he had too much hay, and not enough of grain; or he had too much grain, and not enough of hay; instead of old Barney's attending to the horse, he had very improperly left it to his son." To all these complaints, no matter how unjust, the slave must answer never a word. Colonel Lloyd could not brook any contradiction from a slave. When he spoke, a slave must stand, listen, and tremble; and such was literally the case. I have seen Colonel Lloyd make old Barney, a man between fifty and sixty years of age, uncover his bald head, kneel down upon the cold, damp ground, and receive upon his naked and toil-worn shoulders more than thirty lashes at the time. Colonel Lloyd had three sons--Edward, Murray, and Daniel,--and three sons-in-law, Mr. Winder, Mr. Nicholson, and Mr. Lowndes. All of these lived at the Great House Farm, and enjoyed the luxury of whipping the servants when they pleased, from old Barney down to William Wilkes, the coach-driver. I have seen Winder make one of the house-servants stand off from him a suitable distance to be touched with the end of his whip, and at every stroke raise great ridges upon his back. To describe the wealth of Colonel Lloyd would be almost equal to describing the riches of Job. He kept from ten to fifteen house-servants. He was said to own a thousand slaves, and I think this estimate quite within the truth. Colonel Lloyd owned so many that he did not know them when he saw them; nor did all the slaves of the out-farms know him. It is reported of him, that, while riding along the road one day, he met a colored man, and addressed him in the usual manner of speaking to colored people on the public highways of the south: "Well, boy, whom do you belong to?" "To Colonel Lloyd," replied the slave. "Well, does the colonel treat you well?" "No, sir," was the ready reply. "What, does he work you too hard?" "Yes, sir." "Well, don't he give you enough to eat?" "Yes, sir, he gives me enough, such as it is." The colonel, after ascertaining where the slave belonged, rode on; the man also went on about his business, not dreaming that he had been conversing with his master. He thought, said, and heard nothing more of the matter, until two or three weeks afterwards. The poor man was then informed by his overseer that, for having found fault with his master, he was now to be sold to a Georgia trader. He was immediately chained and handcuffed; and thus, without a moment's warning, he was snatched away, and forever sundered, from his family and friends, by a hand more unrelenting than death. This is the penalty of telling the truth, of telling the simple truth, in answer to a series of plain questions. It is partly in consequence of such facts, that slaves, when inquired of as to their condition and the character of their masters, almost universally say they are contented, and that their masters are kind. The slaveholders have been known to send in spies among their slaves, to ascertain their views and feelings in regard to their condition. The frequency of this has had the effect to establish among the slaves the maxim, that a still tongue makes a wise head. They suppress the truth rather than take the consequences of telling it, and in so doing prove themselves a part of the human family. If they have any thing to say of their masters, it is generally in their masters' favor, especially when speaking to an untried man. I have been frequently asked, when a slave, if I had a kind master, and do not remember ever to have given a negative answer; nor did I, in pursuing this course, consider myself as uttering what was absolutely false; for I always measured the kindness of my master by the standard of kindness set up among slaveholders around us. Moreover, slaves are like other people, and imbibe prejudices quite common to others. They think their own better than that of others. Many, under the influence of this prejudice, think their own masters are better than the masters of other slaves; and this, too, in some cases, when the very reverse is true. Indeed, it is not uncommon for slaves even to fall out and quarrel among themselves about the relative goodness of their masters, each contending for the superior goodness of his own over that of the others. At the very same time, they mutually execrate their masters when viewed separately. It was so on our plantation. When Colonel Lloyd's slaves met the slaves of Jacob Jepson, they seldom parted without a quarrel about their masters; Colonel Lloyd's slaves contending that he was the richest, and Mr. Jepson's slaves that he was the smartest, and most of a man. Colonel Lloyd's slaves would boast his ability to buy and sell Jacob Jepson. Mr. Jepson's slaves would boast his ability to whip Colonel Lloyd. These quarrels would almost always end in a fight between the parties, and those that whipped were supposed to have gained the point at issue. They seemed to think that the greatness of their masters was transferable to themselves. It was considered as being bad enough to be a slave; but to be a poor man's slave was deemed a disgrace indeed! CHAPTER IV Mr. Hopkins remained but a short time in the office of overseer. Why his career was so short, I do not know, but suppose he lacked the necessary severity to suit Colonel Lloyd. Mr. Hopkins was succeeded by Mr. Austin Gore, a man possessing, in an eminent degree, all those traits of character indispensable to what is called a first-rate overseer. Mr. Gore had served Colonel Lloyd, in the capacity of overseer, upon one of the out-farms, and had shown himself worthy of the high station of overseer upon the home or Great House Farm. Mr. Gore was proud, ambitious, and persevering. He was artful, cruel, and obdurate. He was just the man for such a place, and it was just the place for such a man. It afforded scope for the full exercise of all his powers, and he seemed to be perfectly at home in it. He was one of those who could torture the slightest look, word, or gesture, on the part of the slave, into impudence, and would treat it accordingly. There must be no answering back to him; no explanation was allowed a slave, showing himself to have been wrongfully accused. Mr. Gore acted fully up to the maxim laid down by slaveholders,--"It is better that a dozen slaves should suffer under the lash, than that the overseer should be convicted, in the presence of the slaves, of having been at fault." No matter how innocent a slave might be--it availed him nothing, when accused by Mr. Gore of any misdemeanor. To be accused was to be convicted, and to be convicted was to be punished; the one always following the other with immutable certainty. To escape punishment was to escape accusation; and few slaves had the fortune to do either, under the overseership of Mr. Gore. He was just proud enough to demand the most debasing homage of the slave, and quite servile enough to crouch, himself, at the feet of the master. He was ambitious enough to be contented with nothing short of the highest rank of overseers, and persevering enough to reach the height of his ambition. He was cruel enough to inflict the severest punishment, artful enough to descend to the lowest trickery, and obdurate enough to be insensible to the voice of a reproving conscience. He was, of all the overseers, the most dreaded by the slaves. His presence was painful; his eye flashed confusion; and seldom was his sharp, shrill voice heard, without producing horror and trembling in their ranks. Mr. Gore was a grave man, and, though a young man, he indulged in no jokes, said no funny words, seldom smiled. His words were in perfect keeping with his looks, and his looks were in perfect keeping with his words. Overseers will sometimes indulge in a witty word, even with the slaves; not so with Mr. Gore. He spoke but to command, and commanded but to be obeyed; he dealt sparingly with his words, and bountifully with his whip, never using the former where the latter would answer as well. When he whipped, he seemed to do so from a sense of duty, and feared no consequences. He did nothing reluctantly, no matter how disagreeable; always at his post, never inconsistent. He never promised but to fulfil. He was, in a word, a man of the most inflexible firmness and stone-like coolness. His savage barbarity was equalled only by the consummate coolness with which he committed the grossest and most savage deeds upon the slaves under his charge. Mr. Gore once undertook to whip one of Colonel Lloyd's slaves, by the name of Demby. He had given Demby but few stripes, when, to get rid of the scourging, he ran and plunged himself into a creek, and stood there at the depth of his shoulders, refusing to come out. Mr. Gore told him that he would give him three calls, and that, if he did not come out at the third call, he would shoot him. The first call was given. Demby made no response, but stood his ground. The second and third calls were given with the same result. Mr. Gore then, without consultation or deliberation with any one, not even giving Demby an additional call, raised his musket to his face, taking deadly aim at his standing victim, and in an instant poor Demby was no more. His mangled body sank out of sight, and blood and brains marked the water where he had stood. A thrill of horror flashed through every soul upon the plantation, excepting Mr. Gore. He alone seemed cool and collected. He was asked by Colonel Lloyd and my old master, why he resorted to this extraordinary expedient. His reply was, (as well as I can remember,) that Demby had become unmanageable. He was setting a dangerous example to the other slaves,--one which, if suffered to pass without some such demonstration on his part, would finally lead to the total subversion of all rule and order upon the plantation. He argued that if one slave refused to be corrected, and escaped with his life, the other slaves would soon copy the example; the result of which would be, the freedom of the slaves, and the enslavement of the whites. Mr. Gore's defence was satisfactory. He was continued in his station as overseer upon the home plantation. His fame as an overseer went abroad. His horrid crime was not even submitted to judicial investigation. It was committed in the presence of slaves, and they of course could neither institute a suit, nor testify against him; and thus the guilty perpetrator of one of the bloodiest and most foul murders goes unwhipped of justice, and uncensured by the community in which he lives. Mr. Gore lived in St. Michael's, Talbot county, Maryland, when I left there; and if he is still alive, he very probably lives there now; and if so, he is now, as he was then, as highly esteemed and as much respected as though his guilty soul had not been stained with his brother's blood. I speak advisedly when I say this,--that killing a slave, or any colored person, in Talbot county, Maryland, is not treated as a crime, either by the courts or the community. Mr. Thomas Lanman, of St. Michael's, killed two slaves, one of whom he killed with a hatchet, by knocking his brains out. He used to boast of the commission of the awful and bloody deed. I have heard him do so laughingly, saying, among other things, that he was the only benefactor of his country in the company, and that when others would do as much as he had done, we should be relieved of "the d----d niggers." The wife of Mr. Giles Hicks, living but a short distance from where I used to live, murdered my wife's cousin, a young girl between fifteen and sixteen years of age, mangling her person in the most horrible manner, breaking her nose and breastbone with a stick, so that the poor girl expired in a few hours afterward. She was immediately buried, but had not been in her untimely grave but a few hours before she was taken up and examined by the coroner, who decided that she had come to her death by severe beating. The offence for which this girl was thus murdered was this:--She had been set that night to mind Mrs. Hicks's baby, and during the night she fell asleep, and the baby cried. She, having lost her rest for several nights previous, did not hear the crying. They were both in the room with Mrs. Hicks. Mrs. Hicks, finding the girl slow to move, jumped from her bed, seized an oak stick of wood by the fireplace, and with it broke the girl's nose and breastbone, and thus ended her life. I will not say that this most horrid murder produced no sensation in the community. It did produce sensation, but not enough to bring the murderess to punishment. There was a warrant issued for her arrest, but it was never served. Thus she escaped not only punishment, but even the pain of being arraigned before a court for her horrid crime. Whilst I am detailing bloody deeds which took place during my stay on Colonel Lloyd's plantation, I will briefly narrate another, which occurred about the same time as the murder of Demby by Mr. Gore. Colonel Lloyd's slaves were in the habit of spending a part of their nights and Sundays in fishing for oysters, and in this way made up the deficiency of their scanty allowance. An old man belonging to Colonel Lloyd, while thus engaged, happened to get beyond the limits of Colonel Lloyd's, and on the premises of Mr. Beal Bondly. At this trespass, Mr. Bondly took offence, and with his musket came down to the shore, and blew its deadly contents into the poor old man. Mr. Bondly came over to see Colonel Lloyd the next day, whether to pay him for his property, or to justify himself in what he had done, I know not. At any rate, this whole fiendish transaction was soon hushed up. There was very little said about it at all, and nothing done. It was a common saying, even among little white boys, that it was worth a half-cent to kill a "nigger," and a half-cent to bury one. CHAPTER V As to my own treatment while I lived on Colonel Lloyd's plantation, it was very similar to that of the other slave children. I was not old enough to work in the field, and there being little else than field work to do, I had a great deal of leisure time. The most I had to do was to drive up the cows at evening, keep the fowls out of the garden, keep the front yard clean, and run of errands for my old master's daughter, Mrs. Lucretia Auld. The most of my leisure time I spent in helping Master Daniel Lloyd in finding his birds, after he had shot them. My connection with Master Daniel was of some advantage to me. He became quite attached to me, and was a sort of protector of me. He would not allow the older boys to impose upon me, and would divide his cakes with me. I was seldom whipped by my old master, and suffered little from any thing else than hunger and cold. I suffered much from hunger, but much more from cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter, I was kept almost naked--no shoes, no stockings, no jacket, no trousers, nothing on but a coarse tow linen shirt, reaching only to my knees. I had no bed. I must have perished with cold, but that, the coldest nights, I used to steal a bag which was used for carrying corn to the mill. I would crawl into this bag, and there sleep on the cold, damp, clay floor, with my head in and feet out. My feet have been so cracked with the frost, that the pen with which I am writing might be laid in the gashes. We were not regularly allowanced. Our food was coarse corn meal boiled. This was called _mush_. It was put into a large wooden tray or trough, and set down upon the ground. The children were then called, like so many pigs, and like so many pigs they would come and devour the mush; some with oyster-shells, others with pieces of shingle, some with naked hands, and none with spoons. He that ate fastest got most; he that was strongest secured the best place; and few left the trough satisfied. I was probably between seven and eight years old when I left Colonel Lloyd's plantation. I left it with joy. I shall never forget the ecstasy with which I received the intelligence that my old master (Anthony) had determined to let me go to Baltimore, to live with Mr. Hugh Auld, brother to my old master's son-in-law, Captain Thomas Auld. I received this information about three days before my departure. They were three of the happiest days I ever enjoyed. I spent the most part of all these three days in the creek, washing off the plantation scurf, and preparing myself for my departure. The pride of appearance which this would indicate was not my own. I spent the time in washing, not so much because I wished to, but because Mrs. Lucretia had told me I must get all the dead skin off my feet and knees before I could go to Baltimore; for the people in Baltimore were very cleanly, and would laugh at me if I looked dirty. Besides, she was going to give me a pair of trousers, which I should not put on unless I got all the dirt off me. The thought of owning a pair of trousers was great indeed! It was almost a sufficient motive, not only to make me take off what would be called by pig-drovers the mange, but the skin itself. I went at it in good earnest, working for the first time with the hope of reward. The ties that ordinarily bind children to their homes were all suspended in my case. I found no severe trial in my departure. My home was charmless; it was not home to me; on parting from it, I could not feel that I was leaving any thing which I could have enjoyed by staying. My mother was dead, my grandmother lived far off, so that I seldom saw her. I had two sisters and one brother, that lived in the same house with me; but the early separation of us from our mother had well nigh blotted the fact of our relationship from our memories. I looked for home elsewhere, and was confident of finding none which I should relish less than the one which I was leaving. If, however, I found in my new home hardship, hunger, whipping, and nakedness, I had the consolation that I should not have escaped any one of them by staying. Having already had more than a taste of them in the house of my old master, and having endured them there, I very naturally inferred my ability to endure them elsewhere, and especially at Baltimore; for I had something of the feeling about Baltimore that is expressed in the proverb, that "being hanged in England is preferable to dying a natural death in Ireland." I had the strongest desire to see Baltimore. Cousin Tom, though not fluent in speech, had inspired me with that desire by his eloquent description of the place. I could never point out any thing at the Great House, no matter how beautiful or powerful, but that he had seen something at Baltimore far exceeding, both in beauty and strength, the object which I pointed out to him. Even the Great House itself, with all its pictures, was far inferior to many buildings in Baltimore. So strong was my desire, that I thought a gratification of it would fully compensate for whatever loss of comforts I should sustain by the exchange. I left without a regret, and with the highest hopes of future happiness. We sailed out of Miles River for Baltimore on a Saturday morning. I remember only the day of the week, for at that time I had no knowledge of the days of the month, nor the months of the year. On setting sail, I walked aft, and gave to Colonel Lloyd's plantation what I hoped would be the last look. I then placed myself in the bows of the sloop, and there spent the remainder of the day in looking ahead, interesting myself in what was in the distance rather than in things near by or behind. In the afternoon of that day, we reached Annapolis, the capital of the State. We stopped but a few moments, so that I had no time to go on shore. It was the first large town that I had ever seen, and though it would look small compared with some of our New England factory villages, I thought it a wonderful place for its size--more imposing even than the Great House Farm! We arrived at Baltimore early on Sunday morning, landing at Smith's Wharf, not far from Bowley's Wharf. We had on board the sloop a large flock of sheep; and after aiding in driving them to the slaughterhouse of Mr. Curtis on Louden Slater's Hill, I was conducted by Rich, one of the hands belonging on board of the sloop, to my new home in Alliciana Street, near Mr. Gardner's ship-yard, on Fells Point. Mr. and Mrs. Auld were both at home, and met me at the door with their little son Thomas, to take care of whom I had been given. And here I saw what I had never seen before; it was a white face beaming with the most kindly emotions; it was the face of my new mistress, Sophia Auld. I wish I could describe the rapture that flashed through my soul as I beheld it. It was a new and strange sight to me, brightening up my pathway with the light of happiness. Little Thomas was told, there was his Freddy,--and I was told to take care of little Thomas; and thus I entered upon the duties of my new home with the most cheering prospect ahead. I look upon my departure from Colonel Lloyd's plantation as one of the most interesting events of my life. It is possible, and even quite probable, that but for the mere circumstance of being removed from that plantation to Baltimore, I should have to-day, instead of being here seated by my own table, in the enjoyment of freedom and the happiness of home, writing this Narrative, been confined in the galling chains of slavery. Going to live at Baltimore laid the foundation, and opened the gateway, to all my subsequent prosperity. I have ever regarded it as the first plain manifestation of that kind providence which has ever since attended me, and marked my life with so many favors. I regarded the selection of myself as being somewhat remarkable. There were a number of slave children that might have been sent from the plantation to Baltimore. There were those younger, those older, and those of the same age. I was chosen from among them all, and was the first, last, and only choice. I may be deemed superstitious, and even egotistical, in regarding this event as a special interposition of divine Providence in my favor. But I should be false to the earliest sentiments of my soul, if I suppressed the opinion. I prefer to be true to myself, even at the hazard of incurring the ridicule of others, rather than to be false, and incur my own abhorrence. From my earliest recollection, I date the entertainment of a deep conviction that slavery would not always be able to hold me within its foul embrace; and in the darkest hours of my career in slavery, this living word of faith and spirit of hope departed not from me, but remained like ministering angels to cheer me through the gloom. This good spirit was from God, and to him I offer thanksgiving and praise. CHAPTER VI My new mistress proved to be all she appeared when I first met her at the door,--a woman of the kindest heart and finest feelings. She had never had a slave under her control previously to myself, and prior to her marriage she had been dependent upon her own industry for a living. She was by trade a weaver; and by constant application to her business, she had been in a good degree preserved from the blighting and dehumanizing effects of slavery. I was utterly astonished at her goodness. I scarcely knew how to behave towards her. She was entirely unlike any other white woman I had ever seen. I could not approach her as I was accustomed to approach other white ladies. My early instruction was all out of place. The crouching servility, usually so acceptable a quality in a slave, did not answer when manifested toward her. Her favor was not gained by it; she seemed to be disturbed by it. She did not deem it impudent or unmannerly for a slave to look her in the face. The meanest slave was put fully at ease in her presence, and none left without feeling better for having seen her. Her face was made of heavenly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music. But, alas! this kind heart had but a short time to remain such. The fatal poison of irresponsible power was already in her hands, and soon commenced its infernal work. That cheerful eye, under the influence of slavery, soon became red with rage; that voice, made all of sweet accord, changed to one of harsh and horrid discord; and that angelic face gave place to that of a demon. Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Auld, she very kindly commenced to teach me the A, B, C. After I had learned this, she assisted me in learning to spell words of three or four letters. Just at this point of my progress, Mr. Auld found out what was going on, and at once forbade Mrs. Auld to instruct me further, telling her, among other things, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to teach a slave to read. To use his own words, further, he said, "If you give a nigger an inch, he will take an ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obey his master--to do as he is told to do. Learning would _spoil_ the best nigger in the world. Now," said he, "if you teach that nigger (speaking of myself) how to read, there would be no keeping him. It would forever unfit him to be a slave. He would at once become unmanageable, and of no value to his master. As to himself, it could do him no good, but a great deal of harm. It would make him discontented and unhappy." These words sank deep into my heart, stirred up sentiments within that lay slumbering, and called into existence an entirely new train of thought. It was a new and special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious things, with which my youthful understanding had struggled, but struggled in vain. I now understood what had been to me a most perplexing difficulty--to wit, the white man's power to enslave the black man. It was a grand achievement, and I prized it highly. From that moment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom. It was just what I wanted, and I got it at a time when I the least expected it. Whilst I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind mistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the merest accident, I had gained from my master. Though conscious of the difficulty of learning without a teacher, I set out with high hope, and a fixed purpose, at whatever cost of trouble, to learn how to read. The very decided manner with which he spoke, and strove to impress his wife with the evil consequences of giving me instruction, served to convince me that he was deeply sensible of the truths he was uttering. It gave me the best assurance that I might rely with the utmost confidence on the results which, he said, would flow from teaching me to read. What he most dreaded, that I most desired. What he most loved, that I most hated. That which to him was a great evil, to be carefully shunned, was to me a great good, to be diligently sought; and the argument which he so warmly urged, against my learning to read, only served to inspire me with a desire and determination to learn. In learning to read, I owe almost as much to the bitter opposition of my master, as to the kindly aid of my mistress. I acknowledge the benefit of both. I had resided but a short time in Baltimore before I observed a marked difference, in the treatment of slaves, from that which I had witnessed in the country. A city slave is almost a freeman, compared with a slave on the plantation. He is much better fed and clothed, and enjoys privileges altogether unknown to the slave on the plantation. There is a vestige of decency, a sense of shame, that does much to curb and check those outbreaks of atrocious cruelty so commonly enacted upon the plantation. He is a desperate slaveholder, who will shock the humanity of his non-slaveholding neighbors with the cries of his lacerated slave. Few are willing to incur the odium attaching to the reputation of being a cruel master; and above all things, they would not be known as not giving a slave enough to eat. Every city slaveholder is anxious to have it known of him, that he feeds his slaves well; and it is due to them to say, that most of them do give their slaves enough to eat. There are, however, some painful exceptions to this rule. Directly opposite to us, on Philpot Street, lived Mr. Thomas Hamilton. He owned two slaves. Their names were Henrietta and Mary. Henrietta was about twenty-two years of age, Mary was about fourteen; and of all the mangled and emaciated creatures I ever looked upon, these two were the most so. His heart must be harder than stone, that could look upon these unmoved. The head, neck, and shoulders of Mary were literally cut to pieces. I have frequently felt her head, and found it nearly covered with festering sores, caused by the lash of her cruel mistress. I do not know that her master ever whipped her, but I have been an eye-witness to the cruelty of Mrs. Hamilton. I used to be in Mr. Hamilton's house nearly every day. Mrs. Hamilton used to sit in a large chair in the middle of the room, with a heavy cowskin always by her side, and scarce an hour passed during the day but was marked by the blood of one of these slaves. The girls seldom passed her without her saying, "Move faster, you _black gip!_" at the same time giving them a blow with the cowskin over the head or shoulders, often drawing the blood. She would then say, "Take that, you _black gip!_" continuing, "If you don't move faster, I'll move you!" Added to the cruel lashings to which these slaves were subjected, they were kept nearly half-starved. They seldom knew what it was to eat a full meal. I have seen Mary contending with the pigs for the offal thrown into the street. So much was Mary kicked and cut to pieces, that she was oftener called "_pecked_" than by her name. CHAPTER VII I lived in Master Hugh's family about seven years. During this time, I succeeded in learning to read and write. In accomplishing this, I was compelled to resort to various stratagems. I had no regular teacher. My mistress, who had kindly commenced to instruct me, had, in compliance with the advice and direction of her husband, not only ceased to instruct, but had set her face against my being instructed by any one else. It is due, however, to my mistress to say of her, that she did not adopt this course of treatment immediately. She at first lacked the depravity indispensable to shutting me up in mental darkness. It was at least necessary for her to have some training in the exercise of irresponsible power, to make her equal to the task of treating me as though I were a brute. My mistress was, as I have said, a kind and tender-hearted woman; and in the simplicity of her soul she commenced, when I first went to live with her, to treat me as she supposed one human being ought to treat another. In entering upon the duties of a slaveholder, she did not seem to perceive that I sustained to her the relation of a mere chattel, and that for her to treat me as a human being was not only wrong, but dangerously so. Slavery proved as injurious to her as it did to me. When I went there, she was a pious, warm, and tender-hearted woman. There was no sorrow or suffering for which she had not a tear. She had bread for the hungry, clothes for the naked, and comfort for every mourner that came within her reach. Slavery soon proved its ability to divest her of these heavenly qualities. Under its influence, the tender heart became stone, and the lamblike disposition gave way to one of tiger-like fierceness. The first step in her downward course was in her ceasing to instruct me. She now commenced to practise her husband's precepts. She finally became even more violent in her opposition than her husband himself. She was not satisfied with simply doing as well as he had commanded; she seemed anxious to do better. Nothing seemed to make her more angry than to see me with a newspaper. She seemed to think that here lay the danger. I have had her rush at me with a face made all up of fury, and snatch from me a newspaper, in a manner that fully revealed her apprehension. She was an apt woman; and a little experience soon demonstrated, to her satisfaction, that education and slavery were incompatible with each other. From this time I was most narrowly watched. If I was in a separate room any considerable length of time, I was sure to be suspected of having a book, and was at once called to give an account of myself. All this, however, was too late. The first step had been taken. Mistress, in teaching me the alphabet, had given me the _inch,_ and no precaution could prevent me from taking the _ell._ The plan which I adopted, and the one by which I was most successful, was that of making friends of all the little white boys whom I met in the street. As many of these as I could, I converted into teachers. With their kindly aid, obtained at different times and in different places, I finally succeeded in learning to read. When I was sent of errands, I always took my book with me, and by going one part of my errand quickly, I found time to get a lesson before my return. I used also to carry bread with me, enough of which was always in the house, and to which I was always welcome; for I was much better off in this regard than many of the poor white children in our neighborhood. This bread I used to bestow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return, would give me that more valuable bread of knowledge. I am strongly tempted to give the names of two or three of those little boys, as a testimonial of the gratitude and affection I bear them; but prudence forbids;--not that it would injure me, but it might embarrass them; for it is almost an unpardonable offence to teach slaves to read in this Christian country. It is enough to say of the dear little fellows, that they lived on Philpot Street, very near Durgin and Bailey's ship-yard. I used to talk this matter of slavery over with them. I would sometimes say to them, I wished I could be as free as they would be when they got to be men. "You will be free as soon as you are twenty-one, _but I am a slave for life!_ Have not I as good a right to be free as you have?" These words used to trouble them; they would express for me the liveliest sympathy, and console me with the hope that something would occur by which I might be free. I was now about twelve years old, and the thought of being _a slave for life_ began to bear heavily upon my heart. Just about this time, I got hold of a book entitled "The Columbian Orator." Every opportunity I got, I used to read this book. Among much of other interesting matter, I found in it a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave was represented as having run away from his master three times. The dialogue represented the conversation which took place between them, when the slave was retaken the third time. In this dialogue, the whole argument in behalf of slavery was brought forward by the master, all of which was disposed of by the slave. The slave was made to say some very smart as well as impressive things in reply to his master--things which had the desired though unexpected effect; for the conversation resulted in the voluntary emancipation of the slave on the part of the master. In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan's mighty speeches on and in behalf of Catholic emancipation. These were choice documents to me. I read them over and over again with unabated interest. They gave tongue to interesting thoughts of my own soul, which had frequently flashed through my mind, and died away for want of utterance. The moral which I gained from the dialogue was the power of truth over the conscience of even a slaveholder. What I got from Sheridan was a bold denunciation of slavery, and a powerful vindication of human rights. The reading of these documents enabled me to utter my thoughts, and to meet the arguments brought forward to sustain slavery; but while they relieved me of one difficulty, they brought on another even more painful than the one of which I was relieved. The more I read, the more I was led to abhor and detest my enslavers. I could regard them in no other light than a band of successful robbers, who had left their homes, and gone to Africa, and stolen us from our homes, and in a strange land reduced us to slavery. I loathed them as being the meanest as well as the most wicked of men. As I read and contemplated the subject, behold! that very discontentment which Master Hugh had predicted would follow my learning to read had already come, to torment and sting my soul to unutterable anguish. As I writhed under it, I would at times feel that learning to read had been a curse rather than a blessing. It had given me a view of my wretched condition, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to the horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out. In moments of agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for their stupidity. I have often wished myself a beast. I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile to my own. Any thing, no matter what, to get rid of thinking! It was this everlasting thinking of my condition that tormented me. There was no getting rid of it. It was pressed upon me by every object within sight or hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver trump of freedom had roused my soul to eternal wakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to disappear no more forever. It was heard in every sound, and seen in every thing. It was ever present to torment me with a sense of my wretched condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing without hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It looked from every star, it smiled in every calm, breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm. I often found myself regretting my own existence, and wishing myself dead; and but for the hope of being free, I have no doubt but that I should have killed myself, or done something for which I should have been killed. While in this state of mind, I was eager to hear any one speak of slavery. I was a ready listener. Every little while, I could hear something about the abolitionists. It was some time before I found what the word meant. It was always used in such connections as to make it an interesting word to me. If a slave ran away and succeeded in getting clear, or if a slave killed his master, set fire to a barn, or did any thing very wrong in the mind of a slaveholder, it was spoken of as the fruit of _abolition._ Hearing the word in this connection very often, I set about learning what it meant. The dictionary afforded me little or no help. I found it was "the act of abolishing;" but then I did not know what was to be abolished. Here I was perplexed. I did not dare to ask any one about its meaning, for I was satisfied that it was something they wanted me to know very little about. After a patient waiting, I got one of our city papers, containing an account of the number of petitions from the north, praying for the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, and of the slave trade between the States. From this time I understood the words _abolition_ and _abolitionist,_ and always drew near when that word was spoken, expecting to hear something of importance to myself and fellow-slaves. The light broke in upon me by degrees. I went one day down on the wharf of Mr. Waters; and seeing two Irishmen unloading a scow of stone, I went, unasked, and helped them. When we had finished, one of them came to me and asked me if I were a slave. I told him I was. He asked, "Are ye a slave for life?" I told him that I was. The good Irishman seemed to be deeply affected by the statement. He said to the other that it was a pity so fine a little fellow as myself should be a slave for life. He said it was a shame to hold me. They both advised me to run away to the north; that I should find friends there, and that I should be free. I pretended not to be interested in what they said, and treated them as if I did not understand them; for I feared they might be treacherous. White men have been known to encourage slaves to escape, and then, to get the reward, catch them and return them to their masters. I was afraid that these seemingly good men might use me so; but I nevertheless remembered their advice, and from that time I resolved to run away. I looked forward to a time at which it would be safe for me to escape. I was too young to think of doing so immediately; besides, I wished to learn how to write, as I might have occasion to write my own pass. I consoled myself with the hope that I should one day find a good chance. Meanwhile, I would learn to write. The idea as to how I might learn to write was suggested to me by being in Durgin and Bailey's ship-yard, and frequently seeing the ship carpenters, after hewing, and getting a piece of timber ready for use, write on the timber the name of that part of the ship for which it was intended. When a piece of timber was intended for the larboard side, it would be marked thus--"L." When a piece was for the starboard side, it would be marked thus--"S." A piece for the larboard side forward, would be marked thus--"L. F." When a piece was for starboard side forward, it would be marked thus--"S. F." For larboard aft, it would be marked thus--"L. A." For starboard aft, it would be marked thus--"S. A." I soon learned the names of these letters, and for what they were intended when placed upon a piece of timber in the ship-yard. I immediately commenced copying them, and in a short time was able to make the four letters named. After that, when I met with any boy who I knew could write, I would tell him I could write as well as he. The next word would be, "I don't believe you. Let me see you try it." I would then make the letters which I had been so fortunate as to learn, and ask him to beat that. In this way I got a good many lessons in writing, which it is quite possible I should never have gotten in any other way. During this time, my copy-book was the board fence, brick wall, and pavement; my pen and ink was a lump of chalk. With these, I learned mainly how to write. I then commenced and continued copying the Italics in Webster's Spelling Book, until I could make them all without looking on the book. By this time, my little Master Thomas had gone to school, and learned how to write, and had written over a number of copy-books. These had been brought home, and shown to some of our near neighbors, and then laid aside. My mistress used to go to class meeting at the Wilk Street meetinghouse every Monday afternoon, and leave me to take care of the house. When left thus, I used to spend the time in writing in the spaces left in Master Thomas's copy-book, copying what he had written. I continued to do this until I could write a hand very similar to that of Master Thomas. Thus, after a long, tedious effort for years, I finally succeeded in learning how to write. CHAPTER VIII In a very short time after I went to live at Baltimore, my old master's youngest son Richard died; and in about three years and six months after his death, my old master, Captain Anthony, died, leaving only his son, Andrew, and daughter, Lucretia, to share his estate. He died while on a visit to see his daughter at Hillsborough. Cut off thus unexpectedly, he left no will as to the disposal of his property. It was therefore necessary to have a valuation of the property, that it might be equally divided between Mrs. Lucretia and Master Andrew. I was immediately sent for, to be valued with the other property. Here again my feelings rose up in detestation of slavery. I had now a new conception of my degraded condition. Prior to this, I had become, if not insensible to my lot, at least partly so. I left Baltimore with a young heart overborne with sadness, and a soul full of apprehension. I took passage with Captain Rowe, in the schooner Wild Cat, and, after a sail of about twenty-four hours, I found myself near the place of my birth. I had now been absent from it almost, if not quite, five years. I, however, remembered the place very well. I was only about five years old when I left it, to go and live with my old master on Colonel Lloyd's plantation; so that I was now between ten and eleven years old. We were all ranked together at the valuation. Men and women, old and young, married and single, were ranked with horses, sheep, and swine. There were horses and men, cattle and women, pigs and children, all holding the same rank in the scale of being, and were all subjected to the same narrow examination. Silvery-headed age and sprightly youth, maids and matrons, had to undergo the same indelicate inspection. At this moment, I saw more clearly than ever the brutalizing effects of slavery upon both slave and slaveholder. After the valuation, then came the division. I have no language to express the high excitement and deep anxiety which were felt among us poor slaves during this time. Our fate for life was now to be decided. We had no more voice in that decision than the brutes among whom we were ranked. A single word from the white men was enough--against all our wishes, prayers, and entreaties--to sunder forever the dearest friends, dearest kindred, and strongest ties known to human beings. In addition to the pain of separation, there was the horrid dread of falling into the hands of Master Andrew. He was known to us all as being a most cruel wretch,--a common drunkard, who had, by his reckless mismanagement and profligate dissipation, already wasted a large portion of his father's property. We all felt that we might as well be sold at once to the Georgia traders, as to pass into his hands; for we knew that that would be our inevitable condition,--a condition held by us all in the utmost horror and dread. I suffered more anxiety than most of my fellow-slaves. I had known what it was to be kindly treated; they had known nothing of the kind. They had seen little or nothing of the world. They were in very deed men and women of sorrow, and acquainted with grief. Their backs had been made familiar with the bloody lash, so that they had become callous; mine was yet tender; for while at Baltimore I got few whippings, and few slaves could boast of a kinder master and mistress than myself; and the thought of passing out of their hands into those of Master Andrew--a man who, but a few days before, to give me a sample of his bloody disposition, took my little brother by the throat, threw him on the ground, and with the heel of his boot stamped upon his head till the blood gushed from his nose and ears--was well calculated to make me anxious as to my fate. After he had committed this savage outrage upon my brother, he turned to me, and said that was the way he meant to serve me one of these days,--meaning, I suppose, when I came into his possession. Thanks to a kind Providence, I fell to the portion of Mrs. Lucretia, and was sent immediately back to Baltimore, to live again in the family of Master Hugh. Their joy at my return equalled their sorrow at my departure. It was a glad day to me. I had escaped a worse than lion's jaws. I was absent from Baltimore, for the purpose of valuation and division, just about one month, and it seemed to have been six. Very soon after my return to Baltimore, my mistress, Lucretia, died, leaving her husband and one child, Amanda; and in a very short time after her death, Master Andrew died. Now all the property of my old master, slaves included, was in the hands of strangers,--strangers who had had nothing to do with accumulating it. Not a slave was left free. All remained slaves, from the youngest to the oldest. If any one thing in my experience, more than another, served to deepen my conviction of the infernal character of slavery, and to fill me with unutterable loathing of slaveholders, it was their base ingratitude to my poor old grandmother. She had served my old master faithfully from youth to old age. She had been the source of all his wealth; she had peopled his plantation with slaves; she had become a great grandmother in his service. She had rocked him in infancy, attended him in childhood, served him through life, and at his death wiped from his icy brow the cold death-sweat, and closed his eyes forever. She was nevertheless left a slave--a slave for life--a slave in the hands of strangers; and in their hands she saw her children, her grandchildren, and her great-grandchildren, divided, like so many sheep, without being gratified with the small privilege of a single word, as to their or her own destiny. And, to cap the climax of their base ingratitude and fiendish barbarity, my grandmother, who was now very old, having outlived my old master and all his children, having seen the beginning and end of all of them, and her present owners finding she was of but little value, her frame already racked with the pains of old age, and complete helplessness fast stealing over her once active limbs, they took her to the woods, built her a little hut, put up a little mud-chimney, and then made her welcome to the privilege of supporting herself there in perfect loneliness; thus virtually turning her out to die! If my poor old grandmother now lives, she lives to suffer in utter loneliness; she lives to remember and mourn over the loss of children, the loss of grandchildren, and the loss of great-grandchildren. They are, in the language of the slave's poet, Whittier,-- "Gone, gone, sold and gone To the rice swamp dank and lone, Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings, Where the noisome insect stings, Where the fever-demon strews Poison with the falling dews, Where the sickly sunbeams glare Through the hot and misty air:&mdash; Gone, gone, sold and gone To the rice swamp dank and lone, From Virginia hills and waters&mdash; Woe is me, my stolen daughters!" The hearth is desolate. The children, the unconscious children, who once sang and danced in her presence, are gone. She gropes her way, in the darkness of age, for a drink of water. Instead of the voices of her children, she hears by day the moans of the dove, and by night the screams of the hideous owl. All is gloom. The grave is at the door. And now, when weighed down by the pains and aches of old age, when the head inclines to the feet, when the beginning and ending of human existence meet, and helpless infancy and painful old age combine together--at this time, this most needful time, the time for the exercise of that tenderness and affection which children only can exercise towards a declining parent--my poor old grandmother, the devoted mother of twelve children, is left all alone, in yonder little hut, before a few dim embers. She stands--she sits--she staggers--she falls--she groans--she dies--and there are none of her children or grandchildren present, to wipe from her wrinkled brow the cold sweat of death, or to place beneath the sod her fallen remains. Will not a righteous God visit for these things? In about two years after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, Master Thomas married his second wife. Her name was Rowena Hamilton. She was the eldest daughter of Mr. William Hamilton. Master now lived in St. Michael's. Not long after his marriage, a misunderstanding took place between himself and Master Hugh; and as a means of punishing his brother, he took me from him to live with himself at St. Michael's. Here I underwent another most painful separation. It, however, was not so severe as the one I dreaded at the division of property; for, during this interval, a great change had taken place in Master Hugh and his once kind and affectionate wife. The influence of brandy upon him, and of slavery upon her, had effected a disastrous change in the characters of both; so that, as far as they were concerned, I thought I had little to lose by the change. But it was not to them that I was attached. It was to those little Baltimore boys that I felt the strongest attachment. I had received many good lessons from them, and was still receiving them, and the thought of leaving them was painful indeed. I was leaving, too, without the hope of ever being allowed to return. Master Thomas had said he would never let me return again. The barrier betwixt himself and brother he considered impassable. I then had to regret that I did not at least make the attempt to carry out my resolution to run away; for the chances of success are tenfold greater from the city than from the country. I sailed from Baltimore for St. Michael's in the sloop Amanda, Captain Edward Dodson. On my passage, I paid particular attention to the direction which the steamboats took to go to Philadelphia. I found, instead of going down, on reaching North Point they went up the bay, in a north-easterly direction. I deemed this knowledge of the utmost importance. My determination to run away was again revived. I resolved to wait only so long as the offering of a favorable opportunity. When that came, I was determined to be off. CHAPTER IX I have now reached a period of my life when I can give dates. I left Baltimore, and went to live with Master Thomas Auld, at St. Michael's, in March, 1832. It was now more than seven years since I lived with him in the family of my old master, on Colonel Lloyd's plantation. We of course were now almost entire strangers to each other. He was to me a new master, and I to him a new slave. I was ignorant of his temper and disposition; he was equally so of mine. A very short time, however, brought us into full acquaintance with each other. I was made acquainted with his wife not less than with himself. They were well matched, being equally mean and cruel. I was now, for the first time during a space of more than seven years, made to feel the painful gnawings of hunger--a something which I had not experienced before since I left Colonel Lloyd's plantation. It went hard enough with me then, when I could look back to no period at which I had enjoyed a sufficiency. It was tenfold harder after living in Master Hugh's family, where I had always had enough to eat, and of that which was good. I have said Master Thomas was a mean man. He was so. Not to give a slave enough to eat, is regarded as the most aggravated development of meanness even among slaveholders. The rule is, no matter how coarse the food, only let there be enough of it. This is the theory; and in the part of Maryland from which I came, it is the general practice,--though there are many exceptions. Master Thomas gave us enough of neither coarse nor fine food. There were four slaves of us in the kitchen--my sister Eliza, my aunt Priscilla, Henny, and myself; and we were allowed less than a half of a bushel of corn-meal per week, and very little else, either in the shape of meat or vegetables. It was not enough for us to subsist upon. We were therefore reduced to the wretched necessity of living at the expense of our neighbors. This we did by begging and stealing, whichever came handy in the time of need, the one being considered as legitimate as the other. A great many times have we poor creatures been nearly perishing with hunger, when food in abundance lay mouldering in the safe and smoke-house, and our pious mistress was aware of the fact; and yet that mistress and her husband would kneel every morning, and pray that God would bless them in basket and store! Bad as all slaveholders are, we seldom meet one destitute of every element of character commanding respect. My master was one of this rare sort. I do not know of one single noble act ever performed by him. The leading trait in his character was meanness; and if there were any other element in his nature, it was made subject to this. He was mean; and, like most other mean men, he lacked the ability to conceal his meanness. Captain Auld was not born a slaveholder. He had been a poor man, master only of a Bay craft. He came into possession of all his slaves by marriage; and of all men, adopted slaveholders are the worst. He was cruel, but cowardly. He commanded without firmness. In the enforcement of his rules, he was at times rigid, and at times lax. At times, he spoke to his slaves with the firmness of Napoleon and the fury of a demon; at other times, he might well be mistaken for an inquirer who had lost his way. He did nothing of himself. He might have passed for a lion, but for his ears. In all things noble which he attempted, his own meanness shone most conspicuous. His airs, words, and actions, were the airs, words, and actions of born slaveholders, and, being assumed, were awkward enough. He was not even a good imitator. He possessed all the disposition to deceive, but wanted the power. Having no resources within himself, he was compelled to be the copyist of many, and being such, he was forever the victim of inconsistency; and of consequence he was an object of contempt, and was held as such even by his slaves. The luxury of having slaves of his own to wait upon him was something new and unprepared for. He was a slaveholder without the ability to hold slaves. He found himself incapable of managing his slaves either by force, fear, or fraud. We seldom called him "master;" we generally called him "Captain Auld," and were hardly disposed to title him at all. I doubt not that our conduct had much to do with making him appear awkward, and of consequence fretful. Our want of reverence for him must have perplexed him greatly. He wished to have us call him master, but lacked the firmness necessary to command us to do so. His wife used to insist upon our calling him so, but to no purpose. In August, 1832, my master attended a Methodist camp-meeting held in the Bay-side, Talbot county, and there experienced religion. I indulged a faint hope that his conversion would lead him to emancipate his slaves, and that, if he did not do this, it would, at any rate, make him more kind and humane. I was disappointed in both these respects. It neither made him to be humane to his slaves, nor to emancipate them. If it had any effect on his character, it made him more cruel and hateful in all his ways; for I believe him to have been a much worse man after his conversion than before. Prior to his conversion, he relied upon his own depravity to shield and sustain him in his savage barbarity; but after his conversion, he found religious sanction and support for his slaveholding cruelty. He made the greatest pretensions to piety. His house was the house of prayer. He prayed morning, noon, and night. He very soon distinguished himself among his brethren, and was soon made a class-leader and exhorter. His activity in revivals was great, and he proved himself an instrument in the hands of the church in converting many souls. His house was the preachers' home. They used to take great pleasure in coming there to put up; for while he starved us, he stuffed them. We have had three or four preachers there at a time. The names of those who used to come most frequently while I lived there, were Mr. Storks, Mr. Ewery, Mr. Humphry, and Mr. Hickey. I have also seen Mr. George Cookman at our house. We slaves loved Mr. Cookman. We believed him to be a good man. We thought him instrumental in getting Mr. Samuel Harrison, a very rich slaveholder, to emancipate his slaves; and by some means got the impression that he was laboring to effect the emancipation of all the slaves. When he was at our house, we were sure to be called in to prayers. When the others were there, we were sometimes called in and sometimes not. Mr. Cookman took more notice of us than either of the other ministers. He could not come among us without betraying his sympathy for us, and, stupid as we were, we had the sagacity to see it. While I lived with my master in St. Michael's, there was a white young man, a Mr. Wilson, who proposed to keep a Sabbath school for the instruction of such slaves as might be disposed to learn to read the New Testament. We met but three times, when Mr. West and Mr. Fairbanks, both class-leaders, with many others, came upon us with sticks and other missiles, drove us off, and forbade us to meet again. Thus ended our little Sabbath school in the pious town of St. Michael's. I have said my master found religious sanction for his cruelty. As an example, I will state one of many facts going to prove the charge. I have seen him tie up a lame young woman, and whip her with a heavy cowskin upon her naked shoulders, causing the warm red blood to drip; and, in justification of the bloody deed, he would quote this passage of Scripture--"He that knoweth his master's will, and doeth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes." Master would keep this lacerated young woman tied up in this horrid situation four or five hours at a time. I have known him to tie her up early in the morning, and whip her before breakfast; leave her, go to his store, return at dinner, and whip her again, cutting her in the places already made raw with his cruel lash. The secret of master's cruelty toward "Henny" is found in the fact of her being almost helpless. When quite a child, she fell into the fire, and burned herself horribly. Her hands were so burnt that she never got the use of them. She could do very little but bear heavy burdens. She was to master a bill of expense; and as he was a mean man, she was a constant offence to him. He seemed desirous of getting the poor girl out of existence. He gave her away once to his sister; but, being a poor gift, she was not disposed to keep her. Finally, my benevolent master, to use his own words, "set her adrift to take care of herself." Here was a recently-converted man, holding on upon the mother, and at the same time turning out her helpless child, to starve and die! Master Thomas was one of the many pious slaveholders who hold slaves for the very charitable purpose of taking care of them. My master and myself had quite a number of differences. He found me unsuitable to his purpose. My city life, he said, had had a very pernicious effect upon me. It had almost ruined me for every good purpose, and fitted me for every thing which was bad. One of my greatest faults was that of letting his horse run away, and go down to his father-in-law's farm, which was about five miles from St. Michael's. I would then have to go after it. My reason for this kind of carelessness, or carefulness, was, that I could always get something to eat when I went there. Master William Hamilton, my master's father-in-law, always gave his slaves enough to eat. I never left there hungry, no matter how great the need of my speedy return. Master Thomas at length said he would stand it no longer. I had lived with him nine months, during which time he had given me a number of severe whippings, all to no good purpose. He resolved to put me out, as he said, to be broken; and, for this purpose, he let me for one year to a man named Edward Covey. Mr. Covey was a poor man, a farm-renter. He rented the place upon which he lived, as also the hands with which he tilled it. Mr. Covey had acquired a very high reputation for breaking young slaves, and this reputation was of immense value to him. It enabled him to get his farm tilled with much less expense to himself than he could have had it done without such a reputation. Some slaveholders thought it not much loss to allow Mr. Covey to have their slaves one year, for the sake of the training to which they were subjected, without any other compensation. He could hire young help with great ease, in consequence of this reputation. Added to the natural good qualities of Mr. Covey, he was a professor of religion--a pious soul--a member and a class-leader in the Methodist church. All of this added weight to his reputation as a "nigger-breaker." I was aware of all the facts, having been made acquainted with them by a young man who had lived there. I nevertheless made the change gladly; for I was sure of getting enough to eat, which is not the smallest consideration to a hungry man. CHAPTER X I had left Master Thomas's house, and went to live with Mr. Covey, on the 1st of January, 1833. I was now, for the first time in my life, a field hand. In my new employment, I found myself even more awkward than a country boy appeared to be in a large city. I had been at my new home but one week before Mr. Covey gave me a very severe whipping, cutting my back, causing the blood to run, and raising ridges on my flesh as large as my little finger. The details of this affair are as follows: Mr. Covey sent me, very early in the morning of one of our coldest days in the month of January, to the woods, to get a load of wood. He gave me a team of unbroken oxen. He told me which was the in-hand ox, and which the off-hand one. He then tied the end of a large rope around the horns of the in-hand ox, and gave me the other end of it, and told me, if the oxen started to run, that I must hold on upon the rope. I had never driven oxen before, and of course I was very awkward. I, however, succeeded in getting to the edge of the woods with little difficulty; but I had got a very few rods into the woods, when the oxen took fright, and started full tilt, carrying the cart against trees, and over stumps, in the most frightful manner. I expected every moment that my brains would be dashed out against the trees. After running thus for a considerable distance, they finally upset the cart, dashing it with great force against a tree, and threw themselves into a dense thicket. How I escaped death, I do not know. There I was, entirely alone, in a thick wood, in a place new to me. My cart was upset and shattered, my oxen were entangled among the young trees, and there was none to help me. After a long spell of effort, I succeeded in getting my cart righted, my oxen disentangled, and again yoked to the cart. I now proceeded with my team to the place where I had, the day before, been chopping wood, and loaded my cart pretty heavily, thinking in this way to tame my oxen. I then proceeded on my way home. I had now consumed one half of the day. I got out of the woods safely, and now felt out of danger. I stopped my oxen to open the woods gate; and just as I did so, before I could get hold of my ox-rope, the oxen again started, rushed through the gate, catching it between the wheel and the body of the cart, tearing it to pieces, and coming within a few inches of crushing me against the gate-post. Thus twice, in one short day, I escaped death by the merest chance. On my return, I told Mr. Covey what had happened, and how it happened. He ordered me to return to the woods again immediately. I did so, and he followed on after me. Just as I got into the woods, he came up and told me to stop my cart, and that he would teach me how to trifle away my time, and break gates. He then went to a large gum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches, and, after trimming them up neatly with his pocketknife, he ordered me to take off my clothes. I made him no answer, but stood with my clothes on. He repeated his order. I still made him no answer, nor did I move to strip myself. Upon this he rushed at me with the fierceness of a tiger, tore off my clothes, and lashed me till he had worn out his switches, cutting me so savagely as to leave the marks visible for a long time after. This whipping was the first of a number just like it, and for similar offences. I lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the first six months, of that year, scarce a week passed without his whipping me. I was seldom free from a sore back. My awkwardness was almost always his excuse for whipping me. We were worked fully up to the point of endurance. Long before day we were up, our horses fed, and by the first approach of day we were off to the field with our hoes and ploughing teams. Mr. Covey gave us enough to eat, but scarce time to eat it. We were often less than five minutes taking our meals. We were often in the field from the first approach of day till its last lingering ray had left us; and at saving-fodder time, midnight often caught us in the field binding blades. Covey would be out with us. The way he used to stand it, was this. He would spend the most of his afternoons in bed. He would then come out fresh in the evening, ready to urge us on with his words, example, and frequently with the whip. Mr. Covey was one of the few slaveholders who could and did work with his hands. He was a hard-working man. He knew by himself just what a man or a boy could do. There was no deceiving him. His work went on in his absence almost as well as in his presence; and he had the faculty of making us feel that he was ever present with us. This he did by surprising us. He seldom approached the spot where we were at work openly, if he could do it secretly. He always aimed at taking us by surprise. Such was his cunning, that we used to call him, among ourselves, "the snake." When we were at work in the cornfield, he would sometimes crawl on his hands and knees to avoid detection, and all at once he would rise nearly in our midst, and scream out, "Ha, ha! Come, come! Dash on, dash on!" This being his mode of attack, it was never safe to stop a single minute. His comings were like a thief in the night. He appeared to us as being ever at hand. He was under every tree, behind every stump, in every bush, and at every window, on the plantation. He would sometimes mount his horse, as if bound to St. Michael's, a distance of seven miles, and in half an hour afterwards you would see him coiled up in the corner of the wood-fence, watching every motion of the slaves. He would, for this purpose, leave his horse tied up in the woods. Again, he would sometimes walk up to us, and give us orders as though he was upon the point of starting on a long journey, turn his back upon us, and make as though he was going to the house to get ready; and, before he would get half way thither, he would turn short and crawl into a fence-corner, or behind some tree, and there watch us till the going down of the sun. Mr. Covey's _forte_ consisted in his power to deceive. His life was devoted to planning and perpetrating the grossest deceptions. Every thing he possessed in the shape of learning or religion, he made conform to his disposition to deceive. He seemed to think himself equal to deceiving the Almighty. He would make a short prayer in the morning, and a long prayer at night; and, strange as it may seem, few men would at times appear more devotional than he. The exercises of his family devotions were always commenced with singing; and, as he was a very poor singer himself, the duty of raising the hymn generally came upon me. He would read his hymn, and nod at me to commence. I would at times do so; at others, I would not. My non-compliance would almost always produce much confusion. To show himself independent of me, he would start and stagger through with his hymn in the most discordant manner. In this state of mind, he prayed with more than ordinary spirit. Poor man! such was his disposition, and success at deceiving, I do verily believe that he sometimes deceived himself into the solemn belief, that he was a sincere worshipper of the most high God; and this, too, at a time when he may be said to have been guilty of compelling his woman slave to commit the sin of adultery. The facts in the case are these: Mr. Covey was a poor man; he was just commencing in life; he was only able to buy one slave; and, shocking as is the fact, he bought her, as he said, for _a breeder_. This woman was named Caroline. Mr. Covey bought her from Mr. Thomas Lowe, about six miles from St. Michael's. She was a large, able-bodied woman, about twenty years old. She had already given birth to one child, which proved her to be just what he wanted. After buying her, he hired a married man of Mr. Samuel Harrison, to live with him one year; and him he used to fasten up with her every night! The result was, that, at the end of the year, the miserable woman gave birth to twins. At this result Mr. Covey seemed to be highly pleased, both with the man and the wretched woman. Such was his joy, and that of his wife, that nothing they could do for Caroline during her confinement was too good, or too hard, to be done. The children were regarded as being quite an addition to his wealth. If at any one time of my life more than another, I was made to drink the bitterest dregs of slavery, that time was during the first six months of my stay with Mr. Covey. We were worked in all weathers. It was never too hot or too cold; it could never rain, blow, hail, or snow, too hard for us to work in the field. Work, work, work, was scarcely more the order of the day than of the night. The longest days were too short for him, and the shortest nights too long for him. I was somewhat unmanageable when I first went there, but a few months of this discipline tamed me. Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. I was broken in body, soul, and spirit. My natural elasticity was crushed, my intellect languished, the disposition to read departed, the cheerful spark that lingered about my eye died; the dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute! Sunday was my only leisure time. I spent this in a sort of beast-like stupor, between sleep and wake, under some large tree. At times I would rise up, a flash of energetic freedom would dart through my soul, accompanied with a faint beam of hope, that flickered for a moment, and then vanished. I sank down again, mourning over my wretched condition. I was sometimes prompted to take my life, and that of Covey, but was prevented by a combination of hope and fear. My sufferings on this plantation seem now like a dream rather than a stern reality. Our house stood within a few rods of the Chesapeake Bay, whose broad bosom was ever white with sails from every quarter of the habitable globe. Those beautiful vessels, robed in purest white, so delightful to the eye of freemen, were to me so many shrouded ghosts, to terrify and torment me with thoughts of my wretched condition. I have often, in the deep stillness of a summer's Sabbath, stood all alone upon the lofty banks of that noble bay, and traced, with saddened heart and tearful eye, the countless number of sails moving off to the mighty ocean. The sight of these always affected me powerfully. My thoughts would compel utterance; and there, with no audience but the Almighty, I would pour out my soul's complaint, in my rude way, with an apostrophe to the moving multitude of ships:-- "You are loosed from your moorings, and are free; I am fast in my chains, and am a slave! You move merrily before the gentle gale, and I sadly before the bloody whip! You are freedom's swift-winged angels, that fly round the world; I am confined in bands of iron! O that I were free! O, that I were on one of your gallant decks, and under your protecting wing! Alas! betwixt me and you, the turbid waters roll. Go on, go on. O that I could also go! Could I but swim! If I could fly! O, why was I born a man, of whom to make a brute! The glad ship is gone; she hides in the dim distance. I am left in the hottest hell of unending slavery. O God, save me! God, deliver me! Let me be free! Is there any God? Why am I a slave? I will run away. I will not stand it. Get caught, or get clear, I'll try it. I had as well die with ague as the fever. I have only one life to lose. I had as well be killed running as die standing. Only think of it; one hundred miles straight north, and I am free! Try it? Yes! God helping me, I will. It cannot be that I shall live and die a slave. I will take to the water. This very bay shall yet bear me into freedom. The steamboats steered in a north-east course from North Point. I will do the same; and when I get to the head of the bay, I will turn my canoe adrift, and walk straight through Delaware into Pennsylvania. When I get there, I shall not be required to have a pass; I can travel without being disturbed. Let but the first opportunity offer, and, come what will, I am off. Meanwhile, I will try to bear up under the yoke. I am not the only slave in the world. Why should I fret? I can bear as much as any of them. Besides, I am but a boy, and all boys are bound to some one. It may be that my misery in slavery will only increase my happiness when I get free. There is a better day coming." Thus I used to think, and thus I used to speak to myself; goaded almost to madness at one moment, and at the next reconciling myself to my wretched lot. I have already intimated that my condition was much worse, during the first six months of my stay at Mr. Covey's, than in the last six. The circumstances leading to the change in Mr. Covey's course toward me form an epoch in my humble history. You have seen how a man was made a slave; you shall see how a slave was made a man. On one of the hottest days of the month of August, 1833, Bill Smith, William Hughes, a slave named Eli, and myself, were engaged in fanning wheat. Hughes was clearing the fanned wheat from before the fan. Eli was turning, Smith was feeding, and I was carrying wheat to the fan. The work was simple, requiring strength rather than intellect; yet, to one entirely unused to such work, it came very hard. About three o'clock of that day, I broke down; my strength failed me; I was seized with a violent aching of the head, attended with extreme dizziness; I trembled in every limb. Finding what was coming, I nerved myself up, feeling it would never do to stop work. I stood as long as I could stagger to the hopper with grain. When I could stand no longer, I fell, and felt as if held down by an immense weight. The fan of course stopped; every one had his own work to do; and no one could do the work of the other, and have his own go on at the same time. Mr. Covey was at the house, about one hundred yards from the treading-yard where we were fanning. On hearing the fan stop, he left immediately, and came to the spot where we were. He hastily inquired what the matter was. Bill answered that I was sick, and there was no one to bring wheat to the fan. I had by this time crawled away under the side of the post and rail-fence by which the yard was enclosed, hoping to find relief by getting out of the sun. He then asked where I was. He was told by one of the hands. He came to the spot, and, after looking at me awhile, asked me what was the matter. I told him as well as I could, for I scarce had strength to speak. He then gave me a savage kick in the side, and told me to get up. I tried to do so, but fell back in the attempt. He gave me another kick, and again told me to rise. I again tried, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but, stooping to get the tub with which I was feeding the fan, I again staggered and fell. While down in this situation, Mr. Covey took up the hickory slat with which Hughes had been striking off the half-bushel measure, and with it gave me a heavy blow upon the head, making a large wound, and the blood ran freely; and with this again told me to get up. I made no effort to comply, having now made up my mind to let him do his worst. In a short time after receiving this blow, my head grew better. Mr. Covey had now left me to my fate. At this moment I resolved, for the first time, to go to my master, enter a complaint, and ask his protection. In order to do this, I must that afternoon walk seven miles; and this, under the circumstances, was truly a severe undertaking. I was exceedingly feeble; made so as much by the kicks and blows which I received, as by the severe fit of sickness to which I had been subjected. I, however, watched my chance, while Covey was looking in an opposite direction, and started for St. Michael's. I succeeded in getting a considerable distance on my way to the woods, when Covey discovered me, and called after me to come back, threatening what he would do if I did not come. I disregarded both his calls and his threats, and made my way to the woods as fast as my feeble state would allow; and thinking I might be overhauled by him if I kept the road, I walked through the woods, keeping far enough from the road to avoid detection, and near enough to prevent losing my way. I had not gone far before my little strength again failed me. I could go no farther. I fell down, and lay for a considerable time. The blood was yet oozing from the wound on my head. For a time I thought I should bleed to death; and think now that I should have done so, but that the blood so matted my hair as to stop the wound. After lying there about three quarters of an hour, I nerved myself up again, and started on my way, through bogs and briers, barefooted and bareheaded, tearing my feet sometimes at nearly every step; and after a journey of about seven miles, occupying some five hours to perform it, I arrived at master's store. I then presented an appearance enough to affect any but a heart of iron. From the crown of my head to my feet, I was covered with blood. My hair was all clotted with dust and blood; my shirt was stiff with blood. I suppose I looked like a man who had escaped a den of wild beasts, and barely escaped them. In this state I appeared before my master, humbly entreating him to interpose his authority for my protection. I told him all the circumstances as well as I could, and it seemed, as I spoke, at times to affect him. He would then walk the floor, and seek to justify Covey by saying he expected I deserved it. He asked me what I wanted. I told him, to let me get a new home; that as sure as I lived with Mr. Covey again, I should live with but to die with him; that Covey would surely kill me; he was in a fair way for it. Master Thomas ridiculed the idea that there was any danger of Mr. Covey's killing me, and said that he knew Mr. Covey; that he was a good man, and that he could not think of taking me from him; that, should he do so, he would lose the whole year's wages; that I belonged to Mr. Covey for one year, and that I must go back to him, come what might; and that I must not trouble him with any more stories, or that he would himself _get hold of me_. After threatening me thus, he gave me a very large dose of salts, telling me that I might remain in St. Michael's that night, (it being quite late,) but that I must be off back to Mr. Covey's early in the morning; and that if I did not, he would _get hold of me,_ which meant that he would whip me. I remained all night, and, according to his orders, I started off to Covey's in the morning, (Saturday morning,) wearied in body and broken in spirit. I got no supper that night, or breakfast that morning. I reached Covey's about nine o'clock; and just as I was getting over the fence that divided Mrs. Kemp's fields from ours, out ran Covey with his cowskin, to give me another whipping. Before he could reach me, I succeeded in getting to the cornfield; and as the corn was very high, it afforded me the means of hiding. He seemed very angry, and searched for me a long time. My behavior was altogether unaccountable. He finally gave up the chase, thinking, I suppose, that I must come home for something to eat; he would give himself no further trouble in looking for me. I spent that day mostly in the woods, having the alternative before me,--to go home and be whipped to death, or stay in the woods and be starved to death. That night, I fell in with Sandy Jenkins, a slave with whom I was somewhat acquainted. Sandy had a free wife who lived about four miles from Mr. Covey's; and it being Saturday, he was on his way to see her. I told him my circumstances, and he very kindly invited me to go home with him. I went home with him, and talked this whole matter over, and got his advice as to what course it was best for me to pursue. I found Sandy an old adviser. He told me, with great solemnity, I must go back to Covey; but that before I went, I must go with him into another part of the woods, where there was a certain _root,_ which, if I would take some of it with me, carrying it _always on my right side,_ would render it impossible for Mr. Covey, or any other white man, to whip me. He said he had carried it for years; and since he had done so, he had never received a blow, and never expected to while he carried it. I at first rejected the idea, that the simple carrying of a root in my pocket would have any such effect as he had said, and was not disposed to take it; but Sandy impressed the necessity with much earnestness, telling me it could do no harm, if it did no good. To please him, I at length took the root, and, according to his direction, carried it upon my right side. This was Sunday morning. I immediately started for home; and upon entering the yard gate, out came Mr. Covey on his way to meeting. He spoke to me very kindly, bade me drive the pigs from a lot near by, and passed on towards the church. Now, this singular conduct of Mr. Covey really made me begin to think that there was something in the _root_ which Sandy had given me; and had it been on any other day than Sunday, I could have attributed the conduct to no other cause than the influence of that root; and as it was, I was half inclined to think the _root_ to be something more than I at first had taken it to be. All went well till Monday morning. On this morning, the virtue of the _root_ was fully tested. Long before daylight, I was called to go and rub, curry, and feed, the horses. I obeyed, and was glad to obey. But whilst thus engaged, whilst in the act of throwing down some blades from the loft, Mr. Covey entered the stable with a long rope; and just as I was half out of the loft, he caught hold of my legs, and was about tying me. As soon as I found what he was up to, I gave a sudden spring, and as I did so, he holding to my legs, I was brought sprawling on the stable floor. Mr. Covey seemed now to think he had me, and could do what he pleased; but at this moment--from whence came the spirit I don't know--I resolved to fight; and, suiting my action to the resolution, I seized Covey hard by the throat; and as I did so, I rose. He held on to me, and I to him. My resistance was so entirely unexpected that Covey seemed taken all aback. He trembled like a leaf. This gave me assurance, and I held him uneasy, causing the blood to run where I touched him with the ends of my fingers. Mr. Covey soon called out to Hughes for help. Hughes came, and, while Covey held me, attempted to tie my right hand. While he was in the act of doing so, I watched my chance, and gave him a heavy kick close under the ribs. This kick fairly sickened Hughes, so that he left me in the hands of Mr. Covey. This kick had the effect of not only weakening Hughes, but Covey also. When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, his courage quailed. He asked me if I meant to persist in my resistance. I told him I did, come what might; that he had used me like a brute for six months, and that I was determined to be used so no longer. With that, he strove to drag me to a stick that was lying just out of the stable door. He meant to knock me down. But just as he was leaning over to get the stick, I seized him with both hands by his collar, and brought him by a sudden snatch to the ground. By this time, Bill came. Covey called upon him for assistance. Bill wanted to know what he could do. Covey said, "Take hold of him, take hold of him!" Bill said his master hired him out to work, and not to help to whip me; so he left Covey and myself to fight our own battle out. We were at it for nearly two hours. Covey at length let me go, puffing and blowing at a great rate, saying that if I had not resisted, he would not have whipped me half so much. The truth was, that he had not whipped me at all. I considered him as getting entirely the worst end of the bargain; for he had drawn no blood from me, but I had from him. The whole six months afterwards, that I spent with Mr. Covey, he never laid the weight of his finger upon me in anger. He would occasionally say, he didn't want to get hold of me again. "No," thought I, "you need not; for you will come off worse than you did before." This battle with Mr. Covey was the turning-point in my career as a slave. It rekindled the few expiring embers of freedom, and revived within me a sense of my own manhood. It recalled the departed self-confidence, and inspired me again with a determination to be free. The gratification afforded by the triumph was a full compensation for whatever else might follow, even death itself. He only can understand the deep satisfaction which I experienced, who has himself repelled by force the bloody arm of slavery. I felt as I never felt before. It was a glorious resurrection, from the tomb of slavery, to the heaven of freedom. My long-crushed spirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance took its place; and I now resolved that, however long I might remain a slave in form, the day had passed forever when I could be a slave in fact. I did not hesitate to let it be known of me, that the white man who expected to succeed in whipping, must also succeed in killing me. From this time I was never again what might be called fairly whipped, though I remained a slave four years afterwards. I had several fights, but was never whipped. It was for a long time a matter of surprise to me why Mr. Covey did not immediately have me taken by the constable to the whipping-post, and there regularly whipped for the crime of raising my hand against a white man in defence of myself. And the only explanation I can now think of does not entirely satisfy me; but such as it is, I will give it. Mr. Covey enjoyed the most unbounded reputation for being a first-rate overseer and negro-breaker. It was of considerable importance to him. That reputation was at stake; and had he sent me--a boy about sixteen years old--to the public whipping-post, his reputation would have been lost; so, to save his reputation, he suffered me to go unpunished. My term of actual service to Mr. Edward Covey ended on Christmas day, 1833. The days between Christmas and New Year's day are allowed as holidays; and, accordingly, we were not required to perform any labor, more than to feed and take care of the stock. This time we regarded as our own, by the grace of our masters; and we therefore used or abused it nearly as we pleased. Those of us who had families at a distance, were generally allowed to spend the whole six days in their society. This time, however, was spent in various ways. The staid, sober, thinking and industrious ones of our number would employ themselves in making corn-brooms, mats, horse-collars, and baskets; and another class of us would spend the time in hunting opossums, hares, and coons. But by far the larger part engaged in such sports and merriments as playing ball, wrestling, running foot-races, fiddling, dancing, and drinking whisky; and this latter mode of spending the time was by far the most agreeable to the feelings of our masters. A slave who would work during the holidays was considered by our masters as scarcely deserving them. He was regarded as one who rejected the favor of his master. It was deemed a disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and he was regarded as lazy indeed, who had not provided himself with the necessary means, during the year, to get whisky enough to last him through Christmas. From what I know of the effect of these holidays upon the slave, I believe them to be among the most effective means in the hands of the slaveholder in keeping down the spirit of insurrection. Were the slaveholders at once to abandon this practice, I have not the slightest doubt it would lead to an immediate insurrection among the slaves. These holidays serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carry off the rebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. But for these, the slave would be forced up to the wildest desperation; and woe betide the slaveholder, the day he ventures to remove or hinder the operation of those conductors! I warn him that, in such an event, a spirit will go forth in their midst, more to be dreaded than the most appalling earthquake. The holidays are part and parcel of the gross fraud, wrong, and inhumanity of slavery. They are professedly a custom established by the benevolence of the slaveholders; but I undertake to say, it is the result of selfishness, and one of the grossest frauds committed upon the down-trodden slave. They do not give the slaves this time because they would not like to have their work during its continuance, but because they know it would be unsafe to deprive them of it. This will be seen by the fact, that the slaveholders like to have their slaves spend those days just in such a manner as to make them as glad of their ending as of their beginning. Their object seems to be, to disgust their slaves with freedom, by plunging them into the lowest depths of dissipation. For instance, the slaveholders not only like to see the slave drink of his own accord, but will adopt various plans to make him drunk. One plan is, to make bets on their slaves, as to who can drink the most whisky without getting drunk; and in this way they succeed in getting whole multitudes to drink to excess. Thus, when the slave asks for virtuous freedom, the cunning slaveholder, knowing his ignorance, cheats him with a dose of vicious dissipation, artfully labelled with the name of liberty. The most of us used to drink it down, and the result was just what might be supposed; many of us were led to think that there was little to choose between liberty and slavery. We felt, and very properly too, that we had almost as well be slaves to man as to rum. So, when the holidays ended, we staggered up from the filth of our wallowing, took a long breath, and marched to the field,--feeling, upon the whole, rather glad to go, from what our master had deceived us into a belief was freedom, back to the arms of slavery. I have said that this mode of treatment is a part of the whole system of fraud and inhumanity of slavery. It is so. The mode here adopted to disgust the slave with freedom, by allowing him to see only the abuse of it, is carried out in other things. For instance, a slave loves molasses; he steals some. His master, in many cases, goes off to town, and buys a large quantity; he returns, takes his whip, and commands the slave to eat the molasses, until the poor fellow is made sick at the very mention of it. The same mode is sometimes adopted to make the slaves refrain from asking for more food than their regular allowance. A slave runs through his allowance, and applies for more. His master is enraged at him; but, not willing to send him off without food, gives him more than is necessary, and compels him to eat it within a given time. Then, if he complains that he cannot eat it, he is said to be satisfied neither full nor fasting, and is whipped for being hard to please! I have an abundance of such illustrations of the same principle, drawn from my own observation, but think the cases I have cited sufficient. The practice is a very common one. On the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey, and went to live with Mr. William Freeland, who lived about three miles from St. Michael's. I soon found Mr. Freeland a very different man from Mr. Covey. Though not rich, he was what would be called an educated southern gentleman. Mr. Covey, as I have shown, was a well-trained negro-breaker and slave-driver. The former (slaveholder though he was) seemed to possess some regard for honor, some reverence for justice, and some respect for humanity. The latter seemed totally insensible to all such sentiments. Mr. Freeland had many of the faults peculiar to slaveholders, such as being very passionate and fretful; but I must do him the justice to say, that he was exceedingly free from those degrading vices to which Mr. Covey was constantly addicted. The one was open and frank, and we always knew where to find him. The other was a most artful deceiver, and could be understood only by such as were skilful enough to detect his cunningly-devised frauds. Another advantage I gained in my new master was, he made no pretensions to, or profession of, religion; and this, in my opinion, was truly a great advantage. I assert most unhesitatingly, that the religion of the south is a mere covering for the most horrid crimes,--a justifier of the most appalling barbarity,--a sanctifier of the most hateful frauds,--and a dark shelter under, which the darkest, foulest, grossest, and most infernal deeds of slaveholders find the strongest protection. Were I to be again reduced to the chains of slavery, next to that enslavement, I should regard being the slave of a religious master the greatest calamity that could befall me. For of all slaveholders with whom I have ever met, religious slaveholders are the worst. I have ever found them the meanest and basest, the most cruel and cowardly, of all others. It was my unhappy lot not only to belong to a religious slaveholder, but to live in a community of such religionists. Very near Mr. Freeland lived the Rev. Daniel Weeden, and in the same neighborhood lived the Rev. Rigby Hopkins. These were members and ministers in the Reformed Methodist Church. Mr. Weeden owned, among others, a woman slave, whose name I have forgotten. This woman's back, for weeks, was kept literally raw, made so by the lash of this merciless, _religious_ wretch. He used to hire hands. His maxim was, Behave well or behave ill, it is the duty of a master occasionally to whip a slave, to remind him of his master's authority. Such was his theory, and such his practice. Mr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden. His chief boast was his ability to manage slaves. The peculiar feature of his government was that of whipping slaves in advance of deserving it. He always managed to have one or more of his slaves to whip every Monday morning. He did this to alarm their fears, and strike terror into those who escaped. His plan was to whip for the smallest offences, to prevent the commission of large ones. Mr. Hopkins could always find some excuse for whipping a slave. It would astonish one, unaccustomed to a slaveholding life, to see with what wonderful ease a slaveholder can find things, of which to make occasion to whip a slave. A mere look, word, or motion,--a mistake, accident, or want of power,--are all matters for which a slave may be whipped at any time. Does a slave look dissatisfied? It is said, he has the devil in him, and it must be whipped out. Does he speak loudly when spoken to by his master? Then he is getting high-minded, and should be taken down a button-hole lower. Does he forget to pull off his hat at the approach of a white person? Then he is wanting in reverence, and should be whipped for it. Does he ever venture to vindicate his conduct, when censured for it? Then he is guilty of impudence,--one of the greatest crimes of which a slave can be guilty. Does he ever venture to suggest a different mode of doing things from that pointed out by his master? He is indeed presumptuous, and getting above himself; and nothing less than a flogging will do for him. Does he, while ploughing, break a plough,--or, while hoeing, break a hoe? It is owing to his carelessness, and for it a slave must always be whipped. Mr. Hopkins could always find something of this sort to justify the use of the lash, and he seldom failed to embrace such opportunities. There was not a man in the whole county, with whom the slaves who had the getting their own home, would not prefer to live, rather than with this Rev. Mr. Hopkins. And yet there was not a man any where round, who made higher professions of religion, or was more active in revivals,--more attentive to the class, love-feast, prayer and preaching meetings, or more devotional in his family,--that prayed earlier, later, louder, and longer,--than this same reverend slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins. But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experience while in his employment. He, like Mr. Covey, gave us enough to eat; but, unlike Mr. Covey, he also gave us sufficient time to take our meals. He worked us hard, but always between sunrise and sunset. He required a good deal of work to be done, but gave us good tools with which to work. His farm was large, but he employed hands enough to work it, and with ease, compared with many of his neighbors. My treatment, while in his employment, was heavenly, compared with what I experienced at the hands of Mr. Edward Covey. Mr. Freeland was himself the owner of but two slaves. Their names were Henry Harris and John Harris. The rest of his hands he hired. These consisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,* and Handy Caldwell. *This is the same man who gave me the roots to prevent my being whipped by Mr. Covey. He was "a clever soul." We used frequently to talk about the fight with Covey, and as often as we did so, he would claim my success as the result of the roots which he gave me. This superstition is very common among the more ignorant slaves. A slave seldom dies but that his death is attributed to trickery. Henry and John were quite intelligent, and in a very little while after I went there, I succeeded in creating in them a strong desire to learn how to read. This desire soon sprang up in the others also. They very soon mustered up some old spelling-books, and nothing would do but that I must keep a Sabbath school. I agreed to do so, and accordingly devoted my Sundays to teaching these my loved fellow-slaves how to read. Neither of them knew his letters when I went there. Some of the slaves of the neighboring farms found what was going on, and also availed themselves of this little opportunity to learn to read. It was understood, among all who came, that there must be as little display about it as possible. It was necessary to keep our religious masters at St. Michael's unacquainted with the fact, that, instead of spending the Sabbath in wrestling, boxing, and drinking whisky, we were trying to learn how to read the will of God; for they had much rather see us engaged in those degrading sports, than to see us behaving like intellectual, moral, and accountable beings. My blood boils as I think of the bloody manner in which Messrs. Wright Fairbanks and Garrison West, both class-leaders, in connection with many others, rushed in upon us with sticks and stones, and broke up our virtuous little Sabbath school, at St. Michael's--all calling themselves Christians! humble followers of the Lord Jesus Christ! But I am again digressing. I held my Sabbath school at the house of a free colored man, whose name I deem it imprudent to mention; for should it be known, it might embarrass him greatly, though the crime of holding the school was committed ten years ago. I had at one time over forty scholars, and those of the right sort, ardently desiring to learn. They were of all ages, though mostly men and women. I look back to those Sundays with an amount of pleasure not to be expressed. They were great days to my soul. The work of instructing my dear fellow-slaves was the sweetest engagement with which I was ever blessed. We loved each other, and to leave them at the close of the Sabbath was a severe cross indeed. When I think that these precious souls are to-day shut up in the prison-house of slavery, my feelings overcome me, and I am almost ready to ask, "Does a righteous God govern the universe? and for what does he hold the thunders in his right hand, if not to smite the oppressor, and deliver the spoiled out of the hand of the spoiler?" These dear souls came not to Sabbath school because it was popular to do so, nor did I teach them because it was reputable to be thus engaged. Every moment they spent in that school, they were liable to be taken up, and given thirty-nine lashes. They came because they wished to learn. Their minds had been starved by their cruel masters. They had been shut up in mental darkness. I taught them, because it was the delight of my soul to be doing something that looked like bettering the condition of my race. I kept up my school nearly the whole year I lived with Mr. Freeland; and, beside my Sabbath school, I devoted three evenings in the week, during the winter, to teaching the slaves at home. And I have the happiness to know, that several of those who came to Sabbath school learned how to read; and that one, at least, is now free through my agency. The year passed off smoothly. It seemed only about half as long as the year which preceded it. I went through it without receiving a single blow. I will give Mr. Freeland the credit of being the best master I ever had, _till I became my own master._ For the ease with which I passed the year, I was, however, somewhat indebted to the society of my fellow-slaves. They were noble souls; they not only possessed loving hearts, but brave ones. We were linked and interlinked with each other. I loved them with a love stronger than any thing I have experienced since. It is sometimes said that we slaves do not love and confide in each other. In answer to this assertion, I can say, I never loved any or confided in any people more than my fellow-slaves, and especially those with whom I lived at Mr. Freeland's. I believe we would have died for each other. We never undertook to do any thing, of any importance, without a mutual consultation. We never moved separately. We were one; and as much so by our tempers and dispositions, as by the mutual hardships to which we were necessarily subjected by our condition as slaves. At the close of the year 1834, Mr. Freeland again hired me of my master, for the year 1835. But, by this time, I began to want to live _upon free land_ as well as _with Freeland;_ and I was no longer content, therefore, to live with him or any other slaveholder. I began, with the commencement of the year, to prepare myself for a final struggle, which should decide my fate one way or the other. My tendency was upward. I was fast approaching manhood, and year after year had passed, and I was still a slave. These thoughts roused me--I must do something. I therefore resolved that 1835 should not pass without witnessing an attempt, on my part, to secure my liberty. But I was not willing to cherish this determination alone. My fellow-slaves were dear to me. I was anxious to have them participate with me in this, my life-giving determination. I therefore, though with great prudence, commenced early to ascertain their views and feelings in regard to their condition, and to imbue their minds with thoughts of freedom. I bent myself to devising ways and means for our escape, and meanwhile strove, on all fitting occasions, to impress them with the gross fraud and inhumanity of slavery. I went first to Henry, next to John, then to the others. I found, in them all, warm hearts and noble spirits. They were ready to hear, and ready to act when a feasible plan should be proposed. This was what I wanted. I talked to them of our want of manhood, if we submitted to our enslavement without at least one noble effort to be free. We met often, and consulted frequently, and told our hopes and fears, recounted the difficulties, real and imagined, which we should be called on to meet. At times we were almost disposed to give up, and try to content ourselves with our wretched lot; at others, we were firm and unbending in our determination to go. Whenever we suggested any plan, there was shrinking--the odds were fearful. Our path was beset with the greatest obstacles; and if we succeeded in gaining the end of it, our right to be free was yet questionable--we were yet liable to be returned to bondage. We could see no spot, this side of the ocean, where we could be free. We knew nothing about Canada. Our knowledge of the north did not extend farther than New York; and to go there, and be forever harassed with the frightful liability of being returned to slavery--with the certainty of being treated tenfold worse than before--the thought was truly a horrible one, and one which it was not easy to overcome. The case sometimes stood thus: At every gate through which we were to pass, we saw a watchman--at every ferry a guard--on every bridge a sentinel--and in every wood a patrol. We were hemmed in upon every side. Here were the difficulties, real or imagined--the good to be sought, and the evil to be shunned. On the one hand, there stood slavery, a stern reality, glaring frightfully upon us,--its robes already crimsoned with the blood of millions, and even now feasting itself greedily upon our own flesh. On the other hand, away back in the dim distance, under the flickering light of the north star, behind some craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stood a doubtful freedom--half frozen--beckoning us to come and share its hospitality. This in itself was sometimes enough to stagger us; but when we permitted ourselves to survey the road, we were frequently appalled. Upon either side we saw grim death, assuming the most horrid shapes. Now it was starvation, causing us to eat our own flesh;--now we were contending with the waves, and were drowned;--now we were overtaken, and torn to pieces by the fangs of the terrible bloodhound. We were stung by scorpions, chased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes, and finally, after having nearly reached the desired spot,--after swimming rivers, encountering wild beasts, sleeping in the woods, suffering hunger and nakedness,--we were overtaken by our pursuers, and, in our resistance, we were shot dead upon the spot! I say, this picture sometimes appalled us, and made us "rather bear those ills we had, Than fly to others, that we knew not of." In coming to a fixed determination to run away, we did more than Patrick Henry, when he resolved upon liberty or death. With us it was a doubtful liberty at most, and almost certain death if we failed. For my part, I should prefer death to hopeless bondage. Sandy, one of our number, gave up the notion, but still encouraged us. Our company then consisted of Henry Harris, John Harris, Henry Bailey, Charles Roberts, and myself. Henry Bailey was my uncle, and belonged to my master. Charles married my aunt: he belonged to my master's father-in-law, Mr. William Hamilton. The plan we finally concluded upon was, to get a large canoe belonging to Mr. Hamilton, and upon the Saturday night previous to Easter holidays, paddle directly up the Chesapeake Bay. On our arrival at the head of the bay, a distance of seventy or eighty miles from where we lived, it was our purpose to turn our canoe adrift, and follow the guidance of the north star till we got beyond the limits of Maryland. Our reason for taking the water route was, that we were less liable to be suspected as runaways; we hoped to be regarded as fishermen; whereas, if we should take the land route, we should be subjected to interruptions of almost every kind. Any one having a white face, and being so disposed, could stop us, and subject us to examination. The week before our intended start, I wrote several protections, one for each of us. As well as I can remember, they were in the following words, to wit:-- "This is to certify that I, the undersigned, have given the bearer, my servant, full liberty to go to Baltimore, and spend the Easter holidays. Written with mine own hand, &amp;c., 1835. "WILLIAM HAMILTON, "Near St. Michael's, in Talbot county, Maryland." We were not going to Baltimore; but, in going up the bay, we went toward Baltimore, and these protections were only intended to protect us while on the bay. As the time drew near for our departure, our anxiety became more and more intense. It was truly a matter of life and death with us. The strength of our determination was about to be fully tested. At this time, I was very active in explaining every difficulty, removing every doubt, dispelling every fear, and inspiring all with the firmness indispensable to success in our undertaking; assuring them that half was gained the instant we made the move; we had talked long enough; we were now ready to move; if not now, we never should be; and if we did not intend to move now, we had as well fold our arms, sit down, and acknowledge ourselves fit only to be slaves. This, none of us were prepared to acknowledge. Every man stood firm; and at our last meeting, we pledged ourselves afresh, in the most solemn manner, that, at the time appointed, we would certainly start in pursuit of freedom. This was in the middle of the week, at the end of which we were to be off. We went, as usual, to our several fields of labor, but with bosoms highly agitated with thoughts of our truly hazardous undertaking. We tried to conceal our feelings as much as possible; and I think we succeeded very well. After a painful waiting, the Saturday morning, whose night was to witness our departure, came. I hailed it with joy, bring what of sadness it might. Friday night was a sleepless one for me. I probably felt more anxious than the rest, because I was, by common consent, at the head of the whole affair. The responsibility of success or failure lay heavily upon me. The glory of the one, and the confusion of the other, were alike mine. The first two hours of that morning were such as I never experienced before, and hope never to again. Early in the morning, we went, as usual, to the field. We were spreading manure; and all at once, while thus engaged, I was overwhelmed with an indescribable feeling, in the fulness of which I turned to Sandy, who was near by, and said, "We are betrayed!" "Well," said he, "that thought has this moment struck me." We said no more. I was never more certain of any thing. The horn was blown as usual, and we went up from the field to the house for breakfast. I went for the form, more than for want of any thing to eat that morning. Just as I got to the house, in looking out at the lane gate, I saw four white men, with two colored men. The white men were on horseback, and the colored ones were walking behind, as if tied. I watched them a few moments till they got up to our lane gate. Here they halted, and tied the colored men to the gate-post. I was not yet certain as to what the matter was. In a few moments, in rode Mr. Hamilton, with a speed betokening great excitement. He came to the door, and inquired if Master William was in. He was told he was at the barn. Mr. Hamilton, without dismounting, rode up to the barn with extraordinary speed. In a few moments, he and Mr. Freeland returned to the house. By this time, the three constables rode up, and in great haste dismounted, tied their horses, and met Master William and Mr. Hamilton returning from the barn; and after talking awhile, they all walked up to the kitchen door. There was no one in the kitchen but myself and John. Henry and Sandy were up at the barn. Mr. Freeland put his head in at the door, and called me by name, saying, there were some gentlemen at the door who wished to see me. I stepped to the door, and inquired what they wanted. They at once seized me, and, without giving me any satisfaction, tied me--lashing my hands closely together. I insisted upon knowing what the matter was. They at length said, that they had learned I had been in a "scrape," and that I was to be examined before my master; and if their information proved false, I should not be hurt. In a few moments, they succeeded in tying John. They then turned to Henry, who had by this time returned, and commanded him to cross his hands. "I won't!" said Henry, in a firm tone, indicating his readiness to meet the consequences of his refusal. "Won't you?" said Tom Graham, the constable. "No, I won't!" said Henry, in a still stronger tone. With this, two of the constables pulled out their shining pistols, and swore, by their Creator, that they would make him cross his hands or kill him. Each cocked his pistol, and, with fingers on the trigger, walked up to Henry, saying, at the same time, if he did not cross his hands, they would blow his damned heart out. "Shoot me, shoot me!" said Henry; "you can't kill me but once. Shoot, shoot,--and be damned! _I won't be tied!_" This he said in a tone of loud defiance; and at the same time, with a motion as quick as lightning, he with one single stroke dashed the pistols from the hand of each constable. As he did this, all hands fell upon him, and, after beating him some time, they finally overpowered him, and got him tied. During the scuffle, I managed, I know not how, to get my pass out, and, without being discovered, put it into the fire. We were all now tied; and just as we were to leave for Easton jail, Betsy Freeland, mother of William Freeland, came to the door with her hands full of biscuits, and divided them between Henry and John. She then delivered herself of a speech, to the following effect:--addressing herself to me, she said, "_You devil! You yellow devil!_ it was you that put it into the heads of Henry and John to run away. But for you, you long-legged mulatto devil! Henry nor John would never have thought of such a thing." I made no reply, and was immediately hurried off towards St. Michael's. Just a moment previous to the scuffle with Henry, Mr. Hamilton suggested the propriety of making a search for the protections which he had understood Frederick had written for himself and the rest. But, just at the moment he was about carrying his proposal into effect, his aid was needed in helping to tie Henry; and the excitement attending the scuffle caused them either to forget, or to deem it unsafe, under the circumstances, to search. So we were not yet convicted of the intention to run away. When we got about half way to St. Michael's, while the constables having us in charge were looking ahead, Henry inquired of me what he should do with his pass. I told him to eat it with his biscuit, and own nothing; and we passed the word around, "_Own nothing;_" and "_Own nothing!_" said we all. Our confidence in each other was unshaken. We were resolved to succeed or fail together, after the calamity had befallen us as much as before. We were now prepared for any thing. We were to be dragged that morning fifteen miles behind horses, and then to be placed in the Easton jail. When we reached St. Michael's, we underwent a sort of examination. We all denied that we ever intended to run away. We did this more to bring out the evidence against us, than from any hope of getting clear of being sold; for, as I have said, we were ready for that. The fact was, we cared but little where we went, so we went together. Our greatest concern was about separation. We dreaded that more than any thing this side of death. We found the evidence against us to be the testimony of one person; our master would not tell who it was; but we came to a unanimous decision among ourselves as to who their informant was. We were sent off to the jail at Easton. When we got there, we were delivered up to the sheriff, Mr. Joseph Graham, and by him placed in jail. Henry, John, and myself, were placed in one room together--Charles, and Henry Bailey, in another. Their object in separating us was to hinder concert. We had been in jail scarcely twenty minutes, when a swarm of slave traders, and agents for slave traders, flocked into jail to look at us, and to ascertain if we were for sale. Such a set of beings I never saw before! I felt myself surrounded by so many fiends from perdition. A band of pirates never looked more like their father, the devil. They laughed and grinned over us, saying, "Ah, my boys! we have got you, haven't we?" And after taunting us in various ways, they one by one went into an examination of us, with intent to ascertain our value. They would impudently ask us if we would not like to have them for our masters. We would make them no answer, and leave them to find out as best they could. Then they would curse and swear at us, telling us that they could take the devil out of us in a very little while, if we were only in their hands. While in jail, we found ourselves in much more comfortable quarters than we expected when we went there. We did not get much to eat, nor that which was very good; but we had a good clean room, from the windows of which we could see what was going on in the street, which was very much better than though we had been placed in one of the dark, damp cells. Upon the whole, we got along very well, so far as the jail and its keeper were concerned. Immediately after the holidays were over, contrary to all our expectations, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Freeland came up to Easton, and took Charles, the two Henrys, and John, out of jail, and carried them home, leaving me alone. I regarded this separation as a final one. It caused me more pain than any thing else in the whole transaction. I was ready for any thing rather than separation. I supposed that they had consulted together, and had decided that, as I was the whole cause of the intention of the others to run away, it was hard to make the innocent suffer with the guilty; and that they had, therefore, concluded to take the others home, and sell me, as a warning to the others that remained. It is due to the noble Henry to say, he seemed almost as reluctant at leaving the prison as at leaving home to come to the prison. But we knew we should, in all probability, be separated, if we were sold; and since he was in their hands, he concluded to go peaceably home. I was now left to my fate. I was all alone, and within the walls of a stone prison. But a few days before, and I was full of hope. I expected to have been safe in a land of freedom; but now I was covered with gloom, sunk down to the utmost despair. I thought the possibility of freedom was gone. I was kept in this way about one week, at the end of which, Captain Auld, my master, to my surprise and utter astonishment, came up, and took me out, with the intention of sending me, with a gentleman of his acquaintance, into Alabama. But, from some cause or other, he did not send me to Alabama, but concluded to send me back to Baltimore, to live again with his brother Hugh, and to learn a trade. Thus, after an absence of three years and one month, I was once more permitted to return to my old home at Baltimore. My master sent me away, because there existed against me a very great prejudice in the community, and he feared I might be killed. In a few weeks after I went to Baltimore, Master Hugh hired me to Mr. William Gardner, an extensive ship-builder, on Fell's Point. I was put there to learn how to calk. It, however, proved a very unfavorable place for the accomplishment of this object. Mr. Gardner was engaged that spring in building two large man-of-war brigs, professedly for the Mexican government. The vessels were to be launched in the July of that year, and in failure thereof, Mr. Gardner was to lose a considerable sum; so that when I entered, all was hurry. There was no time to learn any thing. Every man had to do that which he knew how to do. In entering the shipyard, my orders from Mr. Gardner were, to do whatever the carpenters commanded me to do. This was placing me at the beck and call of about seventy-five men. I was to regard all these as masters. Their word was to be my law. My situation was a most trying one. At times I needed a dozen pair of hands. I was called a dozen ways in the space of a single minute. Three or four voices would strike my ear at the same moment. It was--"Fred., come help me to cant this timber here."--"Fred., come carry this timber yonder."--"Fred., bring that roller here."--"Fred., go get a fresh can of water."--"Fred., come help saw off the end of this timber."--"Fred., go quick, and get the crowbar."--"Fred., hold on the end of this fall."--"Fred., go to the blacksmith's shop, and get a new punch."--"Hurra, Fred! run and bring me a cold chisel."--"I say, Fred., bear a hand, and get up a fire as quick as lightning under that steam-box."--"Halloo, nigger! come, turn this grindstone."--"Come, come! move, move! and _bowse_ this timber forward."--"I say, darky, blast your eyes, why don't you heat up some pitch?"--"Halloo! halloo! halloo!" (Three voices at the same time.) "Come here!--Go there!--Hold on where you are! Damn you, if you move, I'll knock your brains out!" This was my school for eight months; and I might have remained there longer, but for a most horrid fight I had with four of the white apprentices, in which my left eye was nearly knocked out, and I was horribly mangled in other respects. The facts in the case were these: Until a very little while after I went there, white and black ship-carpenters worked side by side, and no one seemed to see any impropriety in it. All hands seemed to be very well satisfied. Many of the black carpenters were freemen. Things seemed to be going on very well. All at once, the white carpenters knocked off, and said they would not work with free colored workmen. Their reason for this, as alleged, was, that if free colored carpenters were encouraged, they would soon take the trade into their own hands, and poor white men would be thrown out of employment. They therefore felt called upon at once to put a stop to it. And, taking advantage of Mr. Gardner's necessities, they broke off, swearing they would work no longer, unless he would discharge his black carpenters. Now, though this did not extend to me in form, it did reach me in fact. My fellow-apprentices very soon began to feel it degrading to them to work with me. They began to put on airs, and talk about the "niggers" taking the country, saying we all ought to be killed; and, being encouraged by the journeymen, they commenced making my condition as hard as they could, by hectoring me around, and sometimes striking me. I, of course, kept the vow I made after the fight with Mr. Covey, and struck back again, regardless of consequences; and while I kept them from combining, I succeeded very well; for I could whip the whole of them, taking them separately. They, however, at length combined, and came upon me, armed with sticks, stones, and heavy handspikes. One came in front with a half brick. There was one at each side of me, and one behind me. While I was attending to those in front, and on either side, the one behind ran up with the handspike, and struck me a heavy blow upon the head. It stunned me. I fell, and with this they all ran upon me, and fell to beating me with their fists. I let them lay on for a while, gathering strength. In an instant, I gave a sudden surge, and rose to my hands and knees. Just as I did that, one of their number gave me, with his heavy boot, a powerful kick in the left eye. My eyeball seemed to have burst. When they saw my eye closed, and badly swollen, they left me. With this I seized the handspike, and for a time pursued them. But here the carpenters interfered, and I thought I might as well give it up. It was impossible to stand my hand against so many. All this took place in sight of not less than fifty white ship-carpenters, and not one interposed a friendly word; but some cried, "Kill the damned nigger! Kill him! kill him! He struck a white person." I found my only chance for life was in flight. I succeeded in getting away without an additional blow, and barely so; for to strike a white man is death by Lynch law,--and that was the law in Mr. Gardner's ship-yard; nor is there much of any other out of Mr. Gardner's ship-yard. I went directly home, and told the story of my wrongs to Master Hugh; and I am happy to say of him, irreligious as he was, his conduct was heavenly, compared with that of his brother Thomas under similar circumstances. He listened attentively to my narration of the circumstances leading to the savage outrage, and gave many proofs of his strong indignation at it. The heart of my once overkind mistress was again melted into pity. My puffed-out eye and blood-covered face moved her to tears. She took a chair by me, washed the blood from my face, and, with a mother's tenderness, bound up my head, covering the wounded eye with a lean piece of fresh beef. It was almost compensation for my suffering to witness, once more, a manifestation of kindness from this, my once affectionate old mistress. Master Hugh was very much enraged. He gave expression to his feelings by pouring out curses upon the heads of those who did the deed. As soon as I got a little the better of my bruises, he took me with him to Esquire Watson's, on Bond Street, to see what could be done about the matter. Mr. Watson inquired who saw the assault committed. Master Hugh told him it was done in Mr. Gardner's ship-yard at midday, where there were a large company of men at work. "As to that," he said, "the deed was done, and there was no question as to who did it." His answer was, he could do nothing in the case, unless some white man would come forward and testify. He could issue no warrant on my word. If I had been killed in the presence of a thousand colored people, their testimony combined would have been insufficient to have arrested one of the murderers. Master Hugh, for once, was compelled to say this state of things was too bad. Of course, it was impossible to get any white man to volunteer his testimony in my behalf, and against the white young men. Even those who may have sympathized with me were not prepared to do this. It required a degree of courage unknown to them to do so; for just at that time, the slightest manifestation of humanity toward a colored person was denounced as abolitionism, and that name subjected its bearer to frightful liabilities. The watchwords of the bloody-minded in that region, and in those days, were, "Damn the abolitionists!" and "Damn the niggers!" There was nothing done, and probably nothing would have been done if I had been killed. Such was, and such remains, the state of things in the Christian city of Baltimore. Master Hugh, finding he could get no redress, refused to let me go back again to Mr. Gardner. He kept me himself, and his wife dressed my wound till I was again restored to health. He then took me into the ship-yard of which he was foreman, in the employment of Mr. Walter Price. There I was immediately set to calking, and very soon learned the art of using my mallet and irons. In the course of one year from the time I left Mr. Gardner's, I was able to command the highest wages given to the most experienced calkers. I was now of some importance to my master. I was bringing him from six to seven dollars per week. I sometimes brought him nine dollars per week: my wages were a dollar and a half a day. After learning how to calk, I sought my own employment, made my own contracts, and collected the money which I earned. My pathway became much more smooth than before; my condition was now much more comfortable. When I could get no calking to do, I did nothing. During these leisure times, those old notions about freedom would steal over me again. When in Mr. Gardner's employment, I was kept in such a perpetual whirl of excitement, I could think of nothing, scarcely, but my life; and in thinking of my life, I almost forgot my liberty. I have observed this in my experience of slavery,--that whenever my condition was improved, instead of its increasing my contentment, it only increased my desire to be free, and set me to thinking of plans to gain my freedom. I have found that, to make a contented slave, it is necessary to make a thoughtless one. It is necessary to darken his moral and mental vision, and, as far as possible, to annihilate the power of reason. He must be able to detect no inconsistencies in slavery; he must be made to feel that slavery is right; and he can be brought to that only when he ceases to be a man. I was now getting, as I have said, one dollar and fifty cents per day. I contracted for it; I earned it; it was paid to me; it was rightfully my own; yet, upon each returning Saturday night, I was compelled to deliver every cent of that money to Master Hugh. And why? Not because he earned it,--not because he had any hand in earning it,--not because I owed it to him,--nor because he possessed the slightest shadow of a right to it; but solely because he had the power to compel me to give it up. The right of the grim-visaged pirate upon the high seas is exactly the same. CHAPTER XI I now come to that part of my life during which I planned, and finally succeeded in making, my escape from slavery. But before narrating any of the peculiar circumstances, I deem it proper to make known my intention not to state all the facts connected with the transaction. My reasons for pursuing this course may be understood from the following: First, were I to give a minute statement of all the facts, it is not only possible, but quite probable, that others would thereby be involved in the most embarrassing difficulties. Secondly, such a statement would most undoubtedly induce greater vigilance on the part of slaveholders than has existed heretofore among them; which would, of course, be the means of guarding a door whereby some dear brother bondman might escape his galling chains. I deeply regret the necessity that impels me to suppress any thing of importance connected with my experience in slavery. It would afford me great pleasure indeed, as well as materially add to the interest of my narrative, were I at liberty to gratify a curiosity, which I know exists in the minds of many, by an accurate statement of all the facts pertaining to my most fortunate escape. But I must deprive myself of this pleasure, and the curious of the gratification which such a statement would afford. I would allow myself to suffer under the greatest imputations which evil-minded men might suggest, rather than exculpate myself, and thereby run the hazard of closing the slightest avenue by which a brother slave might clear himself of the chains and fetters of slavery. I have never approved of the very public manner in which some of our western friends have conducted what they call the _underground railroad,_ but which I think, by their open declarations, has been made most emphatically the _upperground railroad._ I honor those good men and women for their noble daring, and applaud them for willingly subjecting themselves to bloody persecution, by openly avowing their participation in the escape of slaves. I, however, can see very little good resulting from such a course, either to themselves or the slaves escaping; while, upon the other hand, I see and feel assured that those open declarations are a positive evil to the slaves remaining, who are seeking to escape. They do nothing towards enlightening the slave, whilst they do much towards enlightening the master. They stimulate him to greater watchfulness, and enhance his power to capture his slave. We owe something to the slave south of the line as well as to those north of it; and in aiding the latter on their way to freedom, we should be careful to do nothing which would be likely to hinder the former from escaping from slavery. I would keep the merciless slaveholder profoundly ignorant of the means of flight adopted by the slave. I would leave him to imagine himself surrounded by myriads of invisible tormentors, ever ready to snatch from his infernal grasp his trembling prey. Let him be left to feel his way in the dark; let darkness commensurate with his crime hover over him; and let him feel that at every step he takes, in pursuit of the flying bondman, he is running the frightful risk of having his hot brains dashed out by an invisible agency. Let us render the tyrant no aid; let us not hold the light by which he can trace the footprints of our flying brother. But enough of this. I will now proceed to the statement of those facts, connected with my escape, for which I am alone responsible, and for which no one can be made to suffer but myself. In the early part of the year 1838, I became quite restless. I could see no reason why I should, at the end of each week, pour the reward of my toil into the purse of my master. When I carried to him my weekly wages, he would, after counting the money, look me in the face with a robber-like fierceness, and ask, "Is this all?" He was satisfied with nothing less than the last cent. He would, however, when I made him six dollars, sometimes give me six cents, to encourage me. It had the opposite effect. I regarded it as a sort of admission of my right to the whole. The fact that he gave me any part of my wages was proof, to my mind, that he believed me entitled to the whole of them. I always felt worse for having received any thing; for I feared that the giving me a few cents would ease his conscience, and make him feel himself to be a pretty honorable sort of robber. My discontent grew upon me. I was ever on the look-out for means of escape; and, finding no direct means, I determined to try to hire my time, with a view of getting money with which to make my escape. In the spring of 1838, when Master Thomas came to Baltimore to purchase his spring goods, I got an opportunity, and applied to him to allow me to hire my time. He unhesitatingly refused my request, and told me this was another stratagem by which to escape. He told me I could go nowhere but that he could get me; and that, in the event of my running away, he should spare no pains in his efforts to catch me. He exhorted me to content myself, and be obedient. He told me, if I would be happy, I must lay out no plans for the future. He said, if I behaved myself properly, he would take care of me. Indeed, he advised me to complete thoughtlessness of the future, and taught me to depend solely upon him for happiness. He seemed to see fully the pressing necessity of setting aside my intellectual nature, in order to contentment in slavery. But in spite of him, and even in spite of myself, I continued to think, and to think about the injustice of my enslavement, and the means of escape. About two months after this, I applied to Master Hugh for the privilege of hiring my time. He was not acquainted with the fact that I had applied to Master Thomas, and had been refused. He too, at first, seemed disposed to refuse; but, after some reflection, he granted me the privilege, and proposed the following terms: I was to be allowed all my time, make all contracts with those for whom I worked, and find my own employment; and, in return for this liberty, I was to pay him three dollars at the end of each week; find myself in calking tools, and in board and clothing. My board was two dollars and a half per week. This, with the wear and tear of clothing and calking tools, made my regular expenses about six dollars per week. This amount I was compelled to make up, or relinquish the privilege of hiring my time. Rain or shine, work or no work, at the end of each week the money must be forthcoming, or I must give up my privilege. This arrangement, it will be perceived, was decidedly in my master's favor. It relieved him of all need of looking after me. His money was sure. He received all the benefits of slaveholding without its evils; while I endured all the evils of a slave, and suffered all the care and anxiety of a freeman. I found it a hard bargain. But, hard as it was, I thought it better than the old mode of getting along. It was a step towards freedom to be allowed to bear the responsibilities of a freeman, and I was determined to hold on upon it. I bent myself to the work of making money. I was ready to work at night as well as day, and by the most untiring perseverance and industry, I made enough to meet my expenses, and lay up a little money every week. I went on thus from May till August. Master Hugh then refused to allow me to hire my time longer. The ground for his refusal was a failure on my part, one Saturday night, to pay him for my week's time. This failure was occasioned by my attending a camp meeting about ten miles from Baltimore. During the week, I had entered into an engagement with a number of young friends to start from Baltimore to the camp ground early Saturday evening; and being detained by my employer, I was unable to get down to Master Hugh's without disappointing the company. I knew that Master Hugh was in no special need of the money that night. I therefore decided to go to camp meeting, and upon my return pay him the three dollars. I staid at the camp meeting one day longer than I intended when I left. But as soon as I returned, I called upon him to pay him what he considered his due. I found him very angry; he could scarce restrain his wrath. He said he had a great mind to give me a severe whipping. He wished to know how I dared go out of the city without asking his permission. I told him I hired my time and while I paid him the price which he asked for it, I did not know that I was bound to ask him when and where I should go. This reply troubled him; and, after reflecting a few moments, he turned to me, and said I should hire my time no longer; that the next thing he should know of, I would be running away. Upon the same plea, he told me to bring my tools and clothing home forthwith. I did so; but instead of seeking work, as I had been accustomed to do previously to hiring my time, I spent the whole week without the performance of a single stroke of work. I did this in retaliation. Saturday night, he called upon me as usual for my week's wages. I told him I had no wages; I had done no work that week. Here we were upon the point of coming to blows. He raved, and swore his determination to get hold of me. I did not allow myself a single word; but was resolved, if he laid the weight of his hand upon me, it should be blow for blow. He did not strike me, but told me that he would find me in constant employment in future. I thought the matter over during the next day, Sunday, and finally resolved upon the third day of September, as the day upon which I would make a second attempt to secure my freedom. I now had three weeks during which to prepare for my journey. Early on Monday morning, before Master Hugh had time to make any engagement for me, I went out and got employment of Mr. Butler, at his ship-yard near the drawbridge, upon what is called the City Block, thus making it unnecessary for him to seek employment for me. At the end of the week, I brought him between eight and nine dollars. He seemed very well pleased, and asked why I did not do the same the week before. He little knew what my plans were. My object in working steadily was to remove any suspicion he might entertain of my intent to run away; and in this I succeeded admirably. I suppose he thought I was never better satisfied with my condition than at the very time during which I was planning my escape. The second week passed, and again I carried him my full wages; and so well pleased was he, that he gave me twenty-five cents, (quite a large sum for a slaveholder to give a slave,) and bade me to make a good use of it. I told him I would. Things went on without very smoothly indeed, but within there was trouble. It is impossible for me to describe my feelings as the time of my contemplated start drew near. I had a number of warmhearted friends in Baltimore,--friends that I loved almost as I did my life,--and the thought of being separated from them forever was painful beyond expression. It is my opinion that thousands would escape from slavery, who now remain, but for the strong cords of affection that bind them to their friends. The thought of leaving my friends was decidedly the most painful thought with which I had to contend. The love of them was my tender point, and shook my decision more than all things else. Besides the pain of separation, the dread and apprehension of a failure exceeded what I had experienced at my first attempt. The appalling defeat I then sustained returned to torment me. I felt assured that, if I failed in this attempt, my case would be a hopeless one--it would seal my fate as a slave forever. I could not hope to get off with any thing less than the severest punishment, and being placed beyond the means of escape. It required no very vivid imagination to depict the most frightful scenes through which I should have to pass, in case I failed. The wretchedness of slavery, and the blessedness of freedom, were perpetually before me. It was life and death with me. But I remained firm, and, according to my resolution, on the third day of September, 1838, I left my chains, and succeeded in reaching New York without the slightest interruption of any kind. How I did so,--what means I adopted,--what direction I travelled, and by what mode of conveyance,--I must leave unexplained, for the reasons before mentioned. I have been frequently asked how I felt when I found myself in a free State. I have never been able to answer the question with any satisfaction to myself. It was a moment of the highest excitement I ever experienced. I suppose I felt as one may imagine the unarmed mariner to feel when he is rescued by a friendly man-of-war from the pursuit of a pirate. In writing to a dear friend, immediately after my arrival at New York, I said I felt like one who had escaped a den of hungry lions. This state of mind, however, very soon subsided; and I was again seized with a feeling of great insecurity and loneliness. I was yet liable to be taken back, and subjected to all the tortures of slavery. This in itself was enough to damp the ardor of my enthusiasm. But the loneliness overcame me. There I was in the midst of thousands, and yet a perfect stranger; without home and without friends, in the midst of thousands of my own brethren--children of a common Father, and yet I dared not to unfold to any one of them my sad condition. I was afraid to speak to any one for fear of speaking to the wrong one, and thereby falling into the hands of money-loving kidnappers, whose business it was to lie in wait for the panting fugitive, as the ferocious beasts of the forest lie in wait for their prey. The motto which I adopted when I started from slavery was this--"Trust no man!" I saw in every white man an enemy, and in almost every colored man cause for distrust. It was a most painful situation; and, to understand it, one must needs experience it, or imagine himself in similar circumstances. Let him be a fugitive slave in a strange land--a land given up to be the hunting-ground for slaveholders--whose inhabitants are legalized kidnappers--where he is every moment subjected to the terrible liability of being seized upon by his fellowmen, as the hideous crocodile seizes upon his prey!--I say, let him place himself in my situation--without home or friends--without money or credit--wanting shelter, and no one to give it--wanting bread, and no money to buy it,--and at the same time let him feel that he is pursued by merciless men-hunters, and in total darkness as to what to do, where to go, or where to stay,--perfectly helpless both as to the means of defence and means of escape,--in the midst of plenty, yet suffering the terrible gnawings of hunger,--in the midst of houses, yet having no home,--among fellow-men, yet feeling as if in the midst of wild beasts, whose greediness to swallow up the trembling and half-famished fugitive is only equalled by that with which the monsters of the deep swallow up the helpless fish upon which they subsist,--I say, let him be placed in this most trying situation,--the situation in which I was placed,--then, and not till then, will he fully appreciate the hardships of, and know how to sympathize with, the toil-worn and whip-scarred fugitive slave. Thank Heaven, I remained but a short time in this distressed situation. I was relieved from it by the humane hand of _Mr. David Ruggles_, whose vigilance, kindness, and perseverance, I shall never forget. I am glad of an opportunity to express, as far as words can, the love and gratitude I bear him. Mr. Ruggles is now afflicted with blindness, and is himself in need of the same kind offices which he was once so forward in the performance of toward others. I had been in New York but a few days, when Mr. Ruggles sought me out, and very kindly took me to his boarding-house at the corner of Church and Lespenard Streets. Mr. Ruggles was then very deeply engaged in the memorable _Darg_ case, as well as attending to a number of other fugitive slaves, devising ways and means for their successful escape; and, though watched and hemmed in on almost every side, he seemed to be more than a match for his enemies. Very soon after I went to Mr. Ruggles, he wished to know of me where I wanted to go; as he deemed it unsafe for me to remain in New York. I told him I was a calker, and should like to go where I could get work. I thought of going to Canada; but he decided against it, and in favor of my going to New Bedford, thinking I should be able to get work there at my trade. At this time, Anna,* my intended wife, came on; for I wrote to her immediately after my arrival at New York, (notwithstanding my homeless, houseless, and helpless condition,) informing her of my successful flight, and wishing her to come on forthwith. In a few days after her arrival, Mr. Ruggles called in the Rev. J. W. C. Pennington, who, in the presence of Mr. Ruggles, Mrs. Michaels, and two or three others, performed the marriage ceremony, and gave us a certificate, of which the following is an exact copy:-- "This may certify, that I joined together in holy matrimony Frederick Johnson** and Anna Murray, as man and wife, in the presence of Mr. David Ruggles and Mrs. Michaels. "JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON "_New York, Sept. 15, 1838_" *She was free. **I had changed my name from Frederick _Bailey_ to that of _Johnson_. Upon receiving this certificate, and a five-dollar bill from Mr. Ruggles, I shouldered one part of our baggage, and Anna took up the other, and we set out forthwith to take passage on board of the steamboat John W. Richmond for Newport, on our way to New Bedford. Mr. Ruggles gave me a letter to a Mr. Shaw in Newport, and told me, in case my money did not serve me to New Bedford, to stop in Newport and obtain further assistance; but upon our arrival at Newport, we were so anxious to get to a place of safety, that, notwithstanding we lacked the necessary money to pay our fare, we decided to take seats in the stage, and promise to pay when we got to New Bedford. We were encouraged to do this by two excellent gentlemen, residents of New Bedford, whose names I afterward ascertained to be Joseph Ricketson and William C. Taber. They seemed at once to understand our circumstances, and gave us such assurance of their friendliness as put us fully at ease in their presence. It was good indeed to meet with such friends, at such a time. Upon reaching New Bedford, we were directed to the house of Mr. Nathan Johnson, by whom we were kindly received, and hospitably provided for. Both Mr. and Mrs. Johnson took a deep and lively interest in our welfare. They proved themselves quite worthy of the name of abolitionists. When the stage-driver found us unable to pay our fare, he held on upon our baggage as security for the debt. I had but to mention the fact to Mr. Johnson, and he forthwith advanced the money. We now began to feel a degree of safety, and to prepare ourselves for the duties and responsibilities of a life of freedom. On the morning after our arrival at New Bedford, while at the breakfast-table, the question arose as to what name I should be called by. The name given me by my mother was, "Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey." I, however, had dispensed with the two middle names long before I left Maryland so that I was generally known by the name of "Frederick Bailey." I started from Baltimore bearing the name of "Stanley." When I got to New York, I again changed my name to "Frederick Johnson," and thought that would be the last change. But when I got to New Bedford, I found it necessary again to change my name. The reason of this necessity was, that there were so many Johnsons in New Bedford, it was already quite difficult to distinguish between them. I gave Mr. Johnson the privilege of choosing me a name, but told him he must not take from me the name of "Frederick." I must hold on to that, to preserve a sense of my identity. Mr. Johnson had just been reading the "Lady of the Lake," and at once suggested that my name be "Douglass." From that time until now I have been called "Frederick Douglass;" and as I am more widely known by that name than by either of the others, I shall continue to use it as my own. I was quite disappointed at the general appearance of things in New Bedford. The impression which I had received respecting the character and condition of the people of the north, I found to be singularly erroneous. I had very strangely supposed, while in slavery, that few of the comforts, and scarcely any of the luxuries, of life were enjoyed at the north, compared with what were enjoyed by the slaveholders of the south. I probably came to this conclusion from the fact that northern people owned no slaves. I supposed that they were about upon a level with the non-slaveholding population of the south. I knew _they_ were exceedingly poor, and I had been accustomed to regard their poverty as the necessary consequence of their being non-slaveholders. I had somehow imbibed the opinion that, in the absence of slaves, there could be no wealth, and very little refinement. And upon coming to the north, I expected to meet with a rough, hard-handed, and uncultivated population, living in the most Spartan-like simplicity, knowing nothing of the ease, luxury, pomp, and grandeur of southern slaveholders. Such being my conjectures, any one acquainted with the appearance of New Bedford may very readily infer how palpably I must have seen my mistake. In the afternoon of the day when I reached New Bedford, I visited the wharves, to take a view of the shipping. Here I found myself surrounded with the strongest proofs of wealth. Lying at the wharves, and riding in the stream, I saw many ships of the finest model, in the best order, and of the largest size. Upon the right and left, I was walled in by granite warehouses of the widest dimensions, stowed to their utmost capacity with the necessaries and comforts of life. Added to this, almost every body seemed to be at work, but noiselessly so, compared with what I had been accustomed to in Baltimore. There were no loud songs heard from those engaged in loading and unloading ships. I heard no deep oaths or horrid curses on the laborer. I saw no whipping of men; but all seemed to go smoothly on. Every man appeared to understand his work, and went at it with a sober, yet cheerful earnestness, which betokened the deep interest which he felt in what he was doing, as well as a sense of his own dignity as a man. To me this looked exceedingly strange. From the wharves I strolled around and over the town, gazing with wonder and admiration at the splendid churches, beautiful dwellings, and finely-cultivated gardens; evincing an amount of wealth, comfort, taste, and refinement, such as I had never seen in any part of slaveholding Maryland. Every thing looked clean, new, and beautiful. I saw few or no dilapidated houses, with poverty-stricken inmates; no half-naked children and barefooted women, such as I had been accustomed to see in Hillsborough, Easton, St. Michael's, and Baltimore. The people looked more able, stronger, healthier, and happier, than those of Maryland. I was for once made glad by a view of extreme wealth, without being saddened by seeing extreme poverty. But the most astonishing as well as the most interesting thing to me was the condition of the colored people, a great many of whom, like myself, had escaped thither as a refuge from the hunters of men. I found many, who had not been seven years out of their chains, living in finer houses, and evidently enjoying more of the comforts of life, than the average of slaveholders in Maryland. I will venture to assert, that my friend Mr. Nathan Johnson (of whom I can say with a grateful heart, "I was hungry, and he gave me meat; I was thirsty, and he gave me drink; I was a stranger, and he took me in") lived in a neater house; dined at a better table; took, paid for, and read, more newspapers; better understood the moral, religious, and political character of the nation,--than nine tenths of the slaveholders in Talbot county Maryland. Yet Mr. Johnson was a working man. His hands were hardened by toil, and not his alone, but those also of Mrs. Johnson. I found the colored people much more spirited than I had supposed they would be. I found among them a determination to protect each other from the blood-thirsty kidnapper, at all hazards. Soon after my arrival, I was told of a circumstance which illustrated their spirit. A colored man and a fugitive slave were on unfriendly terms. The former was heard to threaten the latter with informing his master of his whereabouts. Straightway a meeting was called among the colored people, under the stereotyped notice, "Business of importance!" The betrayer was invited to attend. The people came at the appointed hour, and organized the meeting by appointing a very religious old gentleman as president, who, I believe, made a prayer, after which he addressed the meeting as follows: "_Friends, we have got him here, and I would recommend that you young men just take him outside the door, and kill him!_" With this, a number of them bolted at him; but they were intercepted by some more timid than themselves, and the betrayer escaped their vengeance, and has not been seen in New Bedford since. I believe there have been no more such threats, and should there be hereafter, I doubt not that death would be the consequence. I found employment, the third day after my arrival, in stowing a sloop with a load of oil. It was new, dirty, and hard work for me; but I went at it with a glad heart and a willing hand. I was now my own master. It was a happy moment, the rapture of which can be understood only by those who have been slaves. It was the first work, the reward of which was to be entirely my own. There was no Master Hugh standing ready, the moment I earned the money, to rob me of it. I worked that day with a pleasure I had never before experienced. I was at work for myself and newly-married wife. It was to me the starting-point of a new existence. When I got through with that job, I went in pursuit of a job of calking; but such was the strength of prejudice against color, among the white calkers, that they refused to work with me, and of course I could get no employment.* * I am told that colored persons can now get employment at calking in New Bedford&mdash;a result of anti-slavery effort. Finding my trade of no immediate benefit, I threw off my calking habiliments, and prepared myself to do any kind of work I could get to do. Mr. Johnson kindly let me have his wood-horse and saw, and I very soon found myself a plenty of work. There was no work too hard--none too dirty. I was ready to saw wood, shovel coal, carry wood, sweep the chimney, or roll oil casks,--all of which I did for nearly three years in New Bedford, before I became known to the anti-slavery world. In about four months after I went to New Bedford, there came a young man to me, and inquired if I did not wish to take the "Liberator." I told him I did; but, just having made my escape from slavery, I remarked that I was unable to pay for it then. I, however, finally became a subscriber to it. The paper came, and I read it from week to week with such feelings as it would be quite idle for me to attempt to describe. The paper became my meat and my drink. My soul was set all on fire. Its sympathy for my brethren in bonds--its scathing denunciations of slaveholders--its faithful exposures of slavery--and its powerful attacks upon the upholders of the institution--sent a thrill of joy through my soul, such as I had never felt before! I had not long been a reader of the "Liberator," before I got a pretty correct idea of the principles, measures and spirit of the anti-slavery reform. I took right hold of the cause. I could do but little; but what I could, I did with a joyful heart, and never felt happier than when in an anti-slavery meeting. I seldom had much to say at the meetings, because what I wanted to say was said so much better by others. But, while attending an anti-slavery convention at Nantucket, on the 11th of August, 1841, I felt strongly moved to speak, and was at the same time much urged to do so by Mr. William C. Coffin, a gentleman who had heard me speak in the colored people's meeting at New Bedford. It was a severe cross, and I took it up reluctantly. The truth was, I felt myself a slave, and the idea of speaking to white people weighed me down. I spoke but a few moments, when I felt a degree of freedom, and said what I desired with considerable ease. From that time until now, I have been engaged in pleading the cause of my brethren--with what success, and with what devotion, I leave those acquainted with my labors to decide. APPENDIX I find, since reading over the foregoing Narrative, that I have, in several instances, spoken in such a tone and manner, respecting religion, as may possibly lead those unacquainted with my religious views to suppose me an opponent of all religion. To remove the liability of such misapprehension, I deem it proper to append the following brief explanation. What I have said respecting and against religion, I mean strictly to apply to the _slaveholding religion_ of this land, and with no possible reference to Christianity proper; for, between the Christianity of this land, and the Christianity of Christ, I recognize the widest possible difference--so wide, that to receive the one as good, pure, and holy, is of necessity to reject the other as bad, corrupt, and wicked. To be the friend of the one, is of necessity to be the enemy of the other. I love the pure, peaceable, and impartial Christianity of Christ: I therefore hate the corrupt, slaveholding, women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of this land. Indeed, I can see no reason, but the most deceitful one, for calling the religion of this land Christianity. I look upon it as the climax of all misnomers, the boldest of all frauds, and the grossest of all libels. Never was there a clearer case of "stealing the livery of the court of heaven to serve the devil in." I am filled with unutterable loathing when I contemplate the religious pomp and show, together with the horrible inconsistencies, which every where surround me. We have men-stealers for ministers, women-whippers for missionaries, and cradle-plunderers for church members. The man who wields the blood-clotted cowskin during the week fills the pulpit on Sunday, and claims to be a minister of the meek and lowly Jesus. The man who robs me of my earnings at the end of each week meets me as a class-leader on Sunday morning, to show me the way of life, and the path of salvation. He who sells my sister, for purposes of prostitution, stands forth as the pious advocate of purity. He who proclaims it a religious duty to read the Bible denies me the right of learning to read the name of the God who made me. He who is the religious advocate of marriage robs whole millions of its sacred influence, and leaves them to the ravages of wholesale pollution. The warm defender of the sacredness of the family relation is the same that scatters whole families,--sundering husbands and wives, parents and children, sisters and brothers,--leaving the hut vacant, and the hearth desolate. We see the thief preaching against theft, and the adulterer against adultery. We have men sold to build churches, women sold to support the gospel, and babes sold to purchase Bibles for the _Poor Heathen! All For The Glory Of God And The Good Of Souls!_ The slave auctioneer's bell and the church-going bell chime in with each other, and the bitter cries of the heart-broken slave are drowned in the religious shouts of his pious master. Revivals of religion and revivals in the slave-trade go hand in hand together. The slave prison and the church stand near each other. The clanking of fetters and the rattling of chains in the prison, and the pious psalm and solemn prayer in the church, may be heard at the same time. The dealers in the bodies and souls of men erect their stand in the presence of the pulpit, and they mutually help each other. The dealer gives his blood-stained gold to support the pulpit, and the pulpit, in return, covers his infernal business with the garb of Christianity. Here we have religion and robbery the allies of each other--devils dressed in angels' robes, and hell presenting the semblance of paradise. "Just God! and these are they, Who minister at thine altar, God of right! Men who their hands, with prayer and blessing, lay On Israel's ark of light. "What! preach, and kidnap men? Give thanks, and rob thy own afflicted poor? Talk of thy glorious liberty, and then Bolt hard the captive's door? "What! servants of thy own Merciful Son, who came to seek and save The homeless and the outcast, fettering down The tasked and plundered slave! "Pilate and Herod friends! Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine! Just God and holy! is that church which lends Strength to the spoiler thine?" The Christianity of America is a Christianity, of whose votaries it may be as truly said, as it was of the ancient scribes and Pharisees, "They bind heavy burdens, and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders, but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers. All their works they do for to be seen of men.--They love the uppermost rooms at feasts, and the chief seats in the synagogues, . . . . . . and to be called of men, Rabbi, Rabbi.--But woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against men; for ye neither go in yourselves, neither suffer ye them that are entering to go in. Ye devour widows' houses, and for a pretence make long prayers; therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation. Ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye make him twofold more the child of hell than yourselves.--Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye pay tithe of mint, and anise, and cumin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith; these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone. Ye blind guides! which strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel. Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye make clean the outside of the cup and of the platter; but within, they are full of extortion and excess.--Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men's bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so ye also outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within ye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity." Dark and terrible as is this picture, I hold it to be strictly true of the overwhelming mass of professed Christians in America. They strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel. Could any thing be more true of our churches? They would be shocked at the proposition of fellowshipping a _sheep_-stealer; and at the same time they hug to their communion a _man_-stealer, and brand me with being an infidel, if I find fault with them for it. They attend with Pharisaical strictness to the outward forms of religion, and at the same time neglect the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith. They are always ready to sacrifice, but seldom to show mercy. They are they who are represented as professing to love God whom they have not seen, whilst they hate their brother whom they have seen. They love the heathen on the other side of the globe. They can pray for him, pay money to have the Bible put into his hand, and missionaries to instruct him; while they despise and totally neglect the heathen at their own doors. Such is, very briefly, my view of the religion of this land; and to avoid any misunderstanding, growing out of the use of general terms, I mean by the religion of this land, that which is revealed in the words, deeds, and actions, of those bodies, north and south, calling themselves Christian churches, and yet in union with slaveholders. It is against religion, as presented by these bodies, that I have felt it my duty to testify. I conclude these remarks by copying the following portrait of the religion of the south, (which is, by communion and fellowship, the religion of the north,) which I soberly affirm is "true to the life," and without caricature or the slightest exaggeration. It is said to have been drawn, several years before the present anti-slavery agitation began, by a northern Methodist preacher, who, while residing at the south, had an opportunity to see slaveholding morals, manners, and piety, with his own eyes. "Shall I not visit for these things? saith the Lord. Shall not my soul be avenged on such a nation as this?" <b>A PARODY</b> "Come, saints and sinners, hear me tell How pious priests whip Jack and Nell, And women buy and children sell, And preach all sinners down to hell, And sing of heavenly union. "They'll bleat and baa, dona like goats, Gorge down black sheep, and strain at motes, Array their backs in fine black coats, Then seize their negroes by their throats, And choke, for heavenly union. "They'll church you if you sip a dram, And damn you if you steal a lamb; Yet rob old Tony, Doll, and Sam, Of human rights, and bread and ham; Kidnapper's heavenly union. "They'll loudly talk of Christ's reward, And bind his image with a cord, And scold, and swing the lash abhorred, And sell their brother in the Lord To handcuffed heavenly union. "They'll read and sing a sacred song, And make a prayer both loud and long, And teach the right and do the wrong, Hailing the brother, sister throng, With words of heavenly union. "We wonder how such saints can sing, Or praise the Lord upon the wing, Who roar, and scold, and whip, and sting, And to their slaves and mammon cling, In guilty conscience union. "They'll raise tobacco, corn, and rye, And drive, and thieve, and cheat, and lie, And lay up treasures in the sky, By making switch and cowskin fly, In hope of heavenly union. "They'll crack old Tony on the skull, And preach and roar like Bashan bull, Or braying ass, of mischief full, Then seize old Jacob by the wool, And pull for heavenly union. "A roaring, ranting, sleek man-thief, Who lived on mutton, veal, and beef, Yet never would afford relief To needy, sable sons of grief, Was big with heavenly union. "'Love not the world,' the preacher said, And winked his eye, and shook his head; He seized on Tom, and Dick, and Ned, Cut short their meat, and clothes, and bread, Yet still loved heavenly union. "Another preacher whining spoke Of One whose heart for sinners broke: He tied old Nanny to an oak, And drew the blood at every stroke, And prayed for heavenly union. "Two others oped their iron jaws, And waved their children-stealing paws; There sat their children in gewgaws; By stinting negroes' backs and maws, They kept up heavenly union. "All good from Jack another takes, And entertains their flirts and rakes, Who dress as sleek as glossy snakes, And cram their mouths with sweetened cakes; And this goes down for union." Sincerely and earnestly hoping that this little book may do something toward throwing light on the American slave system, and hastening the glad day of deliverance to the millions of my brethren in bonds--faithfully relying upon the power of truth, love, and justice, for success in my humble efforts--and solemnly pledging my self anew to the sacred cause,--I subscribe myself, FREDERICK DOUGLASS. LYNN, _Mass., April_ 28, 1845. THE END 
26123	----	+-------------------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's Note: | | | |The adjective 'Christian' is sometimes spelled 'christian' | |and its use is inconsistent throughout the book. The original| |punctuation, language and spelling have been retained, except| |where noted at the end of the text. | +-------------------------------------------------------------+ AN ESSAY ON SLAVERY AND ABOLITIONISM, WITH REFERENCE TO THE DUTY OF AMERICAN FEMALES. BY CATHARINE E. BEECHER. Philadelphia: HENRY PERKINS, 134 CHESTNUT STREET. PERKINS & MARVIN, BOSTON. 1837. Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1837, by _Henry Perkins_, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. L. ASHMEAD AND CO. PRINTERS. PREFACE. THE following are the circumstances which occasioned the succeeding pages. A gentleman and a friend, requested the writer to assign reasons why he should not join the Abolition Society. While preparing a reply to this request, MISS GRIMKÉ's Address was presented, and the information communicated, of her intention to visit the North, for the purpose of using her influence among northern ladies to induce them to unite with Abolition Societies. The writer then began a private letter to Miss Grimké as a personal friend. But by the wishes and advice of others, these two efforts were finally combined in the following Essay, to be presented to the public. The honoured and beloved name which that lady bears, so associated as it is at the South, North, and West, with all that is elegant in a scholar, refined in a gentleman, and elevated in a Christian,--the respectable sect with which she is connected,--the interesting effusions of her pen,--and her own intellectual and moral worth, must secure respect for her opinions and much personal influence. This seems to be a sufficient apology for presenting to the public some considerations in connexion with her name; considerations which may exhibit in another aspect the cause she advocates, and which it may be appropriate to consider. As such, they are respectfully commended to the public, and especially to that portion of it for which they are particularly designed. ESSAY ON SLAVERY AND ABOLITIONISM. ADDRESSED TO MISS A. D. GRIMKÉ. MY DEAR FRIEND, Your public address to Christian females at the South has reached me, and I have been urged to aid in circulating it at the North. I have also been informed, that you contemplate a tour, during the ensuing year, for the purpose of exerting your influence to form Abolition Societies among ladies of the non-slave-holding States. Our acquaintance and friendship give me a claim to your private ear; but there are reasons why it seems more desirable to address you, who now stand before the public as an advocate of Abolition measures, in a more public manner. The object I have in view, is to present some reasons why it seems unwise and inexpedient for ladies of the non-slave-holding States to unite themselves in Abolition Societies; and thus, at the same time, to exhibit the inexpediency of the course you propose to adopt. I would first remark, that your public address leads me to infer, that you are not sufficiently informed in regard to the feelings and opinions of Christian females at the North. Your remarks seem to assume, that the _principles_ held by Abolitionists on the subject of slavery, are peculiar to them, and are not generally adopted by those at the North who oppose their _measures_. In this you are not correctly informed. In the sense in which Abolitionists explain the terms they employ, there is little, if any, difference between them and most northern persons. Especially is this true of northern persons of religious principles. I know not where to look for northern Christians, who would deny that every slave-holder is bound to treat his slaves exactly as he would claim that his own children ought to be treated in similar circumstances; that the holding of our fellow men as property, or the withholding any of the rights of freedom, for mere purposes of gain, is a sin, and ought to be immediately abandoned; and that where the laws are such, that a slave-holder cannot _legally_ emancipate his slaves, without throwing them into worse bondage, he is bound to use all his influence to alter those laws, and, in the meantime, to treat his slaves, as nearly as he can, _as if_ they were free. I do not suppose there is one person in a thousand, at the North, who would dissent from these principles. They would only differ in the use of terms, and call this the doctrine of _gradual emancipation_, while Abolitionists would call it the doctrine of _immediate emancipation_. As this is the state of public opinion at the North, there is no necessity for using any influence with northern ladies, in order that they may adopt your _principles_ on the subject of slavery; for they hold them in common with yourself, and it would seem unwise, and might prove irritating, to approach them as if they held opposite sentiments. In regard to the duty of making efforts to bring the people of the Southern States to adopt these principles, and act on them, it is entirely another matter. On this point you would find a large majority opposed to your views. Most persons in the non-slave-holding States have considered the matter of Southern slavery, as one in which they were no more called to interfere, than in the abolition of the press-gang system in England, or the tythe system of Ireland. Public opinion may have been wrong on this point, and yet have been right on all those great principles of rectitude and justice relating to slavery, which Abolitionists claim as their _distinctive_ peculiarities. The distinctive peculiarity of the Abolition Society is this: it is a voluntary association in one section of the country, designed to awaken public sentiment against a moral evil existing in another section of the country, and the principal point of effort seems to be, to enlarge the numbers of this association as a means of influencing public sentiment. The principal object of your proposed tour, I suppose, is to present facts, arguments, and persuasions to influence northern ladies to enrol themselves as members of this association. I will therefore proceed to present some of the reasons which may be brought against such a measure as the one you would urge. In the first place, the main principle of action in that society rests wholly on a false deduction from past experience. Experience has shown, that when certain moral evils exist in a community, efforts to awaken public sentiment against such practices, and combinations for the exercise of personal influence and example, have in various cases tended to rectify these evils. Thus in respect to intemperance;--the collecting of facts, the labours of public lecturers and the distribution of publications, have had much effect in diminishing the evil. So in reference to the slave-trade and slavery in England. The English nation possessed the power of regulating their own trade, and of giving liberty to every slave in their dominions; and yet they were entirely unmindful of their duty on this subject. Clarkson, Wilberforce, and their coadjutors, commenced a system of operations to arouse and influence public sentiment, and they succeeded in securing the suppression of the slave trade, and the gradual abolition of slavery in the English colonies. In both these cases, the effort was to enlighten and direct public sentiment in a community, of which the actors were a portion, in order to lead them to rectify an evil existing among THEMSELVES, which was entirely under their control. From the success of such efforts, the Abolitionists of this country have drawn inferences, which appear to be not only illogical, but false. Because individuals in _their own_ community have aroused their fellow citizens to correct their own evils, therefore they infer that attempts to convince their fellow-citizens of the faults of _another_ community will lead that community to forsake their evil practices. An example will more clearly illustrate the case. Suppose two rival cities, which have always been in competition, and always jealous of each other's reputation and prosperity. Certain individuals in one of these cities become convinced, that the sin of intemperance is destroying their prosperity and domestic happiness. They proceed to collect facts, they arrange statistics, they call public meetings, they form voluntary associations, they use arguments, entreaties and personal example, and by these means they arrest the evil. Suppose another set of men, in this same community, become convinced that certain practices in trade and business in the rival city, are dishonest, and have an oppressive bearing on certain classes in that city, and are injurious to the interests of general commerce. Suppose also, that these are practices, which, by those who allow them, are considered as honourable and right. Those who are convinced of their immorality, wish to alter the opinions and the practices of the citizens of their rival city, and to do this, they commence the collection of facts, that exhibit the tendencies of these practices and the evils they have engendered. But instead of going among the community in which the evils exist, and endeavouring to convince and persuade them, they proceed to form voluntary associations among their neighbours at home, and spend their time, money and efforts to convince their fellow citizens that the inhabitants of their rival city are guilty of a great sin. They also publish papers and tracts and send out agents, not to the guilty city, but to all the neighbouring towns and villages, to convince them of the sins of the city in their vicinity. And they claim that they shall succeed in making that city break off its sins, by these measures, because other men succeeded in banishing intemperance by labouring among their own friends and fellow citizens. Is not this example exactly parallel with the exertions of the Abolitionists? Are not the northern and southern sections of our country distinct communities, with different feelings and interests? Are they not rival, and jealous in feeling? Have the northern States the power to rectify evils at the South, as they have to remove their own moral deformities; or have they any such power over the southern States as the British people had over their own trade and their dependent colonies in the West Indies? Have not Abolitionists been sending out papers, tracts, and agents to convince the people of the North of the sins of the South? Have they not refrained from going to the South with their facts, arguments, and appeals, because they feared personal evils to themselves? And do not Abolitionists found their hopes of success in their project, on the success which crowned the efforts of British philanthropists in the case of slavery, and on the success that has attended efforts to banish intemperance? And do not these two cases differ entirely from the Abolition movement in this main point, that one is an effort to convince men of _their own_ sins, and the other is an effort to convince men of the sins of _other persons_? The second reason I would urge against joining the Abolition Society is, that its character and measures are not either peaceful or Christian in tendency, but they rather are those which tend to generate party spirit, denunciation, recrimination, and angry passions. But before bringing evidence to sustain this position, I wish to make a distinction between the _men_ who constitute an association, and the _measures_ which are advocated and adopted. I believe, that as a body, Abolitionists are men of pure morals, of great honesty of purpose, of real benevolence and piety, and of great activity in efforts to promote what they consider the best interests of their fellow men. I believe, that, in making efforts to abolish slavery, they have taken measures, which they supposed were best calculated to bring this evil to an end, with the greatest speed, and with the least danger and suffering to the South. I do not believe they ever designed to promote disunion, or insurrection, or to stir up strife, or that they suppose that their measures can be justly characterized by the peculiarities I have specified. I believe they have been urged forward by a strong feeling of patriotism, as well as of religious duty, and that they have made great sacrifices of feeling, character, time, and money to promote what they believed to be the cause of humanity and the service of God. I regard individuals among them, as having taken a bold and courageous stand, in maintaining the liberty of free discussion, the liberty of speech and of the press; though this however is somewhat abated by the needless provocations by which they caused those difficulties and hazards they so courageously sustained. In speaking thus of Abolitionists as a body, it is not assumed that there are not bad men found in this party as well as in every other; nor that among those who are good men, there are not those who may have allowed party spirit to take the place of Christian principle; men who have exhibited a mournful destitution of Christian charity; who have indulged in an overbearing, denouncing, and self-willed pertinacity as to measures. Yet with these reservations, I believe that the above is no more than a fair and just exhibition of that class of men who are embraced in the party of Abolitionists. And all this can be admitted, and yet the objection I am to urge against joining their ranks may stand in its full force. To make the position clearer, an illustration may be allowed. Suppose a body of good men become convinced that the inspired direction, "them that sin, rebuke before all, that others may fear," imposes upon them the duty of openly rebuking every body whom they discover in the practice of any sin. Suppose these men are daily in the habit of going into the streets, and calling all by-standers around them, pointing out certain men, some as liars, some as dishonest, some as licentious, and then bringing proofs of their guilt and rebuking them before all; at the same time exhorting all around to point at them the finger of scorn. They persevere in this course till the whole community is thrown into an uproar; and assaults, and even bloodshed ensue. They then call on all good citizens to protect their persons from abuse, and to maintain the liberty of speech and of free opinion. Now the men may be as pure in morals, as conscientious and upright in intention, as any Abolitionist, and yet every one would say, that their measures were unwise and unchristian. In like manner, although Abolitionists may be lauded for many virtues, still much evidence can be presented, that the character and measures of the Abolition Society are not either peaceful or christian in tendency, but that they are in their nature calculated to generate party spirit, denunciation, recrimination, and angry passions. The first thing I would present to establish this, is the character of the leaders of this association. Every combined effort is necessarily directed by leaders; and the spirit of the leaders will inevitably be communicated to their coadjutors, and appear in the measures of the whole body. In attempting to characterize these leaders, I would first present another leader of a similar enterprise, the beloved and venerated WILBERFORCE. It is thus that his prominent traits are delineated by an intimate friend. "His extreme benevolence contributed largely to his success. I have heard him say, that it was one of his constant rules, and on the question of slavery especially, never to provoke an adversary--to allow him credit fully for sincerity and purity of motive--to abstain from all irritating expressions--to avoid even such political attacks as would indispose his opponents for his great cause. In fact, the benignity, the gentleness, the kind-heartedness of the man, disarmed the bitterest foes. Not only on this question did he restrain himself, but generally. Once he had been called during a whole debate 'the religious member,' in a kind of scorn. He remarked afterwards, that he was much inclined to have retorted, by calling his opponent the _irreligious_ member, but that he refrained, as it would have been a returning of evil for evil. Next to his general consistency, and love of the Scriptures, the _humility_ of his character always appeared remarkable. The modest, shrinking, simple Christian statesman and friend always appeared in him. And the nearer you approached him, the more his habit of mind obviously appeared to be modest and lowly. His _charity in judging of others_, is a farther trait of his Christian character. Of his benevolence I need not speak, but his _kind construction of doubtful actions_, his _charitable language_ toward those with whom he most widely differed, his thorough forgetfulness of little affronts, were fruits of that general benevolence which continually appeared." This was the leader, both in and out of Parliament, of that body of men who combined to bring to an end slavery and the slave trade, in the dominions of Great Britain. With him, as principal leaders, were associated CLARKSON, SHARPE, MACAULAY, and others of a similar spirit. These men were all of them characterized by that mild, benevolent, peaceful, gentlemanly and forbearing spirit, which has been described as so conspicuous in Wilberforce. And when their measures are examined, it will be found that they were eminently mild, peaceful, and forbearing. Though no effort that is to encounter the selfish interests of men, can escape without odium and opposition, from those who are thwarted, and from all whom they can influence, these men carefully took those measures that were calculated to bring about their end with the least opposition and evil possible. They avoided prejudices, strove to conciliate opposers, shunned every thing that would give needless offence and exasperation, began slowly and cautiously, with points which could be the most easily carried, and advanced toward others only as public sentiment became more and more enlightened. They did not beard the lion in full face, by coming out as the first thing with the maxim, that all slavery ought and must be abandoned immediately. They began with "inquiries as to the _impolicy_ of the _slave trade_," and it was years before they came to the point of the abolition of slavery. And they carried their measures through, without producing warring parties among _good men_, who held common principles with themselves. As a general fact, the pious men of Great Britain acted harmoniously in this great effort. Let us now look at the leaders of the Abolition movement in America. The man who first took the lead was William L. Garrison, who, though he professes a belief in the Christian religion, is an avowed opponent of most of its institutions. The character and spirit of this man have for years been exhibited in "the Liberator," of which he is the editor. That there is to be found in that paper, or in any thing else, any evidence of his possessing the peculiar traits of Wilberforce, not even his warmest admirers will maintain. How many of the opposite traits can be found, those can best judge who have read his paper. Gradually others joined themselves in the effort commenced by Garrison; but for a long time they consisted chiefly of men who would fall into one of these three classes; either good men who were so excited by a knowledge of the enormous evils of slavery, that _any thing_ was considered better than entire inactivity, or else men accustomed to a contracted field of observation, and more qualified to judge of immediate results than of general tendencies, or else men of ardent and impulsive temperament, whose feelings are likely to take the lead, rather than their judgment. There are no men who act more efficiently as the leaders of an enterprise than the editors of the periodicals that advocate and defend it. The editors of the Emancipator, the Friend of Man, the New York Evangelist, and the other abolition periodicals, may therefore be considered as among the chief leaders of the enterprise, and their papers are the mirror from which their spirit and character are reflected. I wish the friends of these editors would cull from their papers all the indications they can find of the peculiarities that distinguished Wilberforce and his associates; all the evidence of "a modest and lowly spirit,"--all the exhibitions of "charity in judging of the motives of those who oppose their measures,"--all the "indications of benignity, gentleness, and kind-heartedness,"--all the "kind constructions of doubtful actions,"--all the "charitable language used toward those who differ in opinion or measures,"--all the "thorough forgetfulness of little affronts,"--all the cases where "opponents are allowed full credit for purity and sincerity of motive,"--all cases where they have been careful "never to provoke an adversary,"--all cases where they have "refrained from all irritating expressions,"--all cases where they have avoided every thing that would "indispose their opponents for their great cause," and then compare the result with what may be found of an opposite character, and I think it would not be unsafe to infer that an association whose measures, on an exciting subject, were guided by such men, would be more likely to be aggressive than peaceful. The position I would establish will appear more clearly, by examining in detail some of the prominent measures which have been adopted by this association. One of the first measures of Abolitionists was an attack on a benevolent society, originated and sustained by some of the most pious and devoted men of the age. It was imagined by Abolitionists, that the influence and measures of the Colonization Society tended to retard the abolition of slavery, and to perpetuate injurious prejudices against the coloured race. The peaceful and christian method of meeting this difficulty would have been, to collect all the evidence of this supposed hurtful tendency, and privately, and in a respectful and conciliating way, to have presented it to the attention of the wise and benevolent men, who were most interested in sustaining this institution. If this measure did not avail to convince them, then it would have been safe and justifiable to present to the public a temperate statement of facts, and of the deductions based on them, drawn up in a respectful and candid manner, with every charitable allowance which truth could warrant. Instead of this, when the attempt was first made to turn public opinion against the Colonization Society, I met one of the most influential supporters of that institution, just after he had had an interview with a leading Abolitionist. This gentleman was most remarkable for his urbanity, meekness, and benevolence, and his remark to me in reference to this interview, shows what was its nature. "I love truth and sound argument," said he, "but when a man comes at me with a sledge hammer, I cannot help dodging." This is a specimen of their private manner of dealing. In public, the enterprise was attacked as a plan for promoting the selfish interests and prejudices of the whites, at the expense of the coloured population; and in many cases, it was assumed that the conductors of this association were aware of this, and accessory to it. And the style in which the thing was done was at once offensive, inflammatory, and exasperating. Denunciation, sneers, and public rebuke, were bestowed indiscriminately upon the conductors of the enterprise, and of course they fell upon many sincere, upright, and conscientious men, whose feelings were harrowed by a sense of the injustice, the indecorum, and the unchristian treatment, they received. And when a temporary impression was made on the public mind, and its opponents supposed they had succeeded in crushing this society, the most public and triumphant exultation was not repressed. Compare this method of carrying a point, with that adopted by Wilberforce and his compeers, and I think you will allow that there was a way that was peaceful and christian, and that this was not the way which was chosen. The next measure of Abolitionism was an attempt to remove the prejudices of the whites against the blacks, on account of natural peculiarities. Now, prejudice is an _unreasonable_ and _groundless_ dislike of persons or things. Of course, as it is unreasonable, it is the most difficult of all things to conquer, and the worst and most irritating method that could be attempted would be, to attack a man as guilty of sin, as unreasonable, as ungenerous, or as proud, for allowing a certain prejudice. This is the sure way to produce anger, self-justification, and an increase of the strength of prejudice, against that which has caused him this rebuke and irritation. The best way to make a person like a thing which is disagreeable, is to try in some way to make it agreeable; and if a certain class of persons is the subject of unreasonable prejudice, the peaceful and christian way of removing it would be to endeavour to render the unfortunate persons who compose this class, so useful, so humble and unassuming, so kind in their feelings, and so full of love and good works, that prejudice would be supplanted by complacency in their goodness, and pity and sympathy for their disabilities. If the friends of the blacks had quietly set themselves to work to increase their intelligence, their usefulness, their respectability, their meekness, gentleness, and benevolence, and then had appealed to the pity, generosity, and christian feelings of their fellow citizens, a very different result would have appeared. Instead of this, reproaches, rebukes, and sneers, were employed to convince the whites that their prejudices were sinful, and without any just cause. They were accused of pride, of selfish indifference, of unchristian neglect. This tended to irritate the whites, and to increase their prejudice against the blacks, who thus were made the causes of rebuke and exasperation. Then, on the other hand, the blacks extensively received the Liberator, and learned to imbibe the spirit of its conductor. They were taught to feel that they were injured and abused, the objects of a guilty and unreasonable prejudice--that they occupied a lower place in society than was right--that they ought to be treated as if they were whites; and in repeated instances, attempts were made by their friends to mingle them with whites, so as to break down the existing distinctions of society. Now, the question is not, whether these things, that were urged by Abolitionists, were true. The thing maintained is, that the method taken by them to remove this prejudice was neither peaceful nor christian in its tendency, but, on the contrary, was calculated to increase the evil, and to generate anger, pride, and recrimination, on one side, and envy, discontent, and revengeful feelings, on the other. These are some of the general measures which have been exhibited in the Abolition movement. The same peculiarities may be as distinctly seen in specific cases, where the peaceful and quiet way of accomplishing the good was neglected, and the one most calculated to excite wrath and strife was chosen. Take, for example, the effort to establish a college for coloured persons. The quiet, peaceful, and christian way of doing such a thing, would have been, for those who were interested in the plan, to furnish the money necessary, and then to have selected a retired place, where there would be the least prejudice and opposition to be met, and there, in an unostentatious way, commenced the education of the youth to be thus sustained. Instead of this, at a time when the public mind was excited on the subject, it was noised abroad that a college for blacks was to be founded. Then a city was selected for its location, where was another college, so large as to demand constant effort and vigilance to preserve quiet subordination; where contests with "sailors and town boys" were barely kept at bay; a college embracing a large proportion of southern students, who were highly excited on the subject of slavery and emancipation; a college where half the shoe-blacks and waiters were coloured men. Beside the very walls of this college, it was proposed to found a college for coloured young men. Could it be otherwise than that opposition, and that for the best of reasons, would arise against such an attempt, both from the faculty of the college and the citizens of the place? Could it be reasonably expected that they would not oppose a measure so calculated to increase their own difficulties and liabilities, and at the same time so certain to place the proposed institution in the most unfavourable of all circumstances? But when the measure was opposed, instead of yielding meekly and peaceably to such reasonable objections, and soothing the feelings and apprehensions that had been excited, by putting the best construction on the matter, and seeking another place, it was claimed as an evidence of opposition to the interests of the blacks, and as a mark of the force of sinful prejudice. The worst, rather than the best, motives were ascribed to some of the most respectable, and venerated, and pious men, who opposed the measure; and a great deal was said and done that was calculated to throw the community into an angry ferment. Take another example. If a prudent and benevolent female had selected almost any village in New England, and commenced a school for coloured females, in a quiet, appropriate, and unostentatious way, the world would never have heard of the case, except to applaud her benevolence, and the kindness of the villagers, who aided her in the effort. But instead of this, there appeared public advertisements, (which I saw at the time,) stating that a seminary for the education of young ladies of colour was to be opened in Canterbury, in the state of Connecticut, where would be taught music on the piano forte, drawing, &c., together with a course of English education. Now, there are not a dozen coloured families in New England, in such pecuniary circumstances, that if they were whites it would not be thought ridiculous to attempt to give their daughters such a course of education, and Canterbury was a place where but few of the wealthiest families ever thought of furnishing such accomplishments for their children. Several other particulars might be added that were exceedingly irritating, but this may serve as a specimen of the method in which the whole affair was conducted. It was an entire disregard of the prejudices and the proprieties of society, and calculated to stimulate pride, anger, ill-will, contention, and all the bitter feelings that spring from such collisions. Then, instead of adopting measures to soothe and conciliate, rebukes, sneers and denunciations, were employed, and Canterbury and Connecticut were held up to public scorn and rebuke for doing what most other communities would probably have done, if similarly tempted and provoked. Take another case. It was deemed expedient by Abolitionists to establish an Abolition paper, first in Kentucky, a slave State. It was driven from that State, either by violence or by threats. It retreated to Ohio, one of the free States. In selecting a place for its location, it might have been established in a small place, where the people were of similar views, or were not exposed to dangerous popular excitements. But Cincinnati was selected; and when the most intelligent, the most reasonable, and the most patriotic of the citizens remonstrated,--when they represented that there were peculiar and unusual liabilities to popular excitement on this subject,--that the organization and power of the police made it extremely dangerous to excite a mob, and almost impossible to control it,--that all the good aimed at could be accomplished by locating the press in another place, where there were not such dangerous liabilities,--when they kindly and respectfully urged these considerations, they were disregarded. I myself was present when a sincere friend urged upon the one who controlled that paper, the obligations of good men, not merely to avoid breaking wholesome laws themselves, but the duty of regarding the liabilities of others to temptation; and that where Christians could foresee that by placing certain temptations in the way of their fellow-men, all the probabilities were, that they would yield, and yet persisted in doing it, the tempters became partakers in the guilt of those who yielded to the temptation. But these remonstrances were ineffectual. The paper must not only be printed and circulated, but it must be stationed where were the greatest probabilities that measures of illegal violence would ensue. And when the evil was perpetrated, and a mob destroyed the press, then those who had urged on these measures of temptation, turned upon those who had advised and remonstrated, as the guilty authors of the violence, because, in a season of excitement, the measures adopted to restrain and control the mob, were not such as were deemed suitable and right. Now, in all the above cases, I would by no means justify the wrong or the injudicious measures that may have been pursued, under this course of provocation. The greatness of temptation does by no means release men from obligation; but Christians are bound to remember that it is a certain consequence of throwing men into strong excitement, that they will act unwisely and wrong, and that the tempter as well as the tempted are held responsible, both by God and man. In all these cases, it cannot but appear that the good aimed at might have been accomplished in a quiet, peaceable, and christian way, and that this was not the way which was chosen. The whole system of Abolition measures seems to leave entirely out of view, the obligation of Christians to save their fellow men from all needless temptations. If the thing to be done is only lawful and right, it does not appear to have been a matter of effort to do it in such a way as would not provoke and irritate; but often, if the chief aim had been to do the good in the most injurious and offensive way, no more certain and appropriate methods could have been devised. So much has this been the character of Abolition movements, that many have supposed it to be a deliberate and systematized plan of the leaders to do nothing but what was strictly a _right_ guaranteed by law, and yet, in such a manner, as to provoke men to anger, so that unjust and illegal acts might ensue, knowing, that as a consequence, the opposers of Abolition would be thrown into the wrong, and sympathy be aroused for Abolitionists as injured and persecuted men. It is a fact, that Abolitionists have taken the course most calculated to awaken illegal acts of violence, and that when they have ensued, they have seemed to rejoice in them, as calculated to advance and strengthen their cause. The violence of mobs, the denunciations and unreasonable requirements of the South, the denial of the right of petition, the restrictions attempted to be laid upon freedom of speech, and freedom of the press, are generally spoken of with exultation by Abolitionists, as what are among the chief means of promoting their cause. It is not so much by exciting feelings of pity and humanity, and Christian love, towards the oppressed, as it is by awakening indignation at the treatment of Abolitionists themselves, that their cause has prospered. How many men have declared or implied, that in joining the ranks of Abolition, they were influenced, not by their arguments, or by the wisdom of their course, but because the violence of opposers had identified that cause with the question of freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and civil liberty. But when I say that many have supposed that it was the deliberate intention of the Abolitionists to foment illegal acts and violence, I would by no means justify a supposition, which is contrary to the dictates of justice and charity. The leaders of the Abolition Society disclaim all such wishes or intentions; they only act apparently on the assumption that they are exercising just rights, which they are not bound to give up, because other men will act unreasonably and wickedly. Another measure of Abolitionists, calculated to awaken evil feelings, has been the treatment of those who objected to their proceedings. A large majority of the philanthropic and pious, who hold common views with the Abolitionists, as to the sin and evils of slavery, and the duty of using all appropriate means to bring it to an end, have opposed their measures, because they have believed them not calculated to promote, but rather to retard the end proposed to be accomplished by them. The peaceful and Christian method of encountering such opposition, would have been to allow the opponents full credit for purity and integrity of motive, to have avoided all harsh and censorious language, and to have employed facts, arguments and persuasions, in a kind and respectful way with the hope of modifying their views and allaying their fears. Instead of this, the wise and good who opposed Abolition measures, have been treated as though they were the friends and defenders of slavery, or as those who, from a guilty, timid, time-serving policy, refused to take the course which duty demanded. They have been addressed either as if it were necessary to convince them that slavery is wrong and ought to be abandoned, or else, as if they needed to be exhorted to give up their timidity and selfish interest, and to perform a manifest duty, which they were knowingly neglecting. Now there is nothing more irritating, when a man is conscientious and acting according to his own views of right, than to be dealt with in this manner. The more men are treated as if they were honest and sincere--the more they are treated with respect, fairness, and benevolence, the more likely they are to be moved by evidence and arguments. On the contrary, harshness, uncharitableness, and rebuke, for opinions and conduct that are in agreement with a man's own views of duty and rectitude, tend to awaken evil feelings, and indispose the mind properly to regard evidence. Abolitionists have not only taken this course, but in many cases, have seemed to act on the principle, that the abolition of Slavery, in the particular mode in which they were aiming to accomplish it, was of such paramount importance, that every thing must be overthrown that stood in the way. No matter what respect a man had gained for talents, virtue, and piety, if he stood in the way of Abolitionism, he must be attacked as to character and motives. No matter how important an institution might be, if its influence was against the measures of Abolitionism, it must be attacked openly, or sapped privately, till its influence was destroyed. By such measures, the most direct means have been taken to awaken anger at injury, and resentment at injustice, and to provoke retaliation on those who inflict the wrong. All the partialities of personal friendship; all the feelings of respect accorded to good and useful men; all the interests that cluster around public institutions, entrenched in the hearts of the multitudes who sustain them, were outraged by such a course. Another measure of Abolitionists, which has greatly tended to promote wrath and strife, is their indiscreet and incorrect use of terms. To make this apparent, it must be premised, that words have no inherent meaning, but always signify that which they are commonly _understood_ to mean. The question never should be asked, what _ought_ a word to mean? but simply, what is the meaning generally attached to this word by those who use it? Vocabularies and standard writers are the proper umpires to decide this question. Now if men take words and give them a new and peculiar use, and are consequently misunderstood, they are guilty of a species of deception, and are accountable for all the evils that may ensue as a consequence. For example; if physicians should come out and declare, that it was their opinion that they ought to poison all their patients, and they had determined to do it, and then all the community should be thrown into terror and excitement, it would be no justification for them to say, that all they intended by that language was, that they should administer as medicines, articles which are usually called poisons. Now Abolitionists are before the community, and declare that all slavery is sin, which ought to be immediately forsaken; and that it is their object and intention to promote the _immediate emancipation_ of all the slaves in this nation. Now what is it that makes a man cease to be a slave and become free? It is not kind treatment from a master; it is not paying wages to the slave; it is not the intention to bestow freedom at a future time; it is not treating a slave as if he were free; it is not feeling toward a slave as if he were free. No instance can be found of any dictionary, or any standard writer, nor any case in common discourse, where any of these significations are attached to the word as constituting its peculiar and appropriate meaning. It always signifies _that legal_ act, which, by the laws of the land, changes a slave to a freeman. What then is the _proper_ meaning of the language used by Abolitionists, when they say that all slavery is a sin which ought to be immediately abandoned, and that it is their object to secure the immediate emancipation of all slaves? The true and only proper meaning of such language is, that it is the duty of every slave-holder in this nation, to go immediately and make out the legal instruments, that, by the laws of the land, change all his slaves to freemen. If their maxim is true, no exception can be made for those who live in States where the act of emancipation, by a master, makes a slave the property of the State, to be sold for the benefit of the State; and no exception can be made for those, who, by the will of testators, and by the law of the land, have no power to perform the legal act, which alone can emancipate their slaves. To meet this difficulty, Abolitionists affirm, that, in such cases, men are physically unable to emancipate their slaves, and of course are not bound to do it; and to save their great maxim, maintain that, in such cases, the slaves are not slaves, and the slave-holders are not slave-holders, although all their legal relations remain unchanged. The meaning which the Abolitionist attaches to his language is this, that every man is bound to treat his slaves, as nearly as he can, like freemen; and to use all his influence to bring the system of slavery to an end as soon as possible. And they allow that when men do this they are free from guilt, in the matter of slavery, and undeserving of censure. But men at the North, and men at the South, understand the language used in its true and proper sense; and Abolitionists have been using these terms in a new and peculiar sense, which is inevitably and universally misunderstood, and this is an occasion of much of the strife and alarm which has prevailed both at the South and at the North. There are none but these defenders of slavery who maintain that it is a relation justifiable by the laws of the Gospel, who differ from Abolitionists in regard to the real thing which is meant. The great mistake of Abolitionists is in using terms which inculcate the immediate annihilation of the relation, when they only intend to urge the Christian duty of treating slaves according to the gospel rules of justice and benevolence, and using all lawful and appropriate means for bringing a most pernicious system to a speedy end. If Abolitionists will only cease to teach that _all_ slave-holding is a sin which ought to be _immediately abolished_; if they will cease to urge their plan as one of _immediate emancipation_, and teach simply and exactly that which they do mean, much strife and misunderstanding will cease. But so long as they persevere in using these terms in a new and peculiar sense, which will always be misunderstood, they are guilty of a species of deception and accountable for the evils that follow. One other instance of a similar misuse of terms may be mentioned. The word "man-stealer" has one peculiar signification, and it is no more synonymous with "slave-holder" than it is with "sheep-stealer." But Abolitionists show that a slave-holder, in fact, does very many of the evils that are perpetrated by a man-stealer, and that the crime is quite as evil in its nature, and very similar in character, and, therefore, he calls a slave-holder a man-stealer. On this principle there is no abusive language that may not be employed to render any man odious--for every man commits sin of some kind, and every sin is like some other sin, in many respects, and in certain aggravated cases, may be bad, or even worse, than another sin with a much more odious name. It is easy to show that a man who neglects all religious duty is very much like an atheist, and if he has had great advantages, and the atheist very few, he may be much more guilty than an atheist. And so, half the respectable men in our religious communities, may be called atheists, with as much propriety as a slave-holder can be called a man-stealer. Abolitionists have proceeded on this principle, in their various publications, until the terms of odium that have been showered upon slave-holders, would form a large page in the vocabulary of Billingsgate. This method of dealing with those whom we wish to convince and persuade, is as contrary to the dictates of common sense, as it is to the rules of good breeding and the laws of the gospel. The preceding particulars are selected, as the evidence to be presented, that the character and measures of the Abolition Society are neither peaceful nor Christian in their tendency; but that in their nature they are calculated to generate party-spirit, denunciation, recrimination, and angry passions. If such be the tendency of this institution, it follows, that it is wrong for a Christian, or any lover of peace, to be connected with it. The assertion that Christianity itself has led to strife and contention, is not a safe method of evading this argument. Christianity is a system of _persuasion_, tending, by kind and gentle influences, to make men _willing_ to leave off their sins--and it comes, not to convince those who are not sinners, but to sinners themselves. Abolitionism, on the contrary, is a system of _coercion_ by public opinion; and in its present operation, its influence is not to convince the erring, but to convince those who are not guilty, of the sins of those who are. Another prominent peculiarity of the Abolitionists, (which is an objection to joining this association,) is their advocacy of a principle, which is wrong and very pernicious in its tendency. I refer to their views in regard to what is called "the doctrine of expediency." Their difficulty on this subject seems to have arisen from want of a clear distinction between the duty of those who are guilty of sin, and the duty of those who are aiming to turn men from their sins. The principle is assumed, that because certain men ought to abandon every sin immediately, therefore, certain other men are bound _immediately_ to try and make them do it. Now the question of expediency does not relate to what men are bound to do, who are in the practice of sin themselves--for the immediate relinquishment of sin is the duty of all; but it relates to the duty of those who are to make efforts to induce others to break off their wickedness. Here, the wisdom and rectitude of a given course, depend entirely on the _probabilities of success_. If a father has a son of a very peculiar temperament, and he knows by observation, that the use of the rod will make him more irritable and more liable to a certain fault, and that kind arguments, and tender measures will more probably accomplish the desired object, it is a rule of expediency to try the most probable course. If a companion sees a friend committing a sin, and has, from past experience, learned that remonstrances excite anger and obstinacy, while a look of silent sorrow and disapprobation tends far more to prevent the evil, expediency and duty demand silence rather than remonstrance. There are cases also, where differences in age, and station, and character, forbid all interference to modify the conduct and character of others. A nursery maid may see that a father misgoverns his children, and ill-treats his wife. But her station makes it inexpedient for her to turn reprover. It is a case where reproof would do no good, but only evil. So in communities, the propriety and rectitude of measures can be decided, not by the rules of duty that should govern those who are to renounce sin, but by the probabilities of good or evil consequence. The Abolitionists seem to lose sight of this distinction. They form voluntary associations in free States, to convince their fellow citizens of the sins of other men in other communities. They are blamed and opposed, because their measures are deemed inexpedient, and calculated to increase, rather than diminish the evils to be cured. In return, they show that slavery is a sin which ought to be abandoned immediately, and seem to suppose that it follows as a correct inference, that they themselves ought to engage in a system of agitation against it, and that it is needless for them to inquire whether preaching the truth in the manner they propose, will increase or diminish the evil. They assume that whenever sin is committed, not only ought the sinner immediately to cease, but all his fellow-sinners are bound to take measures to make him cease, and to take measures, without any reference to the probabilities of success. That this is a correct representation of the views of Abolitionists generally, is evident from their periodicals and conversation. All their remarks about preaching the truth and leaving consequences to God--all their depreciation of the doctrine of expediency, are rendered relevant only by this supposition. The impression made by their writings is, that God has made rules of duty; that all men are in all cases to remonstrate against the violation of those rules; and that God will take the responsibility of bringing good out of this course; so that we ourselves are relieved from any necessity of inquiring as to probable results. If this be not the theory of duty adopted by this association, then they stand on common ground with those who oppose their measures, viz: that the propriety and duty of a given course is to be decided by _probabilities as to its results_; and these probabilities are to be determined by the _known laws of mind_, and the _records of past experience_. For only one of two positions can be held. Either that it is the duty of all men to remonstrate at all times against all violations of duty, and leave the consequences with God; or else that men are to use their judgment, and take the part of remonstrance only at such a time and place, and in such a manner, as promise the best results. That the Abolitionists have not held the second of these positions, must be obvious to all who have read their documents. It would therefore be unwise and wrong to join an association which sustains a principle false in itself, and one which, if acted out, would tend to wrath and strife and every evil word and work. Another reason, and the most important of all, against promoting the plans of the Abolitionists, is involved in the main question--_what are the probabilities as to the results of their movements?_ The only way to judge of the future results of certain measures is, by the known laws of mind, and the recorded experience of the past. Now what is the evil to be cured? SLAVERY IN THIS NATION. That this evil is at no distant period to come to an end, is the unanimous opinion of all who either notice the tendencies of the age, or believe in the prophecies of the Bible. All who act on Christian principles in regard to slavery, believe that in a given period (variously estimated) it will end. The only question then, in regard to the benefits to be gained, or the evils to be dreaded in the present agitation of the subject, relates to the _time_ and the _manner_ of its extinction. The Abolitionists claim that their method will bring it to an end in the shortest time, and in the safest and best way. Their opponents believe, that it will tend to bring it to an end, if at all, at the most distant period, and in the most dangerous way. As neither party are gifted with prescience, and as the Deity has made no revelations as to the future results of any given measures, all the means of judging that remain to us, as before stated, are the laws of mind, and the records of the past. The position then I would aim to establish is, that the method taken by the Abolitionists is the one that, according to the laws of mind and past experience, is least likely to bring about the results they aim to accomplish. The general statement is this. The object to be accomplished is: First. To convince a certain community, that they are in the practice of a great sin, and Secondly. To make them willing to relinquish it. The method taken to accomplish this is, by voluntary associations in a foreign community, seeking to excite public sentiment against the perpetrators of the evil; exhibiting the enormity of the crime in full measure, without palliation, excuse or sympathy, by means of periodicals and agents circulating, not in the community committing the sin, but in that which does not practise it. Now that this method may, in conjunction with other causes, have an influence to bring slavery to an end, is not denied. But it is believed, and from the following considerations, that it is the least calculated to do the _good_, and that it involves the greatest evils. It is a known law of mind first seen in the nursery and school, afterwards developed in society, that a person is least likely to judge correctly of truth, and least likely to yield to duty, when excited by passion. It is a law of experience, that when wrong is done, if repentance and reformation are sought, then love and kindness, mingled with remonstrance, coming from one who has a _right_ to speak, are more successful than rebuke and scorn from others who are not beloved, and who are regarded as impertinent intruders. In the nursery, if the child does wrong, the finger of scorn, the taunting rebuke, or even the fair and deserved reproof of equals, will make the young culprit only frown with rage, and perhaps repeat and increase the injury. But the voice of maternal love, or even the gentle remonstrances of an elder sister, may bring tears of sorrow and contrition. So in society. Let a man's enemies, or those who have no interest in his welfare, join to rebuke and rail at his offences, and no signs of penitence will be seen. But let the clergyman whom he respects and loves, or his bosom friend approach him, with kindness, forbearance and true sincerity, and all that is possible to human agency will be effected. It is the maxim then of experience, that when men are to be turned from evils, and brought to repent and reform, those only should interfere who are most loved and respected, and who have the best right to approach the offender. While on the other hand, rebuke from those who are deemed obtrusive and inimical, or even indifferent, will do more harm than good. It is another maxim of experience, that such dealings with the erring should be in private, not in public. The moment a man is publicly rebuked, shame, anger, and pride of opinion, all combine to make him defend his practice, and refuse either to own himself wrong, or to cease from his evil ways. The Abolitionists have violated all these laws of mind and of experience, in dealing with their southern brethren. Their course has been most calculated to awaken anger, fear, pride, hatred, and all the passions most likely to blind the mind to truth, and make it averse to duty. They have not approached them with the spirit of love, courtesy, and forbearance. They are not the persons who would be regarded by the South, as having any _right_ to interfere; and therefore, whether they have such right or not, the probabilities of good are removed. For it is not only demanded for the benefit of the offender, that there should really be a right, but it is necessary that he should feel that there is such a right. In dealing with their brethren, too, they have not tried silent, retired, private measures. It has been public denunciation of crime and shame in newspapers, addressed as it were to by-standers, in order to arouse the guilty. In reply to this, it has been urged, that men could not go to the South--that they would be murdered there--that the only way was, to convince the North, and excite public odium against the sins of the South, and thus gradually conviction, repentance, and reformation would ensue. Here is another case where men are to judge of their duty, by estimating probabilities of future results; and it may first be observed, that it involves the principle of expediency, in just that form to which Abolitionists object. It is allowed that the immediate abolition of slavery is to be produced by means of "light and love," and yet it is maintained as right to withdraw personally from the field of operation, because of _consequences_; because of the probable danger of approaching. "If we go to the South, and present truth, argument, and entreaty, _we shall be slain_, and therefore we are not under obligation to go." If this justifies Abolitionists in their neglect of their offending brethren, because they fear evil results to themselves, it also justifies those who refuse to act with Abolitionists in their measures, because they fear other evil results. But what proof is there, that if the Abolitionists had taken another method, the one more in accordance with the laws of mind and the dictates of experience, that there would have been at the South all this violence? Before the abolition movement commenced, both northern and southern men, expressed their views freely at the South. The dangers, evils, and mischiefs of slavery were exhibited and discussed even in the legislative halls of more than one of the Southern States, and many minds were anxiously devising measures, to bring this evil to an end. Now let us look at some of the records of past experience. Clarkson was the first person who devoted himself to the cause of Abolition in England. His object was to convince the people of England that they were guilty of a great impolicy, and great sin, in permitting the slave-trade. He was to meet the force of public sentiment, and power, and selfishness, and wealth, which sustained this traffic, in that nation. What were his measures? He did not go to Sweden, or Russia, or France, to awaken public sentiment against the sins of the English.--He began by first publishing an inquiry in England whether it was right to seize men, and make them slaves. He went unostentatiously to some of the best and most pious men there, and endeavoured to interest them in the inquiry. Then he published an article on the impolicy of the slave-trade, showing its disadvantages. Then he collected information of the evils and enormities involved in the traffic, and went quietly around among those most likely to be moved by motives of humanity and Christianity. In this manner he toiled for more than fourteen years, slowly implanting the leaven among the good men, until he gained a noble band of patriots and Christians, with Wilberforce at their head. The following extract from a memoir of Clarkson discloses the manner and spirit in which he commenced his enterprise, and toiled through to its accomplishment. "In 1785 Dr. Peckhard, Vice-Chancellor of the University, deeply impressed with the iniquity of the slave-trade, announced as a subject for a Latin Dissertation to the Senior Bachelors of Arts: '_Anne liceat invitos in servitutem dare?_' 'Is it right to make slaves of others against their will?' However benevolent the feelings of the Vice-Chancellor, and however strong and clear the opinions he held on the inhuman traffic, it is probable that he little thought that this discussion would secure for the object so dear to his own heart, efforts and advocacy equally enlightened and efficient, that should be continued, until his country had declared, not that the slave-trade only, but that slavery itself should cease. "Mr. Clarkson, having in the preceding year gained the first prize for the Latin Dissertation, was naturally anxious to maintain his honourable position; and no efforts were spared, during the few intervening weeks, in collecting information and evidence. Important facts were gained from Anthony Benezet's Historical Account of Guinea, which Mr. Clarkson hastened to London to purchase. Furnished with these and other valuable information, he commenced his difficult task. How it was accomplished, he thus informs us. "'No person,' he states,[1] 'can tell the severe trial which the writing of it proved to me. I had expected pleasure from the invention of the arguments, from the arrangement of them, from the putting of them together, and from the thought, in the interim, that I was engaged in an innocent contest for literary honour. But all my pleasure was damped by the facts which were now continually before me. It was but one gloomy subject from morning to night. In the day-time I was uneasy; in the night I had little rest. I sometimes never closed my eyelids for grief. It became now not so much a trial for academical reputation, as for the production of a work which might be useful to injured Africa. And keeping this idea in my mind ever after the perusal of Benezet, I always slept with a candle in my room, that I might rise out of bed, and put down such thoughts as might occur to me in the night, if I judged them valuable, conceiving that no arguments of any moment should be lost in so great a cause. Having at length finished this painful task, I sent my Essay to the Vice-Chancellor, and soon afterwards found myself honoured, as before, with the first prize. [1] History of the Abolition of the Slave Trade. "'As it is usual to read these essays publicly in the senate-house soon after the prize is adjudged, I was called to Cambridge for this purpose. I went, and performed my office. On returning, however, to London, the subject of it almost wholly engrossed my thoughts. I became at times very seriously affected while upon the road. I stopped my horse occasionally, and dismounted, and walked. I frequently tried to persuade myself in these intervals that the contents of my Essay could not be true. The more, however, I reflected upon them, or rather upon the authorities on which they were founded, the more I gave them credit. Coming in sight of Wade's Mill, in Hertfordshire, I sat down disconsolate on the turf by the road-side, and held my horse. Here a thought came into my mind, that if the contents of the Essay were true, it was time some person should see these calamities to their end. Agitated in this manner, I reached home. This was in the summer of 1785. "'In the course of the autumn of the same year I experienced similar impressions. I walked frequently into the woods, that I might think on the subject in solitude, and find relief to my mind there. But there the question still recurred, 'Are these things true?' Still the answer followed as instantaneously,--'They are.' Still the result accompanied it; 'Then, surely, some person should interfere.' I then began to envy those who had seats in parliament, and who had great riches, and widely extended connexions, which would enable them to take up this cause. Finding scarcely any one at that time who thought of it, I was turned frequently to myself. But here many difficulties arose. It struck me, among others, that a young man of only twenty-four years of age could not have that solid judgment, or knowledge of men, manners, and things, which were requisite to qualify him to undertake a task of such magnitude and importance: and with whom was I to unite? I believed also, that it looked so much like one of the feigned labours of Hercules, that my understanding would be suspected if I proposed it. On ruminating, however, on the subject, I found one thing at least practicable, and that this was also in my power. I could translate my Latin Dissertation. I could enlarge it usefully. I could see how the public received it, or how far they were likely to favour any serious measures, which should have a tendency to produce the abolition of the slave-trade. Upon this, then, I determined; and in the middle of the month of November, 1785, I began my work.' "Such is the characteristic and ingenuous account given by Clarkson of his introduction to that work to which the energies of his life were devoted, and in reference to which, and to the account whence the foregoing extract has been made, one of the most benevolent and gifted writers of our country[2] has justly observed,-- [2] Coleridge. "'This interesting tale is related, not by a descendant, but a cotemporary; not by a distant spectator, but by a participator of the contest; and of all the many participators, by the man confessedly the most efficient; the man whose unparalleled labours in this work of love and peril, leave on the mind of a reflecting reader the sublime doubt, which of the two will have been the greater final gain to the moral world,--the removal of the evil, or the proof, thereby given, what mighty effects single good men may realize by self-devotion and perseverance.' "When Mr. Clarkson went to London to publish his book, he was introduced to many friends of the cause of Abolition, who aided in giving it extensive circulation. Whilst thus employed, he received an invitation, which he accepted, to visit the Rev. James Ramsay, vicar of Teston, in Kent, who had resided nineteen years in the island of St. Christopher. "Shortly afterwards, dining one day at Sir Charles Middleton's, (afterwards Lord Barham,) the conversation turned upon the subject, and Mr. Clarkson declared that he was ready to devote himself to the cause. This avowal met with great encouragement from the company, and Sir C. Middleton, then Comptroller to the Navy, offered every possible assistance. The friends of Mr. Clarkson increased, and this encouraged him to proceed. Dr. Porteus, then Bishop of Chester, and Lord Scarsdale, were secured in the House of Lords. Mr. Bennet Langton, and Dr. Baker, who were acquainted with many members of both houses of parliament; the honoured Granville Sharpe, James and Richard Phillips, could be depended upon, as well as the entire body of the Society of Friends, to many of whom he had been introduced by Mr. Joseph Hancock, his fellow-townsman. Seeking information in every direction, Mr. Clarkson boarded a number of vessels engaged in the African trade, and obtained specimens of the natural productions of the country. The beauty of the cloth made from African cotton, &c. enhanced his estimate of the skill and ingenuity of the people, and gave a fresh stimulus to his exertions on their behalf. He next visited a slave-ship; the rooms below, the gratings above, and the barricade across the deck, with the explanation of their uses, though the sight of them filled him with sadness and horror, gave new energy to all his movements. In his indefatigable endeavours to collect evidence and facts, he visited most of the sea-ports in the kingdom, pursuing his great object with invincible ardour, although sometimes at the peril of his life. The following circumstance, among others, evinces the eminent degree in which he possessed that untiring perseverance, on which the success of a great enterprise often depends. "Clarkson and his friends had reason to fear that slaves brought from the interior of Africa by certain rivers, had been kidnapped; and it was deemed of great importance to ascertain the fact. A friend one day mentioned to Mr. Clarkson, that he had, above twelve months before, seen a sailor who had been up these rivers. The name of the sailor was unknown, and all the friend could say was, that he was going to, or belonged to, some man-of-war in ordinary. The evidence of this individual was important, and, aided by his friend Sir Charles Middleton, who gave him permission to board all the ships of war in ordinary, Mr. Clarkson commenced his search:--beginning at Deptford, he visited successfully Woolwich, Chatham, Sheerness, and Portsmouth; examining in his progress the different persons on board upwards of two hundred and sixty vessels, without discovering the object of his search. The feelings under which the search was continued, and the success with which it was crowned, he has himself thus described:-- "'Matters now began to look rather disheartening,--I mean as far as my grand object was concerned. There was but one other port left, and this was between two and three hundred miles distant. I determined, however, to go to Plymouth. I had already been more successful in this tour, with respect to obtaining general evidence, than in any other of the same length; and the probability was, that as I should continue to move among the same kind of people, my success would be in a similar proportion, according to the number visited. These were great encouragements to me to proceed. At length I arrived at the place of my last hope. On my first day's expedition I boarded forty vessels, but found no one in these who had been on the coast of Africa in the slave-trade. One or two had been there in king's ships; but they never had been on shore. Things were now drawing near to a close; and notwithstanding my success, as to general evidence, in this journey, my heart began to beat. I was restless and uneasy during the night. The next morning I felt agitated again between the alternate pressure of hope and fear; and in this state I entered my boat. The fifty-seventh vessel I boarded was the Melampus frigate.--One person belonging to it, on examining him in the captain's cabin, said he had been two voyages to Africa; and I had not long discoursed with him, before I found, to my inexpressible joy, that he was the man. I found, too, that he unravelled the question in dispute precisely as our inferences had determined it. He had been two expeditions up the river Calabar, in the canoes of the natives. In the first of these they came within a certain distance of a village: they then concealed themselves under the bushes, which hung over the water from the banks. In this position they remained during the day-light; but at night they went up to it armed, and seized all the inhabitants who had not time to make their escape. They obtained forty-five persons in this manner. In the second, they were out eight or nine days, when they made a similar attempt, and with nearly similar success. They seized men, women, and children, as they could find them in the huts. They then bound their arms, and drove them before them to the canoes. The name of the person thus discovered on board of the Melampus was Isaac Parker. On inquiring into his character, from the master of the division, I found it highly respectable. I found also afterward that he had sailed with Captain Cook, with great credit to himself, round the world. It was also remarkable, that my brother, on seeing him in London, when he went to deliver his evidence, recognized him as having served on board the Monarch, man-of-war, and as one of the most exemplary men in that ship.' "Mr. Clarkson became, early in his career, acquainted with Mr. Wilberforce. At their first interview, the latter frankly stated, 'that the subject had often employed his thoughts, and was near his heart,' and learning his visitor's intention to devote himself to this benevolent object, congratulated him on his decision; desired to be made acquainted with his progress, expressing his willingness, in return, to afford every assistance in his power. In his intercourse with members of parliament, Mr. Clarkson was now frequently associated with Mr. Wilberforce, who daily became more interested in the fate of Africa. The intercourse of the two philanthropists was mutually cordial and encouraging; Mr. Clarkson imparting his discoveries in the custom-houses of London, Liverpool, and other places; and Mr. Wilberforce communicating the information he had gained from those with whom he associated. "In 1788, Mr. Clarkson published his important work on the Impolicy of the Slave-Trade. "In 1789, this indefatigable man went to France, by the advice of the Committee which he had been instrumental in forming two years before; Mr. Wilberforce, always solicitous for the good of the oppressed Africans, being of opinion that advantage might be taken of the commotions in that country, to induce the leading persons there to take the slave-trade into their consideration, and incorporate it among the abuses to be removed. Several of Mr. Clarkson's friends advised him to travel by another name, as accounts had arrived in England of the excesses which had taken place in Paris; but to this he could not consent. On his arrival in that city he was speedily introduced to those who were favourable to the great object of his life; and at the house of M. Necker dined with the six deputies of colour from St. Domingo,--who had been sent to France at this juncture, to demand that the free people of colour in their country might be placed upon an equality with the whites. Their communications to the English philanthropist were important and interesting; they hailed him as their friend, and were abundant in their commendations of his conduct. "Copies of the Essay on the Impolicy of the Slave-Trade, translated into French, with engravings of the plan and section of a slave ship, were distributed with apparent good effect. The virtuous Abbé Gregoire, and several members of the National Assembly, called upon Mr. Clarkson. The Archbishop of Aix was so struck with horror, when the plan of the slave ship was shown to him, that he could scarcely speak; and Mirabeau ordered a model of it in wood to be placed in his dining-room. "The circulation of intelligence, although contributing to make many friends, called forth the extraordinary exertions of enemies. Merchants, and others interested in the continuance of the slave-trade, wrote letters to the Archbishop of Aix, beseeching him not to ruin France; which they said he would inevitably do, if, as the president, he were to grant a day for hearing the question of the abolition. Offers of money were made to Mirabeau, if he would totally abandon his intended motion. Books were circulated in opposition to Mr. Clarkson's; resort was had to the public papers, and he was denounced as a spy. The clamour raised by these efforts pervaded all Paris, and reached the ears of the king. M. Necker had a long conversation with his royal master upon it, who requested to see the Essay, and the specimens of African manufactures, and bestowed considerable time upon them, being surprised at the state of the arts there. M. Necker did not exhibit the section of the slave ship, thinking that as the king was indisposed, he might be too much affected by it. Louis returned the specimens, commissioning M. Necker to convey his thanks to Mr. Clarkson, and express his gratification at what he had seen. "No decided benefit appears at this time to have followed the visit: but though much depressed by his ill success in France, Mr. Clarkson continued his labours, till excess of exertion, joined to repeated and bitter disappointments, impaired his health, and, after a hard struggle, subdued a constitution, naturally strong and vigorous beyond the lot of men in general, but shattered by anxiety and fatigue, and the sad probability, often forced upon his understanding, that all might at last have been in vain. Under these feelings, he retired in 1794 to the beautiful banks of Ulleswater; there to seek that rest which, without peril to his life, could no longer be delayed. "For seven years he had maintained a correspondence with four hundred persons; he annually wrote a book upon the subject of the abolition, and travelled more than thirty-five thousand miles in search of evidence, making a great part of these journeys in the night. 'All this time,' Mr. Clarkson writes, 'my mind had been on the stretch; it had been bent too to this one subject; for I had not even leisure to attend to my own concerns. The various instances of barbarity, which had come successively to my knowledge within this period, had vexed, harassed, and afflicted it. The wound which these had produced was rendered still deeper by the reiterated refusal of persons to give their testimony, after I had travelled hundreds of miles in quest of them. But the severest stroke was that inflicted by the persecution begun and pursued by persons interested in the continuance of the trade, of such witnesses as had been examined against them; and whom, on account of their dependent situation in life, it was most easy to oppress. As I had been the means of bringing them forward on these occasions, they naturally came to me, as the author of their miseries and their ruin.[3] These different circumstances, by acting together, had at length brought me into the situation just mentioned; and I was, therefore, obliged, though very reluctantly, to be borne out of the field where I had placed the great honour and glory of my life.'" [3] The father of the late Samuel Whitbread, Esq., generously undertook, in order to make Mr. Clarkson's mind easy upon the subject, "to make good all injuries which any individuals might suffer from such persecution;" and he honourably and nobly fulfilled his engagement. It was while thus recruiting the energies exhausted in the conflict, that Clarkson, and the compatriot band with which he had been associated in the long and arduous struggle, were crowned with victory, and received the grateful reward of their honourable toil in the final abolition of the slave-trade by the British nation, in 1807, the last but most glorious act of the Grenville administration. The preceding shows something of the career of Clarkson while labouring to convince the people of Great Britain of the iniquity of _their own_ trade, a trade which they had the power to abolish. During all this time, Clarkson, Wilberforce, and their associates avoided touching the matter of _slavery_. They knew that one thing must be gained at a time, and they as a matter of expediency, avoided discussing the duty of the British nation in regard to the system of slavery in their Colonies which was entirely under their own control. During all the time that was employed in efforts to end the slave-trade, slavery was existing in the control of the British people, and yet Clarkson and Wilberforce decided that it was right to let that matter entirely alone. The following shows Clarkson's proceedings after the British nation had abolished the slave-trade. "By the publication of his Thoughts on the Abolition of Slavery, Mr. Clarkson showed that neither he nor those connected with him, considered their work as accomplished, when the laws of his country clasped with its felons those engaged in the nefarious traffic of slaves. But the efforts of Mr. Clarkson were not confined to his pen. In 1818, he proceeded to Aix la Chapelle, at the time when the sovereigns of Europe met in congress. He was received with marked attention by the Emperor of Russia, who listened to his statements (respecting the _slave-trade_,) and promised to use his influence with the assembled monarchs, to secure the entire suppression of the trade in human beings, as speedily as possible. Describing his interview with this amiable monarch, in which the subject of peace societies, as well as the abolition of the slave-trade was discussed, Mr. Clarkson, in a letter to a friend, thus writes: "'It was about nine at night, when I was shown into the emperor's apartment. I found him alone. He met me at the door, and shaking me by the hand, said, 'I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance at Paris.' He then led me some little way into the room, and leaving me there, went forward and brought me a chair with his own hand, and desired me to sit down. This being done, he went for another chair, and bringing it very near to mine, placed himself close to me, so that we sat opposite to each other. "'I began the conversation by informing the emperor that as I supposed the congress of Aix la Chapelle might possibly be the last congress of sovereigns for settling the affairs of Europe, its connexions and dependencies, I had availed myself of the kind permission he gave me at Paris, of applying to him in behalf of the oppressed Africans, being unwilling to lose the last opportunity of rendering him serviceable to the cause. "'The emperor replied, that he had read both my letter and my address to the sovereigns, and that what I asked him and the other sovereigns to do, was only reasonable. "'Here I repeated the two great propositions in the address--the necessity of bringing the Portuguese time for continuing the trade (which did not expire till 1825, and then only with a condition,) down to the Spanish time, which expired in 1820; and secondly, when the two times should legally have expired, (that is, both of them in 1820,) then to make any farther continuance _piracy_. I entreated him not to be deceived by any other propositions; for that Mr. Wilberforce, myself, and others, who had devoted our time to this subject, were sure that no other measure would be effectual. "'He then said very feelingly in these words, 'By the providence of God, I and my kingdom have been saved from a merciless tyranny, (alluding to the invasion of Napoleon,) and I should but ill repay the blessing, if I were not to do every thing in my power to protect the poor Africans against their oppression also.' "'The emperor then asked if he could do any thing else for our cause. I told him he could; and that I should be greatly obliged to him if he would present one of the addresses to the Emperor of Austria, and another to the King of Prussia, _with his own hand_. I had brought two of them in my pocket for the purpose. He asked me why I had not presented them before. I replied that I had not the honour of knowing either of those sovereigns as I knew him; nor any of their ministers; and that I was not only fearful lest these addresses would not be presented to them, but even if they were, that coming into their hands without any recommendation, they would be laid aside and not read; on the other hand, if he (the emperor,) would condescend to present them, I was sure they would be read, and that coming from him, they would come with a weight of influence, which would secure an attention to their contents. Upon this, the emperor promised, in the most kind and affable manner, that he would perform the task I had assigned to him. "'We then rose from our seats to inspect some articles of manufacture, which I had brought with me as a present to him, and which had been laid upon the table. We examined the articles in leather first, one by one, with which he was uncommonly gratified. He said they exhibited not only genius but taste. He inquired if they tanned their own leather, and how: I replied to his question. He said he had never seen neater work, either in Petersburg or in London. He then looked at a dagger and its scabbard or sheath. I said the sheath was intended as a further, but more beautiful specimen of the work of the poor Africans in leather; and the blade of their dagger as a specimen of their work in iron. Their works in cotton next came under our notice. There was one piece which attracted his particular notice, and which was undoubtedly very beautiful. It called from him this observation, 'Manchester,' said he, 'I think is your great place for manufactures of this sort--do you think they could make a better piece of cotton there?' I told him I had never seen a better piece of workmanship of the kind any where. Having gone over all the articles, the emperor desired me to inform him whether he was to understand that these articles were made by the Africans in their own country, that is, in their native villages, or _after they had arrived in America_, where they would have an opportunity of seeing European manufactures, and experienced workmen in the arts? I replied that such articles might be found in every African village, both on the coast and in the interior, and that they were samples of their own ingenuity, without any connexion with Europeans. 'Then,' said the emperor, 'you astonish me--you have given me a new idea of the state of these poor people. I was not aware that they were so advanced in society. The works you have shown me are not the works of brutes--but of men, endued with rational and intellectual powers, and capable of being brought to as high a degree of proficiency as any other men. _Africa ought to have a fair chance of raising her character in the scale of the civilized world._' I replied that it was this cruel traffic alone, which had prevented Africa from rising to a level with other nations; and that it was only astonishing to me that the natives there had, under its impeding influence, arrived at the perfection which had displayed itself in the specimens of workmanship he had just seen.'" Animated by a growing conviction of the righteousness of the cause in which he was engaged, and encouraged by the success with which past endeavours had been crowned, Mr. Clarkson continued his efficient co-operation with the friends of Abolition, advocating its claims on all suitable occasions. It would be superfluous to recount the steps by which, even before the venerated Wilberforce was called to his rest, this glorious event was realized, and Clarkson beheld the great object of his own life, and those with whom he had acted, triumphantly achieved. The gratitude cherished towards the Supreme Ruler for the boon thus secured to the oppressed--the satisfaction which a review of past exertions afforded, were heightened by the joyous sympathy of a large portion of his countrymen.[4] [4] This account of Clarkson, and the preceding one of Wilberforce, are taken from the Christian Keepsake of 1836 and 1837. The History of the Abolition of the Slave-trade, by Clarkson himself, presents a more detailed account of his own labours and of the labours of others, and whoever will read it, will observe the following particulars in which this effort differed from the Abolition movement in America. In the first place, it was conducted by some of the wisest and most talented statesmen, as well as the most pious men, in the British nation. Pitt, Fox, and some of the highest of the nobility and bishops in England, were the firmest friends of the enterprise from the first. It was conducted by men who had the intellect, knowledge, discretion, and wisdom demanded for so great an enterprise. Secondly. It was conducted slowly, peaceably, and by eminently judicious influences. Thirdly. It included, to the full extent, the doctrine of expediency denounced by Abolitionists. One of the first decisions of the "Committee for the Abolition of the Slave-trade," which conducted all Abolition movements, was that _slavery_ should not be attacked, but only the _slave-trade_; and Clarkson expressly says, that it was owing to this, more than to any other measure, that success was gained. Fourthly. Good men were not divided, and thrown into contending parties.--The opponents to the measure, were only those who were personally interested in the perpetuation of slavery or the slave-trade. Fifthly. This effort was one to convince men of their _own_ obligations, and not an effort to arouse public sentiment against the sinful practices of another community over which they had no control. I would now ask, why could not some southern gentleman, such for example as Mr. Birney, whose manners, education, character, and habits give him abundant facilities, have acted the part of Clarkson, and quietly have gone to work at the South, collecting facts, exhibiting the impolicy and the evils, to good men at the South, by the fire-side of the planter, the known home of hospitality and chivalry. Why could he not have commenced with the most vulnerable point, the _domestic slave-trade_, leaving emancipation for a future and more favourable period? What right has any one to say that there was no southern Wilberforce that would have arisen, no southern Grant, Macaulay or Sharpe, who, like the English philanthropists, would have stood the fierce beating of angry billows, and by patience, kindness, arguments, facts, eloquence, and Christian love, convinced the skeptical, enlightened the ignorant, excited the benevolent, and finally have carried the day at the South, by the same means and measures, as secured the event in England? All experience is in favour of the method which the Abolitionists have rejected, because it involves _danger to themselves_. The cause they have selected is one that stands alone.--No case parallel on earth can be brought to sustain it, with probabilities of good results. No instance can be found, where exciting the public sentiment of one community against evil practices in another, was ever made the means of eradicating those evils. All the laws of mind, all the records of experience, go against the measures that Abolitionists have taken, and in favour of the one they have rejected. And when we look still farther ahead, at results which time is to develope, how stand the probabilities, when we, in judging, again take, as data, the laws of mind and the records of experience? What are the plans, hopes, and expectations of Abolitionists, in reference to their measures? They are now labouring to make the North a great Abolition Society,--to convince every northern man that slavery at the South is a great sin, and that it ought immediately to cease. Suppose they accomplish this to the extent they hope,--so far as we have seen, the more the North is convinced, the more firmly the South rejects the light, and turns from the truth. While Abolition Societies did not exist, men could talk and write, at the South, against the evils of slavery, and northern men had free access and liberty of speech, both at the South and at the North. But now all is changed. Every avenue of approach to the South is shut. No paper, pamphlet, or preacher, that touches on that topic, is admitted in their bounds. Their own citizens, that once laboured and remonstrated, are silenced; their own clergy, under the influence of the exasperated feelings of their people, and their own sympathy and sense of wrong, either entirely hold their peace, or become the defenders of a system they once lamented, and attempted to bring to an end. This is the record of experience as to the tendencies of Abolitionism, as thus far developed. The South are now in just that state of high exasperation, at the sense of wanton injury and impertinent interference, which makes the influence of truth and reason most useless and powerless. But suppose the Abolitionists succeed, not only in making northern men Abolitionists, but also in sending a portion of light into the South, such as to form a body of Abolitionists there also. What is the thing that is to be done to end slavery at the South? It is to _alter the laws_, and to do this, a small minority must begin a long, bitter, terrible conflict with a powerful and exasperated majority. Now if, as the Abolitionists hope, there will arise at the South such a minority, it will doubtless consist of men of religious and benevolent feelings,--men of that humane, and generous, and upright spirit, that most keenly feel the injuries inflicted on their fellow men. Suppose such a band of men begin their efforts, sustained by the northern Abolitionists, already so odious. How will the exasperated majority act, according to the known laws of mind and of experience? Instead of lessening the evils of slavery, they will increase them. The more they are goaded by a sense of aggressive wrong without, or by fears of dangers within, the more they will restrain their slaves, and diminish their liberty, and increase their disabilities. They will make laws so unjust and oppressive, not only to slaves, but to their Abolitionist advocates, that by degrees such men will withdraw from their bounds. Laws will be made expressly to harass them, and to render them so uncomfortable that they must withdraw. Then gradually the righteous will flee from the devoted city. Then the numerical proportion of whites will decrease, and the cruelty and unrestrained wickedness of the system will increase, till a period will come when the physical power will be so much with the blacks, their sense of suffering so increased, that the volcano will burst,--insurrection and servile wars will begin. Oh, the countless horrors of such a day! And will the South stand alone in that burning hour? When she sends forth the wailing of her agonies, shall not the North and the West hear, and lift up together the voice of wo? Will not fathers hear the cries of children, and brothers the cries of sisters? Will the terrors of insurrection sweep over the South, and no Northern and Western blood be shed? Will the slaves be cut down, in such a strife, when they raise the same pæan song of liberty and human rights, that was the watchword of our redemption from far less dreadful tyranny, and which is now thrilling the nations and shaking monarchs on their thrones--will this be heard, and none of the sons of liberty be found to appear on their side? This is no picture of fancied dangers, which are not near. The day has come, when already the feelings are so excited on both sides, that I have heard intelligent men, good men, benevolent and pious men, in moments of excitement, declare themselves ready to take up the sword--some for the defence of the master, some for the protection and right of the slave. It is my full conviction, that if insurrection does burst forth, and there be the least prospect of success to the cause of the slave, there will be men from the North and West, standing breast to breast, with murderous weapons, in opposing ranks. Such apprehensions many would regard as needless, and exclaim against such melancholy predictions. But in a case where the whole point of duty and expediency turns upon the probabilities as to results, those probabilities ought to be the chief subjects of inquiry. True, no one has a right to say with confidence what will or what will not be; and it has often amazed and disturbed my mind to perceive how men, with so small a field of vision,--with so little data for judging,--with so few years, and so little experience, can pronounce concerning the results of measures bearing upon the complicated relations and duties of millions, and in a case where the wisest and best are dismayed and baffled. It sometimes has seemed to me that the prescience of Deity alone should dare to take such positions as are both carelessly assumed, and pertinaciously defended, by the advocates of Abolitionism. But if we are to judge of the wisdom or folly of any measures on this subject, it must be with reference to future results. One course of measures, it is claimed, tends to perpetuate slavery, or to end it by scenes of terror and bloodshed. Another course tends to bring it to an end sooner, and by safe and peaceful influences. And the whole discussion of duty rests on these probabilities. But where do the laws of mind and experience oppose the terrific tendencies of Abolitionism that have been portrayed? Are not the minds of men thrown into a ferment, and excited by those passions which blind the reason, and warp the moral sense? Is not the South in a state of high exasperation against Abolitionists? Does she not regard them as enemies, as reckless madmen, as impertinent intermeddlers? Will the increase of their numbers tend to allay this exasperation? Will the appearance of a similar body in their own boundaries have any tendency to soothe? Will it not still more alarm and exasperate? If a movement of a minority of such men attempt to alter the laws, are not the probabilities strong that still more unjust and oppressive measures will be adopted?--measures that will tend to increase the hardships of the slave, and to drive out of the community all humane, conscientious and pious men? As the evils and dangers increase, will not the alarm constantly diminish the proportion of whites, and make it more and more needful to increase such disabilities and restraints as will chafe and inflame the blacks? When this point is reached, will the blacks, knowing, as they will know, the sympathies of their Abolition friends, refrain from exerting their physical power? _The Southampton insurrection occurred with far less chance of sympathy and success._ If that most horrible of all scourges, a servile war, breaks forth, will the slaughter of fathers, sons, infants, and of aged,--will the cries of wives, daughters, sisters, and kindred, suffering barbarities worse than death, bring no fathers, brothers, and friends to their aid, from the North and West? And if the sympathies and indignation of freemen can already look such an event in the face, and feel that it would be the slave, rather than the master, whom they would defend, what will be the probability, after a few years' chafing shall have driven away the most christian and humane from scenes of cruelty and inhumanity, which they could neither alleviate nor redress? I should like to see any data of past experience, that will show that these results are not more probable than that the South will, by the system of means now urged upon her, finally be convinced of her sins, and voluntarily bring the system of slavery to an end. I claim not that the predictions I present will be fulfilled. I only say, that if Abolitionists go on as they propose, such results are _more_ probable than those they hope to attain. I have not here alluded to the probabilities of the severing of the Union by the present mode of agitating the question. This may be one of the results, and, if so, what are the probabilities for a Southern republic, that has torn itself off for the purpose of excluding foreign interference, and for the purpose of perpetuating slavery? Can any Abolitionist suppose that, in such a state of things, the great cause of emancipation is as likely to progress favourably, as it was when we were one nation, and mingling on those fraternal terms that existed before the Abolition movement began? The preceding are some of the reasons which, on the general view, I would present as opposed to the proposal of forming Abolition Societies; and they apply equally to either sex. There are some others which seem to oppose peculiar objections to the action of females in the way you would urge. To appreciate more fully these objections, it will be necessary to recur to some general views in relation to the place woman is appointed to fill by the dispensations of heaven. It has of late become quite fashionable in all benevolent efforts, to shower upon our sex an abundance of compliments, not only for what they have done, but also for what they can do; and so injudicious and so frequent, are these oblations, that while I feel an increasing respect for my countrywomen, that their good sense has not been decoyed by these appeals to their vanity and ambition, I cannot but apprehend that there is some need of inquiry as to the just bounds of female influence, and the times, places, and manner in which it can be appropriately exerted. It is the grand feature of the Divine economy, that there should be different stations of superiority and subordination, and it is impossible to annihilate this beneficent and immutable law. On its first entrance into life, the child is a dependent on parental love, and of necessity takes a place of subordination and obedience. As he advances in life these new relations of superiority and subordination multiply. The teacher must be the superior in station, the pupil a subordinate. The master of a family the superior, the domestic a subordinate--the ruler a superior, the subject a subordinate. Nor do these relations at all depend upon superiority either in intellectual or moral worth. However weak the parents, or intelligent the child, there is no reference to this, in the immutable law. However incompetent the teacher, or superior the pupil, no alteration of station can be allowed. However unworthy the master or worthy the servant, while their mutual relations continue, no change in station as to subordination can be allowed. In fulfilling the duties of these relations, true dignity consists in conforming to all those relations that demand subordination, with propriety and cheerfulness. When does a man, however high his character or station, appear more interesting or dignified than when yielding reverence and deferential attentions to an aged parent, however weak and infirm? And the pupil, the servant, or the subject, all equally sustain their own claims to self-respect, and to the esteem of others, by equally sustaining the appropriate relations and duties of subordination. In this arrangement of the duties of life, Heaven has appointed to one sex the superior, and to the other the subordinate station, and this without any reference to the character or conduct of either. It is therefore as much for the dignity as it is for the interest of females, in all respects to conform to the duties of this relation. And it is as much a duty as it is for the child to fulfil similar relations to parents, or subjects to rulers. But while woman holds a subordinate relation in society to the other sex, it is not because it was designed that her duties or her influence should be any the less important, or all-pervading. But it was designed that the mode of gaining influence and of exercising power should be altogether different and peculiar. It is Christianity that has given to woman her true place in society. And it is the peculiar trait of Christianity alone that can sustain her therein. "Peace on earth and good will to men" is the character of all the rights and privileges, the influence, and the power of woman. A man may act on society by the collision of intellect, in public debate; he may urge his measures by a sense of shame, by fear and by personal interest; he may coerce by the combination of public sentiment; he may drive by physical force, and he does not outstep the boundaries of his sphere. But all the power, and all the conquests that are lawful to woman, are those only which appeal to the kindly, generous, peaceful and benevolent principles. Woman is to win every thing by peace and love; by making herself so much respected, esteemed and loved, that to yield to her opinions and to gratify her wishes, will be the free-will offering of the heart. But this is to be all accomplished in the domestic and social circle. There let every woman become so cultivated and refined in intellect, that her taste and judgment will be respected; so benevolent in feeling and action, that her motives will be reverenced;--so unassuming and unambitious, that collision and competition will be banished;--so "gentle and easy to be entreated," as that every heart will repose in her presence; then, the fathers, the husbands, and the sons, will find an influence thrown around them, to which they will yield not only willingly but proudly. A man is never ashamed to own such influences, but feels dignified and ennobled in acknowledging them. But the moment woman begins to feel the promptings of ambition, or the thirst for power, her ægis of defence is gone. All the sacred protection of religion, all the generous promptings of chivalry, all the poetry of romantic gallantry, depend upon woman's retaining her place as dependent and defenceless, and making no claims, and maintaining no right but what are the gifts of honour, rectitude and love. A woman may seek the aid of co-operation and combination among her own sex, to assist her in her appropriate offices of piety, charity, maternal and domestic duty; but whatever, in any measure, throws a woman into the attitude of a combatant, either for herself or others--whatever binds her in a party conflict--whatever obliges her in any way to exert coercive influences, throws her out of her appropriate sphere. If these general principles are correct, they are entirely opposed to the plan of arraying females in any Abolition movement; because it enlists them in an effort to coerce the South by the public sentiment of the North; because it brings them forward as partisans in a conflict that has been begun and carried forward by measures that are any thing rather than peaceful in their tendencies; because it draws them forth from their appropriate retirement, to expose themselves to the ungoverned violence of mobs, and to sneers and ridicule in public places; because it leads them into the arena of political collision, not as peaceful mediators to hush the opposing elements, but as combatants to cheer up and carry forward the measures of strife. If it is asked, "May not woman appropriately come forward as a suppliant for a portion of her sex who are bound in cruel bondage?" It is replied, that, the rectitude and propriety of any such measure, depend entirely on its probable results. If petitions from females will operate to exasperate; if they will be deemed obtrusive, indecorous, and unwise, by those to whom they are addressed; if they will increase, rather than diminish the evil which it is wished to remove; if they will be the opening wedge, that will tend eventually to bring females as petitioners and partisans into every political measure that may tend to injure and oppress their sex, in various parts of the nation, and under the various public measures that may hereafter be enforced, then it is neither appropriate nor wise, nor right, for a woman to petition for the relief of oppressed females. The case of Queen Esther is one often appealed to as a precedent. When a woman is placed in similar circumstances, where death to herself and all her nation is one alternative, and there is nothing worse to fear, but something to hope as the other alternative, then she may safely follow such an example. But when a woman is asked to join an Abolition Society, or to put her name to a petition to congress, for the purpose of contributing her measure of influence to keep up agitation in congress, to promote the excitement of the North against the iniquities of the South, to coerce the South by fear, shame, anger, and a sense of odium to do what she has determined not to do, the case of Queen Esther is not at all to be regarded as a suitable example for imitation. In this country, petitions to congress, in reference to the official duties of legislators, seem, IN ALL CASES, to fall entirely without the sphere of female duty. Men are the proper persons to make appeals to the rulers whom they appoint, and if their female friends, by arguments and persuasions, can induce them to petition, all the good that can be done by such measures will be secured. But if females cannot influence their nearest friends, to urge forward a public measure in this way, they surely are out of their place, in attempting to do it themselves. There are some other considerations, which should make the American females peculiarly sensitive in reference to any measure, which should even _seem_ to draw them from their appropriate relations in society. It is allowed by all reflecting minds, that the safety and happiness of this nation depends upon having the _children_ educated, and not only intellectually, but morally and religiously. There are now nearly two millions of children and adults in this country who cannot read, and who have no schools of any kind. To give only a small supply of teachers to these destitute children, who are generally where the population is sparse, will demand _thirty thousand teachers_; and _six thousand_ more will be needed every year, barely to meet the increase of juvenile population. But if we allow that we need not reach this point, in order to save ourselves from that destruction which awaits a people, when governed by an ignorant and unprincipled democracy; if we can weather the storms of democratic liberty with only one-third of our ignorant children properly educated, still we need _ten thousand_ teachers at this moment, and an addition of _two thousand every year_. Where is this army of teachers to be found? Is it at all probable that the other sex will afford even a moderate portion of this supply? The field for enterprise and excitement in the political arena, in the arts, the sciences, the liberal professions, in agriculture, manufactures, and commerce, is opening with such temptations, as never yet bore upon the mind of any nation. Will men turn aside from these high and exciting objects to become the patient labourers in the school-room, and for only the small pittance that rewards such toil? No, they will not do it. Men will be educators in the college, in the high school, in some of the most honourable and lucrative common schools, but the _children_, the _little children_ of this nation must, to a wide extent, be taught by females, or remain untaught. The drudgery of education, as it is now too generally regarded, in this country, will be given to the female hand. And as the value of education rises in the public mind, and the importance of a teacher's office is more highly estimated, women will more and more be furnished with those intellectual advantages which they need to fit them for such duties. The result will be, that America will be distinguished above all other nations, for well-educated females, and for the influence they will exert on the general interests of society. But if females, as they approach the other sex, in intellectual elevation, begin to claim, or to exercise in any manner, the peculiar prerogatives of that sex, education will prove a doubtful and dangerous blessing. But this will never be the result. For the more intelligent a woman becomes, the more she can appreciate the wisdom of that ordinance that appointed her subordinate station, and the more her taste will conform to the graceful and dignified retirement and submission it involves. An ignorant, a narrow-minded, or a stupid woman, cannot feel nor understand the rationality, the propriety, or the beauty of this relation; and she it is, that will be most likely to carry her measures by tormenting, when she cannot please, or by petulant complaints or obtrusive interference, in matters which are out of her sphere, and which she cannot comprehend. And experience testifies to this result. By the concession of all travellers, American females are distinguished above all others for their general intelligence, and yet they are complimented for their retiring modesty, virtue, and domestic faithfulness, while the other sex is as much distinguished for their respectful kindness and attentive gallantry. There is no other country where females have so much public respect and kindness accorded to them as in America, by the concession of all travellers. And it will ever be so, while intellectual culture in the female mind, is combined with the spirit of that religion which so strongly enforces the appropriate duties of a woman's sphere. But it may be asked, is there nothing to be done to bring this national sin of slavery to an end? Must the internal slave-trade, a trade now ranked as piracy among all civilized nations, still prosper in our bounds? Must the very seat of our government stand as one of the chief slave-markets of the land; and must not Christian females open their lips, nor lift a finger, to bring such a shame and sin to an end? To this it may be replied, that Christian females may, and can say and do much to bring these evils to an end; and the present is a time and an occasion when it seems most desirable that they should know, and appreciate, and _exercise_ the power which they do possess for so desirable an end. And in pointing out the methods of exerting female influence for this object, I am inspired with great confidence, from the conviction that what will be suggested, is that which none will oppose, but all will allow to be not only practicable, but safe, suitable, and Christian. To appreciate these suggestions, however, it is needful previously to consider some particulars that exhibit the spirit of the age and the tendencies of our peculiar form of government. The prominent principle, now in development, as indicating the spirit of the age, is the perfect right of all men to entire freedom of opinion. By this I do not mean that men are coming to think that "it is no matter what a man believes, if he is only honest and sincere," or that they are growing any more lenient towards their fellow-men, for the evil consequences they bring on themselves or on others for believing wrong. But they are coming to adopt the maxim, that no man shall be forced by pains and penalties to adopt the opinions of other minds, but that every man shall be free to form his own opinions, and to propagate them by all lawful means. At the same time another right is claimed, which is of necessity involved in the preceding,--the right to oppose, by all lawful means, the opinions and the practices of others, when they are deemed pernicious either to individuals or to the community. _Facts_, _arguments_ and _persuasions_ are, by all, conceded to be lawful means to employ in propagating our own views, and in opposing the opinions and practices of others. These fundamental principles of liberty have in all past ages been restrained by coercive influences, either of civil or of ecclesiastical power. But in this nation, all such coercive influences, both of church and state, have ceased. Every man may think what he pleases about government, or religion, or any thing else; he may propagate his opinions, he may controvert opposite opinions, and no magistrate or ecclesiastic can in any legal way restrain or punish. But the form of our government is such, that every measure that bears upon the public or private interest of every citizen, is decided by _public sentiment_. All laws and regulations in civil, or religious, or social concerns, are decided by the _majority of votes_. And the present is a time when every doctrine, every principle, and every practice which influences the happiness of man, either in this, or in a future life, is under discussion. The whole nation is thrown into parties about almost every possible question, and every man is stimulated in his efforts to promote his own plans by the conviction that success depends entirely upon bringing his fellow citizens to think as he does. Hence every man is fierce in maintaining his own right of free discussion, his own right to propagate his opinions, and his own right to oppose, by all lawful means, the opinions that conflict with his own. But the difficulty is, that a right which all men claim for themselves, with the most sensitive and pertinacious inflexibility, they have not yet learned to accord to their fellow men, in cases where their own interests are involved. Every man is saying, "Let me have full liberty to propagate my opinions, and to oppose all that I deem wrong and injurious, but let no man take this liberty with my opinions and practices. Every man may believe what he pleases, and propagate what he pleases, provided he takes care not to attack any thing which belongs to me." And how do men exert themselves to restrain this corresponding right of their fellow men? Not by going to the magistrate to inform, or to the spiritual despot to obtain ecclesiastical penalties, but he resorts to methods, which, if successful, are in effect the most severe pains and penalties that can restrain freedom of opinion. What is dearer to a man than _his character_, involving as it does, the esteem, respect and affection of friends, neighbours and society, with all the confidence, honour, trust and emolument that flow from general esteem? How sensitive is every man to any thing that depreciates his intellectual character! What torture, to be ridiculed or pitied for such deficiencies! How cruel the suffering, when his moral delinquencies are held up to public scorn and reprehension! Confiscation, stripes, chains, and even death itself, are often less dreaded. It is this method of punishment to which men resort, to deter their fellow-men from exercising those rights of liberty which they so tenaciously claim for themselves. Examine now the methods adopted by almost all who are engaged in the various conflicts of opinion in this nation, and you will find that there are certain measures which combatants almost invariably employ. They either attack the intellectual character of opponents, or they labour to make them appear narrow-minded, illiberal and bigoted, or they impeach their honesty and veracity, or they stigmatize their motives as mean, selfish, ambitious, or in some other respect unworthy and degrading. Instead of truth, and evidence, and argument, personal depreciation, sneers, insinuations, or open abuse, are the weapons employed. This method of resisting freedom of opinions, by pains and penalties, arises in part from the natural selfishness of man, and in part from want of clear distinctions as to the rights and duties involved in freedom of opinion and freedom of speech. The great fundamental principle that makes this matter clear, is this, that a broad and invariable distinction should ever be preserved between the _opinions_ and _practices_ that are discussed, and the _advocates_ of these opinions and practices. It is a sacred and imperious duty, that rests on every human being, to exert all his influence in opposing every thing that he believes is dangerous and wrong, and in sustaining all that he believes is safe and right. And in doing this, no compromise is to be made, in order to shield country, party, friends, or even self, from any just censure. Every man is bound by duty to God and to his country, to lay his finger on every false principle, or injurious practice, and boldly say, "this is wrong--this is dangerous--this I will oppose with all my influence, whoever it may be that advocates or practises it." And every man is bound to use his efforts to turn public sentiment against all that he believes to be wrong and injurious, either in regard to this life, or to the future world. And every man deserves to be respected and applauded, just in proportion as he fearlessly and impartially, and in a _proper spirit_, _time_ and _manner_, fulfils this duty. The doctrine, just now alluded to, that it is "no matter what a man believes, if he is only honest and sincere," is as pernicious, as it is contrary to religion and to common sense. It is as absurd, and as impracticable, as it would be to urge on the mariner the maxim, "no matter which way you believe to be north, if you only steer aright." A man's character, feelings, and conduct, all depend upon his opinions. If a man can reason himself into the belief that it is right to take the property of others and to deceive by false statements, he will probably prove a thief and a liar. It is of the greatest concern, therefore, to every man, that his fellow-men should _believe right_, and one of his most sacred duties is to use all his influence to promote correct opinions. But the performance of this duty, does by no means involve the necessity of attacking the character or motives of the _advocates_ of false opinions, or of holding them up, individually, to public odium. Erroneous opinions are sometimes the consequence of unavoidable ignorance, or of mental imbecility, or of a weak and erring judgment, or of false testimony from others, which cannot be rectified. In such cases, the advocates of false opinions are to be pitied rather than blamed; and while the opinions and their tendencies may be publicly exposed, the men may be objects of affection and kindness. In other cases, erroneous opinions spring from criminal indifference, from prejudice, from indolence, from pride, from evil passions, or from selfish interest. In all such cases, men deserve blame for their pernicious opinions, and the evils which flow from them. But, it maybe asked, how are men to decide, when their fellow-men are guilty for holding wrong opinions; when they deserve blame, and when they are to be regarded only with pity and commiseration by those who believe them to be in the wrong? Here, surely, is a place where some correct principle is greatly needed. Is every man to sit in judgment upon his fellow-man, and decide what are his intellectual capacities, and what the measure of his judgment? Is every man to take the office of the Searcher of Hearts, to try the feelings and motives of his fellow-man? Is that most difficult of all analysis, the estimating of the feelings, purposes, and motives, which every man, who examines his own secret thoughts, finds to be so complex, so recondite, so intricate; is this to be the basis, not only of individual opinion, but of public reward and censure? Is every man to constitute himself a judge of the amount of time and interest given to the proper investigation of truth by his fellow-man? Surely, this cannot be a correct principle. Though there may be single cases in which we can know that our fellow-men are weak in intellect, or erring in judgment, or perverse in feeling, or misled by passion, or biased by selfish interest, as a general fact we are not competent to decide these matters, in regard to those who differ from us in opinion. For this reason it is manifestly wrong and irrelevant, when discussing questions of duty or expediency, to bring before the public the character or the motives of the individual advocates of opinions. But, it may be urged, how can the evil tendencies of opinions or of practices be investigated, without involving a consideration of the character and conduct of those who advocate them? To this it may be replied, that the tendencies of opinions and practices can never be ascertained by discussing individual character. It is _classes_ of persons, or large _communities_, embracing persons of all varieties of character and circumstances, that are the only proper subjects of investigation for this object. For example, a community of Catholics, and a community of Protestants, may be compared, for the purpose of learning the moral tendencies of their different opinions. Scotland and New England, where the principles opposite to Catholicism have most prevailed, may properly be compared with Spain and Italy, where the Catholic system has been most fairly tried. But to select certain individuals who are defenders of these two different systems, as examples to illustrate their tendencies, would be as improper as it would be to select a kernel of grain to prove the good or bad character of a whole crop. To illustrate by a more particular example. The doctrines of the Atheist school are now under discussion, and Robert Owen and Fanny Wright have been their prominent advocates. In agreement with the above principles, it is a right, and the duty of every man who has any influence and opportunity, to show the absurdity of their doctrines, the weakness of their arguments, and the fatal tendencies of their opinions. It is right to show that the _practical_ adoption of their principles indicates a want of common sense, just as sowing the ocean with grain and expecting a crop would indicate the same deficiency. If the advocates of these doctrines carry out their principles into practice, in any such way as to offend the taste, or infringe on the rights of others, it is proper to express disgust and disapprobation. If the female advocate chooses to come upon a stage, and expose her person, dress, and elocution to public criticism, it is right to express disgust at whatever is offensive and indecorous, as it is to criticize the book of an author, or the dancing of an actress, or any thing else that is presented to public observation. And it is right to make all these things appear as odious and reprehensible to others as they do to ourselves. But what is the private character of Robert Owen or Fanny Wright? Whether they are ignorant or weak in intellect; whether they have properly examined the sources of truth; how much they have been biased by pride, passion, or vice, in adopting their opinions; whether they are honest and sincere in their belief; whether they are selfish or benevolent in their aims, are not matters which in any way pertain to the discussion. They are questions about which none are qualified to judge, except those in close and intimate communion with them. We may inquire with propriety as to the character of a _community_ of Atheists, or of a community where such sentiments extensively prevail, as compared with a community of opposite sentiments. But the private character, feelings, and motives of the individual advocates of these doctrines, are not proper subjects of investigation in any public discussion. If, then, it be true, that attacks on the character and motives of the advocates of opinions are entirely irrelevant and not at all necessary for the discovery of truth; if injury inflicted on character is the most severe penalty that can be employed to restrain freedom of opinions and freedom of speech, what are we to say of the state of things in this nation? Where is there a party which does not in effect say to every man, "if you dare to oppose the principles or practices we sustain, you shall be punished with personal odium?" which does not say to every member of the party, "uphold your party, right or wrong; oppose all that is adverse to your party, right or wrong, or else suffer the penalty of having your motives, character, and conduct, impeached?" Look first at the political arena. Where is the advocate of any measure that does not suffer sneers, ridicule, contempt, and all that tends to depreciate character in public estimation? Where is the partisan that is not attacked, as either weak in intellect, or dishonest in principle, or selfish in motives? And where is the man who is linked with any political party, that dares to stand up fearlessly and defend what is good in opposers, and reprove what is wrong in his own party? Look into the religious world. There, even those who take their party name from their professed liberality, are saying, "whoever shall adopt principles that exclude us from the Christian church, and our clergy from the pulpit, shall be held up either as intellectually degraded, or as narrow-minded and bigoted, or as ambitious, partisan and persecuting in spirit. No man shall believe a creed that excludes us from the pale of Christianity, under penalty of all the odium we can inflict." So in the Catholic controversy. Catholics and their friends practically declare war against all free discussion on this point. The decree has gone forth, that "no man shall appear for the purpose of proving that Catholicism is contrary to Scripture, or immoral and anti-republican in tendency, under penalty of being denounced as a dupe, or a hypocrite, or a persecutor, or a narrow-minded and prejudiced bigot." On the contrary, those who attack what is called liberal Christianity, or who aim to oppose the progress of Catholicism, how often do they exhibit a severe and uncharitable spirit towards the individuals whose opinions they controvert. Instead of loving the men, and rendering to them all the offices of Christian kindness, and according to them all due credit for whatever is desirable in character and conduct, how often do opposers seem to feel, that it will not answer to allow that there is any thing good, either in the system or in those who have adopted it. "Every thing about my party is right, and every thing in the opposing party is wrong," seems to be the universal maxim of the times. And it is the remark of some of the most intelligent foreign travellers among us, and of our own citizens who go abroad, that there is no country to be found, where freedom of opinion, and freedom of speech is more really influenced and controlled by the fear of pains and penalties, than in this land of boasted freedom. In other nations, the control is exercised by government, in respect to a very few matters; in this country it is party-spirit that rules with an iron rod, and shakes its scorpion whips over every interest and every employment of man. From this mighty source spring constant detraction, gossiping, tale-bearing, falsehood, anger, pride, malice, revenge, and every evil word and work. Every man sets himself up as the judge of the intellectual character, the honesty, the sincerity, the feelings, opportunities, motives, and intentions, of his fellow-man. And so they fall upon each other, not with swords and spears, but with the tongue, "that unruly member, that setteth on fire the course of nature, and is set on fire of hell." Can any person who seeks to maintain the peaceful, loving, and gentle spirit of Christianity, go out into the world at this day, without being bewildered at the endless conflicts, and grieved and dismayed at the bitter and unhallowed passions they engender? Can an honest, upright and Christian man, go into these conflicts, and with unflinching firmness stand up for all that is good, and oppose all that is evil, in whatever party it may be found, without a measure of moral courage such as few can command? And if he carries himself through with an unyielding integrity, and maintains his consistency, is he not exposed to storms of bitter revilings, and to peltings from both parties between which he may stand? What is the end of these things to be? Must we give up free discussion, and again chain up the human mind under the despotism of past ages? No, this will never be. God designs that every intelligent mind shall be governed, not by coercion, but by reason, and conscience, and truth. Man must reason, and experiment, and compare past and present results, and hear and know all that can be said on _both_ sides of every question which influences either private or public happiness, either for this life or for the life to come. But while this process is going on, must we be distracted and tortured by the baleful passions and wicked works that unrestrained party-spirit and ungoverned factions will bring upon us, under such a government as ours? Must we rush on to disunion, and civil wars, and servile wars, till all their train of horrors pass over us like devouring fire? There is an influence that can avert these dangers--a spirit that can allay the storm--that can say to the troubled winds and waters, "peace, be still." It is that spirit which is gentle and easy to be entreated, which thinketh no evil, which rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth, which is not easily provoked, which hopeth all things, which beareth all things. Let this spirit be infused into the mass of the nation, and then truth may be sought, defended, and propagated, and error detected, and its evils exposed; and yet we may escape the evils that now rage through this nation, and threaten us with such fiery plagues. And is there not a peculiar propriety in such an emergency, in looking for the especial agency and assistance of females, who are shut out from the many temptations that assail the other sex,--who are the appointed ministers of all the gentler charities of life,--who are mingled throughout the whole mass of the community,--who dwell in those retirements where only peace and love ought ever to enter,--whose comfort, influence, and dearest blessings, all depend on preserving peace and good will among men? In the present aspect of affairs among us, when everything seems to be tending to disunion and distraction, it surely has become the duty of every female instantly to relinquish the attitude of a partisan, in every matter of clashing interests, and to assume the office of a mediator, and an advocate of peace. And to do this, it is not necessary that a woman should in any manner relinquish her opinion as to the evils or the benefits, the right or the wrong, of any principle or practice. But, while quietly holding her own opinions, and calmly avowing them, when conscience and integrity make the duty imperative, every female can employ her influence, not for the purpose of exciting or regulating public sentiment, but rather for the purpose of promoting a spirit of candour, forbearance, charity, and peace. And there are certain prominent maxims which every woman can adopt as peculiarly belonging to her, as the advocate of charity and peace, and which it should be her especial office to illustrate, enforce, and sustain, by every method in her power. The first is, that every person ought to be sustained, not only in the right of propagating his own opinions and practices, but in opposing all those principles and practices which he deems erroneous. For there is no opinion which a man can propagate, that does not oppose some adverse interest; and if a man must cease to advocate his own views of truth and rectitude, because he opposes the interest or prejudices of some other man or party, all freedom of opinion, of speech, and of action, is gone. All that can be demanded is, that a man shall not resort to falsehood, false reasoning, or to attacks on character, in maintaining his own rights. If he states things which are false, it is right to show the falsehood,--if he reasons falsely, it is right to point out his sophistry,--if he impeaches the character or motives of opponents, it is right to express disapprobation and disgust; but if he uses only facts, arguments, and persuasions, he is to be honoured and sustained for all the efforts he makes to uphold what he deems to be right, and to put down what he believes to be wrong. Another maxim, which is partially involved in the first, is, that every man ought to allow his own principles and practices to be freely discussed, with patience and magnanimity, and not to complain of persecution, or to attack the character or motives of those who claim that he is in the wrong. If he is belied, if his character is impeached, if his motives are assailed, if his intellectual capabilities are made the objects of sneers or commiseration, he has a right to complain, and to seek sympathy as an injured man; but no man is a consistent friend and defender of liberty of speech, who cannot bear to have his own principles and practices subjected to the same ordeal as he demands should be imposed on others. Another maxim of peace and charity is, that every man's own testimony is to be taken in regard to his motives, feelings, and intentions. Though we may fear that a fellow-man is mistaken in his views of his own feelings, or that he does not speak the truth, it is as contrary to the rules of good breeding as it is to the laws of Christianity, to assume or even insinuate that this is the case. If a man's word cannot be taken in regard to his own motives, feelings, and intentions, he can find no redress for the wrong that may be done to him. It is unjust and unreasonable in the extreme to take any other course than the one here urged. Another most important maxim of candour and charity is, that when we are to assign motives for the conduct of our fellow-men, especially of those who oppose our interests, we are obligated to put the best, rather than the worst construction, on all they say and do. Instead of assigning the worst as the probable motive, it is always a duty to _hope_ that it is the best, until evidence is so unequivocal that there is no place for such a hope. Another maxim of peace and charity respects the subject of _retaliation_. Whatever may be said respecting the literal construction of some of the rules of the gospel, no one can deny that they do, whether figurative or not, forbid retaliation and revenge; that they do assume that men are not to be judges and executioners of their own wrongs; but that injuries are to be borne with meekness, and that retributive justice must be left to God, and to the laws. If a man strikes, we are not to return the blow, but appeal to the laws. If a man uses abusive or invidious language, we are not to return railing for railing. If a man impeaches our motives and attacks our character, we are not to return the evil. If a man sneers and ridicules, we are not to retaliate with ridicule and sneers. If a man reports our weaknesses and failings, we are not to revenge ourselves by reporting his. No man has a right to report evil of others, except when the justification of the innocent, or a regard for public or individual safety, demands it. This is the strict law of the gospel, inscribed in all its pages, and meeting in the face all those unchristian and indecent violations that now are so common, in almost every conflict of intellect or of interest. Another most important maxim of peace and charity imposes the obligation to guard our fellow-men from all unnecessary temptation. We are taught daily to pray, "lead us not into temptation;" and thus are admonished not only to avoid all unnecessary temptation ourselves, but to save our fellow-men from the danger. Can we ask our Heavenly Parent to protect us from temptation, while we recklessly spread baits and snares for our fellow-men? No, we are bound in every measure to have a tender regard for the weaknesses and liabilities of all around, and ever to be ready to yield even our just rights, when we can lawfully do it, rather than to tempt others to sin. The generous and high-minded Apostle declares, "if meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world standeth;" and it is the spirit of this maxim that every Christian ought to cultivate. There are no occasions when this maxim is more needed, than when we wish to modify the opinions, or alter the practices of our fellow-men. If, in such cases, we find that the probabilities are, that any interference of ours will increase the power of temptation, and lead to greater evils than those we wish to remedy, we are bound to forbear. If we find that one mode of attempting a measure will increase the power of temptation, and another will not involve this danger, we are bound to take the safest course. In all cases we are obligated to be as careful to protect our fellow-men from temptation, as we are to watch and pray against it in regard to ourselves. Another maxim of peace and charity requires a most scrupulous regard to the reputation, character, and feelings of our fellow-men, and especially of those who are opposed in any way to our wishes and interests. Every man and every woman feels that it is wrong for others to propagate their faults and weakness through the community. Every one feels wounded and injured to find that others are making his defects and infirmities the subject of sneers and ridicule. And what, then, is the rule of duty? "As ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." With this rule before his eyes and in his mind, can a man retail his neighbour's faults, or sneer at his deficiencies, or ridicule his infirmities, with a clear conscience? There are cases when the safety of individuals, or public justice, demands that a man's defects of character, or crimes, be made public; but no man is justified in communicating to others any evil respecting any of his fellow-men, when he cannot appeal to God as his witness that he does it from benevolent interest in the welfare of his fellow-men--from a desire to save individuals or the public from some evil--and not from a malevolent or gossiping propensity. Oh, that this law of love and charity could find an illustration and an advocate in every female of this nation! Oh, that every current slander, and every injurious report, might stand abashed, whenever it meets the notice of a woman! These are the maxims of peace and charity, which it is in the power of the females of our country to advocate, both by example and by entreaties. These are the principles which alone can protect and preserve the right of free discussion, the freedom of speech, and liberty of the press. And with our form of government, and our liabilities to faction and party-spirit, the country will be safe and happy only in proportion to the prevalence of these maxims among the mass of the community. There probably will never arrive a period in the history of this nation, when the influence of these principles will be more needed, than the present. The question of slavery involves more pecuniary interests, touches more private relations, involves more prejudices, is entwined with more sectional, party, and political interests, than any other which can ever again arise. It is a matter which, if discussed and controlled without the influence of these principles of charity and peace, will shake this nation like an earthquake, and pour over us the volcanic waves of every terrific passion. The trembling earth, the low murmuring thunders, already admonish us of our danger; and if females can exert any saving influence in this emergency, it is time for them to awake. And there are topics that they may urge upon the attention of their friends, at least as matters worthy of serious consideration and inquiry. Is a woman surrounded by those who favour the Abolition measures? Can she not with propriety urge such inquiries as these? Is not slavery to be brought to an end by free discussion, and is it not a war upon the right of free discussion to impeach the motives and depreciate the character of the opposers of Abolition measures? When the opposers of Abolition movements claim that they honestly and sincerely believe that these measures tend to perpetuate slavery, or to bring it to an end by servile wars, and civil disunion, and the most terrific miseries--when they object to the use of their pulpits, to the embodying of literary students, to the agitation of the community, by Abolition agents--when they object to the circulation of such papers and tracts as Abolitionists prepare, because they believe them most pernicious in their influence and tendencies, is it not as much persecution to use invidious insinuations, depreciating accusation and impeachment of motive, in order to intimidate, as it is for the opposers of Abolitionism to use physical force? Is not the only method by which the South can be brought to relinquish slavery, a conviction that not only her _duty_, but her highest _interest_, requires her to do it? And is not _calm, rational Christian_ discussion the only proper method of securing this end? Can a community that are thrown into such a state of high exasperation as now exists at the South, ever engage in such discussions, till the storm of excitement and passion is allayed? Ought not every friend of liberty and of free discussion, to take every possible means to soothe exasperated feelings, and to avoid all those offensive peculiarities that in their nature tend to inflame and offend? Is a woman among those who oppose Abolition movements? She can urge such inquiries as these: Ought not Abolitionists to be treated as if they were actuated by the motives of benevolence which they profess? Ought not every patriot and every Christian to throw all his influence against the impeachment of motives, the personal detraction, and the violent measures that are turned upon this body of men, who, however they may err in judgment or in spirit, are among the most exemplary and benevolent in the land? If Abolitionists are censurable for taking measures that exasperate rather than convince and persuade, are not their opponents, who take exactly the same measures to exasperate Abolitionists and their friends, as much to blame? If Abolitionism prospers by the abuse of its advocates, are not the authors of this abuse accountable for the increase of the very evils they deprecate? It is the opinion of intelligent and well informed men, that a very large proportion of the best members of the Abolition party were placed there, not by the arguments of Abolitionists, but by the abuse of their opposers. And I know some of the noblest minds that stand there, chiefly from the influence of those generous impulses that defend the injured and sustain the persecuted, while many others have joined these ranks from the impression that Abolitionism and the right of free discussion have become identical interests. Although I cannot perceive why the right of free discussion, the right of petition, and other rights that have become involved in this matter, cannot be sustained without joining an association that has sustained such injurious action and such erroneous principles, yet other minds, and those which are worthy of esteem, have been led to an opposite conclusion. The South, in the moments of angry excitement, have made unreasonable demands upon the non-slave-holding States, and have employed overbearing and provoking language. This has provoked re-action again at the North, and men, who heretofore were unexcited, are beginning to feel indignant, and to say, "Let the Union be sundered." Thus anger begets anger, and unreasonable measures provoke equally unreasonable returns. But when men, in moments of excitement rush on to such results, little do they think of the momentous consequences that may follow. Suppose the South in her anger unites with Texas, and forms a Southern slave-holding republic, under all the exasperating influences that such an avulsion will excite? What will be the prospects of the slave then, compared with what they are while we dwell together, united by all the ties of brotherhood, and having free access to those whom we wish to convince and persuade? But who can estimate the mischiefs that we must encounter while this dismemberment, this tearing asunder of the joints and members of the body politic, is going on? What will be the commotion and dismay, when all our sources of wealth, prosperity, and comfort, are turned to occasions for angry and selfish strife? What agitation will ensue in individual States, when it is to be decided by majorities which State shall go to the North and which to the South, and when the discontented minority must either give up or fight! Who shall divide our public lands between contending factions? What shall be done with our navy and all the various items of the nation's property? What shall be done when the post-office stops its steady movement to divide its efforts among contending parties? What shall be done when public credit staggers, when commerce furls her slackened sail, when property all over the nation changes its owners and relations? What shall be done with our canals and railways, now the bands of love to bind us, then the causes of contention and jealousy? What umpire will appear to settle all these questions of interest and strife, between communities thrown asunder by passion, pride, and mutual injury? It is said that the American people, though heedless and sometimes reckless at the approach of danger, are endowed with a strong and latent principle of common sense, which, when they fairly approach the precipice, always brings them to a stand, and makes them as wise to devise a remedy as they were rash in hastening to the danger. Are we not approaching the very verge of the precipice? Can we not already hear the roar of the waters below? Is not now the time, if ever, when our stern principles and sound common sense must wake to the rescue? Cannot the South be a little more patient under the injurious action that she feels she has suffered, and cease demanding those concessions from the North, that never will be made? For the North, though slower to manifest feeling, is as sensitive to her right of freedom of speech, as the South can be to her rights of property. Cannot the North bear with some unreasonable action from the South, when it is remembered that, as the provocation came from the North, it is wise and Christian that the aggressive party should not so strictly hold their tempted brethren to the rules of right and reason? Cannot the South bear in mind that at the North the colour of the skin does not take away the feeling of brotherhood, and though it is a badge of degradation in station and intellect, yet it is oftener regarded with pity and sympathy than with contempt? Cannot the South remember their generous feelings for the Greeks and Poles, and imagine that some such feelings may be awakened for the African race, among a people who do not believe either in the policy or the right of slavery? Cannot the North remember how jealous every man feels of his domestic relations and rights, and how sorely their Southern brethren are tried in these respects? How would the husbands and fathers at the North endure it, if Southern associations should be formed to bring forth to the world the sins of Northern men, as husbands and fathers? What if the South should send to the North to collect all the sins and neglects of Northern husbands and fathers, to retail them at the South in tracts and periodicals? What if the English nation should join in the outcry, and English females should send forth an agent, not indeed to visit the offending North, but to circulate at the South, denouncing all who did not join in this crusade, as the defenders of bad husbands and bad fathers? How would Northern men conduct under such provocations? There is indeed a difference in the two cases, but it is not in the nature and amount of irritating influence, for the Southerner feels the interference of strangers to regulate his domestic duty to his servants, as much as the Northern man would feel the same interference in regard to his wife and children. Do not Northern men owe a debt of forbearance and sympathy toward their Southern brethren, who have been so sorely tried? It is by urging these considerations, and by exhibiting and advocating the principles of charity and peace, that females may exert a wise and appropriate influence, and one which will most certainly tend to bring to an end, not only slavery, but unnumbered other evils and wrongs. No one can object to such an influence, but all parties will bid God speed to every woman who modestly, wisely and benevolently attempts it. I do not suppose that any Abolitionists are to be deterred by any thing I can offer, from prosecuting the course of measures they have adopted. They doubtless will continue to agitate the subject, and to form voluntary associations all over the land, in order to excite public sentiment at the North against the moral evils existing at the South. Yet I cannot but hope that some considerations may have influence to modify in a degree the spirit and measures of some who are included in that party. Abolitionists are men who come before the public in the character of _reprovers_. That the gospel requires Christians sometimes to assume this office, cannot be denied; but it does as unequivocally point out those qualifications which alone can entitle a man to do it. And no man acts wisely or consistently, unless he can satisfy himself that he possesses the qualifications for this duty, before he assumes it. The first of these qualifications is more than common exemption from the faults that are reproved. The inspired interrogatory, "thou therefore which teachest another, teachest thou not thyself?" enforces this principle; and the maxim of common sense, that "reprovers must have clean hands," is no less unequivocal. Abolitionists are reprovers for the violation of duties in the domestic relations. Of course they are men who are especially bound to be exemplary in the discharge of all their domestic duties. If a man cannot govern his temper and his tongue; if he inflicts that moral castigation on those who cross his will, which is more severe than physical stripes; if he is overbearing or exacting with those under his control; if he cannot secure respect for a kind and faithful discharge of all his social and relative duties, it is as unwise and improper for him to join an Abolition Society, as it would be for a drunkard to preach temperance, or a slave-holder Abolitionism. Another indispensable requisite for the office of reprover is a character distinguished for humility and meekness. There is nothing more difficult than to approach men for the purpose of convincing them of their own deficiencies and faults; and whoever attempts it in a self-complacent and dictatorial spirit, always does more evil than good. However exemplary a man may be in the sight of men, there is abundant cause for the exercise of humility. For a man is to judge of himself, not by a comparison with other men, but as he stands before God, when compared with a perfect law, and in reference to all his peculiar opportunities and restraints. Who is there that in this comparison, cannot find cause for the deepest humiliation? Who can go from the presence of Infinite Purity after such an investigation, to "take his brother by the throat?" Who rather, should not go to a brother, who may have sinned, with the deepest sympathy and love, as one who, amid greater temptations and with fewer advantages, may be the least offender of the two? A man who goes with this spirit, has the best hope of doing good to those who may offend. And yet even this spirit will not always save a man from angry retort, vexatious insinuation, jealous suspicion, and the misconstruction of his motives. A reprover, therefore, if he would avoid a quarrel and do the good he aims to secure, must be possessed of that meekness which can receive evil for good, with patient benevolence. And a man is not fitted for the duties of a reprover, until he can bring his feelings under this control. The last, and not the least important requisite for a reprover, is _discretion_. This is no where so much needed as in cases where the domestic relations are concerned, for here is the place above all others, where men are most sensitive and unreasonable. There are none who have more opportunities for learning this, than those who act as teachers, especially if they feel the responsibility of a Christian and a friend, in regard to the moral interests of pupils. A teacher who shares with parents the responsibilities of educating their children, whose efforts may all be rendered useless by parental influences at home; who feels an affectionate interest in both parent and child, is surely the one who might seem to have a right to seek, and a chance of success in seeking, some modifications of domestic influences. And yet teachers will probably testify, that it is a most discouraging task, and often as likely to result in jealous alienation and the loss of influence over both parent and child, as in any good. It is one of the greatest compliments that can be paid to the good sense and the good feeling of a parent to dare to attempt any such measure. This may show how much discretion, and tact, and delicacy, are needed by those who aim to rectify evils in the domestic relations of mankind. The peculiar qualifications, then, which make it suitable for a man to be an Abolitionist are, an exemplary discharge of all the domestic duties; humility, meekness, delicacy, tact, and discretion, and these should especially be the distinctive traits of those who take the place of _leaders_ in devising measures. And in performing these difficult and self-denying duties, there are no men who need more carefully to study the character and imitate the example of the Redeemer of mankind. He, indeed, was the searcher of hearts, and those reproofs which were based on the perfect knowledge of "all that is in man," we may not imitate. But we may imitate him, where he with so much gentleness, patience, and pitying love, encountered the weakness, the rashness, the selfishness, the worldliness of men. When the young man came with such self-complacency to ask what more he could do, how kindly he was received, how gently convinced of his great deficiency! When fire would have been called from heaven by his angry followers, how forbearing the rebuke! When denied and forsaken with oaths and curses by one of his nearest friends, what was it but a look of pitying love that sent the disciple out so bitterly to weep? When, in his last extremity of sorrow, his friends all fell asleep, how gently he drew over them the mantle of love! Oh blessed Saviour, impart more of thy own spirit to those who profess to follow thee! THE END. +------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's Notes. | | | | | |The following changes were made to the original text (correction | |in brackets): | | | |Page 3: to this request, MISS GRIMKE's(Grimké) Address was | | | |Page 19: associated CLARKSON, SHARPE, MACAULEY(Macaulay), and | | | |Page 44: (than) it is with "sheep-stealer." But Abolitionists | | | |Page 53: Secondly,(.) To make them willing to relinquish | | | |Page 59: sustained this trafic(traffic), in that nation. What | | | |Page 71: visiter's(visitor's) intention to devote himself to this| | | |Page 77: Footnote 3: suffer from such persecution;(") and he | |honourably and nobly | | | |Page 84: Mr. Clarkson continued his efficient | |co-opetion(co-operation) | | | |Page 101: so benevolent in feeling and action;(,) that her | | | |Page 108: when she cannot please, or by petulent(petulant) | |complaints | | | |Page 112: Every man is saying, "let(Let) me have | | | |Page 124: and prejudiced bigot.(") | | | |Page 134: tempation(temptation), and lead to greater evils than | +------------------------------------------------------------------+ 
37191	----	JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER His Life, Genius, and Writings BY W. SLOANE KENNEDY Author of a "Life of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow," Etc. REVISED AND ENLARGED _INTRODUCTION BY REV. S. F. SMITH, D.D._ Author of Hymn "America" Such music as the woods and streams Sang in his ear, he sang aloud _The Tent on the Beach_ For all his quiet life flowed on, As meadow streamlets flow, Where fresher green reveals alo The noiseless ways they go _The Friend's Burial_ CHICAGO NEW YORK THE WERNER COMPANY COPYRIGHT 1892 BY D. LOTHROP COMPANY COPYRIGHT 1895 BY THE WERNER COMPANY John Greenleaf Whittier INTRODUCTION. Who does not admire and love John Greenleaf Whittier? And who does not delight to do him honor? He was a man raised up by Providence to meet an exigency in human history, and an exigency in the experiences of the United States. And he met the exigency with distinguished success. He was a true exponent of New England life and the New England spirit. He drew his inspiration from the soil where he was born, from the necessities of the times, from the demands of human rights, from the love of God and of man. He was a unique man. We knew not his like before him. We shall see no other like him after him. He was the product of his age; and the age in which he lived belonged to him, and he to and in it. He was a unique literary man. He was so meek and retiring; he was so keenly sensitive to the wrongs done by man to man; he was so devoid of self-seeking; so pure and exalted in motive, and so sturdy a defender of the rights of the oppressed; he was so full of trust in God that we seem never to have seen his equal among men. His beautiful gentleness of character and his inflexible and fearless advocacy of the cause of righteousness--even when such advocacy involved persecution and personal harm and loss, a rare combination of qualities--remind us of the sentiment of Oliver Wendell Holmes, "The gentle are the strong." If ever in modern days the character of the apostle John has been reproduced among men it was in John G. Whittier. See with what sweetness and meekness the shy and loving Quaker moved through the ranks of society in times of peace and prosperity, and with what an adamantine boldness and bravery he stood up before the mob in Philadelphia when his types and manuscripts were scattered, his printing office burned and himself threatened with personal violence by the foes of human equality and freedom. Did he quail before the storm? Not he. Did he abandon his principles and retire from the arena? Oh, no; no more than did the apostle John--the apostle of love--forsake his Christian faith when the persecutors immersed him in boiling oil and exiled him to a desert island in the Ægean Sea. The poetry of Mr. Whittier is a complete autobiography. It is a reflection, as in a polished mirror, of himself. We miss only the accidents of dates and places, which are of merely external importance; but we find in his works, amply displayed, the portraiture of the man; even as the architect records himself and his thoughts in his plans, and builds his own soul into his edifices. Read the poetry of Mr. Whittier, and you have no need to ask what kind of man produced it. Behold the portrait: a thorough New England man, a son of its soil and a legitimate product of its institutions; a fruit of the simple education which was open to the people in the times of his youth and manhood; a philanthropist, loving all righteousness and all men, and scorning all oppression, injustice and iniquity; a stern advocate of human freedom, prepared to fight for it even "to the bitter end;" a bachelor, but having always a sweet and tender side for women; petted by society, but never tempted to swerve from the straight line of his principles; holding the faith of his fathers as a birthright and the result of his honest convictions, but with sympathies as broad as the universe and an appreciation of the privilege of private judgment on religious matters as the right and duty of all men; animated by a patriotism which took in his whole country, but a yearning for his own New England, its people, its scenery, its institutions and its honor; warmly attached to the friends whom he met along the pilgrimage of this life, but preserving to the last the memory and the love of the survivors whom he knew in his school days in the Haverhill Academy; living very much apart from his fellow-men, as he did in his latter days, on account of the increasing infirmities of his age, and absorbed in the world of his own thoughts, yet ever most affable, and as accessible as a most warm-hearted and cordial associate; every inch a man, as in stature, so also in soul, but exhibiting also the simplicity and the loving and confiding spirit of a child ("of such is the kingdom of heaven"); conscious of his human weakness and dependence on a higher Power, as he approached the goal of life, but relying on that higher Power with a sublime courage and a firm faith. How the man stands forth, like an orator on the stage, in the presence of throngs of admiring and reverent spectators! Unconsciously he sets forth in his works, whether they be prose or poetry, an example of the beauty of righteousness, the charm of philanthropy, the power and attractiveness of the broadest charity, the fervor of patriotism and the controlling force of love. The century which is about to close has been honored and made better, as well as gladder, by his presence in it. He has enriched its literature. He has elevated its ethics. He has breathed a divine life into its inspirations. He has warmed its heart. Mr. Whittier, like another Wordsworth, glorifies the scenes of common life, and hallows the landscapes of his New England homes. His verses speak in the dialect of the people, and deal with themes with which they are familiar. He lifts toil above its drudgery, and sanctifies, as with a sacred glow, the things with which men in common spheres chiefly have to do. He admired nature as he saw in it the landscapes which surrounded his several homes, the rolling green hills of Haverhill and Bradford, the mighty trees of Oak Knoll, the flowing stream and graceful curves of the Merrimack; the sober and quiet graces of Amesbury; and with his pen he stamped upon them immortality. The sun has set, but no night follows. The singer is gone, but his songs remain, and will long be a power among men far beyond the places adorned and honored by his personal presence. We love his poems which on account of their helpfulness the grateful world will long continue to read. How little he wrote--did he ever write anything--"which, dying, he could wish to blot?" and his life was a poem. The seal of Death is on his virtues, and the seal of universal approval is on his works. S. F. SMITH. CONTENTS. Part I.--LIFE. I. ANCESTRY 9 The Poet's Titles. Heredity. Spelling of the Name Whittier. Whittier Ancestors. Greenleaf Ancestors. The Husseys and Batchelders. Portrait of Whittier's Mother. II. THE MERRIMACK VALLEY 24 Description of Essex County, Haverhill, Amesbury, Newburyport, Salisbury Beach, and the Isles of Shoals. Extracts from the "Supernaturalism of New England." The Spirit of the Age. III. BOYHOOD 36 Birthplace. Kenoza Lake. Whitman and Whittier. The Old Homestead. Members of the Household. Harriet Livermore and Lady Hester Stanhope. The Poet's School Days. "My Playmate." Ellwood and Burns. Old Stragglers. "Pilgrim's Progress." The Demon Fiddler. First Poem. William Lloyd Garrison and the _Free Press_. Haverhill Academy. Robert Dinsmore, the Quaint Farmer-Poet of Windham. IV. EDITOR AND AUTHOR: FIRST VENTURES 83 Whittier as Editor of the _Boston Manufacturer_, the _Essex Gazette_, and the _New England Review_. First Volume, "Legends of New England." The Poet, J. G. C. Brainard. Ballad of "The Black Fox." Whittier's Views on the Poetical Resources of the New World. "Moll Pitcher." V. WHITTIER THE REFORMER 97 Identifies Himself with the Anti-Slavery Movement. Publication of his _Brochure_, "Justice and Expediency." Social Martyrdom. Prudence Crandall and her Battle with the Philistinism of Canterbury, Conn. Tailor Woolman and Saddler Lundy. Account of the Philadelphia Convention for the Formation of the American Anti-Slavery Society. Whittier's Account of the Convention. William Lloyd Garrison draws up the Famous Declaration of Principles. Samuel J. May Mobbed at East Haverhill. Whittier and George Thompson Mobbed at Concord, N. H. Story of the Landlord and the Flight by Night. The Poet's Account of the Mobbing of William Lloyd Garrison. Letters of John Quincy Adams. Harriet Martineau on Slavery. Attitude of Whittier toward the Quakers on the Slavery Question. VI. AMESBURY 123 Removal to Amesbury. Description of the Town and of the Poet's Residence. The Study. Whittier Corresponding Editor of the _National Era_. Various Works Written, including "Stranger in Lowell," "Supernaturalism of New England," "Songs of Labor," "Child-Life," "Child-Life in Prose," "Introduction" to Woolman's Journal, and "Songs of Three Centuries" (Edited). Whittier College Established. VII. LATER DAYS 141 Danvers. Oak Knoll. Summerings of the Poet at the Isles of Shoals and the Bearcamp House. _The Literary World_ Tribute, and the Whittier Banquet at the Hotel Brunswick. The Whittier Club. Various Volumes of Poetry Published. VIII. PERSONAL 153 Whittier's Personal Appearance Described by Frederika Bremer, Geo. W. Bungay, David A. Wasson, and others. Incident of his Kind-heartedness to a Stranger. Dom Pedro II. and Whittier at Mrs. John T. Sargent's Reception. Letter to Mrs. Sargent. Humor. Love of Children. Offices of Dignity and Honor. Part II. ANALYSIS OF HIS GENIUS AND WRITINGS. I. THE MAN 169 The Moral in Whittier Predominates over the Æsthetic. Love of Freedom the Central Element of his Character. Freedom, Democracy, and Quakerism, links in one Chain. Quakerism Described; Freedom and the Inner Light; Quakerism is Pure Democracy or Christianity, and Pure Individualism, or Philosophical Idealism; it Resembles Transcendentalism; the Details of the Quaker Religion Considered; Quotations from William Penn, Mary Brook, and A. M. Powell; Objections to Quakerism; Beautiful Lives of the Quakers; Whittier's Attitude Toward the Religion of his Fathers. His Religious Development, Doubt, and Trust. Patriotism. Has Blood Militant in his Veins. A Representative American Poet. Summing Up. II. THE ARTIST 196 Little or no _Technique_. More Fancy than Imagination. The Artistic Quality of his Mind a Fusion of that of Wordsworth and Byron. His Bookish Lore. The Beauty and Melody of his Finest Ballads. His Strength and Nervous Energy. Culmination of his Genius. His Three Crazes. Letters to the _Nation_, and to the American Anti-Slavery Society. Illustrations of the Predominance of the Moral in his Nature. Taine Quoted. Pope-Night. His Over-religiousness. Love of Consecutive Rhymes. Minor Mannerisms. Originality. III. POEMS SERIATIM 217 Mr. David A. Wasson's Classification of Epochs in the Poet's Development. The Author's Classification. Four Periods: 1st, _Introductory_; 2d, _Storm and Stress_; 3d, _Transition_; 4th, _Religious and Artistic Repose_. General Review of Earlier Productions. The Indian Poems. "Songs of Labor." The Ballad Decade. "Prophecy of Samuel Sewall." John Chadwick on "Skipper Ireson's Ride." The "Barbara Frietchie" Controversy. The Romance of the "Countess." Winter in Poetry. "Snow-Bound." "The Tent on the Beach." Various Poems. IV. THE KING'S MISSIVE 254 Joseph Besse Quoted. Story of the Quaker and the King of England. The Debate of Whittier and Dr. Geo. E. Ellis of Boston. Humorous Specimen of Quaker Rant from Mather's _Magnalia_. Terrible Sufferings of the Quakers. V. POEMS BY GROUPS 272 The Anti-Slavery Poems Reviewed. Poems Inspired by the Civil War. Hymns. Children's Poems: "Red Riding-Hood," "The Robin," etc. Oriental Poems and Paraphrases. VI. PROSE WRITINGS 279 Much of his Prose of Historical or Sectarian Interest Only. Charming Nature- and Folk-Studies and Sketches. "Margaret Smith's Journal." "Old Portraits and Modern Sketches." "Literary Recreations and Miscellanies." Specimens of Whittier's Prose. Part III. TWILIGHT AND EVENING BELL. I. TWILIGHT AND EVENING BELL 301 Whittier's death at Hampton Falls, N. H. Celebration of his birthdays. Funeral and memorial services. Personal reminiscences. Fac-simile of letter to Oliver Wendell Holmes. APPENDIX. BIBLIOGRAPHY 375 * * * * * PART I. LIFE. CHAPTER I. ANCESTRY. The Hermit of Amesbury, the Wood-thrush of Essex, the Martial Quaker, the Poet of Freedom, the Poet of the Moral Sentiment,--such are some of the titles bestowed upon Whittier by his admirers. Let us call him the Preacher-Poet, for he has written scarcely a poem or an essay that does not breathe a moral sentiment or a religious aspiration. What effect this predetermination of character has had upon his artistic development shall be discussed in another place. The present chapter--which may be called the propylæum or vestibule of the biographical structure that follows--will deal with the poet's ancestry, and the information afforded by it, and the two chapters that succeed will afford unmistakable evidence of the truth that a poet, no less than a solar system or a loaf of bread, is the logical resultant of a line of antecedent forces and circumstances. The fine but infrangible threads of our destiny are spun and woven out of atom-fibres indelibly stamped with the previous owners' names. Their characters immingle in our own,--the affluence or the indigence of their intellects, the sugar or the nitre of their wit, the shifting sand or the unwedgeable iron of their moral natures. * * * * * The name Whittier is spelled in thirty-two different ways in the old records: a list of these different spellings is given in Daniel Bodwell Whittier's genealogy of the family. The common ancestor of the Whittiers is Thomas Whittier, who in the year 1638 came from Southampton, England, to New England, in the ship "Confidence," of London, John Dobson, master. It is recorded of Thomas Whittier, says his descendant, the poet, in a half facetious way, that the only noteworthy circumstance connected with his coming was that he brought with him a hive of bees. He was born in 1620. His mother was probably a sister of John and Henry Rolfe, with the former of whom he came to America. His name at that time was spelled "Whittle." He married Ruth Green, and lived at first in Salisbury, Mass. He seems afterward to have lived in Newbury. In 1650 he removed to Haverhill, where he was admitted freeman, May 23, 1666. It was customary in those days, says the historian of Haverhill, for the nearest neighbors to sleep in the garrisons at night, but Thomas Whittier refused to take shelter there with his family. "Relying upon the weapons of his faith, he left his own house unguarded, and unprotected with palisades, and carried with him no weapons of war. The Indians frequently visited him, and the family often heard them, in the stillness of the evening, whispering beneath the windows, and sometimes saw them peep in upon the little group of practical 'non-resistants.' Friend Whittier always treated them civilly and hospitably, and they ever retired without molesting him."[1] Thomas Whittier died in Haverhill, November 28, 1696. His autograph appears in the probate records of Salem, Mass., as witness to a will of Samuel Gild. His widow died in July, 1710, and her eldest son John was appointed administrator of her estate. Thomas had ten children, of whom John became the ancestor of the most numerous branch of the Whittiers. Joseph, the brother of John, became the head of another branch of the family, and is the great-grandfather of our poet. Joseph married Mary, daughter of Joseph Peasley, of Haverhill, by whom he had nine children, among them Joseph, 2d, the grandfather of the poet. Joseph, 2d, married Sarah Greenleaf of Newbury, by whom he had eleven children. The tenth child, John (the father of the poet), married Abigail Hussey, who was a daughter of Joseph Hussey, of Somersworth,--now Rollinsford,--N. H., a town on the Piscataqua River, which forms the southern part of the boundary line between New Hampshire and Maine. The mother of Abigail Hussey (the poet's mother) was Mercy Evans, of Berwick, Me. John Whittier, the father of the poet, died in Haverhill, June 30, 1830. His children were four in number: (1) Mary, born September 3, 1806, married Jacob Caldwell, of Haverhill, and died January 7, 1860; (2) John Greenleaf, the poet, born December 17, 1807, in Haverhill; (3) Matthew Franklin, born July 18, 1812, married Jane E. Vaughan; (4) Elizabeth Hussey, born December 7, 1815, died September 3, 1864. From this statement it will be seen that Matthew is the only surviving member of the family, besides the poet himself. Matthew resides in Boston, and has sons, daughters, and grandchildren.[2] [Footnote 1: "The History of Haverhill, Mass.; from its first settlement in 1640 to the year 1860. By George Wingate Chase, Haverhill. Published by the author, 1861."] [Footnote 2: The foregoing statements are taken from the Whittier genealogy. But the author finds that there are a few slight discrepancies of date between this book and the inscriptions on the family tombstones in Amesbury. The tombstones say that John Whittier died "11th of 6 mo., 1831," and that Mary died "1st mo. 7, 1861."] The name Whittier constantly appears in important documents signed by the chief citizens of Haverhill. The family was evidently respected and honored by the community. In 1669 a Whittier was chosen town-constable. It is recorded that in 1711 Thomas Whittier--probably a son of Thomas (1st)--was one of a militia company provided with snow-shoes in order the better to repel an anticipated attack of the Indians. But, in spite of civil honors, it is well known that, down to comparatively recent times, the family suffered considerable social persecution and slight on account of their religious belief. For example, when the citizens built a new meeting-house, in 1699, they peremptorily refused to allow the Quakers to worship in it, although petitioned to do so by Joseph Peasley and others, and although they were taxed for its support. It was not until 1774 that an act was passed by the State exempting dissenters from taxation for the support of what we may call the State religion. It is important to bear this in mind, if we would know all the influences that went to form the character of the poet. The poet's paternal grandmother was Sarah Greenleaf, of Newbury. The genealogist of the Greenleafs says: "From all that can be gathered it is believed that the ancestors of the Greenleaf family were Huguenots, who left France on account of their religious principles some time in the course of the sixteenth century, and settled in England. The name was probably translated from the French _Feuillevert_.[3] Edmund Greenleaf, the ancestor of the American Greenleafs, was born in the parish of Brixham, and county of Devonshire, near Torbay, in England, about the year 1600." He came to Newbury, Mass., in 1635. He was by trade a silk-dyer. Respecting the family coat-of-arms the genealogist gives, on page 116, the following interesting statement:-- "The Hon. William Greenleaf, once of Boston, and then of New Bedford, being in London about the year 1760, obtained from an office of heraldry a device, said to be the arms of the family, which he had painted, and the painting is now in the possession of his grand-daughter, Mrs. Ritchie, of Roxbury, Mass. The field is white (argent), bearing a chevron between three leaves (vert). The crest is a dove standing on a wreath of green and white, holding in its mouth three green leaves. The helmet is that of a warrior (visor down); a garter below, but no motto." [Footnote 3: Whittier has thus alluded to this surmise:-- "The name the Gallic exile bore, St. Malo! from thy ancient mart, Became upon our Western shore Greenleaf for Feuillevert."] What more appropriate emblazonment for the escutcheon of our Martial Quaker poet than a warrior's helmet, and a dove holding in its mouth the emblem of peace! Jonathan Greenleaf, born in Newbury, in 1723, is described as possessing a remarkably kind and conciliatory disposition. "Even the tones of his voice were gentle and persuasive, and he was very frequently resorted to as a peacemaker between contending parties. His dress was remarkably uniform, usually in his later years being deep blue or drab. He seldom walked fast, his gait being a measured and moderate step. His manners were plain, unassuming, but very polite. He was very religious, and a strict Calvinist. Nothing but absolute necessity kept him from public worship on the Sabbath, and he was scarce ever known to omit regular morning and evening worship." Of Professor Simon Greenleaf, the Harvard Law Professor (1833-1845), the family genealogist says: "For the last thirty years of his life he was one of the most spiritually-minded of men, evidently intent on walking humbly with God, and doing good to the bodies and souls of his fellow-men; scarce ever writing a letter of friendship even, without breathing in it a prayer, or delivering in it some good message." Professor Greenleaf published some dozen works, both legal and religious. It is a curious fact that his son James married Mary Longfellow, a sister of the Cambridge poet, thus making Whittier and Longfellow distant kinsmen.[4] [Footnote 4: It may be added that the ancestral home of the Longfellows is still standing in Byfield, about five miles distant from the Whittier homestead in Haverhill. (See the author's Life of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, p. 15.)] Another English Greenleaf--contemporary with Edmund, being a silk-dyer as well as he, and in all probability a near kinsman--was a lieutenant under Oliver Cromwell, and served also under Richard Cromwell, and was in the army of the Protector under General Monk, at the time of the restoration of Charles II. It is hardly necessary to call the reader's attention to the significant fact, elicited by the foregoing researches, that, in tracing down two hereditary lines of the poet's paternal ancestors, we discover that for many generations those ancestors suffered religious persecution for loyalty to their religious convictions, and that many of them were remarkable for their sensitive piety. * * * * * Turn we now to the maternal ancestry of Whittier. In 1873 the poet wrote to Mr. D. B. Whittier, of Boston, as follows:-- "My mother was a descendant of Christopher Hussey, of Hampton, N. H., who married a daughter of Rev. Stephen Bachelor, the first minister of that town. "Daniel Webster traces his ancestry to the same pair, so Joshua Coffin informed me. Colonel W. B. Greene, of Boston, is of the same family."[5] [Footnote 5: The name of Daniel Webster's paternal grandmother was Susannah Bachelor, or Batchelder.] In the light of the preceding note, the following letter of Col. W. B. Greene explains itself:-- "JAMAICA PLAIN, MASS., Sept. 24, 1873. "Mr. D. B. WHITTIER, Danville, Vt. "DEAR SIR,--Yours of September 20 is just received, and I reply to it at once. My grandfather, on my mother's side, was the Rev. William Batchelder, of Haverhill, Mass. In the year 1838 I had a conversation, on a matter of military business, with the Hon. Daniel Webster; and, to my astonishment, Mr. Webster treated me as a kinsman. My mother afterwards explained his conduct by telling me that one of Mr. W.'s female ancestors was a Batchelder. In 1838 or 1839, or thereabouts, I met schoolmaster [Joshua] Coffin on a Mississippi steamboat, near Baton Rouge. The captain of the boat told me, confidentially, that Coffin was engaged in a dangerous mission respecting some slaves, and inquired whether my aid and countenance could be counted on in favor of Coffin, in case violence should be offered him. This he did because I was on the boat as a military man, and in uniform. When Coffin found he could count on me, he came and talked with me, and finally told me he had [once] been hired by Daniel Webster _to go to Ipswich_, and there look up Mr. W.'s ancestry. He spoke of Rev. Stephen Batchelder, of New Hampshire, and said that Daniel Webster, John G. Whittier, and myself were related by Batchelder blood. I did not feel at all ashamed of my relatives. In 1841 or 1842 Mrs. Crosby, of Hallowell, Me., who had charge of my grandfather when he was a boy, and knew all about the family, told me that Daniel Webster was a Batchelder, that she had known his father intimately, and knew Daniel when he was a boy. At the time of my conversation with her, Aunt Crosby might have been anywhere from seventy-five to eighty-five years of age. When I was a boy, at (say) about the year 1827 or 1828, I used to go often to the house of J. G. Whittier's father, a little out of the village (now city) of Haverhill, Mass. There was a Mrs. Hussey in the family, who baked the best squash pies I ever ate, and knew how to make the pine floors shine like a looking-glass. "This is, I think, all the information, in answer to your request, that I am competent to give you. "Yours respectfully, "WILLIAM BATCHELDER GREENE." In a note addressed to the New England Historical and Genealogical Society, the poet says: "On my mother's side my grandfather was Joseph Hussey, of Somersworth, N. H.; married Mercy Evans, of Berwick, Me." Some of the genealogical links connecting the Husseys of Somersworth with those of Hampton have not yet been recovered. But this much is known of the family,[6] that in 1630 Christopher Hussey came from Dorking, Surrey, England, to Lynn, Mass. He had married, in Holland, Theodate, the daughter of the Rev. Stephen Bachiler, a Puritan minister, who had fled to that country to avoid persecution in England. The author was told by a local antiquary in Hampton, N. H., that there is a tradition in the town that Stephen Bachiler would not let his daughter marry young Hussey unless he embraced the Puritan faith. His love was so great that he consented, and came with his bride to America, where two years later his father-in-law followed him. Stephen Bachiler came to Lynn in 1632, with six persons, his relatives and friends, who had belonged to his church in Holland, and with them he established a little independent church in Lynn. The progenitive faculty of this worthy divine must have been highly developed: he was married four times, and was dismissed from his church at Lynn on account of charges twice preferred against him by women of his congregation. The recorded dates show that both he and his son-in-law, Hussey, came to Hampton in the year 1639. The Hampton authorities had the previous year made Mr. Bachiler and Mr. Hussey each a grant of three hundred acres of land, to induce them to settle there. When and how the Husseys became Quakers is not known to the author. But in Savage's Genealogical Dictionary, II. 507, it is recorded that as early as 1688 a certain John Hussey of Hampton was a preacher to the Quakers in Newcastle, Del. The mother of the poet was a devoted disciple of the Society of Friends. That she was a person of deep and tender religious nature is evident to one looking at the excellent oil-portrait of her which hangs in the little parlor at Amesbury. The head is inclined graciously to one side, and the face wears that expression of ineffable tranquillity which is always a witness to generations of Quaker ancestry. In the picture, her garments are of smooth and immaculate drab. The poet once remarked to the writer that one of the reasons why his mother removed to Amesbury, in 1840, was that she might be near the little Friends' "Meeting" in that town. [Footnote 6: See histories of Lynn and Newbury, _passim_.] Thus among the maternal as well as the paternal progenitors of our Quaker poet we find the religious nature predominant. CHAPTER II. THE VALLEY OF THE MERRIMACK. In the valley of the Merrimack John Greenleaf Whittier was born (December 17, 1807), and in the same region he has passed nearly his entire life, first in the town of Haverhill, and then in Amesbury, some nine miles distant. To strangers, the hilly old county of Essex wears a somewhat bleak and Scotian look; but it is fertile in poetical resources, and the tillers of its glebe are passionately attached to its blue hills and sunken dales, its silver rivers and winding roads, umbrageous towns and thrifty homes. Like Burns and Cowper, Whittier is distinctively a rustic poet, and he and Whitman are the most indigenous and patriotic of our singers. His idyllic poetry savors of the soil and is full of local allusions. It is, therefore, essential to the full enjoyment of his writings that one should get, at the outset, as vivid an idea as possible both of the Essex landscape and the Essex farmer. Whittier was born some three miles northeast of what is now the thriving little city of Haverhill. It was settled in 1640 by twelve men from Newbury and Ipswich. Its Indian name was Pentucket,--the appellation of a tribe once dwelling on its site, a tribe under the jurisdiction of Passaconaway, chief of the Pennacooks. The city is built partly on the river-terrace of the northern shore, and partly on the adjoining hills. It is celebrated in colonial history for the heroic exploit of Hannah Duston, who, when taken captive by a party of twenty savages at the time of the Haverhill massacre, killed and scalped them all, with the aid of her companion (also a woman), and returned in safety to the settlement. A handsome monument has recently been erected to her memory in the city square; it is a granite structure, with bronze bas-reliefs, and surmounted by a bronze statue of the heroine. In the public library of the city (founded in 1873) may be seen a fine bust of Whittier, by Powers. On February 17 and 18, 1882, almost the entire business portion of the city was destroyed by fire; eight acres were burned over, and $2,000,000 worth of property destroyed. Haverhill is eighteen miles east of Lowell, thirty-two miles northwest of Boston, and six miles northeast of Lawrence. The manufacture of boots and shoes gives employment to 6,000 men. The population in 1870 was 13,092. Down to the sea, some seventeen miles away, winds the beautiful Merrimack, with the deep-shaded old town of Newburyport seated at its mouth. A little more than half way down lies Amesbury, just where the winding Powwow joins the Merrimack, but not before its nixies and river-horses have been compelled to put their shoulders to the wheels of several huge cotton mills that lift their forbidding bulk out of the very centre of the village. A horse-railroad connects Amesbury with Newburyport, six miles distant. At about half that distance the road crosses the Merrimack by way of Deer Island and connecting bridges. The sole house on this wild, rough island is the home of the Spoffords. As you near Newburyport, coming down from Amesbury, you see the river widened into an estuary, and bordered by wide and intensely green salt-meadows. Numerous large vessels lie at the wharves, a "gundelow," with lateen sail, creeps slowly down the current; the draw of the railroad bridge is perhaps opening for the passage of a tug, and out at sea athwart the river's mouth-- "Long and low, with dwarf trees crowned, Plum Island lies, like a whale aground, A stone's toss over the narrow sound." _Prophecy of Samuel Sewall._ Far off to the left lie Salisbury and Hampton beaches, celebrated by Whittier in his poems "Hampton Beach," "Snow-Bound," and "The Tent on the Beach":-- "Where Salisbury's level marshes spread Mile-wide as flies the laden bee; Where merry mowers, hale and strong, Swept, scythe on scythe, their swaths along The low green prairies of the sea." _Snow-Bound._ Standing on the sand-ridge by the beach, you have before you the washing surf, and miles on miles of level sand, rimmed with creeping, silver water-lace, overhung here and there by thinnest powdery mist. Out at sea the waves are tossing their salt-threaded manes, or flinging the sunlight from their supple coats--(æonian roar; white-haired, demoniac shapes)--while at evening you see far away to the northeast the revolving light of the Isles of Shoals. "Quail and sandpiper and swallow and sparrow are here; Sweet sound their manifold notes, high and low, far and near; Chorus of musical waters, the rush of the breeze, Steady and strong from the south,--what glad voices are these!" So sings the poet of the Isles of Shoals, Celia Thaxter, who, it is said, was discovered and introduced to the world by Whittier,--her rocky home being still one of his favorite summer resorts. Landward, your gaze sweeps the beautiful salt-meadows and rests on the woods beyond, or reaches still farther to the steeples of Newburyport rising sculpturesquely in the pellucid atmosphere, and often at evening filling the air with faint silver hymns that chime with the liquid undertone of the pouring surf. The valley of the Merrimack with the surrounding region, is, or was until recently, full of legends of the marvellous and the supernatural, which, in this remote and isolated corner of the State, have come down in unbroken tradition from earlier times. One of the distinguishing peculiarities of Whittier's genius is his story-telling power, and since he has not only written many poems about the legends of his native province, but also published in his youth two small collections of those legends in prose form, it will be proper to give the reader a taste of them, both here and elsewhere in the volume, and thus assist him to an understanding of our poet's early environment. The following extracts from his "Supernaturalism of New England," published in the year 1847, are germane to the subject in hand:-- "One of my earliest recollections," he says, "is that of an old woman residing at Rocks Village, in Haverhill, about two miles from the place of my nativity, who for many years had borne the unenviable reputation of a witch. She certainly had the look of one,--a combination of form, voice, and features, which would have made the fortune of an English witch-finder in the days of Matthew Paris or the Sir John Podgers of Dickens, and insured her speedy conviction in King James' High Court of Justiciary. She was accused of divers ill-doings, such as preventing the cream in her neighbor's churn from becoming butter, and snuffing out candles at huskings and quilting parties. The poor old woman was at length so sadly annoyed by her unfortunate reputation, that she took the trouble to go before a Justice of the Peace, and made a solemn oath that she was a Christian woman and no witch." * * * * * "Some forty years ago, on the banks of the pleasant little creek separating Berwick, in Maine, from Somersworth, in New Hampshire, within sight of my mother's home, dwelt a plain, sedate member of the Society of Friends, named Bantum. He passed, throughout a circle of several miles, as a conjurer and skilful adept in the art of magic. To him resorted farmers who had lost their cattle, matrons whose household gear, silver spoons, and table-linen had been stolen, and young maidens whose lovers were absent; and the quiet, meek-spirited old man received them all kindly, put on his huge, iron-rimmed spectacles, opened his 'conjuring book,' which my mother describes as a large clasped volume, in strange language and black-letter type, and after due reflection and consideration gave the required answers without money and without price. The curious old volume is still in possession of the conjurer's family. Apparently inconsistent as was this practice of the Black Art with the simplicity and truthfulness of his religious profession, I have not been able to learn that he was ever subjected to censure on account of it." This incident reminds one of some verses in a poem of Whittier's entitled "Flowers in Winter":-- "A wizard of the Merrimack-- So old ancestral legends say-- Could call green leaf and blossom back To frosted stem and spray. The dry logs of the cottage wall, Beneath his touch, put out their leaves; The clay-bound swallow, at his call, Played round the icy eaves. The settler saw his oaken flail Take bud, and bloom before his eyes; From frozen pools he saw the pale, Sweet summer lilies rise. * * * * * The beechen platter sprouted wild, The pipkin wore its old-time green; The cradle o'er the sleeping child Became a leafy screen." In chapter second of the "Supernaturalism" we have a whimsical story about a certain "Aunt Morse," who lived in a town adjoining Amesbury:-- "After the death of Aunt Morse no will was found, though it was understood before her decease that such a document was in the hands of Squire S., one of her neighbors. One cold winter evening, some weeks after her departure, Squire S. sat in his parlor, looking over his papers, when, hearing some one cough in a familiar way, he looked up, and saw before him a little crooked old woman, in an oil-nut colored woollen frock, blue and white tow and linen apron, and striped blanket, leaning her sharp, pinched face on one hand, while the other supported a short black tobacco pipe, at which she was puffing in the most vehement and spiteful manner conceivable. "The squire was a man of some nerve; but his first thought was to attempt an escape, from which he was deterred only by the consideration that any effort to that effect would necessarily bring him nearer to his unwelcome visitor. "'Aunt Morse,' he said at length, 'for the Lord's sake, get right back to the burying-ground! What on earth are you here for?' "The apparition took her pipe deliberately from her mouth, and informed him that she came to see justice done with her will; and that nobody need think of cheating her, dead or alive. Concluding her remark with a shrill emphasis, she replaced her pipe, and puffed away with renewed vigor. Upon the squire's promising to obey her request, she refilled her pipe, which she asked him to light, and then took her departure." "Elderly people in this region," says our author, "yet tell marvellous stories of General M., of Hampton, N. H., especially of his league with the devil, who used to visit him occasionally in the shape of a small man in a leathern dress. The general's house was once burned, in revenge, as it is said, by the fiend, whom the former had outwitted. He had agreed, it seems, to furnish the general with a boot full of gold and silver poured annually down the chimney. The shrewd Yankee cut off, on one occasion, the foot of the boot, and the devil kept pouring down the coin from the chimney's top, in a vain attempt to fill it, until the room was literally packed with the precious metal. When the general died, he was laid out, and put in a coffin, as usual; but, on the day of the funeral, it was whispered about that his body was missing; and the neighbors came to the charitable conclusion that the enemy had got his own at last." It should be understood that the state of society which produced such superstitions and legends as the foregoing lingers now only in secluded corners of New England. The railroad, the newspaper, and the influx of foreign population, have combined to frighten away ghost, conjurer, and witch, or to drive them up into the mountainous districts. There are still plenty of quaint and picturesque old Puritan farmers; and their mythology is antique and rusty enough, to be sure. But the folk-lore of the early days,--where is it? Let the shriek of the steam-demon answer, or that powerful magician, the "Spirit of the Age," who, ten thousand times divided, and slyly hidden in plethoric leathern mail bags, daily rushes into the remotest nooks and corners of the land, there to enter into the nooks and corners of the mind of man. The "Spirit of the Age" has exorcised the spirits of the ingle and the forest. CHAPTER III. BOYHOOD. The birthplace and early home of Whittier is a lonely farm-house situated at a distance of three miles northeast of the city of Haverhill, Mass. The winding road leading to it is the one described in "Snow-Bound." A drive or a walk of one mile brings you to sweet Kenoza Lake, with the castellated stone residence of Dr. J. R. Nichols crowning the summit of the high hill that overlooks it. From the hill the eye sweeps the horizon in every direction to a distance of fifty or a hundred miles. Far to the northwest rise bluely the three peaks of Monadnock. Nearer at hand, in the same direction, the towns of Atkinson and Strafford whiten the hillsides, while southward, through a clove in the hills, one catches a glimpse of the smoky city of Lawrence. [Illustration: WHITTIER'S BIRTHPLACE, NEAR HAVERHILL, MASS.] Two other lakes besides Kenoza lie in the immediate vicinity: namely, Round Lake and Lake Saltonstall. Kenoza is the lake in which Whittier used to fish and boat. It was he who gave to it its present name (meaning pickerel): he wrote a very pretty poem for the day of the rechristening, in 1859. The lake lies in a bowl-shaped depression. The country thereabouts seems entirely made up of huge earth-bowls, here open to the sky, and there turned bottom-upwards to make hills. No prettier, quieter, lovelier lake than Kenoza exists,--a pure and spotless mirror, reflecting in its cool, translucent depths the rosy clouds of morning and of evening, the silver-azure tent of day, the gliding boat, the green meadow-grasses, and the massy foliage of the terraced pines and cedars that sweep upward from its waters in stately pomp, rank over rank, to meet the sky. Here, in one quarter of the lake, the surface is only wrinkled by the tiniest wavelets or crinkles; yonder, near another portion of its irregularly picturesque shore, a thousand white sun-butterflies seem dancing on the surface, and the loveliest wind-dapples curve and gleam. Along the shore are sweet wild roses interpleached, and flower-de-luce, and yellow water-lilies. In such a circular earth-bowl the faintest sounds are easily heard across the water. Far off you hear the cheery cackle of a hen; in the meadows the singing of insects, the chattering of blackbirds, and the cry of the peewee; and the ring of the woodman's axe floats in rippling echoes over the water. In one of his earlier essays Mr. Whittier tells the following romantic story: "Whoever has seen Great Pond, in the East Parish of Haverhill, has seen one of the very loveliest of the thousand little lakes or ponds of New England. With its soft slopes of greenest verdure--its white and sparkling sand-rim--its southern hem of pine and maple, mirrored with spray and leaf in the glassy water--its graceful hill-sentinels round about, white with the orchard-bloom of spring, or tasselled with the corn of autumn--its long sweep of blue waters, broken here and there by picturesque headlands,--it would seem a spot, of all others, where spirits of evil must shrink, rebuked and abashed, from the presence of the beautiful. Yet here, too, has the shadow of the supernatural fallen. A lady of my acquaintance, a staid, unimaginative church-member, states that a few years ago she was standing in the angle formed by two roads, one of which traverses the pond-shore, the other leading over the hill which rises abruptly from the water. It was a warm summer evening, just at sunset. She was startled by the appearance of a horse and cart of the kind used a century ago in New England, driving rapidly down the steep hillside, and crossing the wall a few yards before her, without noise or displacing of a stone. The driver sat sternly erect, with a fierce countenance; grasping the reins tightly, and looking neither to the right nor the left. Behind the cart, and apparently lashed to it, was a woman of gigantic size, her countenance convulsed with a blended expression of rage and agony, writhing and struggling, like Laocoön in the folds of the serpent." The mysterious cart moved across the street, and disappeared at the margin of the pond. The two miles of road that separate Kenoza from the old Whittier homestead form a lonely stretch, passing between high hills rolled back on either side in wolds that show against the sky. The homestead is situated at the junction of the main road to Amesbury and a cross-road to Plaistow. It is as wild and lonely a place as Craigen-puttock,--the hills shutting down all around, so that there is absolutely no prospect in any direction, and no other house visible. But so much the better for meditation. "The Children of the Light" need only their own souls to commune with. The expression that rose continually to the author's lips on visiting this place was a line from "Snow-Bound,"-- "A universe of sky and snow." Not that the time was winter, but that the locality explained the line so vividly,--better than any commentary could do. Locality exercises a great influence on a poet's genius. Whitman, for example, has always lived by the sea, and he is the poet of the infinite. Whittier was born, and passed his boyhood and youth, in a green, sunken pocket of the inland hills, and he became the poet of the heart and the home. The one poet wrestled with the waves of the sea and the waves of humanity in great cities; the other lived the simple, quiet life of a farmer, loving his mother, his sister, his Quaker sect, freedom, and his own hearth. Both are as lowly in origin as Carlyle or Burns. Between the front door of the old homestead and the road rises a grassy, wooded bank, at the foot of which flows a little amber-colored brook. The brook is mentioned in "Snow-Bound":-- "We minded that the sharpest ear The buried brooklet could not hear, The music of whose liquid lip Had been to us companionship, And, in our lonely life, had grown To have an almost human tone." Across the road is the barn. The house is very plain, and not very large. Entering the front door you are in a small entry with a steep, quaint, little staircase. On the right is the parlor where Whittier wrote. In the tiny, low-studded room on the left, he was born, and in the same room his father and "Uncle Moses" died. The room is about fourteen by fourteen feet, is partly wainscoted, has a fireplace and three windows. All the windows in the house have small panes, nine in the upper and six in the lower sash. The building is supposed to be two hundred and twelve years old. The kitchen is, of course, the great attraction. Let us suppose that it is winter, and that we are all cosily seated around the blazing fireplace. Now, let us talk over together the old days and scenes. The best picture of the inner life of the Quaker farmer's family can of course be had in "Snow-Bound,"--a little idyl as delicate, spontaneous, and true to nature in its limnings as a minute frost-picture on a pane of glass, or the fairy landscape richly mirrored in the film of a water-bubble. After such a picture, painted by the poet himself, it only remains for the writer to give a few supplementary touches here and there. The old kitchen, although diminished in size by a dividing partition, is otherwise almost unchanged. It is a cosey old room, with its fireplace, and huge breadth of chimney with inset cupboards and oven and mantelpiece. Above the mantel is the nail where hung the old bull's-eye watch. Set into one side of the kitchen is the cupboard where the pewter plates and platters were ranged; and here upon the wall is the circle worn by the "old brass warming-pan, which formerly shone like a setting moon against the wall of the kitchen":-- "Shut in from all the world without, We sat the clean-winged hearth about, Content to let the north-wind roar In baffled rage at pane and door, While the red logs before us beat The frost-line back with tropic heat; And ever, when a louder blast Shook beam and rafter as it passed, The merrier up its roaring draught The great throat of the chimney laughed, The house-dog on his paws outspread, Laid to the fire his drowsy head, The cat's dark silhouette on the wall A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; And, for the winter fireside meet, Between the andirons' straddling feet, The mug of cider simmered slow, The apples sputtered in a row, And, close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood." _Snow-Bound._ John Whittier, the father of the poet, is described by citizens of Haverhill as being a rough but good, kind-hearted man. He went by the soubriquet of "Quaker Whycher." In "Snow-Bound," we learn something of his _Wanderjahre_,--how he ate moose and samp in trapper's hut and Indian camp on Memphremagog's wooded side, and danced beneath St. François' hemlock-trees, and ate chowder and hake-broil at the Isle of Shoals. He was a sturdy, decisive man, and deeply religious. Although there was no Friends' church in Haverhill, yet on "First-Days" Quaker Whycher's "one-hoss shay" could be seen wending toward the old brown meeting-house in Amesbury, six miles away. * * * * * [Illustration: KITCHEN IN THE WHITTIER HOMESTEAD, HAVERHILL. "_Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free._"--SNOW-BOUND.] The mother has been alluded to in Chapter I. p. 12. Hers was a deeply emotional and religious nature, pure, chastened, and sweet, lovable, and kind-hearted to a fault. In "Snow-Bound," she tells incidents of her girlhood in Somersworth on the Piscataqua, and retells stories from Quaker Sewell's "ancient tome," and old sea-saint Chalkley's Journal. An incident in Mr. Whittier's "Yankee Gypsies" (Prose Works, II. p. 326,) will afford an indication of her kind-heartedness:-- "On one occasion," says the poet, "a few years ago, on my return from the field at evening, I was told that a foreigner had asked for lodgings during the night, but that, influenced by his dark, repulsive appearance, my mother had very reluctantly refused his request. I found her by no means satisfied with her decision. 'What if a son of mine was in a strange land?' she inquired, self-reproachfully. Greatly to her relief, I volunteered to go in pursuit of the wanderer, and, taking a cross-path over the fields, soon overtook him. He had just been rejected at the house of our nearest neighbor, and was standing in a state of dubious perplexity in the street. His looks quite justified my mother's suspicions. He was an olive-complexioned, black-bearded Italian, with an eye like a live coal, such a face as perchance looks out on the traveller in the passes of the Abruzzi,--one of those bandit-visages which Salvator has painted. With some difficulty, I gave him to understand my errand, when he overwhelmed me with thanks, and joyfully followed me back. He took his seat with us at the supper-table; and when we were all gathered around the hearth that cold autumnal evening, he told us, partly by words, and partly by gestures, the story of his life and misfortunes, amused us with descriptions of the grape-gatherings and festivals of his sunny clime, edified my mother with a recipe for making bread of chestnuts; and in the morning when, after breakfast, his dark sullen face lighted up and his fierce eye moistened with grateful emotion as in his own silvery Tuscan accent he poured out his thanks, we marvelled at the fears which had so nearly closed our doors against him; and, as he departed, we all felt that he had left with us the blessing of the poor. "It was not often that, as in the above instance, my mother's prudence got the better of her charity. The regular 'old stragglers' regarded her as an unfailing friend; and the sight of her plain cap was to them an assurance of forthcoming creature comforts." In "Snow-Bound," too, we learn that the good mother often stayed her step to express a warm word of gratitude for their own comforts, and to hope that the unfortunate might be cared for also. It is a facetious saying in Philadelphia that beggars are shipped to that city from all parts of the country that they may share the never-failing bounty of the Quakers. However this may be, it is evident that benevolence was the predominant trait in the character of our poet's mother. * * * * * Other members of the household in Whittier's boyhood were his elder sister Mary, who died in 1861; Uncle Moses Whittier, who in 1824 received fatal injuries from the falling of a tree which he was cutting down; the poet's younger brother Matthew, who was born in 1812, and has been for many years a resident of Boston,--himself a versifier, and a contributor to the newspapers of humorous dialect articles, signed "Ethan Spike, from Hornby"; and finally the aunt, Mercy E. Hussey, the younger sister Elizabeth, and occasionally the "half-welcome" eccentric guest, Harriet Livermore. Elizabeth Hussey Whittier--the younger sister and intimate literary companion of her brother, the poet--was a person of rare and saintly nature. In the little parlor of the Amesbury home there hangs a crayon sketch of her. The face wears a smile of unfailing sweetness and patience. That her literary and poetical accomplishments were of an unusually high order is shown by the poems of hers appended to Mr. Whittier's "Hazel Blossoms," published after her death. Her poem, "Dr. Kane in Cuba," would do honor to any poet. In the piece entitled the "Wedding Veil," we have a hint of an early love transformed by the death of its object into a spiritual worship and hope, nourished in the still fane of the heart. In the prefatory note to "Hazel Blossoms," Mr. Whittier says: "I have ventured, in compliance with the desire of dear friends of my beloved sister, Elizabeth H. Whittier, to add to this little volume the few poetical pieces which she left behind her. As she was very distrustful of her own powers, and altogether without ambition for literary distinction, she shunned everything like publicity, and found far greater happiness in generous appreciation of the gifts of her friends than in the cultivation of her own. Yet it has always seemed to me that, had her health, sense of duty and fitness, and her extreme self-distrust permitted, she might have taken a high place among lyrical singers. These poems, with perhaps two or three exceptions, afford but slight indications of the inward life of the writer, who had an almost morbid dread of spiritual and intellectual egotism, or of her tenderness of sympathy, chastened mirthfulness, and pleasant play of thought and fancy, when her shy, beautiful soul opened like a flower in the warmth of social communion. In the lines on Dr. Kane, her friends will see something of her fine individuality,--the rare mingling of delicacy and intensity of feeling which made her dear to them. This little poem reached Cuba while the great explorer lay on his death-bed, and we are told that he listened with grateful tears while it was read to him by his mother. "I am tempted to say more, but I write as under the eye of her who, while with us, shrank with painful deprecation from the praise or mention of performances which seemed so far below her ideal of excellence. To those who best knew her, the beloved circle of her intimate friends, I dedicate this slight memorial." Many readers of "Snow-Bound" have doubtless often wondered who the beautiful and mysterious young woman is who is sketched in such vigorous portraiture,--"the not unfeared, half-welcome guest," half saint and half shrew. She is no other than the religious enthusiast and fanatical "pilgrim preacher," Harriet Livermore,[7] the same who startled "On her desert throne The crazy Queen of Lebanon With claims fantastic as her own." [Footnote 7: For many items of information concerning this strange woman we are indebted to the sketch of her published by Miss Rebecca I. Davis, of East Haverhill.] By the "Queen of Lebanon" is meant Lady Hester Stanhope. Harriet Livermore was the grand-daughter of Hon. Samuel Livermore, of Portsmouth, N. H., and the daughter of Hon. Edward St. Loe Livermore, of Lowell. She was born April 14, 1788, at Concord, N. H. Her misfortune was her temper, inherited from her father. When Whittier was a little boy, she taught needlework, embroidery, and the common school branches, in the little old brown school-house in East Haverhill, and was a frequent guest at Farmer Whittier's. The poet thus characterizes her:-- "A certain pard-like, treacherous grace Swayed the lithe limbs and dropped the lash, Lent the white teeth their dazzling flash; And under low brows, black with night, Rayed out at times a dangerous light; The sharp heat-lightnings of her face Presaging ill to him whom Fate Condemned to share her love or hate. A woman tropical, intense In thought and act, in soul and sense." When a mere girl, she fell in love with a young gentleman of East Haverhill, but the parents of both families opposed the match, and were not to be moved by her honeyed words of persuasion or by her little gifts. The poet says she often visited at his father's home, "and had at one time an idea of becoming a member of the Society of Friends; but an unlucky outburst of rage, resulting in a blow, at a Friend's house in Amesbury, did not encourage us to seek her membership." She embraced the Methodist Perfectionist doctrine, and one day strenuously maintained that she was incapable of sinning. But a few minutes afterward she burst out into a violent passion about something or other. Her opponent could only say to her, "Christian, thou hast lost thy roll." She became an itinerant preacher, and spoke in the meetings of various sects in different parts of the country. She made three voyages to Jerusalem. Says one: "At one time we find her in Egypt, giving our late consul, Mr. Thayer, a world of trouble from her peculiar notions. At another we see her amid the gray olive slopes of Jerusalem, demanding, not begging, money for the Great King [God]. And once when an American, fresh from home, during the late rebellion, offered her a handful of greenbacks, she threw them away with disdain, saying, 'The Great King will only have gold.' She once climbed the sides of Mt. Libanus, and visited Lady Stanhope,--that eccentric sister of the younger Pitt, who married a sheik of the mountains,--and thus had a fine opportunity of securing the finest steeds of the Orient. Going to the stable one day, Lady Hester pointed out to Harriet Livermore two very fine horses, with peculiar marks, but differing in color. 'That one,' said Lady Hester, 'the Great King when he comes will ride, and the other I will ride in company with him.' Thereupon Miss Livermore gave a most emphatic 'no!' declaring with foreknowledge and _aplomb_ that 'the Great King will ride this horse, and it is I, as his bride, who will ride upon the other at his second coming.' It is said she carried her point with Lady Hester, overpowering her with her fluency and assertion." * * * * * To pass now to the boy-poet himself. An old friend and schoolmate of his, in Haverhill, told the author that Whittier, instead of doing sums on his slate at school, was always writing verses, even when a little lad. His first schoolmaster was Joshua Coffin, afterward the historian of Newbury. Another master of his was named Emerson. To Coffin, Whittier has written a poetical epistle, in which he says:-- "I, the urchin unto whom, In that smoked and dingy room, Where the district gave thee rule O'er its ragged winter school, Thou didst teach the mysteries Of those weary A, B, C's, Where, to fill the every pause Of thy wise and learned saws, Through the cracked and crazy wall Came the cradle-rock and squall, And the goodman's voice, at strife With his shrill and tipsy wife,-- Luring us by stories old, With a comic unction told, More than by the eloquence Of terse birchen arguments (Doubtful gain, I fear), to look With complacence on a book!-- I,--the man of middle years, In whose sable locks appears Many a warning fleck of gray,-- Looking back to that far day, And thy primal lessons, feel Grateful smiles my lips unseal," etc. [Illustration: THE OLD SCHOOLHOUSE, HAVERHILL, MASS.] In "School Days" he gives us another and a pleasanter picture:-- "Still sits the school-house by the road,[8] A ragged beggar sunning; Around it still the sumachs grow, And blackberry-vines are running. Within, the master's desk is seen, Deep scarred by raps official; The warping floor, the battered seats, The jack-knife's carved initial; The charcoal frescos on its wall; Its door's worn sill, betraying The feet that, creeping slow to school Went storming out to playing! Long years ago a winter sun Shone over it at setting; Lit up its western window-panes, And low eaves' icy fretting. It touched the tangled golden curls, And brown eyes full of grieving, Of one who still her steps delayed When all the school were leaving. For near her stood the little boy Her childish favor singled; His cap pulled low upon a face Where pride and shame were mingled. Pushing with restless feet the snow To right and left, he lingered;-- As restlessly her tiny hands The blue-checked apron fingered. He saw her lift her eyes; he felt The soft hand's light caressing, And heard the tremble of her voice, As if a fault confessing. 'I'm sorry that I spelt the word: I hate to go above you, Because,'--the brown eyes lower fell,-- 'Because, you see, I love you!'" [Footnote 8: The old brown school-house is now no more, having been removed to make room for a reservoir.] It is probable that "My Playmate" is in memory of this same sweet little lady:-- "O playmate in the golden time! Our mossy seat is green, Its fringing violets blossom yet, The old trees o'er it lean. The winds so sweet with birch and fern A sweeter memory blow; And there in spring the veeries sing The song of long ago. And still the pines of Ramoth Wood Are moaning like the sea,-- The moaning of the sea of change Between myself and thee!" Elsewhere in the poem we are told that the little maiden went away forever to the South:-- "She lives where all the golden year Her summer roses blow; The dusky children of the sun Before her come and go. There haply with her jewelled hands She smooths her silken gown,-- No more the homespun lap wherein I shook the walnuts down." We also learn from the poem that he was the boy "who fed her father's kine." What a pretty little romance!--and, let us hope, not too sad a one. Shall we have one more stanza about this lovely little school-idyl? It is from "Memories":-- "I hear again thy low replies, I feel thy aim within my own, And timidly again uprise The fringed lids of hazel eyes, With soft brown tresses overblown. Ah! memories of sweet summer eves, Of moonlit wave and willowy way, Of stars and flowers, and dewy leaves, And smiles and tones more dear than they!" The reading material that found its way to Farmer Whittier's house consisted of the almanac, the weekly village paper, and "scarce a score" of books and pamphlets, among them Lindley Murray's "Reader":-- "One harmless novel, mostly hid From younger eyes, a book forbid, And poetry (or good or bad, A single book was all we had), Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, A stranger to the heathen Nine, Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, The wars of David and the Jews." Knowing, as we do, the great influence exerted upon our mental development by the books we read as children, and knowing that a rural life, such as Whittier's has been, is especially conducive to tenacity of early customs, it becomes important to know what the books were that first formed his style and colored his thought. It seems that Ellwood's "Davideis; or the Life of David, King of Israel," was one of these. The book was published in 1711, and had a sale of five or more editions. Ellwood, born in 1639, early adopted the then new doctrines of George Fox. He has written a quaint and pictorial autobiography, somewhat like that of Bunyan or that of Fox. In 1662 he was for six weeks reader to Milton, who was then blind, and living in London, in Jewin Street. It was he who first suggested to Milton that he should write "Paradise Regained."[9] [Footnote 9: This was in 1665, when Milton was living at Giles-Chalfont. Ellwood says: "After some common discourse had passed between us, he called for a manuscript of his, which he delivered to me, bidding me take it home with me and read it at my leisure; and, when I had done so, return it to him with my judgment thereon." It was "Paradise Lost." When Ellwood returned it, and was asked his opinion, he gave it, and added: "'Thou hast said much here of "Paradise Lost," but what hast thou to say of "Paradise Found"?' He made no answer, but sat some time in a muse."] An idea of the execrable nature of his versification may be obtained from a few specimens. Upon the passing of a severe law against Quakers, he relieves his mind in this wise:-- "Awake, awake, O arm o' th' Lord, awake! Thy sword up take; Cast what would thine forgetful of thee make, Into the lake. Awake, I pray, O mighty Jah! awake, Make all the world before thy presence quake, Not only earth, but heaven also shake." Another poem, entitled "A Song of the Mercies and Deliverances of the Lord," begins thus:-- "Had not the Lord been on our side, May Israel now say, We were not able to abide The trials of that day: When men did up against us rise, With fury, rage, and spite, Hoping to catch us by surprise, Or run us down by night." An opponent's poetry is lashed by Ellwood in such beautiful stanzas as the following:-- "So _flat_, so _dull_, so _rough_, so _void of grace_, Where _symphony_ and _cadence_ have no place; So full of _chasmes_ stuck with _prosie pegs_, Whereon his _tired_ Muse might rest her legs, (Not having wings) and take new breath, that then She might with much adoe hop on again." A striking peculiarity of Whittier's poetry is the exceedingly small range of his rhymes and metres. He is especially fond of the four-foot iambic line, and likes to rhyme successive or alternate lines in a wofully monotonous and see-saw manner. These are the characteristics of much of the lyric poetry of a hundred years ago, and especially distinguish the verses of Burns and Ellwood,--the first poets the boy Whittier read. Burns, especially, he learned by heart, and there can be no doubt that the Ayrshire ploughman gave to the mind of his brother-ploughman of Essex its life-direction and coloring,--as respects the swing of rhythm and rhyme at least. Indeed, we shall presently find him contributing to the _Haverhill Gazette_ verses in the Scotch dialect. His introduction to the poetry of Burns was in this wise: He was one afternoon gathering in hay on the farm, when by good hap a wandering peddler stopped and took from his pack a copy of Burns, which was eagerly purchased by the poetical Quaker boy. Alluding to the circumstance afterward in his poem, "Burns," he says:-- "How oft that day, with fond delay, I sought the maple's shadow, And sang with Burns the hours away, Forgetful of the meadow! Bees hummed, birds twittered, overhead I heard the squirrels leaping, The good dog listened while I read, And wagged his tail in keeping." By the reading of Burns his eyes were opened, he says, to the beauty in homely things. In familiar and humble things he found the "tender idyls of the heart." But the wanton and the ribald lines of the Scotch poet found no entrance to his pure mind.[10] [Footnote 10: See Appendix II.] He had other relishing tastes of the rich dialect of heather poetry. In "Yankee Gypsies" he says: "One day we had a call from a 'pawky auld carle' of a wandering Scotchman. To him I owe my first introduction to the songs of Burns. After eating his bread and cheese and drinking his mug of cider, he gave us Bonny Doon, Highland Mary, and Auld Lang Syne. He had a rich full voice, and entered heartily into the spirit of his lyrics. I have since listened to the same melodies from the lips of Dempster (than whom the Scottish bard has had no sweeter or truer interpreter); but the skilful performance of the artist lacked the novel charm of the gaberlunzie's singing in the old farm-house kitchen." * * * * * A page or two of these personal recollections of the poet will serve to fill out the picture of his boyhood life; and, at the same time, give the reader a taste of his often charming prose pieces:-- "The advent of wandering beggars, or 'old stragglers,' as we were wont to call them, was an event of no ordinary interest in the generally monotonous quietude of our farm life. Many of them were well known; they had their periodical revolutions and transits; we could calculate them like eclipses or new moons. Some were sturdy knaves, fat and saucy; and whenever they ascertained that the 'men-folks' were absent would order provisions and cider like men who expected to pay for them, seating themselves at the hearth or table with the air of Falstaff,--'Shall I not take mine ease in mine own inn?' Others poor, pale, patient, like Sterne's monk, came creeping up to the door, hat in hand, standing there in their gray wretchedness, with a look of heart-break and forlornness which was never without its effect on our juvenile sensibilities. At times, however, we experienced a slight revulsion of feeling when even these humblest children of sorrow somewhat petulantly rejected our proffered bread and cheese, and demanded instead a glass of cider. * * * * * "One--I think I see him now, grim, gaunt, and ghastly, working his way up to our door--used to gather herbs by the wayside, and call himself doctor. He was bearded like a he-goat, and used to counterfeit lameness, yet when he supposed himself alone would travel on lustily, as if walking for a wager. At length, as if in punishment for his deceit, he met with an accident in his rambles, and became lame in earnest, hobbling ever after with difficulty on his gnarled crutches. Another used to go stooping, like Bunyan's pilgrim, under a pack made of an old bed-sacking, stuffed out into most plethoric dimensions, tottering on a pair of small, meagre legs, and peering out with his wild, hairy face from under his burden, like a big-bodied spider. That 'man with the pack' always inspired me with awe and reverence. Huge, almost sublime in its tense rotundity, the father of all packs, never laid aside and never opened, what might there not be within it! With what flesh-creeping curiosity I used to walk round about it at a safe distance, half expecting to see its striped covering stirred by the motions of a mysterious life, or that some evil monster would leap out of it, like robbers from Ali Baba's jars, or armed men from the Trojan horse!" * * * * * "Twice a year, usually in the spring and autumn, we were honored with a call from Jonathan Plummer, maker of verses, peddler and poet, physician and parson,--a Yankee Troubadour,--first and last minstrel of the valley of the Merrimack, encircled to my wondering eyes with the very nimbus of immortality. He brought with him pins, needles, tape, and cotton thread for my mother; jack-knives, razors, and soap for my father; and verses of his own composing, coarsely printed and illustrated with rude woodcuts, for the delectation of the younger branches of the family. No love-sick youth could drown himself, no deserted maiden bewail the moon, no rogue mount the gallows, without fitting memorial in Plummer's verses. Earthquakes, fires, fevers and shipwrecks he regarded as personal favors from Providence, furnishing the raw material of song and ballad. Welcome to us in our country seclusion as Autolycus to the clown in Winter's Tale, we listened with infinite satisfaction to his readings of his own verses, or to his ready improvisation upon some domestic incident or topic suggested by his auditors. When once fairly over the difficulties at the outset of a new subject, his rhymes flowed freely, 'as if he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes.' His productions answered, as nearly as I can remember, to Shakespeare's description of a proper ballad,--'doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant theme sung lamentably.' He was scrupulously conscientious, devout, inclined to theological disquisitions, and withal mighty in Scripture. He was thoroughly independent; flattered nobody, cared for nobody, trusted nobody. When invited to sit down at our dinner-table, he invariably took the precaution to place his basket of valuables between his legs for safe-keeping. 'Never mind thy basket, Jonathan,' said my father, 'we shan't steal thy verses.' 'I'm not sure of that,' returned the suspicious guest. 'It is written, Trust ye not in any brother.'" * * * * * "Thou, too, O Parson B.,--with thy pale student's brow and thy rubicund nose, with thy rusty and tattered black coat, overswept by white flowing locks, with thy professional white neckcloth scrupulously preserved, when even a shirt to thy back was problematical,--art by no means to be overlooked in the muster-roll of vagrant gentlemen possessing the _entrée_ of our farm-house. Well do we remember with what grave and dignified courtesy he used to step over its threshold, saluting its inmates with the same air of gracious condescension and patronage with which in better days he had delighted the hearts of his parishioners. Poor old man! He had once been the admired and almost worshipped minister of the largest church in the town, where he afterwards found support in the winter season as a pauper. He had early fallen into intemperate habits, and at the age of threescore and ten, when I remember him, he was only sober when he lacked the means of being otherwise." * * * * * Among the books read by Whittier when a boy we must number the "Pilgrim's Progress" of Bunyan. In his "Supernaturalism of New England" the poet says: "How hardly effaced are the impressions of childhood! Even at this day, at the mention of the Evil Angel, an image rises before me like that with which I used especially to horrify myself in an old copy of 'Pilgrim's Progress.' Horned, hoofed, scaly, and fire-breathing, his caudal extremity twisted tight with rage, I remember him illustrating the tremendous encounter of Christian in the valley where 'Apollyon straddled over the whole breadth of the way.' There was another print of the enemy which made no slight impression upon me; it was the frontispiece of an old, smoked, snuff-stained pamphlet (the property of an elderly lady, who had a fine collection of similar wonders, wherewith she was kind enough to edify her young visitors), containing a solemn account of the fate of a wicked dancing party in New Jersey, whose irreverent declaration that they would have a fiddler, if they had to send to the lower regions after him, called up the fiend himself, who forthwith commenced playing, while the company danced to the music incessantly, without the power to suspend their exercise until their feet and legs were worn off to the knees! The rude woodcut represented the Demon Fiddler and his agonized companions literally _stumping_ it up and down in 'cotillions, jigs, strathspeys, and reels.'" * * * * * So grew up the Quaker farmer's son, drinking eagerly in such knowledge as he could, and receiving those impressions of nature and home-life which he was afterward to embody in his popular lyrics and idyls. Above all, his home education saturated his mind with religious and moral earnestness. In the second part of this volume will be given some remarks on Quaker life in America, and an analysis of the blended influence of Quakerism and Puritanism upon the development of Whittier's genius. Enough has been said to show that the surroundings of his early life were of the plainest and simplest character, and not different from those of a thousand other secluded New England farms of the period. We are now to follow the shy young poet out into the world. He is nineteen years of age. The circle of his experiences begins to widen outward; manhood is dawning; the village paper has taught him that there are men beyond the mountains. He thirsts for individuality,--to know his powers, to cast the horoscope of his future, and see if the consciousness within him of unusual gifts be a trustworthy one. To begin with, he will write a poem for "our weekly paper." Accordingly one day in 1826 the following poem, written in blue ink on coarse paper, was slipped by the postman under the door of the office of the _Free Press_, in Newburyport,--a short-lived paper, then recently started by young William Lloyd Garrison, and subscribed for by Farmer Whittier. The poem is the first ever published by the poet, and is his earliest known production.[11] The manuscript of it is now in the possession of Whittier's kinsman, Mr. S. T. Pickard, associate editor of the _Portland Transcript_, in which journal it was republished November 27, 1880:-- THE DEITY. The Prophet stood On the high mount and saw the tempest-cloud Pour the fierce whirlwind from its reservoir Of congregated gloom. The mountain oak Torn from the earth heaved high its roots where once Its branches waved. The fir-tree's shapely form Smote by the tempest lashed the mountain side; Yet, calm in conscious purity, the seer Beheld the awful devastation, for The Eternal Spirit moved not in the storm. The tempest ceased. The caverned earthquake burst Forth from its prison, and the mountain rocked Even to its base: The topmost crags were thrown With fearful crashing down its shuddering slopes. Unawed the Prophet saw and heard: He felt Not in the earthquake moved the God of Heaven. The murmur died away, and from the height, Torn by the storm and shattered by the shock, Rose far and clear a pyramid of flame, Mighty and vast! The startled mountain deer Shrank from its glare and cowered beneath the shade: The wild fowl shrieked; yet even then the seer Untrembling stood and marked the fearful glow-- For Israel's God came not within the flame. The fiery beacon sank. A still small voice Now caught the Prophet's ear. Its awful tone, Unlike to human sound, at once conveyed Deep awe and reverence to his pious heart. Then bowed the holy man; his face he veiled Within his mantle, and in meekness owned The presence of his God, discovered not in The storm, the earthquake, or the mighty flame, But in the still small whisper to his soul. [Footnote 11: See note on p. 301.] It is characteristic of the man that his first poem should be of a religious nature. There is grandeur and majesty in the poem. The rhetoric is juvenile, but the diction is strong, nervous, and intense, and the general impression made upon the mind is one of harmony and solemn stateliness, not unlike that of "Thanatopsis," composed by Bryant when he was about the same age as was Whittier when he wrote "The Deity." It was probably owing to its anonymity that the first impulse of the editor was to throw it into the waste-basket. But as he glanced over the sheet his attention was caught: he read it, and some weeks afterward published it in the poet's corner. But in the interval of waiting the boy's heart sank within him. Every writer knows what he suffered. Did we not all expect that first precious production of ours to fairly set the editor wild with enthusiasm, so that nothing short of death or apoplexy could prevent him from assigning it the most conspicuous position in the _very next issue_ of his paper? But one day, as our boy-poet was mending a stone fence along the highway, in company with Uncle Moses, along came the postman on horseback, with his leathern bag of mail, like a magician with a Fortunatus' purse; and, to save the trouble of calling at the house, he tossed a paper to young Whittier. He opened it with eager fingers, and behold! his poem in the place of honor. He says that he was so dumfounded and dazed by the event that he could not read a word, but stood there staring at the paper until his uncle chided him for loitering, and so recalled him to his senses. Elated by his success, he of course sent other poems to the _Free Press_. They attracted the attention of Garrison so strongly that he inquired of the postman who it was that was sending him contributions from East Haverhill. The postman said that it was a "farmer's son named Whittier." Garrison decided to ride over on horseback, a distance of fifteen miles, and see his contributor. When he reached the farm, Whittier was at work in the field, and when told that there was a gentleman at the house who wanted to see him, he felt very much like "breaking for the brush," no one having ever called on him in that way before. However, he slipped in at the back door, made his toilet, and met his visitor, who told him that he had power as a writer, and urged him to improve his talents. The father came in during the conversation, and asked young Garrison not to put such ideas into the mind of his son, as they would only unfit him for his home duties. But, fortunately, it was too late: the spark of ambition had been fanned into a flame. Years afterward, in an introduction to Oliver Johnson's "William Lloyd Garrison and his Times," Mr. Whittier said: "My acquaintance with him [Garrison] commenced in boyhood. My father was a subscriber to his first paper, the _Free Press_, and the humanitarian tone of his editorials awakened a deep interest in our little household, which was increased by a visit he made us. When he afterwards edited the _Journal of the Times_, at Bennington, Vt., I ventured to write him a letter of encouragement and sympathy, urging him to continue his labors against slavery, and assuring him that he could do great things." Indeed, the acquaintance thus begun ripened into the most intimate friendship and mutual respect. Mr. Whittier told the writer that when he went to Boston, in the winter of 1828-29, he and Garrison roomed and boarded at the same house. Mr. Whittier frequently contributed to the _Liberator_, and was for a quarter of a century associated with Garrison in anti-slavery labors. * * * * * Before we pass with our young Quaker from the farm to the world at large, let us correct an erroneous statement that has been made about him. It has been said that he worked at the trade of shoemaking when a boy. The truth is that almost every farmer in those days was accustomed to do a little cobbling of his own, and what shoemaker's work Whittier performed was done by him solely as an amateur in his father's house. * * * * * In the year of his _début_ as a poet (1826), he being then nineteen years of age, Whittier began attending the Haverhill Academy, or Latin School. Whether his parents were influenced to take this step for his advantage by the visit of the editor Garrison, and by his evident taste for learning, is not positively known, but it is quite possible that such was the case. In 1827 he read an original ode at the dedication of the new Academy. The building is still standing on Winter Street. While at the Academy he read history very thoroughly, and his writings show that it has always been a favorite study with him. He also contributed poems at this time to the _Haverhill Gazette_. Many of them were in the Scotch dialect: it would be interesting to see a few of these; but unfortunately no file of the _Gazette_ for those years can be found. A friendly rival in the writing of Scotch poems was good Robert Dinsmore, the "Farmer Poet of Windham," as Whittier calls him. A few specimens of Farmer Dinsmore's verse have been preserved. Take this on "The Sparrow":-- "Poor innocent and hapless Sparrow! Why should my moul-board gie thee sorrow? This day thou'll chirp, and mourn the morrow Wi' anxious breast; The plough has turned the mould'ring furrow Deep o'er thy nest! Just i' the middle o' the hill Thy nest was placed wi' curious skill, There I espied thy little bill Beneath the shade. In that sweet bower, secure frae ill, Thine eggs were laid. Five corns o' maize had there been drappit, An' through the stalks thy head was pappit, The drawing nowt could na be stappit I quickly foun', Syne frae thy cozie nest thou happit, Wild fluttering roun'. The sklentin stane beguiled the sheer, In vain I tried the plough to steer, A wee bit stumpie i' the rear Cam 'tween my legs, An' to the jee-side gart me veer An' crush thine eggs." The following elegiac stanza, written by honest Robert on the occasion of the death of his wife, is irresistibly ludicrous:-- "No more may I the Spring Brook trace, No more with sorrow view the place Where Mary's wash-tub stood; No more may wander there alone, And lean upon the mossy stone, Where once she piled her wood. 'T was there she bleached her linen cloth, By yonder bass-wood tree; From that sweet stream she made her broth, Her pudding and her tea." Mr. Whittier says that the last time he saw Robert, "Threescore years and ten," to use his own words, 'Hung o'er his back, And bent him like a muckle pack,' yet he still stood stoutly and sturdily in his thick shoes of cowhide, like one accustomed to tread independently the soil of his own acres,--his broad, honest face seamed by care and darkened by exposure to all the 'airts that blow,' and his white hair flowing in patriarchal glory beneath his felt hat. A genial, jovial, large-hearted old man, simple as a child, and betraying neither in look nor manner that he was accustomed to 'Feed on thoughts which voluntary move Harmonious numbers.'" CHAPTER IV. EDITOR AND AUTHOR: FIRST VENTURES. The winter of 1828-29 was passed by Whittier in Boston. He once with characteristic modesty told the writer that he drifted into journalism that winter, as editor of the _American Manufacturer_, in the following way: He had gone to Boston to study and read. He undertook the writing for the _Manufacturer_ not because he had much liking for questions of tariff and finance, but because his own finances would thereby be improved. Mr. Whittier's chief personal trait is extreme shyness and distrust of himself, and he deprecated the idea that he had any special power as a writer at the time of which we are speaking, saying that he had to study up his subjects before writing. But undoubtedly he must have wielded a vigorous pen, and been known to possess a cool and careful head, or he would not have been invited to assume the editorship of such a paper. He himself admitted, in the course of the conversation, that at that time he had political ambitions, and made a study of political economy and civil politics. In 1830 we find Whittier at Haverhill again. In March of that year he was occupying the position of editor of the _Essex Gazette_, and "issued proposals to publish a 'History of Haverhill,' in one volume of two hundred pages, duodecimo, price eighty-seven and one-half cents per copy. 'If the material swelled the volume above two hundred pages, the price was to be one dollar per copy.'" But the limited encouragement offered, and the amount of work required to compile the volume, led the young editor to abandon the project. Whittier was editor of this _Gazette_ for six months,--from January 1 to July 10, 1830. On May 4, 1836, after he had returned from Philadelphia, he resumed the editorship of the journal, retaining the position until December 17 of the same year. He left the _Gazette_ at the time of his first connection with it, to go to Hartford for the purpose of editing the _New England Weekly Review_ of that city. His first acquaintance with this Connecticut periodical had been made while attending the Academy at Haverhill. While there he happened to see a copy of the _Review_, then edited by George D. Prentice. He was pleased with its sprightly and breezy tone, and sent it several articles. Great was his astonishment on finding that they were accepted and published with editorial commendation. He sent numerous other contributions during the same year. One day in 1830, he was at work in the field, when a letter was brought to him from the publishers of the Hartford paper, in which they said that they had been asked by Mr. Prentice to request him to edit the paper during the absence of Mr. Prentice in Kentucky, whither he had gone to write a campaign life of Henry Clay. "I could not have been more utterly astonished," said Mr. Whittier once, "if I had been told that I was appointed prime minister to the great Khan of Tartary." * * * * * Mr. Whittier was at this time a member of the National Republican party. He afterward belonged to the anti-slavery Liberty party, a faction of the Abolitionists which had separated from the Garrison band. In 1855 Mr. Whittier acted with the Free Democratic party. In the conversation alluded to a moment ago, the poet laughingly remarked that the proprietors of the paper had never seen him when he went to Hartford in 1830 to take charge of their periodical. They were much surprised at his youth. But at the first meeting he discreetly kept silence, letting them do most of the talking. Here most assuredly, if never again, his Quaker doctrine of silence stood him in good stead; since, if we may believe him, he was most wofully deficient in a knowledge of the intricacies of the political situation of the time. Whittier was twenty-four years old when he published his first volume. It is a thin little book entitled "Legends of New England" (Hartford: Hanmer and Phelps, 1831), and is a medley of prose and verse. The style is juvenile and extravagantly rhetorical, and the subject-matter is far from being massive with thought. The libretto has been suppressed by its author, and it would be ungracious as well as unjust to criticise it at any length, or quote more than a single morsel of its verses, which are inferior to the prose. But one may be pardoned for giving two or three specimens of the prose stories, for they are intrinsically interesting. In the preface we have a striking passage, which may be commended to those who accuse Whittier of hatred of the Puritan fathers, and undue partiality toward the Quakers. He says: "I have in many instances alluded to the superstition and bigotry of our ancestors, the rare and bold race who laid the foundation of this republic; but no one can accuse me of having done injustice to their memories. A son of New England, and proud of my birthplace, I would not willingly cast dishonor upon its founders. My feelings in this respect have already been expressed in language which I shall be pardoned, I trust, for introducing in this place:-- Oh!--never may a son of thine, Where'er his wandering steps incline, Forget the sky which bent above His childhood like a dream of love, The stream beneath the green hill flowing, The broad-armed tree above it growing, The clear breeze through the foliage blowing; Or hear unmoved the taunt of scorn, Breathed o'er the brave New England born; Or mark the stranger's jaguar hand Disturb the ashes of thy dead-- The buried glory of a land Whose soil with noble blood is red, And sanctified in every part, Nor feel resentment, like a brand, Unsheathing from his fiery heart!" The flow of language in these prose pieces is smooth and easy, and the narratives are in the same vein and style as the "Twice Told Tales," or Irving's stories, only they are very much weaker than these, and more extravagant and melodramatic in tone. "The Midnight Attack" describes the adventure of Captain Harmon and thirty Eastern rangers on the banks of the Kennebec River in June, 1722. A party of sleeping Indians are surprised by them and all shot dead by one volley of balls. An idea of the style of the piece will be obtained from the following paragraphs. The men are waiting for the signal of Harmon:-- "'Fire!' he at length exclaimed, as the sight of his piece interposed full and distinct between his eye and the wild scalp-lock of the Indian. 'Fire, and rush on!' "The sharp voice of thirty rifles thrilled through the heart of the forest. There was a groan--a smothered cry--a wild and convulsive movement among the sleeping Indians; and all again was silent. "The rangers sprang forward with their clubbed muskets and hunting knives; but their work was done. The red men had gone to their audit before the Great Spirit; and no sound was heard among them save the gurgling of the hot blood from their lifeless bosoms." It was one of the superstitions of the New England colonists that the rattlesnake had the power of charming or fascinating human beings. Whittier's story, "The Rattlesnake Hunter," is based upon this fact. An old man with meagre and wasted form is represented as devoting his life to the extermination of the reptiles among the hills and mountains of Vermont, the inspiring motive of his action being the death of his young and beautiful wife, many years previously, from the bite of a rattlesnake. "The Human Sacrifice" relates the escape of a young white girl from the hands of the Matchit-Moodus, an Indian tribe formerly dwelling where East Haddam now stands. The Indians are frightened from their purpose of sacrificing the girl by a rumbling noise proceeding from a high hill near by. In his note on the story Mr. Whittier says: "There is a story prevalent in the neighborhood, that a man from England, a kind of astrologer or necromancer, undertook to rid the place of the troublesome noises. He told them that the sound proceeded from a carbuncle--a precious gem, _growing in the bowels of the rock_. He hired an old blacksmith shop, and worked for some time with closed doors, and at night. All at once the necromancer departed, and the strange noises ceased. It was supposed he had found the precious gem, and had fled with it to his native land." This story of the carbuncle reminds us of Hawthorne's story on the same subject. The following remarks are prefixed to the poem, "The Unquiet Sleeper": "Some fifty or sixty years since an inhabitant of ----, N. H., was found dead at a little distance from his dwelling, which he left in the morning in perfect health. There is a story prevalent among the people of the neighborhood that, on the evening of the day on which he was found dead, strange cries are annually heard to issue from his grave! I have conversed with some who really supposed they had heard them in the dead of the night, rising fearfully on the autumn wind. They represented the sounds to be of a most appalling and unearthly nature." "The Spectre Ship" is the versification of a legend related in Mather's "Magnalia Christi." A ship sailed from Salem, having on board "a young man of strange and wild appearance, and a girl still younger, and of surpassing beauty. She was deadly pale, and trembled even while she leaned on the arm of her companion." They were supposed by some to be demons. The vessel was lost, and of course soon reappeared as a spectre-ship. Mr. Whittier's next work was the editing, in 1832, of the "Remains" of his gifted friend, J. G. C. Brainard. Students of Whittier's poems know that for many years the genius and writings of Brainard exercised a potent influence on his mind. Brainard undoubtedly possessed genius. He was at one time editor of the _Connecticut Mirror_. He died young, and his work can be considered as hardly more than a promise of future excellence. Whittier, in his Introduction to the "Remains," shows a nice sense of justice, and a delicate reserve in his eulogistic estimate of his dead brother-poet and friend. That he did not falsely attribute to him a rare genius will be evident to those who read the following portion of Brainard's spirited ballad of "The Black Fox":-- "'How cold, how beautiful, how bright The cloudless heaven above us shines; But 'tis a howling winter's night,-- 'Twould freeze the very forest pines. 'The winds are up while mortals sleep; The stars look forth while eyes are shut; The bolted snow lies drifted deep Around our poor and lonely hut. 'With silent step and listening ear, With bow and arrow, dog and gun, We'll mark his track, for his prowl we hear, Now is our time--come on, come on.' O'er many a fence, through many a wood, Following the dog's bewildered scent, In anxious haste and earnest mood, The Indian and the white man went. The gun is cock'd, the bow is bent, The dog stands with uplifted paw; And ball and arrow swift are sent, Aim'd at the prowler's very jaw. --The ball, to kill that fox, is run Not in a mould by mortals made! The arrow which that fox should shun Was never shap'd from earthly reed! The Indian Druids of the wood Know where the fatal arrows grow-- They spring not by the summer flood, They pierce not through the winter snow!"[12] [Footnote 12: Mr. Whittier quotes this fine ballad in Vol. II. p. 243 of his prose works, but with numerous changes of punctuation and phrase. The differences between the poem as it there appears and as it is given in his own edition of Brainard, published in 1832, seem to show that he has amended the ballad and punctuated it to suit himself, or else has quoted it from memory, or at third or fourth remove. It must be admitted that the changes are all improvements, however they were made. The ballad is quoted above, however, as it appears in Brainard's Poems.] Whittier's Introduction to Brainard's poems reveals a mind matured by much reading and thought. We hardly recognize in the author and editor of Hartford the shy girlish boy we so recently left on the farm at Haverhill. There has evidently been a good deal of midnight oil burned since then. The following sentiments respecting the resources and the proper field of the American poet show that thus early had Whittier taken the manly and patriotic resolution to find in his native land the chief sources of poetic inspiration: "It has been often said that the New World is deficient in the elements of poetry and romance; that its bards must of necessity linger over the classic ruins of other lands; and draw their sketches of character from foreign sources, and paint Nature under the soft beauty of an Eastern sky. On the contrary, New England is full of romance; and her writers would do well to follow the example of Brainard. The great forest which our fathers penetrated, the red men, their struggle and their disappearance, the powwow and the war-dance, the savage inroad and the English sally, the tale of superstition and the scenes of witchcraft,--all these are rich materials of poetry. We have, indeed, no classic vale of Tempe, no haunted Parnassus, no temple gray with years, and hallowed by the gorgeous pageantry of idol worship, no towers and castles over whose moonlight ruins gathers the green pall of the ivy; but we have mountains pillaring a sky as blue as that which bends over classic Olympus, streams as bright and beautiful as those of Greece and Italy, and forests richer and nobler than those which of old were haunted by sylph and dryad." It is easy to see here a foreshadowing of "Mogg Megone," "The Bridal of Pennacook," the "Supernaturalism of New England," and a hundred poems and ballads of Whittier's founded on native themes. The sentiments in the quotation just made remind one of Emerson's "Nature," the preface of Whitman to his first portentous quarto, "Leaves of Grass," and Wordsworth's essay on the nature of the poetic art. But however laudable was the Quaker poet's resolve to choose indigenous subjects, it cannot be said that either he or Bryant attained to more than an indigeneity of theme. In form and style they are imitative. Emerson and Whitman are our only purely original poets. Whittier was editor of the _New England Weekly Review_ for about eighteen months, at the end of which time he returned to the farm at Haverhill, and engaged in agricultural pursuits for the next five or six years. In 1831 or 1832 he published "Moll Pitcher," a tale of the Witch of Nahant. This youthful poem seems to have completely disappeared, and Mr. Whittier will no doubt be devoutly thankful that the writer has been unable to procure a copy. CHAPTER V. WHITTIER THE REFORMER. _"God said: 'Break thou these yokes; undo These heavy burdens. I ordain A work to last thy whole life through, A ministry of strife and pain._ _'Forego thy dreams of lettered ease, Put thou the scholar's promise by, The rights of man are more than these.' He heard, and answered: 'Here am I!'"_ WHITTIER, _Sumner_. On New Year's day of 1831 William Lloyd Garrison issued the first number of the _Liberator_ from his little attic room, No. 6 Merchants' Hall, Boston. Its clear bugle-notes sounded the onset of reform and the death-knell of slavery. It called for the buckling on of moral armor. Its words were the touchstone of wills, the shibboleth of souls. Cowards and time-servers quickly ranged themselves on one side, and heroes on the other. Before young Whittier,--editor, _littérateur_, and poet,--a career full of brilliant promise had opened up at Hartford. But through the high chambers of his soul the voice of duty rang in solemn and imperative tones. He heard and obeyed. The cost was counted, and his resolution taken. Upon his brow he placed the lustrous fire-wreath of the martyr, well assured of his power to endure unflinchingly to the end its sharpest pains. It was the most momentous act of his life; it formed the keystone in the arch of his destinies. The first decided anti-slavery step taken by him was the publication of his fiery philippic, "Justice and Expediency." About this time also he began the writing of his stirring anti-slavery poems, many of them full of pathos, fierce invective, cutting irony and satire,--stirring the blood like a trumpet-call, giving impulse and enthusiasm to the despised and half-despairing Abolitionists of that day, and becoming a part of the very religion of thousands of households throughout the land. It is almost impossible for those who were not participants in the anti-slavery conflict, or who have not read histories and memoirs of the struggle, to realize the deep opprobrium that attached to the word "Abolitionist." To avow one's self such meant in many cases suspicion, ostracism, hunger, blows, and sometimes death. It meant, in short, self-renunciation and social martyrdom. All this Whittier gladly took upon himself; and he knew that it was a long struggle upon which he was entering. As he says in one of his poems, he was "Called from dream and song, Thank God! so early to a strife so long, That, ere it closed, the black, abundant hair Of boyhood rested silver-sown and spare On manhood's temples." That the martyrdom was a severe one to all who took up the cross goes without saying. Mr. Whittier remarked to the writer that it was at some sacrifice of his ambition and plans for the future that he decided to throw in his lot with the opponents of slavery. He knew that it meant the annihilation of his hopes of literary preferment, and the exclusion of his articles from the pages of magazines and newspapers. "For twenty years," said he, "my name would have injured the circulation of any of the literary or political journals of the country." When Whittier joined the ranks of the despised faction, Garrison had been imprisoned and fined in Baltimore for his arraignment of the slave traffic; Benjamin Lundy had been driven from the same city by threats of imprisonment and personal outrage; Prudence Crandall was waging her battle with the Philistinism of Canterbury, Conn.; and the Legislature of Georgia had offered a reward of five thousand dollars for "the arrest, prosecution, and trial to conviction under the laws of the State, of the editor or publisher of a certain paper called _The Liberator_, published in the town of Boston, and State of Massachusetts." But it is not within the province of this biography to give an exhaustive _résumé_ of the anti-slavery conflict, but only to speak of such of its episodes as were especially participated in by Mr. Whittier. How tailor John Woolman became a life-long itinerant preacher of his mild Quaker gospel of freedom; how honest saddler Lundy left his leather hammering, and walked his ten thousand miles, carrying his types and column-rules with him, and printing his "Genius of Universal Emancipation" as he went; in what way and to what extent the labors and writings of Lucretia Mott, Samuel J. May, Lydia Maria Child, George Thompson, James G. Birney, and Gerrit Smith helped on the noble cause,--to all these things only allusion can be made. For a full account of those perilous times one must go to the pages of Henry Wilson's "History of the Rise and Fall of the Slave Power," and to the fascinating "Recollections" of Samuel J. May. Let us now return to Whittier and consider his own writings, labors, and adventures in the service of the cause. It was in the spring of 1833 that he published at his own expense "Justice and Expediency; or, Slavery Considered with a view to its Rightful and Effectual Remedy, Abolition." [Haverhill: C. P. Thayer and Co.] It is a polemical paper, full of exclamation points and italicized and capitalized sentences. The hyperbole speaks well for the author's heart, but betrays his juvenility. He shrieks like a temperance lecturer or a stump politician. The pamphlet, however, shows diligent and systematic study of the entire literature of the subject. Every statement is fortified by quotation or reference. He enumerates six reasons why the African Colonization Society's schemes were unworthy of good men's support, and buttresses up his theses by citations from the official literature of his opponents. A thorough familiarity with slavery in other lands and times is also manifested. As a specimen of the style of the book the following will serve:-- "But, it may be said that the miserable victims of the System have our sympathies. "Sympathy!--the sympathy of the Priest and the Levite, looking on, and acknowledging, but holding itself aloof from mortal suffering. Can such hollow sympathy reach the broken of heart, and does the blessing of those who are ready to perish answer it? Does it hold back the lash from the slave, or sweeten his bitter bread? "Oh, my heart is sick--my very soul is weary of this sympathy--this heartless mockery of feeling.... "No--let the TRUTH on this subject--undisguised, naked, terrible as it is, stand out before us. Let us no longer seek to cover it--let us no longer strive to forget it--let us no more dare to palliate it." In his sketch of Nathaniel P. Rogers, the anti-slavery editor, Whittier remarks incidentally that the voice of Rogers was one of the few which greeted him with words of encouragement and sympathy at the time of the publication of his "Justice and Expediency."[13] [Footnote 13: "He gave us a kind word of approval," says Whittier, "and invited us to his mountain home, on the banks of the Pemigewasset, an invitation which, two years afterwards, we accepted."] * * * * * On the fourth day of December, 1833, the Philadelphia Convention for the formation of the American Anti-slavery Society held its first sitting; Beriah Green, President, Lewis Tappan and John G. Whittier, Secretaries. This assembly, if not so famous as that which framed the Declaration of Independence in the same city some two generations previously, was at any rate as worthy of fame and respect as its illustrious predecessor. A deep solemnity and high consecration filled the heart of every man and woman in that little band. Heart answered unto heart in glowing sympathy. They did their work like men inspired. Perfect unanimity prevailed. They were too eagerly engaged to adjourn for dinner, and "baskets of crackers and pitchers of cold water supplied all the bodily refreshment." Among those who were present and spoke was Lucretia Mott, "a beautiful and graceful woman," says Whittier, "in the prime of life, with a face beneath her plain cap as finely intellectual as that of Madame Roland." She "offered some wise and valuable suggestions, in a clear sweet voice, the charm of which I have never forgotten." * * * * * A committee, of which Whittier was a member, with William Lloyd Garrison as chairman, was appointed to draw up a Declaration of Principles. Garrison sat up all night, in the small attic of a colored man, to draft this Declaration. The two other members of the committee, calling in the gray dawn of a December day, found him putting the last touches to this famous paper, while his lamp burned on unheeded into the daylight. His draft was accepted almost without amendment by the Convention, and, after it had been engrossed on parchment, was signed by the sixty-two members present.[14] [Footnote 14: Twenty-one of these persons were Quakers, as Mr. Whittier and the writer proved by actual count of the names on Mr. Whittier's fac-simile copy of the Declaration.] [Illustration: JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER AT MIDDLE LIFE.] In the _Atlantic Monthly_ for February, 1874, Mr. Whittier has given an interesting account of the Convention. Some of his pictures are so graphic that they shall here be given in his own words:-- "In the gray twilight of a chill day of late November, forty years ago, a dear friend of mine residing in Boston, made his appearance at the old farm-house in East Haverhill. He had been deputed by the Abolitionists of the city, William L. Garrison, Samuel E. Sewall, and others, to inform me of my appointment as a delegate to the Convention about to be held in Philadelphia for the formation of an American Anti-slavery Society; and to urge upon me the necessity of my attendance. "Few words of persuasion, however, were needed. I was unused to travelling; my life had been spent on a secluded farm; and the journey, mostly by stage-coach, at that time was really a formidable one. Moreover the few abolitionists were everywhere spoken against, their persons threatened, and, in some instances, a price set on their heads by Southern legislators. Pennsylvania was on the borders of slavery, and it needed small effort of imagination to picture to oneself the breaking up of the Convention and maltreatment of its members. This latter consideration I do not think weighed much with me, although I was better prepared for serious danger than for anything like personal indignity. I had read Governor Trumbull's description of the tarring and feathering of his hero MacFingal, when after the application of the melted tar, the feather-bed was ripped open and shaken over him, until Not Maia's son with wings for ears, Such plumes about his visage wears, Nor Milton's six-winged angel gathers Such superfluity of feathers, and I confess I was quite unwilling to undergo a martyrdom which my best friends could scarcely refrain from laughing at. But a summons like that of Garrison's bugle-blast could scarcely be unheeded by one who, from birth and education, held fast the traditions of that earlier abolitionism which, under the lead of Benezet and Woolman, had effaced from the Society of Friends every vestige of slaveholding. I had thrown myself, with a young man's fervid enthusiasm, into a movement which commended itself to my reason and conscience, to my love of country, and my sense of duty to God and my fellow-men. My first venture in authorship was the publication, at my own expense, in the spring of 1833, of a pamphlet entitled 'Justice and Expediency,'[15] on the moral and political evils of slavery, and the duty of emancipation. Under such circumstances, I could not hesitate, but prepared at once for my journey. It was necessary that I should start on the morrow, and the intervening time, with a small allowance for sleep, was spent in providing for the care of the farm and homestead during my absence." [Footnote 15: Mr. Whittier here made a slip of memory. His first work was "Legends of New England," as he himself testifies, in his own handwriting, in a memorandum sent to the New England Historic-Genealogical Society.] Mr. Whittier proceeds to tell of his journey to the Quaker City, and of the organization and work of the Convention. The following pen-portraits are too valuable to be omitted:-- "Looking over the assembly, I noticed that it was mainly composed of comparatively young men, some in middle age, and a few beyond that period. They were nearly all plainly dressed, with a view to comfort rather than elegance. Many of the faces turned toward me wore a look of expectancy and suppressed enthusiasm; all had the earnestness which might be expected of men engaged in an enterprise beset with difficulty, and perhaps with peril. The fine intellectual head of Garrison, prematurely bald, was conspicuous; the sunny-faced young man at his side, in whom all the beatitudes seemed to find expression, was Samuel J. May, mingling in his veins the best blood of the Sewalls and Quincys; a man so exceptionally pure and large-hearted, so genial, tender, and loving, that he could be faithful to truth and duty without making an enemy. The de'il wad look into his face, And swear he could na wrang him.' That tall, gaunt, swarthy man, erect, eagle-faced, upon whose somewhat martial figure the Quaker coat seemed a little out of place, was Lindley Coates, known in all Eastern Pennsylvania as a stern enemy of slavery; that slight, eager man, intensely alive in every feature and gesture, was Thomas Shipley, who for thirty years had been the protector of the free colored people of Philadelphia, and whose name was whispered reverently in the slave cabins of Maryland as the friend of the black man,--one of a class peculiar to old Quakerism, who, in doing what they felt to be duty, and walking as the Light within guided them, knew no fear and shrank from no sacrifice. Braver men the world has not known. Beside him, differing in creed but united with him in works of love and charity, sat Thomas Whitson, of the Hicksite school of Friends, fresh from his farm in Lancaster County, dressed in plainest homespun, his tall form surmounted by a shock of unkempt hair, the odd obliquity of his vision contrasting strongly with the clearness and directness of his spiritual insight. Elizur Wright, the young professor of a Western college, who had lost his place by his bold advocacy of freedom, with a look of sharp concentration, in keeping with an intellect keen as a Damascus blade, closely watched the proceedings through his spectacles, opening his mouth only to speak directly to the purpose.... In front of me, awakening pleasant associations of the old homestead in Merrimack valley, sat my first school-teacher, Joshua Coffin, the learned and worthy antiquarian and historian of Newbury. A few spectators, mostly of the Hicksite division of Friends, were present in broad-brims and plain bonnets, among them Esther Moore and Lucretia Mott." The year 1834 was passed by Whittier quietly on the farm at East Haverhill. In April of this year the first anti-slavery society was organized in Haverhill, with John G. Whittier as corresponding secretary. Not long after a female anti-slavery society was organized in the same town. The pro-slavery feeling in Haverhill was as bitter as in other places. One Sabbath afternoon in August, 1835, the Rev. Samuel J. May occupied the pulpit of the First Parish Society in Haverhill, and in the evening attempted to give an anti-slavery lecture in the Christian Union Chapel, having been invited to do so by Mr. Whittier. In his "Recollections of the Anti-Slavery Conflict" (p. 152), Mr. May says:-- "I had spoken about fifteen minutes when the most hideous outcries and yells, from a crowd of men who had surrounded the house, startled us, and then came heavy missiles against the doors and blinds of the windows. I persisted in speaking for a few minutes, hoping the blinds and doors were strong enough to stand the siege. But presently a heavy stone broke through one of the blinds, shattered a pane of glass, and fell upon the head of a lady sitting near the centre of the hall. She uttered a shriek, and fell bleeding into the arms of her sister. The panic-stricken audience rose _en masse_, and began a rush for the doors." Mr. May succeeded in quieting the fears of the audience, and himself escaped through the crowd of infuriated ruffians without by walking between two ladies, one of them the sister of Mr. Whittier and the other the daughter of a wealthy and determined citizen of the place, who, it was well known, would take summary vengeance for any disrespect shown to his daughter. It was well that the audience dispersed when it did, since a loaded cannon was being drawn to the spot by the furious mob. This year, 1835, was a year of mobs. On the very same evening that Mr. May was mobbed in Haverhill, Mr. Whittier and his English friend, the orator George Thompson, were treated in a similar manner in Concord, N. H. Whether an account of the Concord mob has been elsewhere published or not the author cannot say, but the story given here is as he had it from the lips of Mr. Whittier himself. "Oh! we had a dreadful night of it," he said. The inhabitants had heard that an Abolition meeting was to be held in the town, and that the arch anarchist, George Thompson, was to speak. So on that Sabbath evening they were on the alert, an angry mob some five hundred strong. Mr. Whittier, knowing nothing of their state of mind, started down the street with a friend: the mob surrounded them, thinking that he was Thompson. His friend explained to them that he was Mr. Whittier. "Oh!" they exclaimed, "so you are the one who is with Thompson, are you?" and forthwith they began to assail the two men with sticks and stones. Mr. Whittier said that both he and his friend were hurt, but escaped with their lives by taking refuge in the house of a friend named Kent, who was not an Abolitionist himself, but was a man of honor and bravery. He barred his door, and told the mob that they should have Whittier only over his dead body. In the course of the evening Mr. Whittier learned that the house in which Thompson was staying was surrounded by the mob. Becoming anxious, he borrowed a hat, sallied out among the crowd, and succeeded in reaching his friend. The noise and violence of the mob increased; a cannon was brought, and at one time the little band in the house feared they might suffer violence. "We did not much fear death," said Mr. Whittier, "but we did dread gross personal indignities." It was fortunately a bright moonlight night, suitable for travelling, and about one o'clock the two friends escaped by driving off rapidly in their horse and buggy. They did not know the road to Haverhill, but were directed by their friends with all possible minuteness. Three miles away, also, there was the house of an anti-slavery man, and they obtained further directions there. Some time after sunrise they stopped at a wayside inn to bait their horse, and get a bite of breakfast for themselves. While they were at table the landlord said,-- "They've been having a h--l of a time down at Haverhill." "How is that?" "Oh, one of them d--d Abolitionists was lecturin' there; he had been invited to the town by a young fellow named Whittier; but they made it pretty hot for him, and I guess neither he nor Whittier will be in a hurry to repeat the thing." "What kind of a fellow is this Whittier?" "Oh, he's an ignorant sort of fellow; he don't know much." "And who is this Thompson they're talking about?" "Why, he's a man sent over here by the British to make trouble in our government." As the two friends were stepping into the buggy, Mr. Whittier, with one foot on the step, turned and said to the host, who was standing by with several tavern loafers:-- "You've been talking about Thompson and Whittier. This is Mr. Thompson, and I am Whittier. Good morning." "And jumping into the buggy," said the poet, with a twinkle in his eye, "we whipped up, and stood not on the order of our going." As for the host he stood with open mouth, being absolutely tongue-tied with astonishment. "And for all I know," said the narrator, "he's standing there still with his mouth open." Mr. Thompson was secreted at the Whittier farm-house in Haverhill for two weeks after this affair. * * * * * Some two months after the disgraceful scenes just described occurred the mobbing of William Lloyd Garrison in Boston. He had gone in the evening to deliver a lecture before the Female Anti-Slavery Society. A furious mob of "gentlemen of property and standing" surrounded the building. Mr. Garrison took refuge in a carpenter's shop in the rear of the hall, but was violently seized, let down from a window by a rope, and dragged by the mob to the City Hall. Mr. Whittier was staying at the house of Rev. Samuel J. May. His sister had gone to the lecture, and Mr. Whittier, on hearing of the disturbance, had fears for her safety, and went out to seek her. He said to the writer that when he reached the City Hall he saw before him the best dressed mob imaginable. Presently he heard a cry, "They've got him!" After a short, sharp scuffle Garrison was got into a carriage by the police, and taken to the Leverett Street jail, as the only place where he could be safe that night in Boston. Mr. Whittier and Mr. May immediately went down to the jail to see him. Garrison said that he could not say, with Paul, that he was dwelling in his own hired house, and so he could not ask them to stay all night with him! His coat was not entirely gone, but was pretty badly torn. He was at first a good deal agitated by the affair, but when they left him he had become calm and assured. On the same evening, the mob threatened to make an attack upon Mr. May's house. Mr. Whittier got his sister Elizabeth safely bestowed for the night in the dwelling of another friend. He and Mr. May passed a sleepless night, and at one time half thought that, for safety's sake, they should have stayed in the jail with Garrison. However, they were not molested. It is a remarkable testimony to the esteem in which Mr. Whittier must have been held by the citizens of Haverhill that, notwithstanding their bitter hatred of Abolitionism, they elected him their representative to the State Legislature in 1835, and again in 1836. In 1837 he declined re-election. In the legislative documents for 1835 he figures as a member of the standing committee on engrossed bills. His name does not appear in the State records for 1836: it was undoubtedly owing to his secretarial duties, mentioned below, that he was unable to take his seat as a member of the Legislature in the second year of his election. In 1836 Whittier published "Mogg Megone," a poem on an episode in Indian life. It will be reviewed, with the rest of his poems, in the second part of this volume. In the same year he was appointed Secretary of the American Anti-Slavery Society, and removed to Philadelphia. In 1838-39, while in that city, he edited a paper which he named the _Pennsylvania Freeman_. It had formerly been edited by Benjamin Lundy, under the title of the _National Enquirer_. The office of the _Pennsylvania Freeman_ was in 1838 sacked and burned by a mob. It was about the same time that Pennsylvania Hall in Philadelphia was burned to the ground by the citizens, on the very day after its dedication. Mr. Whittier had read an original poem on that occasion. The hall had been built at considerable sacrifice by the lovers of freedom, in order that one place at least might be open for free discussion. And it was just in order that it might not be used thus that it was burned by the guilty-thoughted mob. The keys had been given to the mayor, but neither he nor the police interfered to prevent the atrocious deed. In 1837 Mr. Whittier edited, and wrote a preface for, the "Letters of John Quincy Adams to his Constituents." These stirring letters of Mr. Adams were called forth by the attacks that had been made on him by members of Congress for defending the right of negroes to petition the Government. Mr. Whittier, in his introductory remarks, speaks of the "Letters" as follows:-- "Their sarcasm is Junius-like, cold, keen, unsparing. In boldness, directness, and eloquent appeal, they will bear comparison with O'Connell's celebrated letters to the Reformers of Great Britain.... It will be seen that, in the great struggle for and against the Right of Petition, an account of which is given in the following pages, their author stood in a great measure alone, and unsupported by his northern colleagues. On 'his gray, discrowned head' the entire fury of slaveholding arrogance and wrath was expended. He stood alone,--beating back, with his aged and single arm, the tide which would have borne down and overwhelmed a less sturdy and determined spirit." In the same year (1837) Mr. Whittier edited a pamphlet called "Views of Slavery and Emancipation," taken from Harriet Martineau's "Society in America." The whole subject of slavery is canvassed by Miss Martineau in the most searching and judicial manner. In closing this account of our author's anti-slavery labors, we may bestow a word on the attitude assumed toward the Abolition movement by the Quakers as a sect. Through the labors of John Woolman, Benjamin Lundy, Anthony Benezet, and others, they had early been brought to see the wickedness of slaveholding, and in 1780 had succeeded in entirely ridding their denomination of the wrong. They not only emancipated their slaves, but remunerated them for their past services. Indeed, their record in this respect is unique for its fine ideal devotion to exact justice. They were the first religious body in the world to remove the pollution of slavery from their midst. But the cautious, acquisitive, peace-loving Quakers seemed content to rest here, satisfied with having cleared their own skirts of wrong. They could not see the good side of the Abolition movement. They were scandalized by the violence and fanaticism of many Abolitionists. Mr. Whittier felt aggrieved by this attitude of the Friends, but did not on that account break with the denomination, or abandon the religion of his fathers. In 1868 he wrote as follows to the _New Bedford Standard_, which had spoken of him in an article on Thomas A. Greene: "My object in referring to the article in the paper was mainly to correct a statement regarding myself, viz.: That in consequence of the opposition of the Society of Friends to the anti-slavery movement, I did not for years attend their meetings. This is not true. From my youth up, whenever my health permitted, I have been a constant attendant of our meetings for religious worship. _This_ is true, however, that after our meeting-houses were denied by the yearly meeting for anti-slavery purposes, I did not feel it in my way, for some years, to attend the annual meeting at Newport. From a feeling of duty I protested against that decision when it was made, but was given to understand pretty distinctly that there was no 'weight' in my words. It was a hard day for reformers; some stifled their convictions; others, not adding patience to their faith, allowed themselves to be worried out of the Society. Abolitionists holding office were very generally 'dropped out,' and the ark of the church staggered on with no profane anti-slavery hands upon it." CHAPTER VI. AMESBURY. After the sacking and burning of the office of the _Pennsylvania Freeman_, Whittier returned to Haverhill, and soon after (in 1840) he sold the old farm and removed with his mother to Amesbury, a small town some nine miles nearer the sea than Haverhill. It is a rural town of over three thousand inhabitants, and contains nothing of note except the poet Whittier. The business of the place is the manufacture of woollen and cotton goods, and of carriages. The landscape is rugged and picturesque. The town covers a sloping hillside that stretches down to the Merrimack. Across this river rises a high hill, crowned with orchards and meadows. In summer time a sweet and quiet air reigns in the place. There are old vine-covered houses, grassy lawns, cool crofts, and sunken orchards; bees are humming, birds singing, and here and there through the trees slender columns of blue wood-smoke float upward in airy evanescence. Mr. Whittier's residence is on Friend Street, and not far beyond, on the same street, or rather in the delta formed by the meeting of two streets, stands the Friends' Meeting-House, where the poet has been an attendant nearly all his life:-- "For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, And holy day, and solemn psalm; For me, the silent reverence where My brethren gather, slow and calm." This old meeting-house is alluded to by the poet in "Abram Morrison," a fine humorous poem published in "The King's Missive" (1881). We there read how-- "On calm and fair First Days Rattled down our one-horse chaise Through the blossomed apple-boughs To the old, brown meeting-house." Whittier's house is a plain, white-painted structure, standing at the corner of two streets, and having in front of it numerous forest trees, chiefly maple. Since 1876 the poet has passed only a part of each year at Amesbury, his other home being Oak Knoll in Danvers, where he resides with distant relatives. [Illustration: THE WHITTIER HOUSE, AMESBURY, MASS.] * * * * * The study at Amesbury of course possesses great interest for us as the place where most of the poet's finest lyrics have been written. It is a very cosey little study, and is entered by one door from within and another from without. The upper half of the outer door is of glass. This door is at the end of the left-hand porch shown in the view on page 125. The two windows in the study look out upon a long strip of yard in the rear of the house,--very pretty and quiet, and filled with pear-trees and other trees and vines. Upon one side of the room are shelves holding five or six hundred well-used volumes. Among them are to be noticed Charles Reade's novels and the poems of Robert Browning. A side-shelf is completely filled with a small blue and gold edition of the poets. On the walls hang oil paintings of views on the Merrimack River and other Essex County scenes, including Mr. Whittier's birthplace. In one corner is a handsome writing-desk, littered with papers and letters. Upon the hearth of the Franklin stove, high andirons smile a fireside welcome from their burnished brass knobs. Indeed, everything in the room is as neat and cosey as the wax cell of a honey-bee. And over all is shed the genial glow of the gentlest, tenderest nature in all the land. * * * * * In the autumn of 1844 was written "The Stranger in Lowell," a series of light sketches suggested by personal experiences. The style of these essays reminds one of that of "Twice Told Tales," but it is not so pure. The thought is developed too rhetorically, and the essays betray the limitations attending the life of a recluse. But these sketches are interesting as exhibitions of the growth of the author toward this peculiar form of essay-writing, and are valuable on that account. * * * * * In 1847 James G. Birney's anti-slavery paper, _The Philanthropist_, published in Cincinnati, was merged with the _National Era_, of Washington, D. C., with Dr. Gamaliel Bailey as managing editor, and John G. Whittier as associate or corresponding editor. Dr. Bailey had previously helped edit _The Philanthropist_. Both papers were treated to mobocratic attacks. The _Era_ became an important organ of the Abolition party in Washington. To it Mr. Whittier contributed his "Old Portraits and Modern Sketches" as well as other reform papers. * * * * * In the same year (1847) our author published his "Supernaturalism of New England." [New York and London: Wiley and Putnam.] This pleasant little volume shows a marked advance upon Whittier's previous prose work. In its nine chapters he has preserved a number of oral legends and interesting superstitions of the farmer-folk of the Merrimack region. Parts of the work have been quoted elsewhere in this volume. One of the chapters closes with the following fine passage:-- "The witches of Father Baxter and 'the Black Man' of Cotton Mather have vanished; belief in them is no longer possible on the part of sane men. But this mysterious universe, through which, half veiled in its own shadow, our dim little planet is wheeling, with its star-worlds and thought-wearying spaces, remains. Nature's mighty miracle is still over and around us; and hence awe, wonder, and reverence remain to be the inheritance of humanity: still are there beautiful repentances and holy death-beds, and still over the soul's darkness and confusion rises star-like the great idea of duty. By higher and better influences than the poor spectres of superstition man must henceforth be taught to reverence the Invisible, and, in the consciousness of his own weakness and sin and sorrow, to lean with childlike trust on the wisdom and mercy of an overruling Providence." In 1849 Mr. Whittier collected and published his anti-slavery poems, under the title "Voices of Freedom." The year 1850 marks a new era in his poetical career. He published at that time his "Songs of Labor,"--a volume which showed that his mind had become calmed by time, and was now capable of interesting itself in other than reform subjects. There is not much of outward incident and circumstance to record of the quiet poetical years passed since 1840 at Amesbury and Danvers. Almost every year or two a new volume of poems has been issued, each one establishing on a firmer foundation the Quaker Poet's reputation as a creator of sweet and melodious lyrical poetry. In 1868 an institution called "Whittier College" was opened at Salem, Henry County, Iowa. It was founded in honor of the poet, and is conducted in accordance with the principles of the Society of Friends. In 1871 Whittier edited "Child-Life: A Collection of Poems," by various home and foreign authors. In the same year he edited, with a long introduction, the "Journal of John Woolman." The name John Woolman is not widely known to persons of the present generation; and yet, as Whittier says, it was this humble Quaker reformer of New Jersey who did more than any one else to inspire all the great modern movements for the emancipation of slaves, first in the West Indies, then in the United States, and in Russia. Warner Mifflin, Jean Pierre Brissot, Thomas Clarkson, Stephen Grellet, William Allen, and Benjamin Lundy,--all these philanthropists owed much of their impulse to labor for the freedom of the slave to humble John Woolman. His journal or autobiography was highly praised by Charles Lamb, Edward Irving, Crabb Robinson, and others. "The style is that of a man unlettered, but with natural refinement and delicate sense of fitness, the purity of whose heart enters into his language." Woolman was born in Northampton, West Jersey, in 1720. One day, in the year 1742, while clerk in a store in the village of Mount Holly, township of Northampton, N. J., he was asked by his employer to make out the bill of sale of a negro. He drew up the instrument, but his conscience was awakened, and some years after he began his life-work as a pedestrian anti-slavery preacher. He refused to ride in, or have letters sent him by, the stage-coaches, because of the cruelty exercised toward the horses by the drivers. Neither would he accept hospitality from those who kept slaves, always paying either the owners or the slaves for his entertainment. Woolman was most gentle and kind in his appeals to slave-owners, and rarely met with any violent remonstrance. Much of his work was within the limits of his own sect, and Mr. Whittier's introduction gives a valuable and succinct historical _résumé_ of the steps taken by the Friends to rid their sect of the stigma of slaveholding. Mount Holly, in Woolman's day, says Whittier, "was almost entirely a settlement of Friends. A very few of the old houses with their quaint stoops or porches are left. That occupied by John Woolman was a small, plain, two-story structure, with two windows in each story in front, a four-barred fence enclosing the grounds, with the trees he planted and loved to cultivate. The house was not painted, but whitewashed. The name of the place is derived from the highest hill in the county, rising two hundred feet above the sea, and commanding a view of a rich and level country of cleared farms and woodlands." Very amusing is the picture given by Mr. Whittier of the eccentric Benjamin Lay, once a member of the Society of Friends in England, and afterward an inhabitant for some time of the West Indies, whence he was driven away on account of the violence and extravagance of his denunciations of slavery. He was a contemporary of Woolman. He lived in a cave near Philadelphia, as a sort of Jonah or Elijah, prophesying woe against the city on account of its participation in the crime of slavery. He wore clothes made of vegetable fibre, and ate only vegetable food. "Issuing from his cave, on his mission of preaching 'deliverance to the captive,' he was in the habit of visiting the various meetings for worship and bearing his testimony against slaveholders, greatly to their disgust and indignation. On one occasion he entered the Market Street Meeting, and a leading Friend requested some one to take him out. A burly blacksmith volunteered to do it, leading him to the gate and thrusting him out with such force that he fell into the gutter of the street. There he lay until the meeting closed, telling the bystanders that he did not feel free to rise himself. 'Let those who cast me here raise me up. It is their business, not mine.' "His personal appearance was in remarkable keeping with his eccentric life. A figure only four and a half feet high, hunch-backed, with projecting chest, legs small and uneven, arms longer than his legs; a huge head, showing only beneath the enormous white hat large, solemn eyes and a prominent nose; the rest of his face covered with a snowy semicircle of beard falling low on his breast,--a figure to recall the old legends of troll, brownie, and kobold. Such was the irrepressible prophet who troubled the Israel of slaveholding Quakerism, clinging like a rough chestnut-burr to the skirts of its respectability, and settling like a pertinacious gad-fly on the sore places of its conscience. "On one occasion, while the annual meeting was in session at Burlington, N. J., in the midst of the solemn silence of the great assembly, the unwelcome figure of Benjamin Lay, wrapped in his long white overcoat, was seen passing up the aisle. Stopping midway, he exclaimed, 'You slaveholders! Why don't you throw off your Quaker coats as I do mine, and show yourselves as you are?' Casting off as he spoke his outer garment, he disclosed to the astonished assembly a military coat underneath, and a sword dangling at his heels. Holding in one hand a large book, he drew his sword with the other. 'In the sight of God,' he cried, 'you are as guilty as if you stabbed your slaves to the heart, as I do this book!' suiting the action to the word, and piercing a small bladder filled with the juice of poke-weed (_phytolacca decandra_), which he had concealed between the covers, and sprinkling as with fresh blood those who sat near him." There is something overwhelmingly ludicrous about this bladder of poke-weed juice! And what a subject for a painter!--the portentous, white-bearded dwarf standing there in the midst of the church, in act to plunge his gigantic sword tragically into the innermost bowels of the crimson poke-juice bladder, and from all parts of the house the converging looks of the broad-brimmed and shovel-bonneted Quakers! Mr. Whittier further says that "Lay was well acquainted with Dr. Franklin, who sometimes visited him. Among other schemes of reform he entertained the idea of converting all mankind to Christianity. This was to be done by three witnesses,--himself, Michael Lovell, and Abel Noble, assisted by Dr. Franklin. But, on their first meeting at the doctor's house, the three 'chosen vessels' got into a violent controversy on points of doctrine, and separated in ill-humor. The philosopher, who had been an amused listener, advised the three sages to give up the project of converting the world until they had learned to tolerate each other." * * * * * In 1873 Mr. Whittier edited "Child-Life in Prose." It is a collection of pretty stories, chiefly about the childhood of various eminent persons. One of the stories is by the editor, and is about "A Fish that I Didn't Catch." In 1875 appeared "Songs of Three Centuries." The poet's design in this work was (to use his own words) "to gather up in a comparatively small volume, easily accessible to all classes of readers, the wisest thoughts, rarest fancies, and devoutest hymns of the metrical authors of the last three centuries." He says, "The selections I have made indicate, in a general way, my preferences." It is a choice collection, rich in lyrical masterpieces. CHAPTER VII. LATER DAYS. About a mile westward from the village of Danvers, Mass., a grassy road, named Summer Street, branches off to the right and north. It is a pleasant, winding road, bordered by picturesque old stone fences and lined with barberry and raspberry bushes and gnarled old apple-trees. On either side are cultivated fields. Oak Knoll, the winter residence of Whittier, is the second house on the left, some half a mile up the road. This fine old estate had been occupied for half a century by a man of wealth and taste. About the year 1875 it passed into the hands of Col. Edmund Johnson, of Boston, whose wife was Whittier's cousin. It was planned that the poet should be a member of the household; rooms were set apart and arranged for him, and he gave the estate its present name. It is a spot full of traditions, and well suited to any poet's residence, most of all for one so versed in New England legends. It is the very spot once occupied by the Rev. George Burroughs, a clergyman who was hung for witchcraft in 1692, on the charge, among other things, of "having performed feats of extraordinary physical strength." He could hold out a gun seven feet long, tradition says, by putting his finger in the muzzle, and could lift a barrel of molasses in the same way by the bung-hole. For acts like these--deemed unclerical, at least, if not unnatural--he was convicted and hanged; and a well on the premises of Oak Knoll is still known as the "witch well." Here, in the home of relatives, the poet has lived since 1876. A lovelier and more poetical place it would be difficult to imagine. The extensive, carefully kept grounds, and the antique elegance of the house, give to the estate the air of an old English manor, or gentleman's country hall. The house is approached by a long, upward-sweeping lawn, diversified with stately forest trees, clumps of evergreens and shrubs and flowers. Down across the road stands a large and handsome barn, which is as neat as paint and care can make it. In front of the house the eye ranges downward over an extensive landscape, as far as to the town of Peabody, in the direction of Salem. Indeed, on every side of the estate there are broad and distant views of the blue hills of Essex and Middlesex. [Illustration: VIEW FROM THE PORCH AT OAK KNOLL, DANVERS, MASS.] In the summer, as you ascend the carriage-road that winds through the grounds, your eye is captured by the rare beauty of the scene. Yonder is a tall living wall of verdure, with an archway cut through it. To the left the grounds sweep gently down to a deep ravine, where a little rivulet, named Beaver Brook, creeps leisurely out and winds seaward through green and marish meadows. It is in this portion of the grounds that the fine oak-trees grow which give to the place its name. Here, too, is a large grove of pines, with numerous seats within it. There are trees and trees at Oak Knoll,--smooth and shapely hickories, glistering chestnuts with cool foliage, maples, birches, and the purple beech. Add to the picture the rural accessories of bee-haunted clover-fields, apple and pear orchards, and beds of tempting strawberries. The house is of wood, salmon-colored, with tall porches on each side, up-propped by stately Doric columns. In front, with wide sweep of closely cropped grass intervening, is the magnificent Norway spruce that Oliver Wendell Holmes, a year or two before Mr. Whittier's death, on one of those periodical visits to his brother poet that so delighted their two souls, named "The Poets' Pagoda." A luxuriant vine clusters about the eaves of the house. On the long porch a mocking-bird and a canary-bird fill the green silence with gushes of melody, and near at hand, in his study in the wing of the building, sits one with a singing pen and listens to their song. To their song and to the murmur of the tall pines by his window he listens, then looks into his heart and writes,--this sweet-souled magician,--and craftily imprisons between the covers of his books, echoes of bird and tree music, bits of blue sky, glimpses of green landscape, winding rivers, and idyls of the snow,--all suffused and interfused with a glowing atmosphere of human and divine love, such as the poet found in this home of his choosing at Oak Knoll. It will not perhaps be intruding upon the privacies of home to say that the members of the cultured household at Oak Knoll ever, found in their happy circle, their highest pleasure in ministering to all needs, social or otherwise, of their loved cousin the poet. Three sisters dispense the hospitalities of the house, and a young daughter of Mrs. Woodman's adds the charm of girlhood to the family life. * * * * * Readers of Whittier, who know how deeply his writings are tinged with the scenery, legendary lore and folk-life of his native Merrimack Valley, will not wonder that a certain _Heimweh_, or home-sickness, draws him northward, when "Flows amain The surge of summer's beauty." and "Pours the deluge of the heat Broad northward o'er the land." It is but one hour's ride by cars from Danvers to Amesbury; and part of the time in the latter place, and part of the time at the Isles of Shoals, and in the beautiful lake and mountain region of New Hampshire, Mr. Whittier passes the warm season. For many years it was his custom to spend a portion of each summer at the Bearcamp River House, in West Ossipee, N. H., some thirty miles north of Lake Winnipiseogee. The hotel was situated on a slight eminence, commanding a view of towering "Mount Israel" and of "Whittier Mountain," named after the poet. It is a region full of noble prospects, being just in the out-skirts of the White Mountain group. Several of the poems of Whittier were inspired by this scenery, notably "Among the Hills," "Sunset on the Bearcamp," and "The Seeking of the Waterfall." In the first of these we read how-- "Through Sandwich notch the west-wind sang," and-- "Above his broad lake Ossipee, Once more the sunshine wearing, Stooped, tracing on that silver shield His grim armorial bearing." "Sunset on the Bearcamp" contains a stanza considered by some to be one of the poet's finest:-- "Touched by a light that hath no name, A glory never sung, Aloft on sky and mountain wall Are God's great pictures hung. How changed the summits vast and old! No longer granite-browed, They melt in rosy mist; the rock Is softer than the cloud; The valley holds its breath; no leaf Of all its elms is twirled: The silence of eternity Seems falling on the world." The Bearcamp River House (now no more) was a hostelry whose site, antique hospitality, and eminent guests were every whit as worthy to be embalmed in lasting verse as were those of the Wayside Inn of Sudbury. Before the red, crackling flames of its huge fireplace such literary characters as Whittier, Gail Hamilton, Lucy Larcom, and Hiram Rich used to gather on chill summer evenings for the kind of talks that only a wood fire can inspire. The Quaker poet is a charming conversationalist, and can _tell_ a story as capitally as he can write one. He has a goodly _répertoire_ of ghost tales and legends of the marvellous. One of his best stories is about a scene that took place in Independence Hall in Philadelphia, when the court remanded a negro to slavery. The poet says that an old sailor who was present became so infuriated by the spectacle that he made the air blue with oaths uttered in seven different languages.[16] [Footnote 16: For these details about days on the Bearcamp, the writer is indebted to Dr. Robert R. Andrews, an acquaintance of the poet.] * * * * * December 17, 1877, was the poet's seventieth birthday, and the occasion was celebrated in a twofold manner, namely, by a Whittier Tribute in the _Literary World_, and by a Whittier Banquet given at the Hotel Brunswick, in Boston, by Messrs. H. O. Houghton and Co., the publishers of Whittier's works. The _Literary World_ tribute contained poems by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Bayard Taylor, E. C. Stedman, O. W. Holmes, William Lloyd Garrison, and others. Mr. Longfellow's poem, "The Three Silences," is one of unusual beauty. THE THREE SILENCES OF MOLINOS. "Three Silences there are: the first of speech, The second of desire, the third of thought; This is the lore a Spanish monk, distraught With dreams and visions, was the first to teach. These Silences, commingling each with each Made up the perfect Silence, that he sought And prayed for, and wherein at times he caught Mysterious sounds from realms beyond our reach. O thou, whose daily life anticipates The life to come, and in whose thought and word The spiritual world preponderates, Hermit of Amesbury! thou too hast heard Voices and melodies from beyond the gates, And speakest only when thy soul is stirred!" There were letters from the poet Bryant, the historian George Bancroft, Colonel T. W. Higginson, and Mrs. H. B. Stowe; and there was a pleasant description of the Danvers home by Charles B. Rice. Mr. Whittier's "Response" was published in the January number of the paper:-- "Beside that milestone where the level sun, Nigh unto setting, sheds his last, low rays On word and work irrevocably done, Life's blending threads of good and ill outspun, I hear, O friends! your words of cheer and praise, Half doubtful if myself or otherwise. Like him who, in the old Arabian joke, A beggar slept and crowned Caliph woke." The anniversary of the founding of the _Atlantic Monthly_ happening to be synchronous with Whittier's birthday, the publishers determined to make a double festival of the occasion. The gathering at the Hotel Brunswick was a brilliant one, and the invitations were not limited by any clique or any sectional lines. In this same month the admirers of Mr. Whittier in Haverhill, Newburyport, and neighboring towns, formed a Whittier Club, its annual meetings to be held on December 17. The ladies of Amesbury presented to the poet on his birthday a richly finished Russia-leather portfolio, containing fourteen beautiful sketches in water-colors of scenes in and about Amesbury, by a talented Amesbury artist. The subjects of the sketches are those scenes which he has immortalized in his poems, and include his home, birthplace, the old school-house, old Quaker Meeting-House, Rivermouth Rocks, etc. The portfolio was presented to him at Oak Knoll, accompanied by a basket of exquisite flowers. Since taking up his residence in Danvers, the poet has published "The Vision of Echard, and Other Poems,"--including the beautiful ballad, "The Witch of Wenham,"--and "The King's Missive, and Other Poems." CHAPTER VIII. PERSONAL. As a boy, Whittier grew up slender, delicate, and shy, with dark hair and dark eyes; his nature silent and brooding, gentle, compassionate, religious, and sensitive to the beauty of the external world. He is of the nervous temperament, and his health has never been robust. Indeed, in later life the state of his health has often been precarious, and his plans for work have been at the mercy of his nerves. As a young man, and crowned Laureate of Freedom, Whittier must have presented a striking appearance, with his raven hair, and glittering black eyes flashing with the inspiration of a great cause. Mr. J. Miller McKim, a member with Whittier of the famous Anti-Slavery Convention held in Philadelphia in 1833, thus describes the poet:-- "He wore a dark frock-coat with standing collar, which, with his thin hair, dark and sometimes flashing eyes, and black whiskers,--not large, but noticeable in those unhirsute days,--gave him, to my then unpractised eye, quite as much of a military as a Quaker aspect. His broad, square forehead and well-cut features, aided by his incipient reputation as a poet, made him quite a noticeable feature in the convention." Frederika Bremer, in her "Sketches of American Homes," gives an outline portrait of Whittier as he appeared when forty years of age:-- "He has a good exterior, a figure slender and tall, a beautiful head with refined features, black eyes full of fire, dark complexion, a fine smile, and lively but very nervous manner. Both soul and spirit have overstrained the nervous cords and wasted the body. He belongs to those natures who would advance with firmness and joy to martyrdom in a good cause, and yet who are never comfortable in society, and who look as if they would run out of the door every moment. He lives with his mother and sister in a country-house to which I have promised to go. I feel that I should enjoy myself with Whittier, and could make him feel at ease with me. I know from my own experience what this nervous bashfulness, caused by the over-exertion of the brain, requires, and how persons who suffer therefrom ought to be met and treated." * * * * * George W. Bungay, in his "Crayon Sketches" of distinguished Americans, published in 1852, gives the following picture of Whittier: "His temperament is nervous-bilious; [he] is tall, slender and straight as an Indian; has a superb head; his brow looks like a white cloud under his raven hair; eyes large, black as sloes, and glowing with expression,-- ... those star-like eyes dashing under such a magnificent forehead." * * * * * A writer in the _Democratic Review_ for August, 1845, speaks of "the fine intellectual beauty of his expression, the blending brightness and softness of the clear dark eye, the union of manly firmness and courage with womanly sweetness and tenderness alike in countenance and character." * * * * * Mr. David A. Wasson says that Whittier is of the Saracenic or Hebrew prophet type: "The high cranium, so lofty, especially in the dome,--the slight and symmetrical backward slope of the _whole_ head,--the powerful level brows, and beneath these the dark, deep eyes, so full of shadowed fire,--the Arabian complexion,--the sharp-cut, intense lines of the face,--the light, tall, erect stature,--the quick, axial poise of the movement,"--all these traits reveal the fiery Semitic prophet. * * * * * The long backward and upward slope of the head, alluded to by Mr. Wasson, is very striking. It is the head of Walter Scott or of Emerson. Whittier is now an old man, somewhat hard of hearing, and with the fixed sadness of time upon his pleasant face. But ever and anon, as you converse with him, his countenance is irradiated by a sudden smile, sweet and strange and full of benignity,--like a waft of perfume from a bed of white violets, or a glint of rich sunlight on an April day. His is one of those Emersonian natures that everybody loves at first sight. The very mole under the right eye seems somehow the birth-mark or sign-manual of kindliness. The quaint grammatical solecisms of the Quaker and the New England farmer--the "thee's" and the omission of the _g_'s from present participles and other words ending in "ing"--give to the poet's conversation a certain slight piquancy and picturesqueness.[17] About half-past nine every morning, when at Amesbury, Mr. Whittier walks down for the mail and the news, and perhaps has a chat with some neighbor on the street, or with the country editor who is setting up in type his own editorials while he grimly rolls his quid of tobacco in his cheek. In the spring and early summer the poet's dress will be after this fashion: black coat and vest, gray pantaloons, cinnamon-colored overcoat, drab tile hat, and perhaps a small gray tippet around his neck. As he walks, he salutes those whom he meets with a little jerky bow. A forty years' residence in Amesbury has made him acquainted with almost everybody, and he might, therefore, very properly be somewhat economical of exertion in his salutations. But his abrupt bow is really the expression of that unbending rectitude and noble pride in individual freedom that made him the reformer and the poet of liberty. As a single instance of Whittier's kind-heartedness, take the following incident, narrated by an anonymous writer in the _Literary World_ for December, 1877: "When I was a young man trying to get an education, I went about the country peddling sewing-silk to help myself through college; and one Saturday night found me at Amesbury, a stranger and without a lodging-place. It happened that the first house at which I called was Whittier's, and he himself came to the door. On hearing my request he said he was very sorry that he could not keep me, but it was quarterly meeting and his house was full. He, however, took the trouble to show me to a neighbor's, where he left me; but that did not seem to wholly suit his idea of hospitality, for in the course of the evening he made his appearance, saying that it had occurred to him that he could sleep on a lounge, and give up his own bed to me,--which it is, perhaps, needless to say, was not allowed. But this was not all. The next morning he came again, with the suggestion that I might perhaps like to attend meeting, inviting me to go with him; and he gave me a seat next to himself. The meeting lasted an hour, during which there was not a word spoken by any one. We all sat in silence that length of time, then all arose, shook hands and dispersed; and I remember it as one of the best meetings I ever attended." [Footnote 17: The writer remembers once speaking with a laborer whom Mr. Whittier had employed. The good fellow could not conceal his admiration for the poet, "Why," he said, "you wouldn't think it, would you, but he talks just like common folks. We was talkin' about the apples one day, and he said, 'Some years they ain't wuth pickin','--just like anybody, you know; ain't stuck up at all, and yet he's a great man, you know. He likes to talk with farmers and common folks; he don't go much with the bigbugs;--one of the nicest men, and liberal with his money, too."] * * * * * Dom Pedro II., Emperor of Brazil, is a reader of Mr. Whittier's poems, and an ardent admirer of his genius. He has exchanged letters with him, both in regard to poetry and to the emancipation of slaves.[18] When his Majesty was in this country, in 1876, he expressed a wish to meet Mr. Whittier, and on Wednesday evening, June 14, a little reception was arranged by Mrs. John T. Sargent at her Chestnut Street home, a few prominent persons having been invited to be present. "When the Emperor arrived, the other guests had already assembled. Sending up his card, his Majesty followed it with the quickness of an enthusiastic school-boy; and his first question, after somewhat hastily paying his greetings, was for Mr. Whittier. The poet stepped forward to meet his imperial admirer, who would fain have caught him in his arms and embraced him warmly, with all the enthusiasm of the Latin race. The diffident Friend seemed somewhat abashed at so demonstrative a greeting, but with a cordial grasp of the hand drew Dom Pedro to the sofa, where the two chatted easily and with the familiarity of old friends. [Footnote 18: The Emperor has translated Whittier's "Cry of a Lost Soul" into Portuguese, and has sent to the poet several specimens of the Amazonian bird whose peculiar note suggested the poem.] "The rest of the company allowed them to enjoy their _tête-à-tête_ for some half hour, when they ventured to interrupt it, and the Emperor joined very heartily in a general conversation." As the Emperor was driving away, he was seen standing erect in his open barouche, and "waving his hat, with a seeming hurrah, at the house which held his venerable friend."[19] [Footnote 19: Mrs. Sargent's "Sketches and Reminiscences of the Radical Club," pp. 301, 302.] * * * * * As a specimen of Mr. Whittier's genial and winning epistolary style, it is permissible to quote here a letter of his, addressed to Mrs. John T. Sargent, and included by her in her sketches of the Radical Club:-- "AMESBURY, Wednesday Eve. "MY DEAR MRS. SARGENT,--Few stronger inducements could be held out to me than that in thy invitation to meet Lucretia Mott and Mary Carpenter. But I do not see that I can possibly go to Boston this week. None the less do I thank thee, my dear friend, in thinking of me in connection with their visit. "My love to Lucretia Mott, and tell her I have never forgotten the kind welcome and generous sympathy she gave the young abolitionist at a time when he found small favor with his 'orthodox' brethren. What a change she and I have lived to see! I hope to meet Miss Carpenter before she leaves us. For this, and for all thy kindness in times past, believe me gratefully thy friend, "JOHN G. WHITTIER." The modesty and shyness of the poet have already been more than once alluded to. They form his most distinctive personal or constitutional peculiarity. It is unnecessary to quote from his writings to illustrate what is patent to everybody who reads his books, or knows anything about him. The poet's personal friends know well that he has a good deal of genial, mellow humorousness in his nature. To get an idea of it, read his charming prose sketches of home and rural life, and such poems as the whimsical, enigmatical "Demon of the Study," as well as "The Pumpkin," "To My Old Schoolmaster," and the "Double-Headed Snake of Newbury." These poems almost equal Holmes's for rich and _riant_ humor. It is not so well known as it ought to be that the author of "Snow-Bound" has as deep a love of children as had Longfellow. Before the Bearcamp House was burned to the ground in 1880, Mr. Whittier used sometimes to come up from Amesbury with a whole bevy of little misses about him, and at the hotel the wee folk hailed him as one of those dear old fellows whom they always love at sight. It is said that Edward Lear--the friend of Tennyson, and author of "Nonsense Verses" for children--used to make a hobby-horse of himself in the castles of Europe, and treat his little friends to a gallop over the carpet on his back. If Mr. Whittier never got quite so far as this in juvenile equestrianism, he has at least equally endeared himself to the children who have had the good fortune to look into his loving eyes and enjoy the sunshine of his smile. When sitting by the fireside, or stretched at ease on the fragrant hay in the barn or field, or walking among the hills, nothing pleases him better than to have an audience of young folks eagerly listening to one of his stories. If they are engaged in a game of archery, he will take a hand in the sport, and no one is better pleased than he to hit the white. His unfailing kindness in answering the many letters addressed to him by young literary aspirants, or by others who desire his advice and help, is something admirable: no one knows how to win hearts better than he. * * * * * To these notes of personal traits it only remains to add a list of the offices of dignity and honor which have been held by Mr. Whittier. Besides his various editorial, secretarial, and legislative positions, he served as Overseer of Harvard College from 1858 to 1863. He was a member of the Electoral College in 1860 and in 1864. The degree of Master of Arts was bestowed upon him by Harvard College in 1860, and the same degree by Haverford College in the same year. He was elected a resident member of the American Philosophical Society in 1864, but never accepted the honor, notwithstanding the fact that his name appeared for two or three years on the Society's roll. In 1871 he was made a Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. PART II. ANALYSIS OF HIS GENIUS AND WRITINGS. CHAPTER I. THE MAN. _"Not by the page word-painted Let life be banned or sainted: Deeper than written scroll The colors of the soul."_ MY TRIUMPH. To analyze and describe the _poetry_ of Whittier is a comparatively easy task, for it is all essentially lyrical or descriptive, and is resolvable into a few simple elements. His poetry is not profound; but it is sweet and melodious,--now flashing with the fire of freedom and choked with passionate indignation, and now purling and rippling through the tranquil meadows of legend and song. Such a poem as Emerson's "Sphinx," groaning with its weight of mystical meaning, Whittier never wrote, nor could write. Neither is he dramatic, nor skilled in the subtile harmonies of rhythm and metre. As an artist he is easily comprehensible. But to fathom the _man_,--to drop one's plummet into the infinite depths of the human mind, to peer about with one's little candle among the dusty phantoms and spent forces of the past, and through the endlessly crossing and interblending meshes trace confidently up all the greater and the finer hereditary influences that have moulded a human character,--and then discover and weigh the post-natal forces that have acted upon that character through a long and varied life,--this is a very difficult task, and demands in him who would undertake it a union of historic imagination with caution and modesty. * * * * * The moral in Whittier predominates over the æsthetic, the reformer over the artist. "I am a man, and I feel that I am above all else a man." What is the great central element in our poet's character, if it is not that deep, never-smouldering moral fervor, that unquenchable love of freedom, that-- "Hate of tyranny intense, And hearty in its vehemence," which, mixed with the beauty and melody of his soul, gives to his pages a delicate glow as of gold-hot iron; which crowns him the Laureate of Freedom in his day, and imparts to his utterances the manly ring of the prose of Milton and Hugo and the poetry of Byron, Swinburne, and Whitman,--all poets of freedom like himself? [Illustration: Handwriting: John G. Whittier] And what is love of freedom but the mainspring of Democracy? And what is Democracy but the rallying-cry of the age, the one word of the present, the one word of the future, the word of all words, and the white, electric beacon-light of modern life? At the apex of modern Democracy stands Jesus of Nazareth; at its base stand the poets and heroes of freedom of the past hundred years. Christian Democracy has had its revolutions, its religious ferments and revolts, and its emancipations of slaves. Quakerism is one of its outcomes. Democracy produced George Fox; George Fox produced Quakerism; Quakerism produced Whittier; Whittier helped destroy slavery. He could not help doing so, for with slavery both Democracy and Quakerism are incompatible. Whittier fought slavery as a Quaker, he has lived as a Quaker, and written as a Quaker; he has never fully emancipated himself from the shackles of the sect. To understand him, therefore, we must understand his religion. * * * * * The principles of the sect are all summed up in the phrases _Freedom_ and the _Inner Light_. Historically considered, Quakerism is a product of the ferment that followed the civil war in England two centuries ago. Considered abstractly, or as a congeries of principles, it has a sociological and a philosophical root, both of these running back into the great tap-root, love of freedom, whose iron-tough, writhen fibres enwrap the dark foundation rocks of human nature itself. Sociologically speaking, Quakerism is pure democracy, an exaltation of the majesty of the individual and of the mass of the people. It is the pure precipitate of Christianity. It is a protest against the hypocrisy, formalism, tyranny, of priestcraft, king-craft, and aristocracy. Philosophically, its theory of the Inner Light is identical with the doctrine of idealism or innate ideas, held by Descartes, Fichte, Schelling, Cousin. It means individualism, a return to the primal sanities of the soul. "I think, therefore I am." My thinking soul is the ultimate source of ideas and truth. In that serene holy of holies full-grown ideas leap into being,--subjective, _a priori_, needing no sense-perception for their genesis. But Transcendentalism differed from Quakerism in this: the former held that the illumination of the mind was a natural process; but Quakerism maintains that it is a supernatural process, the work of the "Holy Ghost." And herein Quakerism is inferior to Transcendentalism. But it is superior to it in that it does not believe in the infallibility of individual intuitions, but considers the true criterion of truth to be the universal reason, the "consensus of the competent." Yet the great danger that pertains to all moonshiny, or subjective, systems of philosophy is that their individualism will spindle out into wild extravagances of theory, and foolish eccentricities of manner and dress; and we shall find that, practically, Quakerism has as Quixotic a record as Transcendentalism. To say that both systems have performed noble and indispensable service in the development of mind is but to utter a truism. * * * * * We may now consider a little more closely the peculiarities of doctrine and life which characterize the Friends. The doctrine of the Inner Light, or pure spirituality, resulted in such tenets as these: the freedom of conscience; the soul the fountain of all truth, worthlessness of tradition and unsanctified learning; the conscience or voice within the judge of the Bible or Written Word; disbelief in witchcraft, ghosts, and other superstitions; love of friends and enemies, the potency of moral suasion, moral ideas, and as a consequence the wickedness of war, and a belief in human progress as the result of peaceable industry; universal enfranchisement, every man and woman may be enlightened by the Inner Light,--hence equality of privilege, no distinction between clergy or laity or between sex and sex,--the right of woman to develop her entire nature as she sees fit. In the principles which define the attitude of the Quaker toward social conventions, we find a queer jumble of the doctrines of primitive Christianity with the ideas of individual independence innate in the Germanic mind, and especially in the popular mind.[20] The Christian gospel of love forbids the Quakers to countenance war, capital punishment, imprisonment for debt, slavery, suppressment of the right of free speech and the right of petition. Their doctrine of equality in virtue of spiritual illumination forbids them to remove their hats in presence of any human being, even a king; leads them to avoid the use of the plural "you," as savoring of man-worship, and to refuse to employ a hired priesthood. Their doctrine of pure spirituality is inconsistent with sacerdotal rites and mummeries, such as baptism, the eucharist, forms of common prayer, etc. Music, poetry, painting, and dancing also have a worldly savor and tend to distract the mind from its spiritual life. So do rich and gaudy robes: we must therefore have simplicity of dress. Hear William Penn on this subject:[21]-- "I say, if sin brought the first coat, poor Adam's offspring have little reason to be proud or curious in their clothes.... It is all one as if a man who had lost his nose by a scandalous distemper, should take pains to set out a false one, in such shape and splendor as should give the greater occasion for all to gaze upon him; as if he would tell them he had lost his nose, for fear they would think he had not. But would a wise man be in love with a false nose, though ever so rich, and however finely made?" [Footnote 20: The same sterling material that went to the making of the Quaker went also to the making of the Puritan farmer-and-artisan victors of Naseby, and Worcester, and Marston Moor. The same faults characterized each class. In stiff-backed independence and scorn of the gilt-edged poetry of conventional manners, and in the absurd extreme to which they carried that independence and scorn, the Quaker and the Puritan were alike. Only the Quaker out-puritaned the Puritan,--was much more consistent in his fanatical purism, scrawny asceticism, and contempt for distinguished manners and the noble imaginative arts.] [Footnote 21: In his work "No Cross, No Crown."] * * * * * A natural corollary of the Friends' doctrine of inward supernatural illumination is their habit of silent worship, or silent waiting.[22] It is probable that this feature of their religious gatherings has done much to cultivate that peculiar tranquillity of demeanor which distinguishes them.[23] They meet the burdens, bereavements, and disappointments of life with a placid equanimity in strong antithesis to the often passionate grief and rebellion of other classes of religious people. Finally, we may add to the list of their characteristics their great moral sincerity. "With calm resoluteness they tell you your faults face to face, and without exciting your ill-will." [Footnote 22: Their ideas on this subject are very well stated in the following words taken from a Quaker pamphlet by Mary Brook: "Solomon saith, 'The preparations of the heart in man, and the answer of the tongue, are from the Lord.' If the Lord alone can prepare the heart, stir it up, or incline it towards unfeigned holiness, how can any man approach him acceptably, till his heart be prepared by him?--and how can he know this preparation except he wait in silence to feel it?"] [Footnote 23: See Appendix I.] The objections to the Quakerism of our day are that it is retractile, stationary, negative; it is selfish, narrow, ascetic, tame; it has no iron in its blood; it rarely adds anything to the world's thought. The Quakers are a hopelessly antiquated sect, a dying branch almost wholly severed from connection with the living forces of the tree of modern society. There are, it is true, a goodly number of liberal Quakers, who, in discarding the peculiar costume of the time of Charles II., which many of them even yet wear, have also thrown off the intellectual mummy-robes of the sect. Many adopt the tenets of Unitarianism, or make that religious body the stepping-stone to complete emancipation from an obsolete system of thought. But the mass of them are immovable. They have been characterized substantially in the following words by Mr. A. M. Powell, himself a Quaker by birth, and an unwilling witness to the faults of a system of doctrines in which he sees much to admire:-- "In its merely sectarian aspect, Quakerism is as uninteresting, narrow, timid, selfish, and conservative as is mere sectarianism under any other name. The Quakers have little comprehension of the meaning of Quakerism beyond a blind observance of the peculiarities of dress and speech and the formality of the Meeting. They cling to the now meaningless protests of the past. They are inaccessible to new conceptions of truth. They have dishonored the important fundamental principle [of the Inner Light] and tarnished the Society's good name by subordinating it to narrow views of religion, to commercial selfishness, and to the prevalent palsying conservatism of the outside world."[24] [Footnote 24: Mrs. John T. Sargent's "Sketches and Reminiscences of the Radical Club."] * * * * * In all that is said in these pages by way of criticism of the Quakers, reference is had solely to their doctrines as a system of thought. Of their sweet and beautiful _lives_ it is hardly necessary to speak at length. Volumes might be filled with instances of their large-hearted benevolence and personal self-sacrifice in care for others. The loveliness of their lives is like a beautiful perfume in the society in which they move. As you see the Quaker women of Philadelphia, with their pure, tranquil faces, and plain, immaculate dress, moving about among the greedy and vile-mannered non-Quaker _canaille_ of that democratic city, they seem like Christian and Faithful amid the crowds of Vanity Fair. Their faces are like a benediction, and you thank heaven for them. The liberal Friends in America have many great and noble names on their roll of honor. And surely a sect that has produced such characters as Lucretia Mott, John Bright, and John G. Whittier, must win our intellectual respect. But it is only because these persons, like Milton, were in most respects above their sect that we admire them. There are proofs manifold, however, throughout the prose and poetry of Whittier that he has nominally remained within the pale of Quakerism all his days. Doubtless such a course was essential to the very existence in him of poetic inspiration. His genius is wholly lyrical. A song or lyric is the outgushing of pure emotion. Especially in the case of the religious and ethical lyrist is faith life, and doubt death. Doubt, in Whittier's case, would have meant the cessation of his songs. To break away entirely from the faith of his fathers would have chilled his inspiration. He has not, it is true, escaped the conflict with doubt. As we shall see, no man has had a severer struggle to reconcile his faith with the terror and mystery of life. But, although his religious views have been liberalized by science, yet he has never ceased to retain a hearty sympathy with, and belief in, the Quaker principles of the Inner Light, silent waiting, etc. That he has remained within the pale of Quakerism has been an injury to him as well as a help. It makes him obtrude his sectarianism too frequently, especially in his prose writings. By the very nature of the creed, he must either be blind to its faults, or constantly put on the defensive against the least assault, from whatever quarter it may come. When he dons the garb of the sectary, he naturally becomes weakened, and loses his chief charm. We see then that he is a man hampered by a creed which forbids a catholic sympathy with human nature. He is shut up in the narrow field of sectarian morals and religion. He cannot, for example, enter, by historical imagination, into poetical sympathy with the gorgeous ritual and dreamy beauty of a European cathedral service. And yet so pure, gentle, and sweet is his nature that it is hard to censure him for this peculiarity. It is regret rather than censure that we feel, regret that he has been so bound by circumstances that prevented his breaking wholly away from hampering limitations, and to be always, what he so often is, the strong and sweet-voiced spokesman of the heart of humanity. Let us hear his gentle confessions of faith. In the autobiographical poem, "My Namesake," we read:-- "He worshipped as his fathers did, And kept the faith of childish days, And, howsoe'er he strayed or slid, He loved the good old ways. The simple tastes, the kindly traits, The tranquil air, and gentle speech, The silence of the soul that waits For more than man to teach." In "The Meeting" he has given us an "Apologia pro Vita Sua,"--a defence of his religious habits. He says he is accustomed to meet with the Friends twice a week in the little "Meeting" at Amesbury, chiefly for two reasons: first, because in the silent, unadorned house, with "pine-laid floor," his religious communings are not distracted by outward things as they would be if he worshipped always amid the solitudes of nature; and, secondly, he finds in "The Meeting" a heart-solace in the memories of dear ones passed away, who once sat by his side there. He says, in reference to the Quaker service:-- "I ask no organ's soulless breath To drone the themes of life and death, No altar candle-lit by day, No ornate wordsman's rhetoric-play, No cool philosophy to teach Its bland audacities of speech, * * * * * No pulpit hammered by the fist Of loud-asserting dogmatist." In "Memories" he says:-- "Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, While answers to my spirit's need The Derby dalesman's simple truth. For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, And holy day and solemn psalm; For me, the silent reverence where My brethren gather slow and calm." There are two epochs in the religious or philosophical development of Whittier. The first--that of simple piety unclouded by doubt, the epoch of unhesitating acceptance of the popular mythology--seems to have lasted until about 1850, or the period of early Darwinism and Spencerianism,--the most momentous epoch in the religious history of the world. This pivotal point is very well marked by the publication, in 1853, of "The Chapel of the Hermits" and "Questions of Life." It is now that harrowing doubt begins, and restless striving to retain the faith amid new conditions and a vastly widened mental horizon. Transcendentalism, too, had just passed the noon meridian of its splendor. Emerson had written many of his exquisite philosophical poems, and Parker had blown his clear bugle-call to a higher religious life. It is evident that Whittier was--as, indeed, he could not help being--profoundly moved by the new spirit of the times. With Transcendentalism he must have had large sympathy, owing to the similarity of its principles to those of Quakerism. And that he was profoundly agitated by the revelations of science his poetry shows. In "My Soul and I" (a poem remarkable for its searching subjective analysis), and in the poem "Follen," he had given expression to religious doubt, over which, as always in his case, faith was triumphant. But it is in "The Chapel of the Hermits" and succeeding poems that he first gave free and full utterance to the doubt and struggle of soul that was not his alone, but which was felt by all around him. In respect of doubt "My Soul and I" and "Questions of Life" resemble "Faust," as well as Tennyson's "Two Voices" and the "In Memoriam." "Life's mystery wrapped him like a cloud; He heard far voices mock his own, The sweep of wings unseen, the loud, Long roll of waves unknown. The arrows of his straining sight Fell quenched in darkness; priest and sage Like lost guides calling left and right, Perplexed his doubtful age. Like childhood, listening for the sound Of its dropped pebbles in the well, All vainly down the dark profound His brief-lined plummet fell." _My Namesake_ The "Questions of Life" are such as these:-- "I am: but little more I know! Whence came I? Whither do I go? A centred self, which feels and is; A cry between the silences." * * * * * "This conscious life,--is it the same Which thrills the universal frame?" * * * * * "Do bird and blossom feel, like me, Life's many-folded mystery,-- The wonder which it is _To Be_? Or stand I severed and distinct, From Nature's chain of life unlinked?" Such questions as these he confesses himself unable to answer. He shrinks back terrified from the task. He will not dare to trifle with their bitter logic. He will take refuge in faith; he will trust the Unseen; let us cease foolish questioning, and live wisely and well our present lives. He comes out of the struggle purified and chastened, still holding by his faith in God and virtue. A good deal of the old Quakerism is gone,--the belief in hell, in the Messianic and atonement machinery, in local and special avatars, etc. Again and again, in his later poems, he asserts the humanity of Christ and the co-equal divinity of all men: see "Miriam," for example. His opinion about hell he embodies in the sweet little poem, "The Minister's Daughter," published in "The King's Missive." In short, his religion is a simple and trustful theism. But there is no evidence that he has ever incorporated into his mind the principles of the development-science,--the evolution of man, the correlation of forces, the development of the universe through its own inner divine potency; or, in fine, any of the unteleological, unanthropomorphic explanations of things which are necessitated by science, and admitted by advanced thinkers, both in and out of the Churches. As witnesses to his trustful attitude, we may select such a cluster of stanzas as this:-- "Yet, sometimes glimpses on my sight, Through present wrong, the eternal right; And, step by step, since time began, I see the steady gain of man; That all of good the past hath had Remains to make our own time glad,-- Our common daily life divine, And every land a Palestine. * * * * * Through the harsh noises of our day A low, sweet prelude finds its way; Through clouds of doubt, and creeds of fear, A light is breaking calm and clear." _Chapel of the Hermits_ "Yet, in the maddening maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed stake my spirit clings; I know that God is good! * * * * * "I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care." _The Eternal Goodness._ "When on my day of life the night is falling, And in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, I hear far voices out of darkness calling My feet to paths unknown, Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, Leave not its tenant when its walls decay; O love divine, O Helper ever present, Be Thou my strength and stay!" _At Last._ "Dear Lord and Father of mankind, Forgive our foolish ways! Reclothe us in our rightful mind, In purer lives thy service find, In deeper reverence, praise." _The Brewing of Soma._ But Whittier is as remarkable for his faith in man as for his faith in God. He is in the highest degree patriotic, American. He loves America because it is the land of freedom. It has been charged against him that he is no true American poet, but a Quaker poet. The American, it is said, is eager, aggressive, high-spirited, combative; the Quaker, subdued and phlegmatic. The American is loud and boastful and daring and reckless; the Quaker, cautious, timid, secretive, and frugal. This is undoubtedly true of the classes as types, but it is far from being true of Whittier personally. He has blood militant in him. He comes of Puritan as well as Quaker stock. The Greenleafs and the Batchelders were not Quakers. The reader will perhaps remember the Lieutenant Greenleaf, already mentioned, who fought through the entire Civil War in England.[25] But his writings alone furnish ample proof of his martial spirit. The man and the Quaker struggle within him for the mastery; and the man is, on the whole, triumphant. Whenever his Quakerism permits, he stands out a normal man and a genuine American. As Lowell says:-- "There is Whittier, whose swelling and vehement heart Strains the strait-breasted drab of the Quaker apart, And reveals the live Man still supreme and erect Underneath the bemummying wrappers of sect." [Footnote 25: Hear Whittier himself on the subject:-- "Without intending any disparagement of my peaceable ancestry for many generations, I have still strong suspicions that somewhat of the old Norman blood, something of the grim Berserker spirit, has been bequeathed to me. How else can I account for the intense childish eagerness with which I listened to the stories of old campaigners who sometimes fought their battles over again in my hearing? Why did I, in my young fancy, go up with Jonathan, the son of Saul, to smite the garrisoned Philistines of Michmash, or with the fierce son of Nun against the cities of Canaan? Why was Mr. Greatheart, in Pilgrim's Progress, my favorite character? What gave such fascination to the grand Homeric encounter between Christian and Apollyon in the valley? Why did I follow Ossian over Morven's battle-fields, exulting in the vulture-screams of the blind scald over his fallen enemies? Still, later, why did the newspapers furnish me with subjects for hero-worship in the half-demented Sir Gregor McGregor, and Ypsilanti at the head of his knavish Greeks? I can account for it only on the supposition that the mischief was inherited,--an heirloom from the old sea-kings of the ninth century."--_Prose Works, II._, 390, 391.] If anybody will take the trouble to glance over the complete works of Whittier, he or she will find that one of the predominant characteristics of his writings is their indigenous quality, their national spirit. Indeed, this is almost too notorious to need mention. He, if any one, merits the proud title of "A Representative American Poet." His whole soul is on fire with love of country. As in the case of Whitman, his country is his bride, and upon it he has showered all the affectional wealth of his nature. The Quaker may be too obtrusive in his prose writings, but it is not so in the greater and better portion of his poetry. When the rush and glow of genuine poetical inspiration seize him, he invariably rises in spirit far above the weltering and eddying dust-clouds of faction and sect into the serene atmosphere of genuine patriotism. Read his "Last Walk in Autumn," where he says:-- "Home of my heart! to me more fair Than gay Versailles or Windsor's halls, The painted, shingly town-house where The freeman's vote for Freedom falls!" Read his "Eve of Election":-- "Not lightly fall Beyond recall The written scrolls a breath can float; The crowning fact, The kingliest act Of Freedom is the freeman's vote!" Or take "After Election," a poem that cannot be read without a thrill of the nerves and a leaping of the heart. You have concentrated in that wild lyric burst the purest essence of democratic patriotism,--the trembling anxiety and yearning of a mother-heart. It is a poem celebrating a victory of peace with all the fiery energy of a war-ode (a significant fact that the advocates of gory war, as a source of poetic inspiration, would do well to ponder):-- "The day's sharp strife is ended now, Our work is done, God knoweth how! As on the thronged, unrestful town The patience of the moon looks down, I wait to hear, beside the wire, The voices of its tongues of fire. Slow, doubtful, faint, they seem at first: Be strong, my heart, to know the worst! Hark!--there the Alleghanies spoke; That sound from lake and prairie broke, That sunset gun of triumph rent The silence of a continent! That signal from Nebraska sprung, This, from Nevada's mountain tongue! Is that thy answer, strong and free, O loyal heart of Tennessee? What strange, glad voice is that which calls From Wagner's grave and Sumter's walls? From Mississippi's fountain-head A sound as of the bison's tread! There rustled freedom's Charter Oak! In that wild burst the Ozarks spoke! Cheer answers cheer from rise to set Of sun. We have a country yet!" To sum up now our analysis of the poet's character. We have seen that the central trait of his mind is love of freedom. (Even his religion, which is so profound an element in his nature, and so all-pervasive in his writings, will be found, on a deep analysis, to be a yearning for freedom from the trappings of sense and time, in order to attain to a spiritual union with the Infinite.) This love of freedom, this hatred of oppression, intensified by persecution, both ancestral and personal, stimulated by contact with Puritan democracy, as well as by the New England Transcendental movement, and flowering out luxuriantly in the long struggle against slavery,--this noble sentiment, and that long self-sacrificing personal warfare in behalf of the oppressed, form the true glory of Whittier's character. Shy, timid, almost an invalid, having a nervous horror of mobs and personal indignities, he yet forgot himself in his love of Man, overcame and underwent,--suffered social martyrdom for a quarter of a century, never flinching, never holding his peace for bread's sake or fame's sake, not stopping to count the cost, taking his life in his hand, and never ceasing to express his high-born soul in burning invective and scathing satire against the oppressor, or in words of lofty hope and cheer for the suffering idealist and lover of humanity, whoever and wherever he was. Whittier is a hero as well as a poet. He will be known to posterity by a few exquisite poems, but chiefly by his moral heroism and patriotism. As a thinker and a poet he belongs, with Bryant and Longfellow, to the pre-scientific age. The poetry of the future (of the new era of self-consciousness) will necessarily differ widely from that of the first half of this century. It will not be distinctively the poetry of Wordsworth, or Cowper, or Byron, or Longfellow, or Whittier. When the present materialistic and realistic temper of mind disappears from literature, and really noble ideal poetry returns, it will be vast in its scope and range, robust in its philosophy, unfettered by petty rhymes and classicisms, but powerfully rhythmic and harmonious. The writings of Shakspere, Goethe, Jean Paul, Hugo, Tennyson, Whitman, and Emerson are the magnificent proem to it. It will be built upon a scientific and religious cosmism. It will not discuss Apollo and Luna and Neptune, and the nymphs and muses, but will draw its imagery from the heaven-staining red-flames of the sun, the gulfs of space, the miracles of organic and inorganic life, and human society. It will draw its inspiration not more from the storied past than from the storied future foreseen by its prophetic eye. It will idealize human life and deify nature. It will fall in the era of imagination. (After it will come another age of criticism.) It will fall in the age of splendid democracies. And in that age men will look back with veneration, not so much, perhaps, to the scholar-poets as to the hero-poets, like Whittier, who put faith in the rights of man and woman, who did believe in divine democracy, and were not ashamed of it, but nursed it patiently through its puling infancy, well assured of its undying grandeur when it should come to man's estate. We subjoin fittingly to this chapter a characteristic letter of Mr. Whittier's, in which he speaks lovingly of Robert Burns, that other poet of freedom and independence of thought for all men. At the Burns festival in Washington, 1869, the following letter from John G. Whittier was read: "AMESBURY, 1st month, 18th day, 1869. "DEAR FRIEND,--I thank the club represented by thee for remembering me on the occasion of its annual festival. Though I have never been able to trace my ancestry to the Land o' Cakes, I have--and I know it is saying a great deal--a Scotchman's love for the poet whose fame deepens and broadens with years. The world has never known a truer singer. We may criticise his rustic verse and compare his brief and simple lyrics with the works of men of longer scrolls and loftier lyres; but after rendering to Wordsworth, Tennyson and Browning the homage which the intellect owes to genius, we turn to Burns, if not with awe and reverence, [yet] with a feeling of personal interest and affection. We admire others; we love him. As the day of his birth comes round, I take down his well-worn volume in grateful commemoration, and feel that I am communing with one whom living I could have loved as much for his true manhood and native nobility of soul as for those wonderful songs of his which shall sing themselves forever. "They know little of Burns who regard him as an aimless versifier--'the idle singer of an idle lay.' Pharisees in the Church, and oppressors in the State, knew better than this. They felt those immortal sarcasms which did not die with the utterer, but lived on to work out the divine commission of Providence. In the shout of enfranchised millions, as they lift the untitled Quaker of Rochdale into the British Cabinet, I seem to hear the voice of the Ayrshire poet:-- "'For a' that and a' that, It's comin' yet for a' that; That man to man the world o'er Shall brothers be for a' that.' "With hearty sympathy and kind greetings for the Burns Club of Washington, "I am, very truly, thy friend, "JOHN G. WHITTIER." CHAPTER II. THE ARTIST. The title of this chapter is almost a misnomer; for the style, or technique, of the poet whose works we are considering is so very simple and unoriginal that he can hardly be said to have a distinctive style of his own,--unless a few persistent mannerisms establish a claim to it. His diction, however, is always pictorial, and glows with an intense Oriental fervor. Fused in this interior vital heat, his thoughts do not sink, like powerful Jinn, into the deep silence-sphere of the mind, to fetch thence sparkling treasures, rich and strange: rather, they run to and fro with lightning swiftness amid the million surface-pictures of the intellect; rearranging, recombining, and creatively blending its images, and finally pouring them out along the page to charm our fancy and feeling with old thoughts and scenes painted in fresh colors and from new points of view. There is more of fancy than of creative imagination in Whittier. * * * * * The artistic quality, or tone, of his mind is a fusion of that of Wordsworth and that of Byron. In his best ballads and other lyrics you have the moral sincerity of Wordsworth and the sweet Wordsworthian simplicity (with a difference); and in his reform poems you have the Byronic indignation, and scorn of Philistinism and its tyrannies. As a religious poet, he reveals the quiet piety and devoutness of Cowper; and his rural and folk poems show that he is a debtor to Burns. * * * * * He has been a diligent reader,--"a close-browed miser of the scholar's gains,"--and his writings are full of bookish allusions. But, if the truth must be told, his doctor's gown does not often sit gracefully upon his shoulders. His readers soon learn to know that his strength lies in his moral nature, and in his power to tell a story melodiously, simply, and sweetly. Hence it is, doubtless, that they care little for his literary allusions,--think, perhaps, that they are rather awkwardly dragged in by the ears, and at any rate hasten by them impatiently that they may inhale anew the violet-freshness of the poet's own soul. What has just been said about bookish allusions does not apply to the beautiful historical ballads produced by Whittier in the mellow maturity of his powers. These fresh improvisations are as perfect works of art as the finest Greek marbles. In them Whittier at length succeeds in freeing himself completely from the shackles of didacticism. Such ballads as "The Witch's Daughter" and "Telling the Bees" are as absolutely faultless productions as Wordsworth's "We are Seven" and his "Lucy Gray," or as Uhland's "Des Sänger's Fluch," or William Blake's "Mary." There is in them the confident and unconscious ease that marks the work of the highest genius. A shower of lucid water-drops falls in no truer obedience to the law of perfect sphericity than flowed from the pen of the poet these delicate creations in obedience to the law of perfect spontaneity. Almost all of Whittier's lyrics have evidently been rapidly written, poured forth in the first glow of feeling, and not carefully amended and polished as were Longfellow's works. And herein he is at fault, as was Byron. But the delicate health of Whittier, and his toilsome early days, form an excuse for his deficiency in this respect. His later creations, the product of his leisure years, are full of pure and flawless music. They have no harmony or rhythmic volume of sound, as in Tennyson, Swinburne, Milton, and Shakspere; but they set themselves to simple melodious airs spontaneously. As you read them, your feet begin to tap time,--only the music is that of a good rural choir rather than that of an orchestra. * * * * * The thought of each poem is generally conveyed to the reader's understanding with the utmost lucidity. There is no mysticism, no obscurity. The story or thought unfolds itself naturally, and without fatigue to our minds. A great many poems are indeed spun out at too great length; but the central idea to be conveyed is rarely lost sight of. * * * * * To the list of his virtues as an artist, it remains to add his frequent surprising strength. This is naturally most marked in the anti-slavery poems. When he wrote these, he was in the flush of manhood, his soul at a white heat of moral indignation. He is occasionally nerved to almost super-human effort: it is the battle-axe of Richard thundering at the gates of Front de Boeuf. For nervous energy, there is nothing in the Hebrew prophets finer than such passages as these:-- "Strike home, strong-hearted man! Down to the root Of old oppression sink the Saxon steel." _To Ronge._ "Maddened by Earth's wrong and evil, 'Lord!' I cried in sudden ire, 'From thy right hand, clothed with thunder, Shake the bolted fire!'" _What the Voice Said._ "Hands off! thou tithe-fat plunderer! play No trick of priestcraft here! Back, puny lordling! darest thou lay A hand on Elliott's bier? Alive, your rank and pomp, as dust, Beneath his feet he trod: He knew the locust-swarm that cursed The harvest-fields of God. "On these pale lips, the smothered thought Which England's millions feel, A fierce and fearful splendor caught, As from his forge the steel. Strong-armed as Thor,--a shower of fire His smitten anvil flung; God's curse, Earth's wrong, dumb Hunger's ire,-- He gave them all a tongue!" _Elliott._ "And Law, an unloosed maniac, strong, Blood-drunken, through the blackness trod, Hoarse-shouting in the ear of God The blasphemy of wrong." _The Rendition._ "All grim and soiled, and brown with tan, I saw a Strong One, in his wrath, Smiting the godless shrines of man Along his path." _The Reformer._ As Whittier has grown older, and the battles of his life have become (as he expressed it to the writer) like "a remembered dream," his genius has grown mellow and full of graciousness. His art culminated in "Home Ballads," "Snow-Bound," and "The Tent on the Beach." He has kept longer than most poets the lyric glow; only in his later poems it is "emotion remembered in tranquillity." If asked to name the finest poems of Whittier, would not the following instinctively recur to the mind: "Snow-Bound," "Maud Muller," "Barbara Frietchie," "The Witch's Daughter," "Telling the Bees," "Skipper Ireson's Ride," "King Volmer and Elsie," and "The Tent on the Beach"? To these one would like to add several exquisite hymns and short secular lyrics. But the poems mentioned would probably be regarded by most critics as Whittier's finest works of art. They merit this distinction certainly; and they furnish remarkable instances for those who desire to study the poet's greater versatility in the ballad line, as they are all good representatives of his wonderfully long range. * * * * * The foregoing remark must be our cue for beginning to pass in review the artistic deficiencies of Whittier. He has three crazes that have nearly ruined the mass of his poetry. They are the reform craze, the religious craze, and the rhyme craze. Of course, as a man, he could not have a superfluity of the first of these; but, as a poet, they have been a great injury to him. We need not deny that he has taken the manlier course in subordinating the artist to the reformer and preacher; but in estimating his poetic merits we ought to regard his work from an absolute point of view. Let us not be misunderstood. It is gladly and freely conceded that the theory that great poetry is not necessarily moral, and that the aim of poetry is only to please the senses, is a petty and shallow one, and that the true function of the great poet is also to bear witness to the ideal and noble, to the moral and religious. Let us heartily agree with Principal Shairp when he says that the true end of the poet "is to awaken men to the divine side of things; to bear witness to the beauty that clothes the outer world, the nobility that lies hid, often obscured, in human souls; to call forth sympathy for neglected truths, for noble but oppressed persons, for downtrodden causes, and to make men feel that through all outward beauty and all pure inward affection God himself is addressing them." We may admit all this, and yet find fault with the moralizations and homilies of Whittier. The poetry of Dante and Milton is full of ethical passion, and occasionally a little sermon is wedged in; yet they do not treat us to endless broadsides of preaching, as Whittier does in his earlier poems, and in some of his later ones. But there is this distinction: the moral in Dante and Milton and Shakspere and Emerson is so garnitured with beauty that while our souls are ennobled our imaginations are gratified. But in many of Whittier's poems we have the bare skeleton of the moral, without the rounded contour and delicate tints of the living body of beauty. His reform poems have been called stump-speeches in verse. His anti-slavery poems are, with a few exceptions, devoid of beauty. They should have been written in the manner he himself commends in a review of Longfellow's "Evangeline": he should have depicted the truth strongly and attractively, and left to the reader the censure and the indignation. Mr. Whittier seems to know his peculiar limitations as well as his critics. He speaks of himself as one-- "Whose rhyme Beat often Labor's hurried time, Or Duty's rugged march through storm and strife," and he has once or twice expressed himself in prose in a way that seems to show that he recognizes the artistic mistake in the construction of his earlier poems. The omission of the moral _envoi_ from so many of his maturer creations strengthens one in this surmise. In 1867 Whittier published the following letter in the New York _Nation_: "TO THE EDITOR OF THE NATION: "I am very well aware that merely personal explanations are not likely to be as interesting to the public as to the parties concerned; but I am induced to notice what is either a misconception on thy part, or, as is most probable, a failure on my own to make myself clearly understood. In the review of 'The Tent on the Beach' in thy paper of last week, I confess I was not a little surprised to find myself represented as regretting my life-long and active participation in the great conflict which has ended in the emancipation of the slave, and that I had not devoted myself to merely literary pursuits. In the half-playful lines upon which this statement is founded, if I did not feel at liberty to boast of my anti-slavery labors and magnify my editorial profession, I certainly did not mean to underrate them, or express the shadow of a regret that they had occupied so large a share of my time and thought. The simple fact is that I cannot be sufficiently thankful to the Divine Providence that so early called my attention to the great interests of humanity, saving me from the poor ambitions and miserable jealousies of a selfish pursuit of literary reputation. Up to a comparatively recent period my writings have been simply episodical, something apart from the real object and aim of my life; and whatever of favor they have found with the public has come to me as a grateful surprise rather than as an expected reward. As I have never staked all upon the chances of authorship, I have been spared the pain of disappointment and the temptation to envy those who, as men of letters, deservedly occupy a higher place in the popular estimation than I have ever aspired to. "Truly thy friend, "John G. Whittier. "AMESBURY, 9th, 3d mo., 1867." One is reminded by this letter that Wordsworth once said to Dr. Orville Dewey, of Boston, that, "although he was known to the world only as a poet, he had given twelve hours' thought to the condition and prospects of society for one to poetry." In a letter read at the third decade meeting of the American Anti-Slavery Society in Philadelphia, Mr. Whittier said: "I am not insensible to literary reputation; I love, perhaps too well, the praise and good-will of my fellow-men; but I set a higher value on my name as appended to the Anti-Slavery Declaration of 1833 than on the title-page of any book." In his earlier years our poet was wholly ignorant of the fact that an artist should love beauty for its own sake. The simple-hearted Quaker and Puritan farmer-youth thought it almost a sin to spend his time in the cultivation of the beautiful. In his dedication of the "Supernaturalism of New England" to his sister, he says:-- "And knowing how my life hath been A weary work of tongue and pen, A long, harsh strife with strong-willed men, Thou wilt not chide my turning, To con, at times, an idle rhyme, To pluck a flower from childhood's clime, Or listen, at Life's noon-day chime, For the sweet bells of Morning!" "Poor fellow!" we say at first. And yet there is something refreshing and noble in such a spirit. It is with difficulty that the Germanic mind can bring itself to the study of the beautiful as something of co-equal worth with the moral. Let us leave that, says the Teuton, to the nation whose word for love of art is "virtue." How Whittier would have abhorred in his youth and early manhood the following sentiment by one of the Latin race:-- "The arts require idle, delicate minds, not stoics, especially not Puritans, easily shocked by dissonance, inclined to sensuous pleasure, employing their long periods of leisure, their free reveries, in harmoniously arranging, and with no other object but enjoyment, forms, colors, and sounds." (Taine's _English Literature_, II. 332.) Or the following from the same work:-- "The Puritan destroys the artist, stiffens the man, fetters the writer, and leaves of artist, man, writer, only a sort of abstract being, the slave of a watchword. If a Milton springs up among them, it is because, by his wide curiosity, his travels, his comprehensive education, and by his independence of spirit, loftily adhered to even against the sectarians, Milton passes beyond sectarianism." (I. 397, 398.) Here is another passage from Whittier on this same subject. It is almost a pity to give it, since the author has apparently repudiated the sentiment by omitting the lines from his complete works. In the introduction to "Supernaturalism of New England" he says:-- "If in some few instances, like Burns in view of his national thistle, I have-- 'Turned my weeding-hook aside, And spared the symbol dear,' I have been influenced by the comparatively innocent nature and simple poetic beauty of the traditions in question; yet not even for the sake of poetry and romance would I confirm in any mind a pernicious credulity, or seek to absolve myself from that stern duty which the true man owes to his generation, to expose error whenever and wherever he finds it." One more instance. In one of his sketches he is describing an old custom called "Pope Night," which has been kept up in the Merrimack Valley in unbroken sequence from the time of the Guy Fawkes plot. The plot is commemorated by bonfires and effigies of the Pope and others, and Whittier quotes these lines of a song which is sung on the occasion:-- "Look here! from Rome The Pope has come, That fiery serpent dire; Here's the Pope that we have got, The old promoter of the plot; We'll stick a pitchfork in his back, And throw him in the fire." Mr. Whittier was so broad-minded in regard to all matters pertaining to true growth, and withal so conscientious a student of the best versification, that is, the most natural, that we soon find him striving, at least, to free himself from all these minor faults. Consequently his mannerisms more and more drop away. He is a born preacher. And presently we see in him a decided advance toward the delineation of what is simply true and beautiful, without the appreciable pause by the way, "to point a moral and adorn a tale." For a preacher is not a poet; and true poetic fire must be dimmed at once, and the divine afflatus be a lack-lustre thing, when appeals by pious exhortation are brought in to fill out rhyme and metre. Many of Whittier's purely religious poems are the most exquisite and beautiful ever written. The tender feeling, the warm-hearted trustfulness, and the reverent touch of his hymns speak directly to our hearts. The prayer-hymn at the close of "The Brewing of Soma" ("Dear Lord and Father of mankind," etc.), and such poems as "At Last" and "The Wish of To-day," are unsurpassed in sacred song. Some one has said that in Whittier's books we rarely meet with ideas expressed in such perfection and idiosyncrasy of manner that ever afterward the same ideas must recur to our minds in the words of this author and no other; that is to say, there are few dicta, few portable and universally-quoted passages in his writings. But exception must be made in favor of his best hymns. Their stanzas haunt the mind with their beauty, and you are obliged to learn them by heart before you can have peace. These purely religious productions show Whittier's work at high-water mark, and as long as the English language is spoken, they will be employed by those who require a vehicle for thought, by which the true worship may be served. There is only one poet in the world whose works will not suffer by reading his entire poetical productions in consecutive perusal, and that is Shakspere. Poetry should be read solely for the refreshment and elevation of the mind, and only when one's mood requires it. Unquestionably, if so read, all mannerisms that Mr. Whittier might have been accused of at an early stage in his authorship would not appear so conspicuous. One of the mannerisms of our poet is his inclination toward the four-foot line with consecutive or alternate rhymes. Almost all of Burns's poetry is written as just described; and it is evident Mr. Whittier's ear was naturally inclined to it, from his early love for Burns, his patron saint, as it were, in those then untrodden fields. An ear educated by Tennyson, and the other Victorian poets, might be unable to grasp even the beauty of thought unless conveyed by their especial methods. One is pleased when rhymes are so masked, so subtly intertwined, and parted by intervening lines, that each shall seem like a delicate echo of that which preceded it,--the assonance just remembered, and no more. * * * * * A minor mannerism of Whittier is his frequent use of the present participle in ing, with the verb _to be_; "is flowing," "is shining," etc. The jingle of the _ing_ evidently caught the poet's rhyme-loving ear, and sometimes it really has a very pretty effect. Certain it is he has used it with great skill, and given his readers insight into another of his versatile gifts. As to the originality of our poet there is this to be said: He has a distinctively national spirit or vision; he is democratic in his feelings, and treats of indigenous subjects. His vehicle, his poetic forms and handling, he has treated as minor subjects for thought. He is democratic, not so powerfully and broadly as Whitman, but more unaffectedly and sincerely. He has not the magnificent prophetic vision, or Vorstellungskraft, of Whitman, any more than he has the crushing mastodon-steps of Whitman's ponderous rhythm. But he has thrown himself with trembling ardor and patriotism, into the life of his country. It is this fresh, New-World spirit that entitles him to be called original: he is non-European. He has not travelled much, nor mingled in the seething currents of Western and Southern life; but his strong sympathy has gone forth over the entire land. He also reflects faithfully the quiet scenes of his own Merrimack Valley. From his descriptions of these scenes we receive the impression of freshness and originality; and we recognize a master hand that can so portray them as to make us see the same places, though only on the printed page. * * * * * One regrets using a critical pen at all in discussing such a writer. It would be ungracious to call to a severe account one who places the most modest estimate upon his own work, and who has distinctly stated that, up to "about the year 1865, his writings were simply episodical, something apart from the real object and aim of [his] life." It is hard to criticise severely one who is unjust to himself through excess of diffident humility. In the exquisite Proem to his complete poems he would fain persuade us that he cannot breathe such notes as those of-- "The old melodious lays Which softly melt the ages through, The songs of Spenser's golden days, Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase, Sprinkling our noon of time with freshest morning dew." But not so, O gentle minstrel of Essex! There are poems of thine which thousands prefer to the best of Spenser's or Sidney's, and which will continue to exist as long as beauty is its own excuse for being. Thou too hast been in Paradise, to fetch thence armfuls of dewy roses for our delight; not mounting thither by the "stairway of surprise," but along the common highway of daily duty and noble endeavor, unmindful of the dust and heat and chafing burdens, but singing aloud thy songs of lofty cheer, all magically intertwined with pictures of wayside flowers, and the homely beauty of lowliest things. And thou hast imparted to us the "groping of the keys of the heavenly harmonies," that no one who loves thy songs, ever loses from his life. CHAPTER III. POEMS SERIATIM. Among the three or four critical papers on Whittier that have up to this time been published, there is one that is marked by exceptional vigor; namely, the admirable philosophical analysis by Mr. David A. Wasson, published in the _Atlantic Monthly_ for March, 1864. The author gladly acknowledges his indebtedness to this paper for several things,--chiefly for its keen _aperçu_ into the nature of Whittier's genius, and the proper psychological grouping of his poems. Mr. Wasson's classification can hardly be improved upon in its general features. He divides the literary life of the poet into three epochs,--The Struggle for Life, The Culture Epoch, and The Epoch of Poetic Realism; and between each of these he places transitional periods. The lines of his classification, however, are too sharply drawn, and the epochs seem too minutely subdivided. Moreover, the present writer would add an introductory or preparatory period; in other respects it seems to him that the grouping is as correct as such mathematical measurements of a poet's development can be. Suppose we group and name the poet's mental epochs as follows:-- FIRST PERIOD.--INTRODUCTORY. 1830-1833. During this quiet, purely literary epoch, Whittier published "Legends of New England" and "Moll Pitcher," and edited the "Literary Remains of Brainard." SECOND PERIOD.--STORM AND STRESS. 1833-1853. The beginning of this period was marked by the publication of "Justice and Expediency," and during its continuance were written most of the anti-slavery productions, the Indian poems, many legendary lays and prose pieces, religious lyrics, and "Songs of Labor." The latter, being partially free from didacticism, leads naturally up to the third period. THIRD PERIOD.--TRANSITION. 1853-1860 This Mr. Wasson calls the epoch of culture and religious doubt, the central poems of which are "Chapel of the Hermits" and "Questions of Life." We now begin to see a love of art for art's sake, and there are fewer moral stump-speeches. The indignation of the reformer is giving place to the calm repose of the artist. And such ballads as "Mary Garvin" and "Maud Muller" form the introduction to the culminating (or fourth) epoch in the poet's creative life. FOURTH PERIOD.--RELIGIOUS AND ARTISTIC REPOSE. 1860- During this time have been written nearly all the author's great works, namely, his beautiful ballads, as well as "Snow-Bound" and "The Tent on the Beach." The literary style is now mature. The beautiful is sought for its own sake, both in nature and in lowly life. It is a season of trust and _naïve_ simplicity. The works produced during the Introductory period have already been discussed in the biographical portion of this volume. Before passing rapidly in review some of the more important detached poems of the three latter periods (reserving a number of poems for consideration by groups), we must be allowed to offer a few criticisms on the earlier poems in general, meaning by this the ones published previous to the "Songs of Labor" in 1850. These earlier productions are to be commended chiefly for two things: (1) the subjects are drawn from original and native sources, and (2) the slavery poems are full of moral stamina and fiery indignation at oppression. There are single poems of great merit and beauty. But the style of most of them is unoriginal, being merely an echo of that of the English Lake School. Whittier's poetical development has been a steady growth. His genius matured late, and in his early poems there is little promise of the exquisite work of his riper years, unless it is a distinct indication of his rare power of telling a story in verse. It must be remembered that when Whittier began to write, American literature had yet to be created. There was not a single great American poem, with the exception of Bryant's "Thanatopsis." The prominent poets of that time--Percival, Brainard, Trumbull, Joel Barlow, Hillhouse, Pierpont, Dana, Sprague--are all forgotten now. The breath of immortality was not upon anything they wrote. A national literature is a thing of slow growth. Every writer is insensibly influenced by the intellectual tone of his neighbors and contemporaries. Judged in the light of his early disadvantages, and estimated by the standard of that time, Whittier's first essays are deserving of much credit, and they have had a distinct æsthetic and moral value in the development of American literature and the American character. But their deficiencies are very grave. There is a good deal of commonplace, and much extravagance of rhetoric. There are a great many "Lines" called forth by circumstances not at all poetical in their suggestions. Emotion and rhyme and commonplace incident are not enough to make a poem. One cannot embalm the memory of all one's friends in verse. In casting about for an explanation of the circumstance that our poet has so often chosen tame and uninspiring themes for his poems, we reach the conclusion that it is due to his solitary and uneventful life, and to the subdued and art-chilling atmosphere of his Quaker religion. You get, at any rate, no true impression of the intellectual breadth of the poet's mind from many of the productions of the period we are considering: the theme is too weak to support the poetical structure reared upon it. The poems and essays are written by one untoughened and unvitalized by varied and cheerful intercourse with men and affairs, a state of mind that was changed considerably as Mr. Whittier emerged from his semi-obscurity into a larger comprehension of his own powers. A minor fault of this period is the too frequent interruption of explanatory notes, that break and mar the free-flowing melody of versified thought. We find the same blemish in Longfellow's early work. * * * * * At the opening of the complete poetical works of Whittier stand two long Indian poems, with their war-paint and blood--like scarlet maples at the entrance of an aboriginal forest. The first of these poems, "Mogg Megone," is every way inferior to the second, or "The Bridal of Pennacook." "Mogg Megone" was published in 1836, and "The Bridal of Pennacook" in 1848. Mr. Whittier half apologizes for retaining the former of these in his complete works. There is, amongst much that, eliminated, might not be missed, a certain fresh and realistic diction, or nomenclature. It is picturesque, in portions somewhat dramatic and thrilling, and now is valuable as a link between the early stage of his authorship and the advanced culture of later years. In style it is an echo of Scott's "Lady of the Lake" or "Marmion." In "The Bridal of Pennacook" we have an Indian idyl of unquestionable power and beauty, a descriptive poem full of the cool, mossy sweetness of mountain landscapes, and although too artificial and subjective for a poem of primitive life, yet saturated with the imagery of the wigwam and the forest. A favorite article of food with the Indians of Northern Ohio was dried bear's-meat dipped in maple syrup. There is a savor of the like ferity and sweetness in this poem. It is almost wholly free from the strongly-marked faults of "Mogg Megone," and (that test of all tests) it is pleasant reading. Its two cardinal defects are lack of simplicity of treatment, and tenuity or triviality of the subject, or plot. The story is sometimes lost sight of in a jungle of verbiage and description. In contrasting such a poem with "Hiawatha," we see the wisdom of Longfellow in choosing an antique vehicle, or rhythmic style. Aborigines have a dialect of their own; the sentences of an Indian brave being as abrupt and sharp as the wild screams of an eagle. The set speeches of the North American Indians are always full of divers stock metaphors about natural scenery, wild animals, totems, and spirits, and are so different from those of civilized life that an expert can instantly detect a forgery or an imitation, so that all incongruities that attribute the complex and refined emotions of civilized life to the savage, seriously mar the pleasure of the reader. The descriptions of natural scenery in these Indian legends of Mr. Whittier's are fine, as all such writing by his facile pen was ever felicitous. And by virtue of this descriptive power, these idyls will be held long in grateful remembrance. In plan the poem is like the "Decameron," the "Princess," the "Canterbury Tales," and "Tales of a Wayside Inn." The different portions are supposed to be related by five persons,--a lawyer, a clergyman, a merchant and his daughter, and the poet,--who are all sight-seeing in the White Mountains. The opening description, in blank verse, conveys a vague but not very powerful impression of sublimity. The musical nomenclature of the red aborigines is finely handled, and such words as Pennacook, Babboosuck, Contoocook, Bashaba, and Weetamoo chime out here and there along the pages with as silvery a sweetness as the Tuscan words in Macaulay's "Lays." At the wedding of Weetamoo we have-- "Pike and perch from the Suncook taken, Nuts from the trees of the Black Hills shaken, Cranberries picked from the Squamscot bog, And grapes from the vines of Piscataquog: And, drawn from that great stone vase which stands In the river scooped by a spirit's hands, Garnished with spoons of shell and horn, Stood the birchen dishes of smoking corn." The following stanza on the heroine, Weetamoo, is a fine one:-- "Child of the forest!--strong and free, Slight-robed, with loosely flowing hair, She swam the lake, or climbed the tree, Or struck the flying bird in air. O'er the heaped drifts of winter's moon Her snow-shoes tracked the hunter's way; And, dazzling in the summer noon, The blade of her light oar threw off its shower of spray!" The "Song of Indian Women," at the close of "The Bridal of Pennacook," is admirable for melody, weird and wild beauty, and naturalness. It is a lament for the lost Weetamoo, who, unfortunate in her married life, has committed suicide by sailing over the rapids in her canoe:-- "The Dark Eye has left us, The Spring-bird has flown; On the pathway of spirits She wanders alone. The song of the wood-dove has died on our shore,-- _Mat wonck kunna-monee!_--We hear it no more! * * * * * O mighty Sowanna! Thy gateways unfold, From thy wigwams of sunset Lift curtains of gold! Take home the poor Spirit whose journey is o'er,-- _Mat wonck kunna-monee!_--We see her no more!" There are two minor Indian poems by Whittier that have the true ring; namely, the "Truce of Piscataqua" and "Funeral Tree of the Sokokis." The latter well-known poem is pitched in as high and solemn a key as Platen's "Grab im Busento," a poem similar in theme to Whittier's:-- "They heave the stubborn trunk aside, The firm roots from the earth divide,-- The rent beneath yawns dark and wide. And there the fallen chief is laid, In tasselled garbs of skins arrayed, And girded with his wampum-braid." _Whittier._ "In der wogenleeren Höhlung wühlten sie empor die Erde, Senkten tief hinein den Leichnam, mit der Rüstung auf dem Pferde. Deckten dann mit Erde wieder ihn und seine stolze Habe." _Platen._ In the empty river-bottom hurriedly they dug the death-pit, Deep therein they sank the hero with his armor and his war-steed, Covered then with earth and darkness him and all his splendid trappings. When the reader, who has worked gloomily along through Whittier's anti-slavery and miscellaneous poems, reaches the "Songs of Labor," he feels at once the breath of a fresher spirit,--as a traveller who has been toiling for weary leagues through sandy deserts bares his brow with delight to the coolness and shade of a green forest through whose thick roof of leaves the garish sunlight scarcely sifts. We feel that in these poems a new departure has been made. The wrath of the reformer has expended itself, and the poet now returns, with mind elevated and more tensely keyed by his moral warfare, to the study of the beautiful in native themes and in homely life. "The Shipbuilders," "The Shoemakers," "The Fishermen," and "The Huskers" are genuine songs; and more shame to the craftsmen celebrated if they do not get them set to music, and sing them while at their work. One cannot help feeling that Walt Whitman's call for some one to make songs for American laborers had already been met in a goodly degree by these spirited "Songs of Labor." What workman would not be glad to carol such stanzas as the following, if they were set to popular airs? "Hurrah! the seaward breezes Sweep down the bay amain; Heave up, my lads, the anchor! Run up the sail again! Leave to the lubber landsmen The rail-car and the steed: The stars of heaven shall guide us, The breath of heaven shall speed." _The Fishermen._ "Ho! workers of the old time styled The Gentle Craft of Leather! Young brothers of the ancient guild, Stand forth once more together! Call out again your long array, In the olden merry manner! Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day, Fling out your blazoned banner! Rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone How falls the polished hammer! Rap, rap! the measured sound has grown A quick and merry clamor. Now shape the sole! now deftly curl The glossy vamp around it, And bless the while the bright-eyed girl Whose gentle fingers bound it!" _The Shoemakers._ The publication of "The Chapel of the Hermits" and "Questions of Life," in 1853, marks (as has been said) the period of culture and of religious doubt,--doubt which ended in trust. In this period we have such genuine undidactic poems as "The Barefoot Boy." "Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace." Also, such fine poems as "Flowers in Winter" and "To My Old Schoolmaster;" as well as the excellent ballads, "Maud Muller," "Kathleen," and "Mary Garvin." The period in Whittier's life from about 1858 to 1868 we may call the Ballad Decade,[26] for within this time were produced most of his immortal ballads. We say immortal, believing that if all else that he has written shall perish, his finest ballads will carry his name down to a remote posterity. "The Tent on the Beach" is mainly a series of ballads; and "Snow-Bound," although not a ballad, is still a narrative poem closely allied to that species of poetry, the difference between a ballad and an idyl being that one is made to be sung and the other to be read: both narrate events as they occur, and leave to the reader all sentiment and reflection. [Footnote 26: The beginning of this decade nearly coincides with the fourth or final period in our classification, upon the consideration of which we shall now enter.] * * * * * The finest ballads of Whittier have the power of keeping us in breathless suspense of interest until the _dénouement_ or the catastrophe, as the case may be. The popularity of "Maud Muller" is well deserved. What a rich and mellow translucence it has! How it appeals to the universal heart! And yet "The Witch's Daughter" and "Telling the Bees" are more exquisite creations than "Maud Muller": they have a spontaneity, a subtle pathos, a sublimated sweetness of despair that take hold of the very heart-strings, and thus deal with deeper emotions than such light, objective ballads as "Maud Muller" and "Skipper Ireson's Ride." But the surface grace of the two latter have of course made them the more popular, just as the "Scarlet Letter" finds greater favor with most people than does "The House of the Seven Gables," although Hawthorne rightly thought the "Seven Gables" to be his finest and subtlest work. * * * * * Mark the Chaucerian freshness of the opening stanzas of "The Witch's Daughter":-- "It was the pleasant harvest time, When cellar-bins are closely stowed, And garrets bend beneath their load, And the old swallow-haunted barns-- Brown-gabled, long, and full of seams Through which the moted sunlight streams. And winds blow freshly in, to shake The red plumes of the roosted cocks, And the loose hay-mow's scented locks-- Are filled with summer's ripened stores, Its odorous grass and barley sheaves, From their low scaffolds to their eaves." A companion ballad to "The Witch's Daughter" is "The Witch of Wenham," a poem almost equal to it in merit, and like it ending happily. These ballads do not quite attain the almost supernatural simplicity of Wordsworth's "Lucy Gray" and "We are Seven"; but they possess an equal interest, excited by the same poetical qualities. "Telling the Bees," however, seems to the writer as purely Wordsworthian as anything Wordsworth ever wrote:-- "Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence! Mistress Mary is dead and gone!" How the tears spring to the eyes in reading this immortal little poem! The bee-hives ranged in the garden, the sun "tangling his wings of fire in the trees," the dog whining low, the old man "with his cane to his chin,"--we all know the scene: its every feature appeals to our sympathies and associations. * * * * * "The Double-headed Snake of Newbury" is a whimsical story, in which the poet waxes right merry as he relates how-- "Far and wide the tale was told, Like a snowball growing while it rolled. The nurse hushed with it the baby's cry; And it served, in the worthy minister's eye, To paint the primitive serpent by. Cotton Mather came galloping down All the way to Newbury town, With his eyes agog and his ears set wide, And his marvellous inkhorn at his side; Stirring the while in the shallow pool Of his brains for the lore he learned at school, To garnish the story, with here a streak Of Latin, and there another of Greek: And the tales he heard and the notes he took, Behold! are they not in his Wonder-Book?" A word about Whittier's "Prophecy of Samuel Sewall." It seems that old Judge Sewall made the prophecies of the Bible his favorite study. One of his ideas was that America was to be the site of the New Jerusalem. Toward the end of his book entitled "Phenomena Quædam Apocalyptica; ... or ... a Description of the New Heaven as it makes to those who stand upon the New Earth" (1697), he gives utterance to the triumphant prophecy that forms the subject of Whittier's poem. His language is so quaint that the reader will like to see the passage in Sewall's own words:-- "As long as Plum Island shall faithfully keep the commanded post, notwithstanding till the hectoring words and hard blows of the proud and boisterous ocean; as long as any salmon or sturgeon shall swim in the streams of Merrimac, or any perch or pickerel in Crane Pond; as long as the sea-fowl shall know the time of their coming, and not neglect seasonably to visit the places of their acquaintance; as long as any cattle shall be fed with the grass growing in the meadows, which do humbly bow down themselves before Turkey Hill; as long as any sheep shall walk upon Old-Town Hills, and shall from thence pleasantly look down upon the River Parker, and the fruitful marshes lying beneath; as long as any free and harmless doves shall find a white oak or other tree within the township, to perch, or feed, or build a careless nest upon, and shall voluntarily present themselves to perform the office of gleaners after barley-harvest; as long as Nature shall not grow old and dote, but shall constantly remember to give the rows of Indian corn their education by pairs; so long shall Christians be born there, and being first made meet, shall from thence be translated to be made partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light." Moses Coit Tyler, in his "History of American Literature," II., p. 102 (note), says: "Whittier speaks of Newbury as Sewall's 'native town,' but Sewall was born at Horton, England. He also describes Sewall as an 'old man,' propped on his staff of age when he made this prophecy; but Sewall was then forty-five years old." There are two or three other ballads in which Whittier is said to have made historical blunders. It really does not seem of much importance whether he did or did not get the precise facts in each case. The important point is that he made beautiful ballads. But it will be right to give, in brief, the objections that have been brought against "Skipper Ireson's Ride" and "Barbara Frietchie." "The King's Missive" will be discussed in another place. * * * * * Apropos of Skipper Ireson, Mr. John W. Chadwick has spoken as follows in _Harper's Monthly_ for July, 1874:-- "In one of the queerest corners of the town [Marblehead], there stands a house as modest as the Lee house was magnificent. So long as he lived it was the home of 'Old Flood Oirson,' whose name and fame have gone farther and fared worse than any other fact or fancy connected with his native town. Plain, honest folk don't know about poetic license, and I have often heard the poet's conduct in the matter of Skipper Ireson's ride characterized with profane severity. He unwittingly departed from the truth in various particulars. The wreck did not, as the ballad recites, contain any of 'his own town's-people.' Moreover, four of those it did contain _were_ saved by a whale-boat from Provincetown. It was off Cape Cod, and not in Chaleur Bay, that the wreck was deserted; and the desertion was in this wise: It was in the night that the wreck was discovered. In the darkness and the heavy sea it was impossible to give assistance. When the skipper went below, he ordered the watch to lie by the wreck till 'dorning'; but the watch wilfully disobeyed, and afterward, to shield themselves, laid all the blame upon the skipper. Then came the tarring and feathering. The women, whose _rôle_ in the ballad is so striking, had nothing to do with it. The vehicle was not a cart, but a dory; and the skipper, instead of being contrite, said, 'I thank you for your ride.' I asked one of the skipper's contemporaries what the effect was on the skipper. 'Cowed him to death,' said he, 'cowed him to death.' He went skipper again the next year, but never afterward. He had been dead only a year or two when Whittier's ballad appeared. His real name was not Floyd, as Whittier supposes, but Benjamin, 'Flood' being one of those nicknames that were not the exception, but the rule, in the old fishing-days. For many years before his death the old man earned a precarious living by dory-fishing in the bay, and selling his daily catch from a wheelbarrow. When old age and blindness overtook him, and his last trip was made, his dory was hauled up into the lane before his house, and there went to rot and ruin.... The hoarse refrain of Whittier's ballad is the best-known example of the once famous Marblehead dialect, and it is not a bad one. To what extent this dialect was peculiar to Marblehead it might be difficult to determine. Largely, no doubt, it was inherited from English ancestors. Its principal delight consisted in pronouncing _o_ for _a_, and _a_ for _o_. For example, if an old-fashioned Marbleheader wished to say he 'was born in a barn,' he would say, he 'was barn in a born.' The _e_ was also turned into _a_, and even into _o_, and the _v_ into _w_. 'That vessel's stern' became 'that 'wessel's starn,' or 'storn.' I remember a school-boy declaiming from Shakspere, 'Thou little walliant, great in willany.' There was a great deal of shortening. The fine name Crowninshield became Grounsel, and Florence became Flurry, and a Frenchman named Blancpied found himself changed into Blumpy. Endings in _une_ and _ing_ were alike changed into _in_. Misfortune was misfartin', and fishing was always fishin'. There were words peculiar to the place. One of these was planchment for ceiling. Crim was another, meaning to shudder with cold, and there was an adjective, crimmy. Still another was _clitch_, meaning to stick badly, surely an onomatopoetic word that should be naturalized before it is too late. Some of the swearing, too, was neither by the throne nor footstool, such as 'Dahst my eyes!' and 'Godfrey darmints.' The ancient dialect in all its purity is now seldom used. It crops out here and there sometimes where least expected, and occasionally one meets with some old veteran whose speech has lost none of the ancient savor." Now for "Barbara Frietchie." The incident of the poem was given to Whittier by the novelist, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, whose letter we append. The philanthropist, Dorothea Dix, investigated the case in Frederick, and she says that Barbara did wave the flag, etc. An army officer also made affidavit of the truth of the lines. A young Southern soldier has declared that he was present, and that his was one of the shots that hit the flagstaff! On the other side are Samuel Tyler and Jacob Engelbrecht, the latter an old and greatly respected citizen of Frederick, and living directly opposite Barbara's house. Jacob wrote to the Baltimore _Sun_, saying that Stonewall Jackson's corps marched through another street, and did not approach Dame Frietchie's house at all. Lee's column did pass it, he says; but he, who stood watching at his window, saw no flag whatever at _her_ window. He says that when ten days later General McClellan passed through the town she did exhibit a flag. Finally, General Jubal Early comes upon the witness stand, and testifies that as the Southern troops passed through Frederick, there were only two cases of waving of Union flags; one of these was by a little girl, about ten years old, who stood on the platform of a house and waved incessantly a little "candy flag," and cried in a dull, monotonous voice: "Hurrah for the Stars and Stripes! Down with the Stars and Bars!" No one molested her. The other case was that of a coarse, slovenly-looking woman, who rushed up to the entrance of an alley and waved a dirty United States flag. * * * * * "The Pipes at Lucknow" is a poem full of martial fire and lyric rush,--the subject a capital one for a poet. A little band of English, besieged in a town in the heart of India, and full of despair, hear in the distance the sweetest sound that ever fell upon their ears, namely, the shrill pibroch of the MacGregor Clan; and-- "When the far-off dust-cloud To plaided legions grew, Full tenderly and blithesomely The pipes of rescue blew!" Another group of ballads comprises "Cobbler Keezar's Vision," "Amy Wentworth," and "The Countess." In the first of these, old Cobbler Keezar, of the early Puritan times, by virtue of a mystic lapstone, sees a vision of our age of religious tolerance, and wonders greatly thereat:-- "Keezar sat on the hillside Upon his cobbler's form, With a pan of coals on either hand To keep his waxed-ends warm. And there, in the golden weather, He stitched and hammered and sung; In the brook he moistened his leather, In the pewter mug his tongue." The ballad of "Amy Wentworth" treats of the same subject as "Among The Hills," namely, a superior woman, of the white-handed caste, falling in love with and marrying a broad-shouldered, brown-handed hero, with a right manly heart and brain. Many and many a poem of Whittier's is spoiled by its too great length,--a thing that is fatal in a lyric. The long prelude to "Amy Wentworth" should have been omitted. * * * * * The scene of the lovely poem entitled "The Countess" is laid in Rocks Village, a part of East Haverhill, and lying on the Merrimack, where-- "The river's steel-blue crescent curves To meet, in ebb and flow, The single broken wharf that serves For sloop and gundelow. With salt sea-scents along its shores The heavy hay-boats crawl, The long antennæ of their oars In lazy rise and fall. Along the gray abutment's wall The idle shad-net dries; The toll-man in his cobbler's stall Sits smoking with closed eyes." Whittier dedicates his poem to his father's family physician, Elias Weld, of Rocks Village. The story which forms the subject of the poem is a romantic one, and exquisitely has our poet embalmed it in verse. From a sketch by Rebecca I. Davis, of East Haverhill, the following facts relating to the personages that figure in the poem have been culled:-- The Countess was Miss Mary Ingalls, daughter of Henry and Abigail Ingalls, of Rocks Village. She was born in 1786, and is still remembered by a few old inhabitants as a young girl of remarkable beauty. She was of medium height, had long golden curls, violet eyes, fair complexion, and rosy cheeks, and was exceedingly modest and lovable. It was in the year 1806 that a little company of French exiles fled from the Island of Guadaloupe on account of a bloody rebellion or uprising of the inhabitants. Among the fugitives were Count Francis de Vipart and Joseph Rochemont de Poyen. The company reached Newburyport. The two gentlemen just mentioned settled at Rocks Village, and both married there. Mary Ingalls was only a laborer's daughter, and of course her marriage with the count created a sensation in the simple, rustic community. The count was a pleasant, stately man, and a fine violinist. The bridal dress, says Miss Davis, was of a pink satin, with an overdress of white lace; her slippers also were of white satin. The count delighted to lavish upon her the richest apparel, yet nothing spoiled the sweet modesty of her disposition. After one short year of happy married life the lovely wife died. Assiduous attention to a sick mother had brought on consumption. In the village God's-acre her gray tombstone is already covered with moss. The count returned to his native island overwhelmed with grief. In after years, however, he married again. When he died he was interred in the family burial-place of the De Viparts at Bordeaux. He left several children. * * * * * Mr. Stedman, in his fine synthetic survey of American poetry, published in _The Century_, has remarked that most of our early poetry and painting is full of landscape. The loveliest season in America is the autumn, when, as Whittier beautifully says, the woods "wear their robes of praise, the south winds softly sigh,"-- "And sweet, calm days in golden haze Melt down the amber sky." We have plenty of idyls of autumn color, like Buchanan Read's "Closing Scene," and portions of Longfellow's "Hiawatha." But American winter landscapes are as poetical as those of autumn.[27] It is probable that the scarcity of snow-idyls hitherto is due to the supposed cheerlessness of the snow. But with the rapid multiplication of winter comforts, our nature-worship is cautiously broadening so as to include even the stern beauty of winter. There are already a good many signs of this in literature. We have had, of late, lovely little snow-and-winter vignettes in prose by John Burroughs of New York, and Edith Thomas of Ohio; and there is plenty of room for further study of winter in other regions of the United States. The most delicate bit of realistic winter poetry in literature is Emerson's "Snow-Storm." Mr. Whittier is an ardent admirer of that writer--as what poet is not?--and his own productions show frequent traces of Emersonianisms. He has prefixed to "Snow-Bound" a quotation from the "Snow-Storm," and there can scarcely be a doubt that to the countless obligations we all owe Emerson must be added this: that he inspired the writing of Whittier's finest poem, and the best idyl of American rural life. It is too complex and diffusive fully to equal in artistic purity and plastic proportion the "Cotter's Saturday Night" of Burns; but it is much richer than that poem in felicitous single epithets, which, like little wicket doors, open up to the eye of memory many a long-forgotten picture of early life. [Footnote 27: What is the subtle fascination that lurks in such bits of winter poetry as the following, collected by the writer out of his reading? "Yesterday the sullen year Saw the snowy whirlwind fly."--_Gray._ "All winter drives along the darkened air."--_Thomson._ "High-ridged the whirled drift has almost reached The powdered keystone of the churchyard porch; Mute hangs the hooded bell; the tombs lie buried."--_Grahame._ "Alas! alas! thou snow-smitten wood of Troy, and mountains of Ida."--_Sophocles._ "O hard, dull bitterness of cold."--_Whittier._ "And in the narrow house o' death Let winter round me rave."--_Burns._ "The mesmerizer, Snow, With his hand's first sweep Put the earth to sleep."--_Robert Browning._ "And the cakèd snow is shuffled From the plough-boy's heavy shoon."--_Keats._] "Snow-Bound" was published in 1860, and was written, Mr. Whittier has said, "to beguile the weariness of a sick-chamber." The poet has obeyed the canon of Lessing, and instead of giving us dead description wholly, has shown us his characters in action, and extended his story over three days and the two intervening nights,--that is to say, the main action covers that time: the whole time mentioned in the poem is a week. It is unnecessary to give here any further account of the idyl than has already been furnished in the account of Whittier's boyhood. "The Tent on the Beach" is a cluster of ballads. In accordance with a familiar fiction, they are supposed to be sung, or told, by several persons, in this case three, namely, the poet himself, "a lettered magnate" (James T. Fields), and a traveller (Bayard Taylor). All of the poems are readable, and many of them are to be classed among Whittier's best lyrics. "The Wreck of Rivermouth," "The Changeling," and "Kallundborg Church" are masterpieces in the line of ballads. In "The Dead Ship of Harpswell" we have the fine phrase,-- "O hundred-harbored Maine!" Whittier has now become almost a perfect master of verbal melody. Hearken to this:-- "Oho!" she muttered, "ye're brave to-day! But I hear the little waves laugh and say, 'The broth will be cold that waits at home; For it's one to go, but another to come!'" There is a light and piquant humor about some of the interludes of the "Tent on the Beach." The song in the last of these contains a striking and original stanza concerning the ocean:-- "Its waves are kneeling on the strand, As kneels the human knee, Their white locks bowing to the sand, The priesthood of the sea!" "Among the Hills" is a little farm-idyl, or love-idyl, of the New Hampshire mountain land, and bearing some resemblance to Tennyson's "Gardener's Daughter." It is an excellent specimen of the poems of Whittier that reach the popular heart, and engage its sympathies. In the remotest farm-houses of the land you are almost sure to find among their few books a copy of Whittier's Poems, well-thumbed and soiled with use. The opening description of the prelude to "Among the Hills" could not be surpassed by Bion or Theocritus. In this poem a fresh interest is excited in the reader by the fact that the city woman falls in love with a manly farmer, thus happily reversing the old, old story of the city man wooing and winning the rustic beauty. The farmer accuses the fair city maid of coquetry. She replies: "'Nor frock nor tan can hide the man; And see you not, my farmer, How weak and fond a woman waits Behind this silken armor? 'I love you: on that love alone, And not my worth, presuming, Will you not trust for summer fruit The tree in May-day blooming?' Alone the hangbird overhead, His hair-swung cradle straining, Looked down to see love's miracle,-- The giving that is gaining." In "Lines on a Fly-Leaf," the author of "Snow-Bound" gives in his hearty adherence to that movement for the elevation of woman, and the securing of her rights as a human being, which is perhaps the most significant and important of the many agitations of this agitated age. * * * * * The poem "Miriam," like "The Preacher," is one of those long sermons, or meditations in verse, which Whittier loves to spin out of his mind in solitude. It contains in "Shah Akbar" a fine Oriental ballad. * * * * * The narrative poem called "The Pennsylvania Pilgrim," published in 1872, has no striking poetical merit, but is valuable and readable for the pleasant light in which it sets forth the doings of the quaint people of Germantown and the Wissahickon, near Philadelphia, nearly two hundred years ago. It introduces us to the homes and hearts of the little settlements of German Quakers under Francis Daniel Pastorius, the Mystics under the leadership of Magister Johann Kelpius, and the Mennonites under their various leaders. "The Pennsylvania Pilgrim" is a poem for Quakers, for Philadelphians who love their great park and its Wissahickon drives, and for antiquarian historical students. We may regret, if we choose, that the poet has not succeeded in embalming the memory of the Germantown Quakers in such felicitous verse as other poets have sung the virtues and ways of the Puritans, but we cannot deny that he has garnished with the flowers of poetry a dry historical subject, and so earned the gratitude of a goodly number of students and scholars. In "The King's Missive, and Other Poems," published in 1881, the most notable piece is "The Lost Occasion," a poem on Daniel Webster, finer even than the much-admired "Ichabod," published many years previously. "The Lost Occasion" is pitched in a high, solemn, and majestic strain. It is a superb eulogy, full of magnanimity and generous forgiveness. Listen to a few stanzas:-- "Thou Whom the rich heavens did endow With eyes of power and Jove's own brow, With all the massive strength that fills Thy home-horizon's granite hills, * * * * * Whose words, in simplest home-spun clad, The Saxon strength of Caedmon had, * * * * * Sweet with persuasion, eloquent In passion, cool in argument, Or, ponderous, falling on thy foes As fell the Norse god's hammer blows, * * * * * Too soon for us, too soon for thee, Beside thy lonely Northern sea, Where long and low the marsh-lands spread, Laid wearily down thy august head." The poem of "The King's Missive" calls for such extended discussion that a brief chapter shall be devoted to it. CHAPTER IV. THE KING'S MISSIVE. "_Under the great hill sloping bare To cove and meadow and Common lot, In his council chamber and oaken chair, Sat the worshipful Governor Endicott._" So run the opening lines of the historical poem contributed by Whittier to the first volume of the Memorial History of Boston (1880). While the governor is thus sitting, in comes Clerk Rawson with the unwelcome news that banished Quaker Shattuck, of Salem, has returned from abroad. The choleric governor swears that he will now hew in pieces the pestilent, ranting Quakers. Presently Shattuck is ushered in: "Off with the knave's hat," says the governor. As they strike off his hat he smilingly holds out the Missive, or mandamus, of Charles II. The governor immediately asks him to cover, and humbly removes his own hat. The king's letter commands him to cease persecuting the Quakers. After consultation with the deputy governor, Bellingham, he obeys, and the then imprisoned Quakers file out of jail with words of praise on their lips. The poem fascinates us, for the incident is dramatic, and focusses in a single picturesque situation all the features of that little historical episode of two hundred years ago, _i. e._, the persecution of the Quakers by the Puritan Commonwealth of Massachusetts. A brief setting forth of the facts connected with this persecution will not only be full of intrinsic interest, but is indispensable to a right understanding of the Quaker poet's inherited character, as well as to a comprehension of his prose and poetry. One whose ancestors have been persecuted for generations will inherit a loathing of oppression, as Whittier has done. And this hatred of tyranny will be intensified in the case of one who is thoroughly read in the literature of that persecution, and is in quick and intimate sympathy with the victims, as Whittier is. But first a word more about the "King's Missive." Joseph Besse, in his "Collection of the Sufferings of the People called Quakers" (a sort of "Fox's Book of Martyrs," in two huge antique volumes), says [II., p. 226] that the principal instrument in procuring the royal mandamus (styled by Whittier the King's Missive) was Edward Burroughs,[28] who went to the king and told him that "There was a Vein of innocent Blood open'd in his Dominions, which if it were not stopt might over-run all. To which the king replied, 'But I will stop that Vein.'" Accordingly, in the autumn of 1661, Samuel Shattuck was selected to bear a letter to America. The London Friends hired Ralph Goldsmith, also a Friend, to convey Shattuck to his destination. They paid him £300 for the service. The ship entered Boston Harbor on a Sunday in the latter part of November, 1661. [Footnote 28: "There is a story," says Dr. George E. Ellis, "that Burroughs got access to the king out of doors, while his Majesty was playing tennis. As Burroughs kept on his hat while accosting the king, the latter gracefully removed his plumed cap and bowed. The Quaker, put to the blush, said, 'Thee need'st not remove thy hat.' 'Oh,' replied the king, 'it is of no consequence, only that when the king and another gentleman are talking together it is usual for one of them to take off his hat.'"] "The Townsmen," says Besse, "seeing a Ship with _English_ Colours, soon came on board, and asked for the Captain? _Ralph Goldsmith_ told them, _He was the Commander_. They asked, _Whether he had any Letters_? He answered, _Yes_. But withal told them, _He would not deliver them that Day_. So they returned on shore again, and reported, that _There were many_ Quakers _come, and that_ Samuel Shattock (who they knew had been banished on pain of Death) _was among them_. But they knew nothing of his Errand or Authority. Thus all was kept close, and none of the Ship's Company suffered to go on shore that Day. Next morning _Ralph Goldsmith_, the Commander, with _Samuel Shattock_, the King's Deputy, went on shore, and sending the Boat back to the Ship, they two went directly through the Town to the Governour's House, and knockt at the Door: He sending a Man to know their Business, they sent him Word, that _Their Message was from the King of_ England, _and that they would deliver it to none but himself_. Then they were admitted to go in, and the Governour came to them, and commanded _Samuel Shattock's_ Hat to be taken off, and having received the Deputation and the _Mandamus_, he laid off his own Hat; and ordering Shattock's Hat to be given him again, perused the Papers, and then went out to the Deputy-Governour's, bidding the King's Deputy and the Master of the Ship to follow him: Being come to the Deputy-Governour, and having consulted him, he returned to the aforesaid two Persons and said, _We shall obey his Majesty's Command_. After this, the Master of the Ship gave Liberty to his Passengers to come on shore, which they did, and had a religious Meeting with their Friends of the Town, where they returned Praises to God for his Mercy manifested in this wonderful Deliverance." The persecution, it is true, only ceased for about a year (the next recorded whipping-order bearing date of December 22, 1662). But the Quakers were greatly encouraged by the interposition in their favor. In an address before the Massachusetts Historical Society, Dr. George E. Ellis, of Boston, read a paper criticising Mr. Whittier's "King's Missive." This address was published in the Proceedings of the Society for March, 1881. In the "Memorial History of Boston" [I., p. 180] he asserts that the Quakers were all "of low rank, of mean breeding, and illiterate." He says that they courted persecution, and that they were a pestilent brood of ranters, disturbers of the public peace, and dreaded by the leaders of the infant Commonwealth as they would have dreaded the cholera. He quotes Roger Williams, who wrote of the Quakers that they were "insufferably proud and contentious," and advised a "due and moderate restraint of their incivilities." Dr. Ellis, it is true, takes the theoretical ground of "the equal folly and culpability of both parties in the tragedy," but seems entirely to nullify this statement by his apparently unbiassed, but really partisan treatment of the subject. When you have finished his paper you perceive that the impression left on your mind is that the really bitter and unrelenting Puritan persecutors were long-suffering, angelic natures, while their victims, the Quakers, were mere gallows' dogs. His theoretical position is summed up in the following words:-- "The crowning folly or iniquity in the course of the Puritans was in following up their penal inflictions, through banishments, imprisonments, fines, scourgings, and mutilations, to the execution on the gallows of four martyr victims. But what shall we say of the persistency, the exasperating contemptuousness and defiance, the goading, maddening obstinacy, and reproaching invectives of those who drove the magistrates, against their will, to vindicate their own insulted authority, and to stain our annals with innocent blood?"--Memorial History of Boston, I., 1882. Dr. Ellis is right in holding that some of the Quakers were gadflies of obstinacy, and full of self-righteous pride; but he fails to tell us of the patience, Christian sweetness, and meekness of character of the majority of them; and it is only when we turn to the pages of Fox and Besse that we see the inadequate character of such a picture as that drawn by Dr. Ellis. In the plain, _naïve_ annals of Besse, the hard-heartedness and haughty pride of the Puritan magistrates (traits still amply represented in their descendants) are thrown into the most striking relief. They glower over their victims like tigers; they are choked with their passions; they spurn excuses and palliatives; they demand blood. In the _Boston Daily Advertiser_ for March 29, 1881, Mr. Whittier published a long reply to Dr. Ellis, in which he fortified the positions taken by him in his ballad, showing that he did not mean to hold up Charles II. as a consistent friend of toleration, and that there must have been a general jail delivery in consequence of the receipt of the mandamus. He says:-- "The charge that the Quakers who suffered were 'vagabonds' and 'ignorant, low fanatics,' is unfounded in fact. Mary Dyer, who was executed, was a woman of marked respectability. She had been the friend and associate of Sir Henry Vane and the ministers Wheelwright and Cotton. The papers left behind by the three men who were hanged show that they were above the common class of their day in mental power and genuine piety. John Rous, who, in execution of his sentence, had his right ear cut off by the constable in the Boston jail, was of gentlemanly lineage, the son of Colonel Rous of the British army, and himself the betrothed of a high-born and cultivated young English lady. Nicholas Upsall was one of Boston's most worthy and substantial citizens, yet was driven in his age and infirmities, from his home and property, into the wilderness." Mr. Whittier further remarks:-- "Dr. Ellis has been a very generous, as well as ingenious defender of the Puritan clergy and government, and his labors in this respect have the merit of gratuitous disinterestedness. Had the very worthy and learned gentleman been a resident in the Massachusetts colony in 1660, one of his most guarded doctrinal sermons would have brought down upon him the wrath of clergy and magistracy. His Socinianism would have seemed more wicked than the 'inward light' of the Quakers; and, had he been as 'doggedly obstinate' as Servetus at Geneva (as I do him the justice to think he would have been), he might have hung on the same gallows with the Quakers, or the same shears which clipped the ears of Holder, Rous, and Copeland might have shorn off his own." Let us look a little more closely at the evidence on both sides. In the fourth chapter of the seventh book of Cotton Mather's "Magnalia" we have a specimen of Quaker rant. After stating that he is opposed to the capital punishment of Quakers, but advises shaving of the head, or blood-letting, the proud and scornful old doctor concludes as follows:-- "_Reader_, I can foretell what usage I shall find among the _Quakers_ for this chapter of our _church-history_; for a worthy man that writes of them has observed, _for pride and hypocrisie, and hellish reviling against the painful ministers of Christ, I know no people can match them_. Yea, prepare, friend _Mather_, to be assaulted with such language as _Fisher_ the Quaker, in his pamphlets, does bestow upon such men as _Dr. Owen; thou fiery fighter and green-headed trumpeter; thou hedgehog and grinning dog; thou bastard that tumbled out of the mouth of the Babilonish bawd; thou mole; thou tinker; thou lizzard; thou bell of no metal, but the tone of a kettle; thou wheelbarrow; thou whirlpool; thou whirlegig. O thou firebrand; thou adder and scorpion; thou louse; thou cow-dung; thou moon-calf; thou ragged tatterdemallion; thou Judas; thou livest in philosophy and logick which are of the devil_. And then let _Penn_ the Quaker add, Thou gormandizing Priest, one of the abominable tribe; _thou bane of reason, and beast of the earth; thou best to be spared of mankind; thou mountebank priest_. These are the very words, (I wrong them not!) which they vomit out against the best men in the _English_ nation, that have been so hardy as to touch their _light within_: but let the _quills_ of these _porcupines_ fly as fast as they will, I shall not feel them! Yea, every _stone_ that these _Kildebrands_ throw at me, I will wear as a _pearl_." As an offset to this quaint and amusing tirade, and to the charges of Dr. Ellis, one may read the following words of Whittier, and, by striking a general average between all the speakers, get a tolerable approximation to the exact truth. Mr. Whittier says:-- "Nor can it be said that the persecution grew out of the 'intrusion,' 'indecency,' and 'effrontery' of the persecuted. "It owed its origin to the settled purpose of the ministers and leading men of the colony to permit no difference of opinion on religious matters. They had banished the Baptists, and whipped at least one of them. They had hunted down Gorton and his adherents; they had imprisoned Dr. Child, an Episcopalian, for petitioning the General Court for toleration. They had driven some of their best citizens out of their jurisdiction, with Ann Hutchinson, and the gifted minister, Wheelwright. Any dissent on the part of their own fellow-citizens was punished as severely as the heresy of strangers. "The charge of 'indecency' comes with ill-grace from the authorities of the Massachusetts Colony. The first Quakers who arrived in Boston, Ann Austin and Mary Fisher, were arrested on board the ship before landing, their books taken from them and burned by the constable, and they themselves brought before Deputy Governor Bellingham, in the absence of Endicott. This astute magistrate ordered them to be _stripped naked and their bodies to be carefully examined, to see if there was not the Devil's mark on them as witches_. They were then sent to the jail, their cell window was boarded up, and they were left without food or light, until the master of the vessel that brought them was ordered to take them to Barbadoes. When Endicott returned, he thought they had been treated too leniently, and declared that he would have had them whipped. "After this, almost every town in the province was favored with the spectacle of aged and young women stripped to the middle, tied to a cart-tail and dragged through the streets and scourged without mercy by the constable's whip. It is not strange that these atrocious proceedings, in two or three instances, unsettled the minds of the victims. Lydia Wardwell of Hampton, who, with her husband, had been reduced to almost total destitution by persecution, was summoned by the church of which she had been a member to appear before it to answer to the charge of non-attendance. She obeyed the call by appearing in the unclothed condition of the sufferers whom she had seen under the constable's whip. For this she was taken to Ipswich and stripped to the waist, tied to a rough post, which tore her bosom as she writhed under the lash, and severely scourged to the satisfaction of a crowd of lookers-on at the tavern. One, and only one, other instance is adduced in the person of Deborah Wilson of Salem. She had seen her friends and neighbors scourged naked through the street, among them her brother, who was banished on pain of death. She, like all Puritans, had been educated in the belief of the plenary inspiration of Scripture, and had brooded over the strange 'signs' and testimonies of the Hebrew prophets. It seemed to her that the time had arrived for some similar demonstration, and that it was her duty to walk abroad in the disrobed condition to which her friends had been subjected, as a sign and warning to the persecutors. Whatever of 'indecency' there was in these cases was directly chargeable upon the atrocious persecution. At the door of the magistrates and ministers of Massachusetts must be laid the insanity of the conduct of these unfortunate women. "But Boston, at least, had no voluntary Godivas. The only disrobed women in its streets were made so by Puritan sheriffs and constables, who dragged them amidst jeering crowds at the cart-tail, stripped for the lash, which in one instance laid open with a ghastly gash the bosom of a young mother!"[29] [Footnote 29: Mr. Whittier stated to a member of the Massachusetts Historical Society that it was his intention "at some time to prepare a full and exhaustive history of the relations of Puritan and Quaker in the seventeenth century." It may be added that the newspaper articles quoted above, with the several replications of their authors, may all be found in the Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society for 1880-81 (see the index of that volume).] We may conclude this discussion by giving a few instances of Quaker persecutions, in addition to those mentioned by Mr. Whittier. In England the members of the sect suffered a whole Jeremiad of woes: they were dragged through the streets by the hair of the head, incarcerated in loathsome dungeons, beaten over the head with muskets, pilloried, whipped at the cart's-tail, branded, their tongues bored with red-hot irons, and their property confiscated to the State. One First Day, George Fox went into the "steeple-house" of Tickhill. "I found," he says in his Journal, "the priest and most of the chief of the parish together in the chancel. I went up to them and began to speak; but they immediately fell upon me; the clerk got up with his Bible, as I was speaking, and struck me in the face with it, so that my face gushed out with blood, and I bled exceedingly in the steeple-house. The people cried, 'Let us have him out of the church.' When they had got me out, they beat me exceedingly, threw me down, and threw me over a hedge. They afterwards dragged me through a house into the street, stoning and beating me as they dragged me along; so that I was all over besmeared with blood and dirt. They got my hat from me, which I never had again." Fox was at various times thrust into dungeons filled ankle-deep with ordure, and was shot at, beaten with stones and clubs, etc. One evening he passed through Cambridge: "When I came into the town, the scholars, hearing of me, were up and exceeding rude. I kept on my horse's back, and rode through them in the Lord's power; but they unhorsed Amor Stoddart before he could get to the inn. When we were in the inn, they were so rude in the courts and in the streets, that the miners, colliers, and carters could never be ruder. The people of the house asked us what we would have for supper. 'Supper!' said I, 'were it not that the Lord's power is over them, these rude scholars look as if they would pluck us in pieces and make a supper of us.' They knew I was so against the trade of preaching, which they were there as apprentices to learn, that they raged as bad as ever Diana's craftsmen did against Paul." In the declaration made by the Quakers to Charles II. it appears that in New England, up to that time, "thirty Quakers had been whipped; twenty-two had been banished on pain of death if they returned; twenty-five had been banished upon the penalty of being whipped, or having their ears cut, or being branded in the hand if they returned; three had their right ears shorn off by the hangman; one had been branded in the hand with the letter H; many had been imprisoned; many fined; and three had been put to death, and one (William Leddra) was soon after executed." Besse, in his "Sufferings of the Quakers," states that one William Brand, a man in years, was so brutally whipped by an infuriated jailer, in Salem, that "His Back and Arms were bruised and black, and the Blood hanging as it were in Bags under his Arms, and so into one was his Flesh beaten that the Sign of a particular Blow could not be seen." And the surgeon said that "His Flesh would rot from off his Bones e'er the bruized Parts would be brought to digest." To all this must be added the humiliating fact that four persons were hanged on Boston Common for the crime of being Quakers. Their names were Marmaduke Stephenson, William Robinson, William Leddra, and Mary Dyer. CHAPTER V. POEMS BY GROUPS. Besides "The King's Missive," Whittier has written numerous other Quaker poems, the finest of which are "Cassandra Southwick," "The Old South," and the spirited, ringing ballad of "The Exiles." In the first two of these the poet shows a delicate intuition into the feelings that might have prompted the Quaker women who witnessed for the truth in Boston two hundred years ago. * * * * * There is nothing in American literature, unless it be the anti-slavery papers of Thoreau, which equals the sevenfold-heated moral indignation of Whittier's poems on slavery,--a wild melody in them like that of Highland pibrochs; now plaintively and piteously pleading, and now burning with passion, irony, satire, scorn; here glowing with tropical imagery, as in "Toussaint L'Ouverture," and "The Slaves of Martinique," and there rising into lofty moral atmospheres of faith when all seemed dark and hopeless. Every one knows the power of a "cry" (a song like "John Brown's Body," or a pithy sentence or phrase) in any great popular movement. There can be no doubt that Whittier's poems did as much as Garrison's editorials to key up the minds of people to the point required for action against slavery. Some of these anti-slavery pieces still possess great intrinsic beauty and excellence, as, for example, "Toussaint L'Ouverture," "The Farewell," "The Slave Ships," and "The Slaves of Martinique." In these four productions there is little or none of the dreary didacticism of most of the anti-slavery poems, but a simple statement of pathetic, beautiful fact, which is left to make its own impression. Another powerful group of these slavery poems is constituted by the scornful, mock-congratulatory productions, such as "The Hunters of Men," "Clerical Oppressors," "The Yankee Girl," "A Sabbath Scene," "Lines suggested by Reading a State Paper wherein the Higher Law is Invoked to Sustain the Lower One," and "The Pastoral Letter."[30] The sentences in these stanzas cut like knives and sting like shot. The poltroon clergy, especially, looks pitiful, most pitiful, in the light of Whittier's noble scorn and contempt. [Footnote 30: "The Pastoral Letter" was an idiotic manifesto of the clergy of Massachusetts aimed at the Grimké sisters.] "Randolph of Roanoke" is a noble tribute to a political enemy by one who admired in him the man. The long poem, "The Panorama," must be considered a failure, poetically speaking. Its showman's pictures and preachings do not get hold of our sympathies very strongly. The Tyrtaean fire in Whittier was so thoroughly kindled by the anti-slavery conflict that it has never wholly gone out. All through his life his hand has instinctively sought the old war-lyre whenever a voice was to be raised in honor of Freedom. The formal close of the anti-slavery period with him may be said to be marked by "Laus Deo," a triumphant, almost ecstatic shout of joy uttered on hearing the bells ring when the Constitutional Amendment abolishing slavery was passed. Naturally, the war poems of a Quaker--and even of our martial Whittier--could not be equal to his peace poems. Still there are many strong passages in the lyrics written by Whittier during the civil war of 1861-65. At first he counsels that we allow disunion rather than kindle the lurid fires of fratricidal war:-- "Let us press The golden cluster on our brave old flag In closer union, and, if numbering less, Brighter shall shine the stars which still remain." _A Word for the Hour._ So he wrote in January, 1861. But afterward he becomes a pained but sadly approving spectator of the inevitable conflict:-- "Then Freedom sternly said: 'I shun No strife nor pang beneath the sun, When human rights are staked and won. * * * * * The moor of Marston felt my tread, Through Jersey snows the march I led, My voice Magenta's charges sped.'" _The Watchers._ As a Friend, he and his brethren could not personally engage in war. But they could minister to the sick and dying, and care for the slave. "THE SLAVE IS OURS!" he says,-- "And we may tread the sick-bed floors Where strong men pine, And, down the groaning corridors, Pour freely from our liberal stores The oil and wine." _Anniversary Poem._ "Barbara Frietchie" is, of course, the best of these war lyrics. The "Song of the Negro Boatmen" was set to music and sung from Maine to California during the war days:-- "De yam will grow, de cotton blow, We'll hab de rice an' corn; O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear De driver blow his horn!" After "Voices of Freedom," in the complete edition of Whittier's poems, come a cluster of Biblical, or Old Testament poems,--"Palestine," "Ezekiel," "The Wife of Manoah to her Husband," "The Cities of the Plain," "The Crucifixion," and "The Star of Bethlehem." The best of these, perhaps, are "Cities of the Plain," and "Crucifixion,"--the former intense and thrilling in style, and suggesting the "Sennacherib" and "Waterloo" of Byron; the latter a high, solemn chant, and well calculated to touch the religious heart. Whittier has drawn great refreshment and inspiration from the thrice-winnowed wheat and the living-water wells of Old Testament literature. Allusion has already been made to the hymns of our poet. Hymn-book makers have had in his poems a very quarry to work. The hymn tinkers, too, have not spared Whittier even while he was alive, and many of his sacred lyrics have been "adapted" after the manner of hymn-book makers. Dr. Martineau's "Hymns of Praise" (1874) contains seven of Whittier's religious songs; the "Unitarian Hymn and Tune Book" (1868) also has seven; the Plymouth Collection (1855) has eleven, and Longfellow and Johnson's "Hymns of the Spirit" (1864) has twenty-two. The Essex minstrel has written quite a number of children's poems, such as "The Robin," "Red Riding Hood," and "King Solomon and the Ants." He has also compiled two books of selections for children, as has already been mentioned. Like many authors, Whittier has been attracted, in the autumn of his life, to the rich fields of Oriental literature. His Oriental poems show careful and sympathetic study of eastern books. "The Two Rabbis" and "Shah Akbar" are especially fine. The little touch in the former of "the small weeds that the bees bow with their weight" is a very pretty one. In "The King's Missive" we have a few "Oriental Maxims," being paraphrases of translations from the Sanscrit. "The Dead Feast of the Kol-Folk," and "The Khan's Devil," are also included in the same volume. Mr. Whittier has also made successful studies in Norse literature, for which his beautiful ballads, the "Dole of Jarl Thorkell," "Kallundborg Church," and "King Volmer and Elsie" are vouchers. CHAPTER VI. PROSE WRITINGS. It is to be feared that the greater portion of the prose writings of Whittier will be _caviare_ to many readers of this day. He himself almost admits as much in the prefatory note to the second volume of the complete edition of his essays. That many of the papers are entertaining reading, and that they are written often in a light and genial and vivacious style, is true; and, as he himself hints, they will at least be welcomed and indulgently judged by his personal friends and admirers. His prose work was done in a time seething with moral ideas; the air was full of reforms; the voice of duty sounded loud in men's consciences, and the ancestral buckler called-- "Self-clanging, from the walls In the high temple of the soul!" _Lowell._ That particular era is now passed. The great secular heart is now in its diastole, or relaxation. Hence it is that the philanthropic themes discussed by Mr. Whittier thirty years ago (and most of his essays are of a philanthropic character) possess but a languid interest for the present reading public. The artistic essays, however, are charming, and possess permanent interest. Let us except from these the long productions, "Margaret Smith's Journal" and "My Summer with Dr. Singletary." Some have thought these to be the best papers in the collection. But to many they must appear frigid and old-fashioned in the extreme. They seem aimless and sprawling, mere _esquisses_, tentative work in a field in which the author was doubtful of his powers. They would ordinarily be classed under the head of Sunday-school literature. It has been suggested that the idea of "Margaret Smith's Journal" might have been derived from the "Diary of Lady Willoughby," which appeared about the same time. "The Journal" is a reproduction of the antique in style and atmosphere, and is said to be very successful as far as that goes. But certainly the iteration of the archaism, "did do," "did write," etc., gets to be very wearisome. The "Journal" purports to be written by a niece of Edward Rawson, Secretary of Massachusetts from 1650-1686. The scene is laid in Newbury, where Rawson settled about 1636. We have pleasant pictures of the colonial life of the day, of the Quakers and Indians and Puritans, and, on the whole, the sketch is well worth reading by historical students. "Old Portraits and Modern Sketches" consists chiefly of newspaper articles on modern reformers. They were originally contributed to the _National Era_. The portraits drawn are those of John Bunyan, Thomas Ellwood, James Nayler, Andrew Marvell, John Roberts, Samuel Hopkins, Richard Baxter,--and, among Americans, William Leggett and Nathaniel Peabody Rogers,--both anti-slavery reformers and journalists; and, lastly, Robert Dinsmore, the rustic Scotch-American poet of Haverhill. The last three papers mentioned are the best. The second volume of Mr. Whittier's prose writings bears the title "Literary Recreations and Miscellanies," and consists of various reviews, thumb-nail essays, and indigenous folk-and-nature studies, made in the region of the Merrimack. These last are of most interest, and indicate the field which Mr. Whittier would have cultivated with most success. In the reviews of the volume the newspapery tone and journalist diction are rather unpleasantly conspicuous. As a critic, our poet is not very successful, because he is too earnest a partisan, too merciless and undistinguishing in his invective or too generous in his praise. For example, what he says about Carlyle, in reviewing that author's infamous "Discourse on the Negro Question," is true as far as it goes. But of the elementary literary canon, that the prime function of the critic is to put himself in the place of the one he is criticising,--of this law Mr. Whittier has not, practically, the faintest notion. He considers everything from the point of view of the Quaker or of the reformer. Numerous specimens of Mr. Whittier's prose have already been given in various parts of this volume, but for the sake of illustration we may add two more. For an example of his serious style take the following from "Scottish Reformers": "He who undertakes to tread the pathway of reform--who, smitten with the love of truth and justice, or, indignant in view of wrong and insolent oppression, is rashly inclined to throw himself at once into that great conflict which the Persian seer not untruly represented as a war between light and darkness--would do well to count the cost in the outset. If he can live for Truth alone, and, cut off from the general sympathy, regard her service as its own 'exceeding great reward'; if he can bear to be counted a fanatic and crazy visionary; if, in all good nature, he is ready to receive from the very objects of his solicitude abuse and obloquy in return for disinterested and self-sacrificing efforts for their welfare; if, with his purest motives misunderstood and his best actions perverted and distorted into crimes, he can still hold on his way and patiently abide the hour when 'the whirligig of Time shall bring about its revenges'; if, on the whole, he is prepared to be looked upon as a sort of moral outlaw or social heretic under good society's interdict of food and fire; and if he is well assured that he can, through all this, preserve his cheerfulness and faith in man,--let him gird up his loins and go forward in God's name. He is fitted for his vocation; he has watched all night by his armor.... Great is the consciousness of right. Sweet is the answer of a good conscience. He who pays his whole-hearted homage to truth and duty,--who swears his life-long fealty on their altars, and rises up a Nazarite consecrated to their service,--is not without his solace and enjoyment when, to the eyes of others, he seems the most lonely and miserable. He breathes an atmosphere which the multitude know not of; 'a serene heaven which they cannot discern rests over him, glorious in its purity and stillness.'" For a specimen of our author's vein of pleasantry take the following bit of satire on "The Training": "What's now in the wind? Sounds of distant music float in at my window on this still October air. Hurrying drum-beat, shrill fife-tones, wailing bugle-notes, and, by way of accompaniment, hurrahs from the urchins on the crowded sidewalks. Here come the citizen-soldiers, each martial foot beating up the mud of yesterday's storm with the slow, regular, up-and-down movement of an old-fashioned churn-dasher. Keeping time with the feet below, some threescore of plumed heads bob solemnly beneath me. Slant sunshine glitters on polished gun-barrels and tinselled uniform. Gravely and soberly they pass on, as if duly impressed with a sense of the deep responsibility of their position as self-constituted defenders of the world's last hope,--the United States of America, and possibly Texas. They look out with honest, citizen faces under their leathern vizors (their ferocity being mostly the work of the tailor and tinker), and, I doubt not, are at this moment as innocent of bloodthirstiness as yonder worthy tiller of the Tewksbury Hills, who sits quietly in his wagon dispensing apples and turnips without so much as giving a glance at the procession. Probably there is not one of them who would hesitate to divide his last tobacco-quid with his worst enemy. Social, kind-hearted, psalm-singing, sermon-hearing, Sabbath-keeping Christians; and yet, if we look at the fact of the matter, these very men have been out the whole afternoon of this beautiful day, under God's holy sunshine, as busily at work as Satan himself could wish in learning how to butcher their fellow-creatures, and acquire the true scientific method of impaling a forlorn Mexican on a bayonet, or of sinking a leaden missile in the brain of some unfortunate Briton, urged within its range by the double incentive of sixpence per day in his pocket and the cat-o'-nine tails on his back!" PART III. TWILIGHT AND EVENING BELL. CHAPTER I. TWILIGHT AND EVENING BELL. The passing away from earth of John Greenleaf Whittier occurred on September 7, 1892, at four-thirty A. M., at Hampton Falls, N. H., in the very heart of the region he has immortalized by his ballads. The hour was just as the reddening east was mingling its light with that of the full harvest moon. Around his bedside were numerous relatives and friends. He fell asleep in an unconscious state, after an illness of a week. Let us now go back and, taking up the thread of the narrative where it was dropped on page 152, run over the incidents that have intervened in the decade since 1882 in the life of this pleasant singer--this plain Quaker farmer, who drew such soul-thrilling strains from his home-made rustic flute as to concentrate upon himself the attention of the whole world. In 1883 (January 7) died, in Boston, Whittier's brother, Matthew Franklin Whittier, whose daughter Elizabeth, before her marriage to Samuel T. Pickard, was house-keeper for a number of years for her uncle, the poet, at Amesbury. "Frank," as his associates called him, obtained, it is said, his position in the Boston Custom House through the influence of his brother. Says a friend (Mr. Charles O. Stickney):-- "Frank was not a poet, and being of a practical turn of mind, had the good sense not to attempt the impossible; but he was a man of intellect, an omnivorous reader, was well posted, and, though inclined to seclusion and taciturnity, was nevertheless genial and companionable; his conversation spiced with his quiet, quaint humor, which bubbled up in some happy _mot_, neat fun, or well-turned bit of satire which raised a laugh, but left no sting behind." His quaint, humorous dialect articles, over the signature "Ethan Spike," are said to have given Nasby and Artemus Ward their cue. They were chiefly contributed to the Portland _Transcript_, the Boston _Carpet Bag_, and New York _Vanity Fair_. They all purported to emanate from "Hornby," a "smart town" in Maine--"a veritable down-east wonderland, whose wide-awake citizens were up to the times and ready to settle any great question of the day at 'a special town meetin'.'" Mr. Spike was as intense in his anti-slavery views as his brother Greenleaf. Specimens of his work may be found in the Portland _Transcript_, January 10, 1846, the _Carpet Bag_, October 14, 1850, and November, 1851. In 1884 Whittier's seventy-seventh birthday was observed at Oak Knoll, when the genial old bachelor received with courtesy and hospitality all who called. Gifts of flowers poured in to serve as foil to the two huge birthday cakes from relatives. An editorial writer in one of Boston's chief dailies thus describes a visit to Mr. Whittier, made in 1884:-- "Mr. Whittier met us at the door of the pleasant house at Oak Knoll. He came out on the piazza, and shook us each by the hand, and said, 'I am glad to see thee.' He concerned himself about our rubbers and waterproofs in the hall-way, and said that we were kind to come. I had taken a great fit of shyness on seeing him, and was surprised to hear my friend speaking to him in the same quiet tone that she had used when alone with me. I listened, and reveled in silence as the old poet and the young artist spoke together. He led us into the parlor, and they talked of a landscape on the wall, of pictures, and of a portrait. "Presently he said: 'It is a little cold here. Shall we go into my room?' He led the way to the bright library where most of his days are now spent. Mr. Whittier happened to glance from the window as we stood for a moment speaking with him: he saw our cab waiting for us on the drive. The rain had begun again. Then a wonderful thing befell. "He forbade us to go away within the quarter hour; he forbade us to go for three hours. He went out and sent the cabman away, then he took us into the library. We sat down in front of the cheery open fire, and Mr. Whittier talked with us. He spoke of the claims of young people on life, it was different from any talk I had heard; in the face of my poets, I used to think that all good people believed that life is our creditor and hard taskmaster." On October 24, 1884, a portrait of Whittier was presented by Charles F. Coffin, of Lynn, Mass., a devoted friend and admirer of his, to the Friends' School of Providence, R.I. It was painted by Edgar Parker, of Boston, and represents Whittier sitting in an arm-chair in an attitude of peaceful thought. It is hung in Alumni Hall, between busts of Elizabeth Fry and John Bright, and is considered to be a worthy memorial of the poet. Letters on this occasion were read from James Russell Lowell, Dr. Holmes, E. P. Whipple, John Bright, George William Curtis, Boyle O'Reilly, Matthew Arnold, and others. From Mr. Whipple's letter the following is an extract:-- "I have had the privilege of knowing him intimately for many years, and of doing all I could through the press to point out his exceptional and original merits as a writer. My admiration of his genius and character has increased with every new volume he has published and every new manifestation of that essential gentleness which lies at the root of his nature, even when some of his poems suggest the warrior rather than the Quaker. One thing is certain: that the reader feels that the writer possesses that peculiar attribute of humanity which we instinctively call by the high name of soul; and, whether he storms into the souls of others or glides into them, his hot invectives equally with his soft persuasions mark him as a man; a man, too, of might; a man whose force is blended with his insight, and who can win or woo his way into hostile or recipient minds by innate strength or delicacy of nature." In 1885 the poet's birthday was again quietly celebrated at Oak Knoll, and in the afternoon Mr. Whittier's portrait was unveiled before a large audience in the Town Hall of Haverhill. In September, 1885, occurred a most interesting festival--the reunion of the graduates of the old Haverhill Academy, for whom the poet cherished to the end of his life an earnest and outspoken affection. It was here that Whittier got all the scholastic education he ever had outside of the district school; the reunion was thoroughly enjoyed therefore by him, although it was in his honor. For his health was pretty good, and he was in fine spirits. An interesting letter was received from the aged Miss Arethusa Hall, a preceptress in the Academy when Whittier attended it. Among others, Dr. Holmes wrote: "The class of 1829 [Harvard] has a bright record; but how much brighter it would have been if we could have read upon the triennial and quinquennial catalogues: Johannes Greenleaf Whittier, A. B., A. M., LL. D., etc! But what, after all, can all the degrees of all the colleges do for him whose soul has been kindled by that 'ae spark of Nature's fire,' which Burns caught from her torch on the banks of Ayr, and Whittier among the mists that rise from the Merrimack?" Mr. Whittier presented photographs of himself with his autograph to his school-mates, promised to think over the sitting for an oil portrait, and entered with zest into any bit of mirthfulness that sparkled out during the evening, although, as will be seen from the following description of a representative of the Boston _Advertiser_, he could scarcely understand the situation:-- "In the company was one man who seemed neither to accept nor to comprehend the situation. That man was John G. Whittier. His face and demeanor that day would have afforded study for a psychologist. That it was fifty-seven years since he entered Haverhill Academy he remembered with a certain sweet melancholy. That everybody was vying with everybody else in making love to him he could not help observing. But what it was all about, and why people should persist in talking of him when he wanted other, more congenial topics to be uppermost--these questions evidently puzzled him. A countenance on which was a look of shyness, of surprise, of perplexity; withal, a countenance irradiated by reciprocal affection and pleasure in seeing others pleased--if any one of the present artists could have caught and delineated those features, the painter would have been destined to share the immortality of the poet. On such a subject the temptation to indulge in reminiscence is strong. But space will permit me to mention only two or three characteristic incidents. A gifted vocalist had just sung a composition prepared for that day; and Mr. Whittier, turning to her, said, 'Friend, I wish that I could write a song for thee to sing.' An elocutionist of note read aloud one of the author's poems. He listened eagerly, as if it was wholly new to him; and a little mist gathered in those deep, dreamy eyes at the lines beginning, 'I mourn no more my vanished years,' but there was an answering gleam at the words, 'The windows of my soul I throw Wide open to the sun.' "Two circumstances made that one of the few red-letter days in the memory of the present writer. I had known in Kansas a lady who belonged to that band of Haverhill Academy pupils whose boast and joy it was to have studied and played with the Quaker poet. On mentioning this lady's name, I found myself instantly accepted as her proxy. For some minutes Mr. Whittier seemed to have no other interest than to learn all possible particulars of her and send to her all possible expressions of regard. "The other circumstance was the result of my connection with the _Advertiser_. Taking me into one corner of the room, he asked me to sit beside him on the sofa. Then, drawing from his pocket the manuscript of the poem which he had written for that occasion and on portions of which the ink was not yet dry, the author, in a manner irresistibly winning, seemed to take his humble brother of the pen-craft into confidence, explaining the motive for various lines and passing on to speak of those boyhood days which the poem and the occasion recalled." December 17 again came round in 1886, and found Whittier receiving friends, presents, and congratulatory telegrams at Oak Knoll. Wendell Phillips, for example, sent him a handsome cane, and some one else sent a great frosted cake and a basket that strained its sides to hold the gift of fruit it contained. In December, 1887, it occurred to a young lady journalist on the staff of the Boston _Advertiser_ (Miss Minna C. Smith) that it would be a good idea to have a "Whittier number" of that journal. The thought was a fertile one and was put into execution in great haste, but with eminent success. Poems were contributed by Walt Whitman, Dr. Holmes, James Jeffrey Roche, Hezekiah Butterworth, Herbert D. Ward, Minot J. Savage, Margaret Sidney (Mrs. D. Lothrop), Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, and others, and there was a great array of letters from other writers and eminent persons. Edward Everett Hale told the story of Whittier's Kansas "Emigrants' Song," how it was sung _en route_ and in the West by brave pioneers of New England. James Parton, of Newburyport, Whittier's Amesbury neighbor, wrote that Whittier was carrying his burthen of eighty years "with considerable ease and constant cheerfulness." He continued:-- "I am sometimes asked, 'Is the poet Whittier really a Quaker or only one by inheritance?' He is really a Quaker. He wears, it is true, a silk hat of the kind familiarly called the stove-pipe, which gleams in the brilliant sun of winter, and seems to indicate at once the man of Boston and the man of the world. But it is not the broad-brimmed hat that makes the Quaker. The poet does actually keep a Quaker coat for Sundays and other dress occasions, which coat was made by a firm of Orthodox Friends in Philadelphia, the metropolitan city of the gentle sect. He also uses the _thee_ and _thou_ in conversation, although without attaching the least importance to these trifles. But he is also a Friend from heartfelt conviction. A few miles from his home is one of the smallest meeting-houses in New England, standing alone in a land of farms and fields. It is painted white, and looks a little like a small school-house. This edifice will seat perhaps forty persons, but the usual congregation numbers about fourteen, who on winter Sundays dwindle often to seven and sometimes to three. This is the meeting-house which the poet Whittier attends whenever he is at home, unless prevented by the weather. "What an extraordinary thing is this! The poet who has most deeply felt and most beautifully expressed the sentiment and soul of New England is a member of the sect to which New England was so intolerant and so cruel! When the essential New England has ceased to exist, it will live again, and live long, in Whittier's poems; and he a Quaker! Was there ever before a revenge so complete and so sublime?" Mr. Charles M. Thompson sent for this octogenarian birthday a fine poetical stanza:-- "A thousand stars swim on through time, Unknown and unregarded in the skies. But one, kings followed; one, thy rhyme, Led on a land of kings in liberty's emprise!" Mr. James H. Carleton knew Whittier in connection with a circle of intellectual and social people that centred around the family of Judge Pitman in the years just preceding the rise of the abolition movement. "The Pitmans were neighbors of mine," said Mr. Carleton, "and I (I hardly know why) was admitted to the meetings of the people who gathered there. They were the leaders in everything that was progressive. They have since become widely scattered. "I remember Mr. Whittier as a leader of these leaders. These people formed to a large extent his social world at that time. It was the one place at which Mr. Whittier threw off his natural reserve and took his proper place. He was a good conversationalist on occasion, and when he spoke he was worth listening to. I remember him as intensely interested in whatever subject occupied the attention of the circle. He was never the first to begin a discussion, but rather bided his time for an especial opportunity." Mr. George C. How wrote of Mr. Whittier's friendliness, his cordiality, and his unassuming manner: "In the few delightful days I spent in his company in the White Mountain region, I saw no signs of formality or reserve. He told me, under the trees, many stories of his life and of his earliest successes. He impresses you strongly as a true and generous friend to everything and every man he believes good and honest. He does not like to be lionized, and refused to be introduced to a man whose only claim to his friendship was that he had read all his works. When, however, Mr. Whittier learned that this same man was an ardent admirer of the poet Hayne, a chord of sympathy was struck that made them firm friends during this stranger's stay." At Oak Knoll the winter day was clear and sunshiny, if cold, and warm hearts within laughed the season to scorn. The ladies of Boston, at the suggestion of Mrs. D. Lothrop, sent up a most unique and exquisite gift; eighty beautiful roses edged a large basket fringed with fern-sprays, that held an open book of white roses, across whose face lay a pen of violets, and on the wide satin book-mark was inscribed the closing stanza of "My Triumph." The Essex Club of Boston presented a large album; fruit and flowers flanked a mighty birthday cake in the dining-room. Mr. Charles F. Coffin, of Lynn, sent a large overflowing basket of fruit, arranged under his personal supervision, "every fruit in its season," of exquisite colors and shapes, to express his affection for his life-long friend, the poet. The new town of Whittier, in California, sent an advance copy of the first issue of the town's newspaper; the Governor of the Commonwealth, as the winter afternoon quickly declined, cut and distributed to the guests slices of the birthday cake, while all through the day Whittier passed to and fro from room to room, conversing with young and old, and hospitable to all. Whittier himself is reported as saying on his eightieth birthday: "When a man is eighty years old, it is time to give up active mental work. Oh! I am able to go about these grounds pretty well. I have never attempted to imitate Gladstone and chop down trees, but I like to split wood." This was James Russell Lowell's verse for Mr. Whittier on his eightieth birthday:-- "How fair a pearl chain, eighty strong, Lustrous and hallowed every one With saintly thoughts and sacred song, As 'twere the rosary of a nun!" The excitement and nervous exhaustion attendant upon these birthday occasions, it always took Mr. Whittier three or four weeks fully to recover from. Hence in 1889 (and partly on account of the recent death of a beloved cousin), the poet announced, through the press, that he should have to ask his friends to spare him any public reception. However, December 17 was observed as "Whittier Day" very generally throughout the country, as it had been in 1887, in accordance with the custom that has grown up of celebrating the birthdays of eminent men in the schools, and introducing into their courses of supplementary reading selected portions of the writings of each. Among the gifts received at Oak Knoll was a painting of a golden vase by Mr. Herman Marcus, of New York City, to whom the poet had appeared in a dream, bearing in his hand an elegant portfolio of red morocco, containing a picture of a vase of Grecian design, richly ornamented, and inscribed with the legend, "May in the smallest part thy sorrows lie concealed and all the rest be filled with joy overflowing." The portfolio and the picture on its page are a close realization of what the donor saw in his dream. Speaking of visitors, Col. Higginson tells two incidents in point. He says two nice little boys called one day on Whittier, saying that they had recently called on Longfellow, and, as he had died soon after, they thought it best to call at once on Mr. Whittier. One of the poet's housekeepers once asked him in severe tones whether all "these people" came on business or whether they were relatives. When told that neither was the case, she said she did not see what they came for then. "Neither did I," said Whittier, with laughing eye. In December, 1890, Mr. Whittier, who had gone down to Amesbury to vote, had been taken ill there, and hardly expected to be able to get back to Oak Knoll by the seventeenth. He did arrive, however, on a sunny day. Many of his friends spared him visits, merely leaving their cards or sending remembrances. His mail was very large, as usual on this day. In the summer of 1891 Mr. Whittier's health was so feeble that he was obliged to abandon his daily walks, except about the grounds at Oak Knoll. Driving was too fatiguing for him, and his hearing had grown so bad that he could converse only with difficulty. In Whittier's poem, "The Red River Voyageur," there is a beautiful allusion to the "bells of the Roman mission," now the Archepiscopate of St. Boniface. Archbishop Tache was reminded by Lieut.-Gov. Schultz that December 17, 1891, was the eighty-fourth birthday of the poet, the suggestion being made that the anniversary should be greeted by a joy-peal from the tower of the Cathedral of St. Boniface, in Winnipeg, Manitoba. His Grace cordially concurred, and the graceful tribute was rendered at midnight with the last stroke of the clock ushering the natal day. Mr. Whittier, having been informed of the incident by United States Consul Taylor, wrote to the Archbishop: "I have reached an age when literary success and manifestations of popular favor have ceased to satisfy one upon whom the solemnity of life's sunset is resting; but such a delicate and beautiful tribute has deeply moved me. I shall never forget it. I shall hear the bells of St. Boniface sounding across the continent, and awakening a feeling of gratitude for thy generous act." Our poet's eighty-fourth birthday (1891), and alas! his last on earth, was delightfully observed at the home of the Cartlands, his cousins, in Newburyport, with whom he was spending the winter. Mr. Joseph Cartland is himself a Quaker, and his white hair and genial cheery temperament are quite of the old régime. He and his wife were teachers in the Friends' School at Providence, R. I. Their fine old mansion on High Street is the identical one built and lived in by Judge Livermore, father of the shrewish saint and devotee of "Snow-Bound." It may be stated, too, that it was to succeed one of the Cartlands in the editorial chair of the _Pennsylvania Freeman_ that Whittier went to Philadelphia in 1838. In this house is kept the old maple-wood desk, made by Joseph Whittier, grandfather of the poet, who, by the way, "wrote on it his first poem." The desk is about one hundred and eighty years old now. On the back are carved the initials "J. W., 1786," in large letters. The wood has been smoothed down a little and a coat of shellac applied. On the back of the drawers are memoranda in chalk and pencil made by Greenleaf's father. On December 17, 1891, the old piece of furniture was covered with hundreds of congratulatory letters which would have made the old farmer Quaker, its builder, rub his eyes in astonishment, could he have seen them. "As he walks slowly down the broad stairs of the Cartlands at Newburyport," says one who saw him on his birthday, "there is much to suggest his years, it is true, yet no signs of unusual feebleness. He is erect for a man of eighty-four; his early litheness has not degenerated into the hopeless leanness of an ill-nourished and uncared-for old age; his step does not drag after his body as if unwilling to carry the burden longer; his head is not lowered, awaiting the smite of Time." Another thus describes Whittier in 1891: "In personal appearance he is remarkable. Tall, and as straight as one of the young pines in his favorite grove, it seems impossible that he is at the end of fourscore years. The crown of his head is bald, and his hair is glossy silver; but his great black eyes are as clear, bright and piercing as if he were in the prime of life. He walks with the deliberation and dignity of age, but without a suggestion of physical feebleness, and while he remains standing his head is as finely poised as a soldier's. The straightness of his figure is the more noticeable on account of his Quaker dress, the coat of which fits him as neatly and closely as if it were the conventional 'swallow-tail.' When seated and listening, his head drops slightly forward and aside--a pose which seems peculiar to poetic natures the world over. He is a most appreciative reader of other men's books and poems, and talks admirably of all good writings except his own, of which he can scarcely be persuaded to speak, even to his dearest intimates." Mr. S. T. Pickard, and Mr. and Mrs. Cartland received the guests in the wide hall of the old-fashioned hospitable Quaker home; and the poet himself wandered here and there about the room, so said the Boston _Advertiser_, "greeting every guest informally and pleasantly, from the old and tried comrades of anti-slavery's earliest days to the little girl in cream-white dress and wide hat, his little friend Margaret Lothrop, who had to stand on tip-toe to greet the bowed head with her childish kiss; and whose small hand he held closely as he kept her by his side." A pleasant note was received from Phillips Brooks:-- "DEAR MR. WHITTIER: "I have no right save that which love and gratitude and reverence may give, to say how devoutly I thank God that you have lived, that you are living, and that you will always live. May his peace be with you more and more. "Affectionately your friend, "PHILLIPS BROOKS." The first guests to arrive were a deputation of fifty from Haverhill, members of the Whittier Club of that town. Whittier made them a little speech, saying it was evident that sometimes a prophet was honored in his own country. The house was filled with cut flowers--in the window-seats, on the tables, in the poet's bedroom, up-stairs--all gifts from friends. The Whittier Club of Haverhill brought eighty-four roses. There was a basket of English violets from Mr. and Mrs. D. Lothrop. Mr. C. F. Coffin, of Lynn, sent, as usual, his generous basket of fruit. From Mr. E. C. Stedman came a painting "High Tide, Hampton Meadows," by Carroll D. Brown. And some kindly old soul sent a half-dozen pairs of socks--the spirit that prompted the gift as deeply appreciated as that of others. Other gifts were: an oil painting of a scene at York Harbor, painted by J. L. Smith, of Boston, the frame carved by A. G. Smith; a ruler of various inlaid woods from California, the gift of pupils of the workshop at West Point, Calaveras County, who wrote a letter, saying that they would devote the birthday to reading and speaking selections from his works; a paper-cutter made from the wood of Fort Loudon, of Winchester, Penn., and sent by the ladies of that place; a hand-painted tray from artist Florence Cammett of Amesbury; a late photograph of Dr. Holmes, "with his hat in his hand, and his most man-of-the-world air;" a souvenir spoon of Independence Hall from W. H. and S. B. Swazey, of Newburyport; a picture of the old Mission at Santa Barbara, done on native olive-wood, from Professor John Murray, of California; a handsome footstool from Elizabeth Cavazza, of Portland, Me.; photogravures of scenes about the Whittier homestead in Haverhill; a transparency ("Snow-Bound") from Austin P. Nichols; eighty-four roses from the girls of Lasell Seminary near Boston, and a wreath of evergreens from Mrs. Annie Fields. Among the messages was one from a little Indian maiden whom Whittier had befriended: "Your young Mohawk friend asks for you to-day the Great Spirit's blessing"--signed, E. Pauline Johnson; a letter came from Abby Hutchinson, of the Hutchinson singers. Among those present were, Mrs. Alice Freeman Palmer, Sarah Orne Jewett, "Margaret Sidney," Mrs. James T. Fields, Mrs. William Claflin, Harriet McEwen Kimball, T. E. Burnham, Mayor of Haverhill, and others. Among the company, conspicuous by those natural gifts that make one a centre for intellectual and genial comradeship, was Mr. D. Lothrop--the eminent publisher--(since passed away, mourned by all) who probably has done more than any other man of present times to create a new literature for children and young people, all achieved when it cost to do it, and that consumed years of patient, persistent struggling, till his splendid success was won. Mr. Whittier writes to his widow, "Thy husband and Mr. Coffin" (the old-time friend referred to), "were the life of my birthday reception, and now both are gone before me." (Mr. Coffin died the week after the birthday.) Again, to quote one of the many extracts of Mr. Whittier's letters concerning Mr. Lothrop: "Let me sit in the circle of thy mourning, for I too have lost in him a friend." There was much to draw the two men together; both sprang from New England ancestry, sturdy as the granite hills of their native State; each possessed the same indomitable will, where a question of right was involved, and the same breadth of charity for all, of whatsoever creed or divergence of opinion. Mr. Whittier partook of but little food in the dining-room, nibbling a bit here and there, and refusing firmly all offers of tea or coffee. His eyes, every one noticed, flamed with old-time lustre, whenever he was interested. Letters of congratulation were received from Robert C. Winthrop, Celia Thaxter, Julia Ward Howe, Harriet Prescott Spofford, Andrew P. Peabody, Rose Terry Cooke (who has since died), George W. Cable, T. W. Higginson, Charles Eliot Norton, and others. Donald G. Mitchell wrote that above Whittier's literary art he admired the broad and cheery humanities of the man. For the eighty-fourth birthday the Boston _Advertiser_ printed a superb illustrated Whittier number, as did also the Boston _Journal_. For the latter Dr. Holmes contributed the following letter: MY DEAR WHITTIER:--I congratulate you on having climbed another glacier and crossed another crevasse in your ascent of the white summit which already begins to see the morning twilight of the coming century. A life so well filled as yours has been cannot be too long for your fellow-men and women. In their affections you are secure, whether you are with them here or near them in some higher life than theirs. I hope your years have not become a burden, so that you are tired of living. At our age we must live chiefly in the past. Happy is he who has a past like yours to look back upon. It is one of the felicitous incidents--I will not say accidents--of my life that the lapse of time has brought us very near together, so that I frequently find myself honored by seeing my name mentioned in near connection with your own. We are lonely, very lonely, in these last years. The image which I have used before this in writing to you recurs once more to my thought. We were on deck together as we began the voyage of life two generations ago. A whole generation passed, and the succeeding one found us in the cabin, with a goodly company of coevals. Then the craft which held us began going to pieces, until a few of us were left on the raft pieced together of its fragments. And now the raft has at last parted, and you and I are left clinging to the solitary spar, which is all that still remains afloat of the sunken vessel. I have just been looking over the headstones in Mr. Griswold's cemetery, entitled "The Poets and Poetry of America." In that venerable receptacle, just completing its half-century of existence--for the date of the edition before me is 1842--I find the names of John Greenleaf Whittier and Oliver Wendell Holmes next each other, in their due order, as they should be. All around are the names of the dead--too often of forgotten dead. Three which I see there are still among those of the living. Mr. John Osborne Sargent, who makes Horace his own by faithful study and ours by scholarly translation; Isaac McLellan, who was writing in 1830, and whose last work is dated 1886; and Christopher P. Cranch, whose poetical gift has too rarely found expression. Of these many dead you are the most venerated, revered and beloved survivor; of these few living the most honored representative. Long may it be before you leave a world where your influence has been so beneficent, where your example has been such inspiration, where you are so truly loved, and where your presence is a perpetual benediction. Always affectionately yours, Oliver Wendell Holmes. Following is one of two stanzas sent to the Poet of Freedom by his friend "Margaret Sidney," and which, says the _Advertiser_, with one other tribute, was the only one of the innumerable letters and poems sent him that he read in its entirety that day, owing to his failing eyesight: "To be near the heart of Christ Was his creed; White as truth the life That all men may read; Strengthful of soul, Yet lowly in meekness; Dreading no hate of men, Scorning all weakness, He sounded the warning note, When it cost to be brave and true; Sang freedom for the slave, Then almost death to do. 'Unbind every shackle, Loosen each chain, Bid every slave go free!'" Mr. F. B. Sanborn wrote some interesting autobiographical reminiscences for the _Advertiser_. He stated: "I can scarcely remember when I did not read Whittier and Holmes. Their verses were eagerly caught up and reprinted by all the newspapers, and I knew them by heart before I ever saw a volume of them. Whittier, indeed, was almost my neighbor, living only eight miles away across the Merrimack, and sometimes coming for silent worship or to hear Mrs. Edward Gove speak in the Quaker meeting-house at Seabrook, only three miles from the farm of my ancestors. But I did not know this then; I never went there to see him. He is a distant cousin of mine, both of us tracing descent, through his daughters, from that stout and ungovernable old Puritan minister, Stephen Bachiler, who planted the old town of Hampton, in whose wide limits I was born, and which extended almost to Amesbury." Another scholarly writer in the same paper wrote instructively of Whittier in the Massachusetts Legislature. The Legislature of 1835 he describes as a notable one in the quality of its members and in the work accomplished. An extra session was held in the autumn. The Speaker of the House was Judge Julius Rockwell of Pittsfield, with whom Whittier had already formed a personal acquaintance through Judge Rockwell's contributions to the _New England Review_. Among the Suffolk County representatives were such names as Frothingham, Brooks, Otis, Sturgis, Peabody, and Hon. Robert C. Winthrop, also Col. J. B. Fay, the first mayor of Chelsea. It is not remembered that Whittier made any set speech, but he nevertheless did so much and such arduous work as to make himself ill before the session was half over. Dr. Bowditch, he often recalled with amusement, told him that, if he followed implicitly the rules he laid down for him, he might live to see his fiftieth birthday; otherwise, not. Perhaps no one man has been more frequently interviewed concerning the policy of party politics than John G. Whittier. With gifted qualities of heart and mind, was added wisdom, prudence and sagacity, in all that related to governmental affairs. The late Henry Wilson once said of him, "I can rely more safely upon the advice of Whittier than upon any other man in America." In the early movements of the Republican party he was acknowledged to be the power behind the throne. Sumner, wise and learned, could trust to the advice of Whittier. His correspondence with such men as Giddings, Chase, Sumner, Wilson, John P. Hale, Upham and other celebrities, upon national topics, is known to a few of his friends. They contain sentiments which prove him as wise in statesmanship as he is eloquent in verse. How well and faithfully he labored is best expressed in his words: "I am not insensible to literary reputation; I love, perhaps too well, the love and praise of my fellow-men; but I set a higher value on my name as appended to the Anti-Slavery Declaration of 1833, than on the title page of any book." On the subject of the abolishment of capital punishment, Whittier's vote is found recorded in the affirmative, as might have been expected. He has said that one of the pleasantest years of his life was that passed during the session of the Legislature in 1835. One of the chief reasons why Whittier went seven miles from his Amesbury home last summer was to "escape pilgrims" (as he called them). One Sunday after meeting at Amesbury he said to his life-long friend, Miss Gove, "Abby, has thee a spare room up at thy house?" She responded in the affirmative, and he went to her home in Hampton Falls for the latter part of the summer. It was here he penned his last poem--the verses "To Oliver Wendell Holmes:" "The gift is thine the weary world to make More cheerful for thy sake, Soothing the ears its Miserere pains With the old Hellenic strains." In a letter to one of the editors of the _Critic_ (August 29, 1892), Dr. Holmes wrote, concerning his birthday: "I have received two poems in advance, and our dear friend Whittier, whose heart is a cornucopia of blessings for his fellow-creatures, has remembered me in the pages of the _Atlantic_, where we have found ourselves side by side for so many years. Long may the sands of his life keep running, for they come from the bed of Pactolus." The news of his friend's death was received by Dr. Holmes in Beverly, just as he was coming in from a drive along the shore. It was a heavy blow, coming as it did just upon the death of Lowell, Thomas Parsons, and George William Curtis. He remarked that his acquaintance with Whittier dated from the year of the founding of the _Atlantic Monthly_. He had frequently visited him at Oak Knoll. He was there last year, and the two old fellows walked and talked among the trees and had a good time together. When the Doctor was leaving, his friend loaded him down with fruit. It was on one of these recent visits that Dr. Holmes with characteristic keenness of perception, discovered the beautiful symmetry of the grand Norway spruce in front of the mansion on the wide sweep of lawn, and he laughingly named it "The Poet's Pagoda," and this name it has kept ever since. To return to "Elmfield," as the old Gove mansion is called. The old-fashioned house, with its upper balconies, heavy chimneys, and rich collection of historical relics, stands on a hill not far from the falls which gave the name to the village--Hampton Falls. The sight from Whittier's window commanded a little balcony, with a view of the distant blue sea. One day after another passed quietly away, he rising at seven, going across through a pine grove to the adjoining tavern for his breakfast, getting the mail at the little post-office, reading the papers, looking at the distant sails on the sea through a glass, conversing with friends or walking in the neighboring orchard, with its paths and rustic seats. The region is that where his Bachiler and Hussey ancestors both lived, as Mr. F. B. Sanborn tells us (Boston _Advertiser_, September 8, 1892). Daniel Webster's Bachiler ancestors also lived on a farm, a mile and a half from the Gove mansion; namely, where now stands the villa of Warren Brown. As Mr. Sanborn truthfully says, Whittier has been the local poet of this whole region of Essex and adjoining counties. "No poet of New England," he continues, "has lived so close to the actual habits of the people, in the present and the past centuries, as did Whittier; and his poems of locality will become as much a feature of New England literature as are those of Burns and Scott in their native country. This fidelity to homely fact and profound sentiment have made Whittier more than any other the patrial and religious poet of New Hampshire and Eastern Massachusetts. He has done in verse what Hawthorne did in prose. It was only the accident or accomplishment of verse which separated these two poets, and made one of them our most graceful and romantic prose-writer, while the other became our most spiritual and literal poet." The truth of these statements comes home to me with force since I made a week's itinerary through this Whittier ballad land a year ago, and saw how every mile of coast land was celebrated in storied verse by Whittier. On Wednesday, August 31, Mr. Whittier was taken ill. The malady was acute diarrhea, which by the Saturday following developed a new and alarming symptom, a remarkable irregularity of the heart's action, accompanied by partial paralysis of the left side, arms, and vocal organs. He remained conscious until Tuesday at three P. M., when the symptoms became markedly worse. He was surrounded by ministering relatives and friends, who gave him every loving attention, but all were powerless to stay the hand of death. When urged to take the nourishment prescribed by his physicians, he said: "I want water from Abby's (Miss Gove) nice well," and as it was given, remarked with a bright smile, "That's good--nothing better." Soon after, as his forehead was being bathed, he said, "That is all that can be done." To his attending physicians, Drs. Douglass and Howe, and nurse, he said: "I am worn out--thee have done what thee could--I thank thee." And as the end drew near the dying poet recognized his niece from Portland, and remarked in faltering words, "Love--to--the--world." These were his last words. He died at four-thirty on the morning of the seventh. At seven o'clock on Friday evening the silent form of the poet was brought to Amesbury, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. S. T. Pickard, and Mr. and Mrs. Cartland. On Saturday morning business was entirely suspended in Amesbury. The selectmen issued the following proclamation:-- "To the Citizens of Amesbury:--Our town has been saddened by the death of its great poet and one of its noblest and best-loved citizens. We feel that our country at large, and the civilized world, mourns with us the death of the poet and liberty-loving philanthropist, John G. Whittier. "Sharing the sadness which must come to the wise and good everywhere, we, the people of Amesbury, mourn the loss of a friend and neighbor endeared to us by his lovable qualities and the purity of his daily life in our midst. "We revered him for his greatness, and loved him for himself. Always identified with every good work in Amesbury, sustaining the right and defending the oppressed, his life for more than half a century has been to us a daily sermon. "If it be true that 'The heart speaketh most when the life move,' we can only add that such a life, with its fullness of years and its crown of blessings, is a rich legacy to the community." [Illustration: THE GOVE HOUSE, HAMPTON FALLS, N. H., IN WHICH WHITTIER DIED.] At ten o'clock the public was admitted to the house, passing in a continuous line (as at the funeral of dear old Walt Whitman, his brother poet of Democracy, a few months before in Camden) through the humble little parlor of the Amesbury home. It was originally intended to hold the services in the Friends' meeting-house near by; but the dense fog clearing up and the bright sun coming out--as one beautifully said, "the mystery of death typified by the shifting and elusive shadows of the fog, and the glory and hopefulness of the resurrection by the bright rays of the sun"--it was decided to let the body rest in the house, and hold memorial services in the quiet garden in the rear of the house. The funeral arrangements were in charge of William Lloyd Garrison, Jr., S. T. Pickard and Judge G. W. Cate, the tenant of the house. The atmosphere was one of peace and restfulness, and the simplicity of the life of the Friends was seen in all the arrangements. In the quaint parlor of the homestead lay all that was mortal of the poet, on whose face was an expression of supreme peace; his form was encircled by a delicate fringe of trailing fern. A most beautiful wreath from Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes--eighty-four white roses, fringed with carnations and maidenhair ferns, one for each year of the poet's life,--was laid around the name-plate on the coffin. It was a touching tribute by the last one of that remarkable galaxy of poets that marked such a distinguished era in our American literature. Two crossed palms, with the Japan lilies Whittier loved so well, encircled by a broad white satin ribbon, were from Mrs. Daniel Lothrop. The fronds of the long palms encircled the face of the dead poet as it looked out from the large engraving between the windows of the parlor. Upon the end of the ribbon was delicately painted six lines from Whittier's "Andrew Rykman's Prayer:" "Some sweet morning yet in God's Dim æonian periods, Joyful I shall wake to see Those I love who rest in Thee, And to them in Thee allied Shall my soul be satisfied." Upon the accompanying card was this: "In memory of my husband's dear friend. This verse of 'Andrew Rykman's Prayer' was consolation in the hour of death to both him who wrote it, and to him who loved it.--Mrs. Daniel Lothrop." Another exquisite floral offering came with these lines: "I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care." On the back of the card were the words "Oak Knoll." The alcove behind the casket was filled with floral tributes. Here was a large St. Andrew's cross of exquisite white roses upon a bed of ivy, from a very near and dear friend of Mr. Whittier's at Lexington, whose name is withheld. There was a ladder of hydrangeas, gladioli, carnations and snow-balls from Mrs. Albert Clarke of Amesbury, an ivy wreath from Sarah Orne Jewett, a sheaf of wheat from Mrs. Lizzie Cheney and the Misses Coffin of Lynn, a broken shaft of white carnations from Mr. and Mrs. J. Henry Hall of Amesbury. A massive wreath of Whittier's own much-loved pine tassels was hung above the portrait of his sister Elizabeth, the tribute of Mrs. Joseph A. Purington; the heavy green was relieved by a spray of bright, contrasting goldenrod. Mrs. Samuel Rowell, Jr., sent a basket of white roses and maidenhair. There was a beautiful spray of the passion flower from L. Kelcher, Hotel Winthrop, Boston, and an hour-glass of white carnations from Mr. J. R. Fogg. Many touching little clusters of flowers came from the children; and his neighbors sent a beautiful wreath of fringed gentian--Whittier's favorite flower. This came from the far Pacific Slope: "Lay one flower for me upon the bier of the beloved friend who rests. No purer soul ever passed from earth to Heaven, or bore with it greater love and blessing than does his.--Ina D. Coolbrith, Oakland, Cal." In the garden, and overlooked by the windows of the study where Mr. Whittier wrote and thought for so many years, was gathered to pay the last tributes of love and reverence to the dead poet, a large and notable assemblage: Gen. O. O. Howard, E. C. Stedman, Mrs. Alice Freeman Palmer, Mrs. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps-Ward, Gail Hamilton, Lucy Larcom, Edna Dean Proctor, Horace E. Scudder, T. W. Higginson, ex-Governor Claflin, Parker Pillsbury, Francis H. Underwood, Edward L. Pierce, Robert S. Rantoul, Mrs. C. A. Dall, "Margaret Sidney," Harriet Prescott Spofford, Mrs. Endicott, Wm. Lloyd Garrison, Jr., Frank J. Garrison, etc. And the sight was one never to be forgotten. Under the soft September sky, blue and cloudless, in the shade of pear and apple trees which Whittier himself had planted and tended and loved, were his relatives, friends, neighbors and men and women whose names are known wherever the English language is spoken. It scarcely seemed like a funeral, so unaffectedly natural and sincere was every spoken word and every act. And the entire absence of formality and stiffness deprived the occasion of that artificial gloom which is so often characteristic of funerals. Perhaps, too, the subtle influence of the balmy air and the beauties of the place helped to lift the pall that must have hung over many a heart. It was as if the friends of some dearly beloved man, who was going on a journey, had gathered to bid him God-speed--not as if they had come to bid him farewell. A hollow square was formed around a low platform, and near by was a table with a Bible upon it. Gentians, one of Whittier's favorite flowers, and goldenrod formed the only floral ornaments. Back of the seats stood a dense crowd that must have numbered thousands, almost filling the garden. Children climbed the trees and looked with open-eyed wonder on the scene. On an apple bough, his naked legs dangling in the air almost over the head of Edmund Clarence Stedman, was an urchin who might have inspired the "Barefoot Boy;" faces peered from many a tree, from the vine-clad arbor and from the window of a neighboring barn, down upon the crowd. The poet's relatives, and members of the Society of Friends from various places, occupied the seats forming the hollow square, an easy-chair being reserved for Oliver Wendell Holmes, but he was unable to be present. The Friends gave the exercises their peculiar complexion; first one and then another rising to eulogize their friend as the "Spirit moved them." Verses of Whittier were recited by "that lovely Quaker lady," Mrs. Gertrude Cartland, and by Mrs. James H. Chace. Mr. E. C. Stedman was the last speaker. He spoke of the personal loss he felt in the poet's death. "To know him was a consecration, to have his sympathy a benediction. His passing away was not so much a death as a translation. He is gone, and has not left his mantle! How could he? Why should he? No one can overestimate his artless art, his power, vigor and effect in his polemic efforts. No one put so much heart or so much religion into his writings. He was one of the great trio of New England poets, of whom there is only one now left. They are the vanishers of whom he spoke. He was a believer in the inward life, as a poet should be. He will be his own successor, and belongs to our time as well as to that earlier time to which he is linked by his work. We may say of him that the chariot swung low and he was translated, dividing the waters of truth, beauty, and religion, with his mantle. The last time I spoke at a memorial service was at Bayard Taylor's funeral. Taylor was Whittier's friend, and like Whittier he had a firm belief in immortality." It is to Mr. Stedman that Whittier dedicated in a few choice lines his latest volume of verse, "At Sundown," which the poet, as if prescient of his coming death, had had privately printed and circulated among a few friends a year before his fatal illness. The most picturesque and striking figure at Whittier's funeral was that of the venerable John W. Hutchinson, whose long gray hair fell over a broad white Rembrandt collar. He and his sister, Abby Hutchinson Patton, were life-long friends of Whittier, and their voices in the song they sang--"Close his eyes, his work is done"--were, "like the echoes of sweet bells from the far-away time of their youth, when they and Whittier were one in endeavor." And then the long procession was formed. In the family lot, in the Friends' section of the Union Cemetery, where are buried his father, mother, sisters and brother, John Greenleaf Whittier was laid to rest. The Boston _Journal_, in writing of Whittier's obsequies, gathered up this tender reminiscence:-- "We recall the incident of some ten years since, when Mr. Daniel Lothrop, the late publisher, while visiting in California, used Whittier's poem, 'Andrew Rykman's Prayer' to comfort the bereaved. Mr. Lothrop had, as it were, been brought up on Mr. Whittier's poems, there being in many ways a great similarity of tastes and characteristics between them. Of late years there was a strong friendship. The clergyman of a prominent Oakland church had died suddenly in the pulpit some few weeks before, and at the large memorial meeting Mr. Lothrop was asked without warning by the chairman to recite this poem, as he had heard him repeat a few lines from it during a consecration meeting. Mr. Lothrop ascended the platform and gave the poem entire. There was a profound hush throughout the vast assembly, like that following the instant when the beloved pastor had suddenly fallen before their eyes. Many were in tears, all agreeing that Whittier's strong, uplifting words comforted them more than anything else that had been said. Rev. Dr. Gordon, in the address at Mr. Lothrop's funeral in the Old South Church, appropriately recited this poem for the late publisher, who on his death-bed used this poem, as he had in health and strength." James G. Blaine telegraphed that he had "long regarded Whittier with affectionate veneration," and over the wire came from Frederick Douglas the words, "Emancipated millions will hold his memory sacred." Speaking of Mr. Blaine, a writer, "S. F. M.," in the Boston _Journal_, December 18, 1891, tells of Mr. Blaine's presenting his, "S. F. M.'s," brother with a morocco-bound copy of the beautiful Mussey edition, and of Mr. Blaine's reading and re-reading aloud, one Sunday at their house in Charlestown, Mass., the poem "Among the Hills," which had then just been issued. Memorial services on the afternoon of the funeral were held in Danvers, Haverhill, Salem, Mass., and Vassalboro, Maine. The old Whittier grange at the cross roads in Haverhill was draped in mourning. The present owner of the birthplace is Mr. George E. Elliott, a retired wealthy gentleman of Haverhill; and it is hoped that at no distant day he may be induced to sell it to the town of Haverhill, who would sacredly keep this cherished spot marking the nativity of her distinguished son, so that all lovers of John G. Whittier's poetry may have an opportunity to see his early home. The day after the funeral between seventeen and eighteen hundred people visited the grave. And, as in the case of Walt Whitman's grave, each one wanted a leaf or flower as a memento, so that it was necessary in both cases to have the place of sepulture guarded by special watchmen, in order that anything green be left. The funeral of the poet was conducted as he himself wished. For in his will he wrote, "It is my wish that my funeral may be conducted in the plain and quiet way of the Society of Friends, with which I am connected not only by birthright, but also by a settled conviction of the truth of its principles and the importance of its testimonies." Mr. Whittier, by the way, in his will requests all who have letters of his to refrain from publishing them unless with the consent of his literary executor, Mr. S. T. Pickard. So beautifully ended a most beautiful life--beautiful because just and heroic in the defense of justice. As says of him James Herbert Morse:-- "Such was the man--no more than simple man, Plain Quaker, with the Norman-Saxon glow; But seeing beauty so, and justice so, We love to think him the American." And as Lowell says:-- "Peaceful by birthright as a virgin lake, The lily's anchorage, which no eyes behold Save those of stars, yet for thy brother's sake That lay in bonds thou blew'st a blast as bold As that wherewith the heart of Roland brake, Far heard through Pyrenean valleys cold!" The lines strong and resonant, of Stedman's "Ad Vatem," addressed to Whittier while living, might well have been uttered over his bier:-- "Whittier, the land that loves thee, she whose child Thou art, and whose uplifted hands thou long Hast staid with song availing like a prayer-- She feels a sudden pang who gave thee birth, And gave to thee the lineaments supreme Of her own freedom, that she could not make Thy tissues all immortal, or, if to change, To bloom through years coeval with her own; So that no touch of age nor frost of time Should wither thee, nor furrow thy dear face, Nor fleck thy hair with silver. Ay, she feels A double pang that thee, with each new year Glad youth may not revisit, like the spring That routs her northern winter and anew Melts off the hoar snow from her puissant hills." Many pleasant anecdotes of the Quaker poet appeared shortly after his death. Col. T. W. Higginson, writing of the Amesbury home, said of Whittier's mother:-- "On one point only this blameless soul seemed to have a shadow of solicitude, this being the new wonder of Spiritualism just dawning on the world. I never went to the house that there did not come from the gentle lady very soon a placid inquiry from behind her knitting needles, 'Has thee any further information to give in regard to the spiritual communications, as they call them?' But if I attempted to treat seriously a matter which then, as now, puzzled most inquirers by its perplexing details, there would come some keen thrust from Elizabeth Whittier which would throw all serious solution further off than ever. "She was indeed a brilliant person, unsurpassed in my memory for the light cavalry charges of wit; as unlike her mother and brother as if she had been born into a different race. Instead of his regular features, she had a wild, bird-like look, with prominent nose and large liquid dark eyes, whose expression vibrated every instant between melting softness and impetuous wit. There was nothing about her that was not sweet and kindly, but you were constantly taxed to keep up with her sallies and hold your own; while her graver brother listened with delighted admiration and rubbed his hands over bits of merry sarcasm which were utterly alien to his own vein. His manifold visitors were touched off in living colors; two plump and rosy Western girls among them, who had lately descended upon the household beaming with eagerness to see the poet. "They had announced themselves as the Cary sisters, who had lately sent him their joint poems--verses, it will be remembered, crowded with deaths and melodious dirges that seemed ludicrously inconsistent with the blooming faces at the door. Mrs. Whittier met them rather guardedly and explained that her son was out. 'But we will come in and wait for him,' they smilingly replied. 'But he is in Boston, and may not be home for a week,' said the prudent mother. 'No matter,' they said, in the true spirit of Western hospitality; 'we can stay till he returns.' There was no resource but to admit them; and happily the poet came back next day, and there ensued a life-long friendship, in which the mother fully shared." And another reminiscence appeared in the press, touching the poet's residence in Boston. When Mrs. Celia Thaxter was boarding at the little English-like inn on the sunny slope of Beacon Hill called Hotel Winthrop, Mr. Whittier went there one day to see her. Mrs. Thaxter liked the quiet place, with its ivied window and its glimpse of the strong, short, green-draped tower of St. John the Evangelist's, and she praised it to her old friend. That was some time in 1881, and in November of that year he joined his Oak Knoll cousins, Mrs. Woodman and her daughter and the Misses Johnson, at the Winthrop. The ladies of the family came in September, but Mr. Whittier did not join them until November. He said that he did not want to lose his vote in Amesbury. It was a winter full of pleasure to the poet. He was then not too feeble to go out evenings, and he spent many pleasant hours with friends like the Claflins and others. But the hours in the parlor of the hotel make the place historic, and give it a special interest and meaning for his future biographer. Mr. Whittier had room fourteen (the number of a sonnet's lines, twice seven, with luck for a poet), and the fire-escape made a little balcony for him on a corner toward St. John's. The landlord had a door cut through the thick old wall to the rooms adjoining, and these were the rooms of Mrs. Woodman and the rest. It is old Boston decidedly in that quarter. The brick of the houses is mellow old red, and there is nothing newfangled anywhere about. Mr. Whittier said he preferred coming here rather than to one of the big hotels, because there he was "overwhelmed with the service," and here it seemed "more like Amesbury," where people "are neighborly and drop in without knocking." He had "always been used to waiting upon himself," and he "liked being in a place where they would let him." It was his custom, mornings, to come down into the little reception-room on the street floor, and "sitting right in that chair where you're sitting," as the writer was told, he "used to read his letters and throw all the papers in a pile on the floor and go off and leave them." That little room was a great place of congregation for "the family," as the boarders who were there with Mr. Whittier liked to call themselves. The poet would sit on the sofa with a favored one on each side of him and the rest in a group about, "often on footstools or on the floor, as like as not," while he "told stories of war times." Gen. Stevens was there during one of the poet's long stays; he had been a classmate of Gen. Lee and of Jefferson Davis at West Point, and he and the abolition poet discussed these men and their times from the broader view of later days. "Once a friend, a lady who had some property in Virginia, wrote Mr. Whittier of having named a street in a new town for him, and of having set aside a portion of ground in his name. He replied with thanks, saying that he had that week received news of no less than three towns or streets being named for him with a gift of town lots, adding, 'If this sort of thing goes on much longer, I shall be land poor.' "During the winters he was at the Winthrop, Mr. Whittier's favorite way of getting about was in a herdic. They were 'not pretty,' but they 'knew the way to places.' Politicians used to go there to see him and try to get him to banquets. But his life-long avoidance of politics in the minor sense made him easily resist their wiles. 'I have seen Mr. ---- (a well-known name) come here and just about go down on his knees to get Mr. Whittier to speak or even to come to a banquet,' says the landlord (who is, by the way, an old-time character worthy of a novelist's pen), 'but Mr. Whittier would just sit here--right in that chair you're in--and kind of smile to himself as if to say, "Oh! your talk don't amount to anything." Well, once Mr. ---- came here and staid and staid a-talking and persuading, and gave Mr. Whittier an earache if ever a man had one. But he didn't make anything by it, although he finally had to take a bed and stay all night.'" Mr. Charles Brainard visited Whittier soon after the publication of "Snow-Bound." Finding his house painted and improved, he remarked to him, "It is evident that poetry has ceased to be a drug in the market." "The next morning Mr. Whittier's answer came. It was in the winter, and, as the poet went up to the fire to warm his boots preparatory to putting them on, he said, 'Thee will have to excuse me, for I must go down to the office of the Collector.' Then, with a humorous gleam in his eye, he added, 'Since "Snow-Bound" was published, I have risen to the dignity of an income tax.'" To an Englishman who visited him not long before his death, Mr. Whittier expressed his surprise that his guest should know so much of his poetry by heart. "I wonder," he said, "thou shouldst burden thy memory with all that rhyme. It is not well to have too much of it: better get rid of it as soon as possible. Why, I can't remember any of it. I once went to hear a wonderful orator, and he wound up his speech with a poetical quotation, and I clapped with all my might. Some one touched me on the shoulder, and said. 'Do you know who wrote that?' I said, 'No, I don't; but it's good.' It seems I had written it myself. The fault is I have written far too much." Here is a story illustrating Whittier's kind-heartedness: A young lady, a neighbor, was asked to take tea at his house. "He had no servant at the moment, and, with the assistance of his guest, prepared the simple meal with his own hand. She contributed to the press for her support, and prepared a minute account of the affair, of which Mr. Whittier chanced to be advised, and sent off a remonstrance post haste. But when the young author pleaded the real need of the money which the little story was to bring her, and the harmlessness to its subject of its effective details, the former reason (for the latter would never have overcome his abhorrence of what he must have felt a vivisection) actually prevailed, and he permitted the publication with a benignant forbearance." The Hon. Nathan Crosby, LL. D., writes in the Essex Institute Collections for 1880. "James F. Otis, nephew of the Hon. H. G. Otis, while reading law in my office, found in some newspaper a piece of poetry which he said he was told had been written by a shoemaker boy in Haverhill, and he wished to go and find him. Upon his return he told me he found the young man by the name of Whittier at work in his shoe shop, and, making himself known to him, they spent the day together in wandering over the hills on the shore of the Merrimack, and in conversation upon literary matters. The next year he became an editor. Mr. Whittier is not only a poet, but is himself a poem." Mr. Whittier, when interviewed some time ago as to his favorite works, replied: "Oh! really, I have none. Much that I have written I wish was as deep in the Red Sea as Pharaoh's chariot wheels. Much of the bread cast on the waters I wish had never returned. It is not fair to revive writings composed in the shadow of conditions that make every acceptable work impossible. In my early life I was not favored with good opportunities. Limited chances for education and a lack of books always stood in my way. When I began to write I had seen nothing, and virtually knew nothing of the world. Of course, things written then could not be worth much. In my father's house there were not a dozen books, and they were of a severe type. The only one that approached poetry was a rhymed history of King David, written by a contemporary of George Fox, the Quaker. There was one poor novel in the family. It belonged to an aunt. This I secured one day, but when I had read it about half through I was discovered and it was taken away from me." This was about the time when Judge Pickering, of Salem, and a party of ladies called at the farm-house to see him. "He was then an awkward boy of seventeen--as he used to tell the story--and was just then under the barn, looking for eggs. Hearing his name called, he came up with his hat full and found himself suddenly in the presence of people more elegant in appearance than any he had ever met. In telling the story, he added naïvely, 'They came to see the Quaker poet--and they saw him!' This must have been about the year 1824." Mr. T. W. Ball (in the Boston _Journal_, Dec. 18, 1891, weekly edition), the journalist, wrote of his sole interview in 1848 with Whittier, in a little editorial den at the junction of Spring Lane and Water Street with Devonshire Street (the building recently torn down), where Henry Wilson was then editing the Free-Soil paper (owned by him as well). "I was busy," says Mr. Ball, "getting up some local items one morning, when a gentleman of staid appearance, with a beaming countenance, a broad-brimmed fur hat--the old-fashioned fur hat, so different from the silk tile--and a brownish coat of formal cut, entered the room, and, after the usual courtesies of salutation, fell into a close chat with the 'Natick cobbler,' by which popular title the future Vice-President was then known. It was the summer season, and Wilson was resplendent in a brown linen coat and a flaming red-checked velvet waistcoat, which was much affected in those days. As the conversation between the two waxed interesting, I noticed that the visitor unbuttoned his vest for comfort, and possessed himself of an exchange paper which he converted into a fan. The interview closed, and the visitor, buttoning up his vest and donning his hat, turned to depart, when for the first time he appeared to take notice of my presence. With a rapid glance at Wilson, he said, 'Henry, who is thy young friend?' "'Oh, that's William, my local reporter,' was the reply. 'Here, William, this is Mr. Whittier, the Quaker poet, that you have heard about; shake hands with him.' I timidly extended my hand, and the great man not only grasped it with a cordial grasp, but, patting me on the head with his other hand, said, 'My young friend, thee has chosen a noble calling.'" Mr. Whittier, in speaking of Longfellow's works a few years ago, said, "'Evangeline' is a favorite with me. I think it is one of the most beautiful of poems. Longfellow had an easy life and superior advantages of association and education, and so did Emerson. It was widely different with me, and I am very thankful for the kind esteem that people have given my writings. Before 'Evangeline' was written I had hunted up the history of the banishment of the Acadians, and had intended to write upon it myself, but I put it off, and Hawthorne got hold of the story and gave it to Longfellow. I am very glad he did, for he was just the one to write it. If I had attempted it I should have spoiled the artistic effect of the poem by my indignation at the treatment of the exiles by the Colonial Government, who had a very hard lot after coming to this country. Families were separated and scattered about, only a few of them being permitted to remain in any given locality. The children were bound out to the families in the localities in which they resided, and I wrote a poem upon finding in the records of Haverhill the indenture that bound an Acadian girl as a servant in one of the families in that neighborhood. Gathering the story of her death, I wrote 'Marguerite.'" In addition to what has been stated in this volume and elsewhere by me on the Barbara Frietchie ballad, are to be finally appended a few words, suggested by the one who sent the raw material of the ballad to Whittier, namely, Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth, who, soon after the poet's death, at her pretty home in Georgetown, D. C., recalled the circumstances as they occurred back in 1863. It seems that the story was told her by a neighbor of hers who was also a relative of Barbara--Mr. C. S. Ramsburg. Mrs. Southworth's son, who was present, remarked, "What a grand subject for a poem by Whittier, mother!" She thereupon sat down, and with tears in her eyes, wrote the incident out and sent it to Amesbury. Mr. Whittier replied as follows:-- "AMESBURY, 9mo. 8, 1863. "MY DEAR MRS. SOUTHWORTH:--I heartily thank thee for thy very kind letter and its inclosed "message." It ought to have fallen into better hands, but I have just written out a little ballad of "Barbara Frietchie," which will appear in the next _Atlantic_. If it is good for anything thee deserves all the credit of it. "With best wishes for thy health and happiness, I am most truly thy friend, "JOHN G. WHITTIER." It is said that Mr. Whittier expressed regret for having made a bonfire of nearly all the letters he had received from his correspondents for over half a century. It is to be hoped that his literary executor will be liberal-minded in allowing the publication of the most interesting of Whittier's own letters, for he put a good bit of his sister Elizabeth's wit and vivacity into his letters; and scarcely a day passed that one or more of these was not written, overflowing with kindly words and good humor, though these, it is true, could give no hint of that lambent gleam of the marvelous eyes, nor of that sudden compression of the upper lip with which he repressed a smile when he had flashed out a bit of humor. Whittier was not only quick in repartee, but quick and lithe in all his movements, and quick in his mental processes. His friend, Judge G. W. Cate, says he latterly read books very rapidly by inspection, turning the leaves and seizing the contents by intuition. The poet's imagination, continues Judge Cate, was wonderful. Years ago he may have read an accurate description of some remote place--Malta, Jerusalem, or some smaller town in the far East. He would then converse at any time as readily about such a place as if he had been there. It was this vivid remembrance of places, Whittier himself said, which made him not care so much to visit them in person. He was never a traveler, not having been farther from home than Philadelphia (half a century ago), and Washington somewhat later. He said that he should like to be in California or Florida for a winter, but the getting there appalled him, and so he sat contentedly in his Northern study, with its bright open fire, finding in its crumbling embers a compensatory dream of the _Morgenland_ with its palms, mirages and luxuriant blossomry. He followed with deep interest the toils and adventures of his friend Greely in the arctic regions, and rejoiced with all his neighbors when word came of his rescue. And at another time he said he "would rather shake hands with Stanley than with any other man in the world just then." The sincerest mourners at Whittier's funeral were women. One of the peculiarities of his life was the devotion and loving care given to him by noble women--sisters, mother, nieces, cousins and such poet friends as Lucy Larcom, Mrs. Spofford, Rose Terry Cooke, Sarah Orne Jewett, Celia Thaxter, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps and Mrs. Annie Fields. He was always an ardent defender of woman suffrage, and such advocates of that noble cause as Adelaide A. Claflin publicly expressed their sorrow on the death of their coadjutor and friend. He was not only liberal in politics, but also in religion, and while remaining from choice in the creedless church of his fathers, yet he had sympathies that allied him with the broad humanitarian movements of the times in religion. There was no shred of bigotry in his nature. Who ever heard of a persecuting Quaker? It is they who have always patiently suffered persecution. Whittier, indeed, belonged with the advance guard of the Friends, in spirit at least, and he said in a letter written shortly before his death, "For years I have been desirous of a movement for uniting all Christians, with no other creed or pledge than a simple recognition of Christ as our leader." * * * * * The Whittier Club of Haverhill, an organization the poet had thoroughly enjoyed, not only because it represented the feeling of his native town toward him, but also from the constant attentions paid him by it, held a memorial service in Haverhill, October 7. It was a rare day of tribute and thanksgiving, and all who participated in it felt grateful for the honor allowed them. It was just a month from the day when the loved poet and former citizen passed from earth. Mr. George E. Elliott, the owner of Whittier's birthplace, very generously allowed the club to hold its meeting in the old homestead, and he furthered in every way their well-conceived plan by which the several rooms presented an appearance as near as possible to that of the poet's boyhood. The partition in the old kitchen, that had been put up of late years, was taken down, disclosing the array of ancient cupboards and queer little window; there was the kettle hanging on the crane in the wide fireplace, along whose hearth one almost expected to see "the apples sputtering in a row," as of yore. There were the iron fire-dogs and the antiquated chairs, the wainscoting untouched by the hand of Time, save to grow mellower of tint, and there was "the sagging beam," the uneven floor and the quaint staircase, all just as Whittier, the boy, saw and touched and lived amongst, all those impressible years of his life. It was a notable company gathered in that old homestead that beautiful October day--bidden there by the Whittier Club--not large in numbers, as the invitations were of necessity limited to the capacity of the old homestead. But they were mostly the poet's dear friends who came to do honor to his name. There was Lucy Larcom, William Lloyd Garrison, Jr., Mrs. Ednah D. Cheney and "Margaret Sidney" (Mrs. D. Lothrop); there was Charles Carleton Coffin and Mr. and Mrs. Frank Garrison and Miss Sparhawk, whose father, Dr. Thomas Sparhawk of Amesbury, was one of the poet's life-long friends. There was the dear Quaker presence of Mrs. Purington, Mr. Whittier's cousin, and the members of his family at Oak Knoll, Mrs. Woodman, her daughter, Miss Phebe, and the Misses Johnson; there was Mr. S. T. Pickard of Portland, Maine, who married the poet's niece Lizzie, and who is Mr. Whittier's literary executor. And there were other relatives and friends and Haverhill citizens thronging the house, and listening outside the little many-paned windows to catch the echoes of the words being uttered within. The day was all that one could desire who looked for sympathy in Nature toward this her favorite child who has so interpreted her woods and fields, her autumn skies and the trembling line of river and coast. The old kitchen was filled with chairs, and on them, and crowded in the doorways and peeping in the windows, were the interested and reverent listeners. Mr. Charles Howe, the president of the club, presided with great grace and dignity; with rare tact culling from the large amount of what waited to be read and said, just such choice extracts and bits of reminiscence as would best serve the purpose of the hour. Selections from "Snow-Bound" were read by a member of the club in that room where "Snow-Bound" was lived, if one may so express it. And to the listeners there came a vision of wintry fields and whirling storm; of the little knot of friends drawn close to the friendly comforting fire on the hearth; in the midst the thoughtful sensitive boy who was to awaken the love and veneration of future generations all over his country. There were reminiscences of a visit to his birthplace paid by the poet some ten years since with Mr. S. T. Pickard, who told to the assembled company many amusing stories related by Mr. Whittier on that occasion. There was the quaint staircase down which the poet, when a baby, wrapped in a blanket, was rolled by his sister only two years older, who probably thought it the greatest kindness in the world to thus project her infant brother into space. There was the queer old cupboard where Mr. Whittier when a boy was dragged by his jacket collar by a tramp who had forcibly entered the house; and there he was compelled to stand while the unwelcome visitor searched high and low for any chance jug or bottle that would yield another supply to his already over-weighted condition. Seizing a jug from a dark corner, he ejected the cork without a glance at the contents, and took a long deep draught of whale oil used for filling lamps. The embryo poet took advantage of the confused spluttering that ensued, to make good his escape. Mr. Will Carleton recited with dramatic vigor "Barbara Frietchie," till the walls and rafters rang. Lucy Larcom read from the poet's writings, and Mr. William Lloyd Garrison, Jr. recited an original poem. A young English lady, who was visiting friends of Mr. Whittier's, read by request Tennyson's "Crossing the Bar," the Poet Laureate's death having just occurred. There were reminiscences by Dr. Fiske of Newburyport, who told several characteristic stories connected with Joshua Coffin, the "Yankee Schoolmaster," and life-long friend of the poet; and Charles Carleton Coffin, the historian, gave the account of his capture of the big key of the last slave prison in Richmond, and of his giving it to Mr. Whittier who returned it to him a year or so ago. At the close of his remarks, Mr. Carleton hung the key on the nail above the fireplace where, in Whittier's boyhood, the big bull's-eye watch used to hang. Fitting place was it for the silent symbol of agony and shame to the slave brother; and all who witnessed it hanging there, felt the heart beat to a newer and a keener sense of the debt we owe to him whose songs (as one who gave a reminiscence that day told us) influenced Abraham Lincoln to project the Emancipation Proclamation upon the American people. The beautiful poem of Mr. Whittier's, "My Psalm," was rendered with deep feeling by Mrs. Julia Houston West for whom, several years ago, the verses had been set to music. And to bring to a fitting close these memorial exercises, the assembled company of relatives and friends rose and sang one stanza of of "Auld Lang Syne." [Illustration: Dr Holmes. Beloved physician of an age of ail When grave prescriptions fail Thy songs have cheer and healing for us all As David's had for Saul. John G Whittier Hampton Falls, NH Aug 26 1892 _The above fac-simile of the last verse written by Mr. Whittier, is kindly loaned us by the "Boston Journal." The following letter was sent with the verse_: HAMPTON FALLS, _August_. DEAR MR. WINGATE: I have only time and strength to write a single verse expressive of my love and admiration of my dear old friend, Dr. Holmes. JOHN G. WHITTIER.] * * * * * Transcriber's Note: Although the Contents lists an Appendix, there was no actual appendix or page 375 in the scanned copy. Other copies of this book were found to have the same problem. 
31406	----	CUDJO'S CAVE. BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE AUTHOR OF "NEIGHBOR JACKWOOD," "THE DRUMMER BOY," ETC. BOSTON: J. E. TILTON AND COMPANY. 1864. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by J. T. TROWBRIDGE, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY THE BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY, 4 SPRING LANE. CONTENTS. I. The Schoolmaster in Trouble II. Penn and the Ruffians III. The Secret Cellar IV. The Search for the Missing V. Carl and his Friends VI. A Strange Coat for a Quaker VII. The Two Guests VIII. The Rover IX. Toby's Patient has a Caller X. The Widow's Green Chest XI. Southern Hospitality XII. Chivalrous Proceedings XIII. The Old Clergyman's Nightgown has an Adventure XIV. A Man's Story XV. An Anti-Slavery Document on Black Parchment XVI. In the Cave and on the Mountain XVII. Penn's Foot Knocks Down a Musket XVIII. Condemned to Death XIX. The Escape XX. Under the Bridge XXI. The Return into Danger XXII. Stackridge's Coat and Hat get Arrested XXIII. The Flight of the Prisoners XXIV. The Dead Rebel's Musket XXV. Black and White XXVI. Why Augustus did not Propose XXVII. The Men with the Dark Lantern XXVIII. Beauty and the Beast XXIX. In the Burning Woods XXX. Refuge XXXI. Lysander Takes Possession XXXII. Toby's Reward XXXIII. Carl Makes an Engagement XXXIV. Captain Lysander's Joke XXXV. The Moonlight Expedition XXXVI. Carl finds a Geological Specimen XXXVII. Carl Keeps his Engagement XXXVIII. Love in the Wilderness XXXIX. A Council of War XL. The Wonders of the Cave XLI. Prometheus Bound XLII. Prometheus Unbound XLIII. The Combat XLIV. How Augustus Finally Proposed XLV. Master and Slave Change Places XLVI. The Traitor XLVII. Bread on the Waters XLVIII. Conclusion L'Envoy CUDJO'S CAVE. I. _THE SCHOOLMASTER IN TROUBLE._ Carl crept stealthily up the bank, and, peering through the window, saw the master writing at his desk. In his neat Quaker garb, his slender form bent over his task, his calm young face dimly seen in profile, there he sat. The room was growing dark; the glow of a March sunset was fading fast from the paper on which the swift pen traced these words:-- "Tennessee is getting too hot for me. My school is nearly broken up, and my farther stay here is becoming not only useless, but dangerous. There are many loyal men in the neighborhood, but they are overawed by the reckless violence of the secessionists. Mobs sanctioned by self-styled vigilance committees override all law and order. As I write, I can hear the yells of a drunken rabble before my school-house door. I am an especial object of hatred to them on account of my northern birth and principles. They have warned me to leave the state, they have threatened me with southern vengeance, but thus far I have escaped injury. How long this reign of terror is to last, or what is to be the end----" A rap on the window drew the writer's attention, and, looking up, he saw, against the twilight sky, the broad German face of the boy Carl darkening the pane. He stepped to raise the sash. "What is it, Carl?" The lad glanced quickly around, first over one shoulder, then the other, and said, in a hoarse whisper,-- "Shpeak wery low!" "Was it you that rapped before?" "I have rapped tree times, not loud, pecause I vas afraid the men would hear." "What men are they?" "The Wigilance Committee's men! They have some tar in a kettle. They have made a fire unter it, and I hear some of 'em say, 'Run, boys, and pring some fedders.'" "Tar and feathers!" The young man grew pale. "They have threatened it, but they will not dare!" "They vill dare do anything; but you shall prewent 'em! See vat I have prought you!" Carl opened his jacket, and showed the handle of a revolver. "Stackridge sent it." "Hide it! hide it!" said the master, quickly. "He offered it to me himself. I told him I could not take it." "He said, may be when you smell tar and see fedders, you vill change your mind," answered Carl. The schoolmaster smiled. The pallor of fear which had surprised him for an instant, had vanished. "I believe in a different creed from Mr. Stackridge's, honest man as he is. I shall not resist evil, but overcome evil with good, if I can; if I cannot, I shall suffer it." "You show you vill shoot some of 'em, and they vill let you go," said Carl, not understanding the nobler doctrine. "Shooting vill do some of them willains some good!" his placid blue eyes kindling, as if he would like to do a little of the shooting. "You take it?" "No," said the young man, firmly. "Such weapons are not for me." "Wery vell!" Carl buttoned his jacket over the revolver. "Then you come mit me, if you please. Get out of the vinder and run. That is pest, I suppose." "No, no, my lad. I may as well meet these men first as last." "Then I vill go and pring help!" suddenly exclaimed, the boy; and away he scampered across the fields, leaving the young man alone in the darkening school-room. It was not a very pleasant situation to be in, you may well believe. As he closed the sash, a faint odor of tar was wafted in on the evening breeze. The voices of the ruffians at the door grew louder and more menacing. He knew they were only waiting for the tar to heat, for the shadows of night to thicken, and for him to make his appearance. He returned to his desk, but it was now too dark to write. He could barely see to sign his name and superscribe the envelope. This done, he buttoned his straight-fitting brown coat, put on his modest hat, and stood pondering in his mind what he should do. A young man scarcely twenty years old, reared in the quiet atmosphere of a community of Friends, and as unaccustomed, hitherto, to scenes of strife and violence as the most innocent child,--such was Penn Hapgood, teacher of the "Academy" (as the school was proudly named) in Curryville. This was the first great trial of his faith and courage. He had not taken Carl's advice, and run, because he did not believe that he could escape the danger in that way. And as for fighting, that was not in his heart any more than it was in his creed. But to say he did not dread to meet his foes at the door, that he felt no fear, would be speaking falsely. He was afraid. His entire nature, delicate body and still more delicate soul, shrank from the ordeal. He went to the outer door, and laid his hand on the bolt, but could not, for a long time, summon resolution to open it. As he hesitated, there came a loud thump on one of the panels which nearly crushed it in, and filled the hollow building with ominous echoes. "Make ready in thar, you hound of a abolitionist!" shouted a brutal voice; "we're about ready fur ye!" Penn's hand drew back. I dare say it trembled, I dare say his face turned white again, as he felt the danger so near. How could he confront, with his sensitive spirit, those merciless, coarse men? "I'll wait a little," he thought within himself. "Perhaps Carl _will_ bring help." There were good sturdy Unionists in the place, men who, unlike the Pennsylvania schoolmaster, believed in opposing evil with evil, force by force. Only last night, one of them entered this very school-room, bolted the door carefully, and sat down to unfold to the young master a scheme for resisting the plans of the secessionists. It was a league for circumventing treason; for keeping Tennessee in the Union; for preserving their homes and families from the horrors of the impending civil war. The conspirators had arms concealed; they met in secret places; they were watching for the hour to strike. Would the schoolmaster join them? Strange to say, they believed in him as a man who had abilities as a leader, "an undeveloped fighting man"--he, Penn Hapgood, the Quaker! Penn smiled, as he declined the farmer's offer of a commission in the secret militia, and refused to accept the weapon of self-defence which the same earnest Unionist had proffered him again, through Carl, the German boy, this night. Penn thought of these men now, and hoped that Carl would haste and bring them to the rescue. Then immediately he blushed at his own cowardly inconsistency; for something in his heart said that he ought not to wish others to do for him what he had conscientious scruples against doing for himself. "I'll go out!" he said, sternly, to his trembling heart. But he would first make a reconnoissance through the keyhole. He looked, and saw one ruffian stirring the fire under the tar kettle, another displaying a rope, and two others alternately drinking from a bottle. He started back, as the thundering on the panel was repeated, and the same voice roared out, "You kin be takin' off them clo'es of yourn; the tar is about het!" "I'll wait a few minutes longer for Carl!" said Penn to himself, with a long breath. Unfortunately, Carl was not just now in a situation to render much assistance. Although he had arrived unseen at the window, he did not retire undiscovered. He had run but a short distance when a gruff voice ordered him to stop. He had a way, however, of misunderstanding English when he chose, and interpreted the command to mean, run faster. Receiving it in that sense, he obeyed. Somebody behind him began to run too. In short, it was a chase; and Carl, glancing backwards, saw long-legged Silas Ropes, one of the ringleaders of the mob, taking appalling strides after him, across the open field. There were some woods about a quarter of a mile away, and Carl made for them, trusting to their shelter and the shades of night to favor his escape. He was fifteen years old, strong, and an excellent runner. He did not again look behind to see if Silas was gaining on him, but attended strictly to his own business, which was, to get into the thickets as soon as possible. His success seemed almost certain; a few rods more, and the undergrowth would be reached; and he was congratulating himself on having thus led away from the schoolmaster one of his most desperate enemies, when he rushed suddenly almost into the arms of two men,--or rather, into a feather-bed, which they were fetching by the corner of the wood lot. "Ketch that Dutchman!" roared Silas. And they "ketched" him. "What's the Dutchman done?" said one of the men, throwing himself lazily on the feather-bed, while his companion held Carl for his pursuer. "I don't know," said Carl, opening his eyes with placid wonder. "I tought he vas vanting to run a race mit me." "A race, you fool!" said Silas, seizing and shaking him. "Didn't you hear me tell ye to stop?" "Did you say _shtop_?" asked Carl, with a broad smile. "It ish wery queer! Ven it sounded so much as if you said _shtep_! so I _shtepped_ just as fast as I could." "What was you thar at the winder fur?" "Vot vinder?" said Carl. "Of the Academy," said Silas. "O! to pe sure! I vas there," said Carl. "Pecause I left my books in there last week, and I vas going to get 'em. But I saw somebody in the house, and I vas afraid." "Wasn't it the schoolmaster?" "I shouldn't be wery much surprised if it vas the schoolmaster," said Carl, with blooming simplicity. "You lying rascal! what did you say to him through the winder?" Carl looked all around with an expression of mild wonder, as if expecting somebody else to answer. "Why don't you speak?" And Silas gave his arm a fierce wrench. "Vat did you say?" "I said, you lying rascal!----" "That is not my name," said Carl, "and I tought you vas shpeaking to somebody else. I tought you vas conwersing mit this man," pointing at the fellow on the bed. "Dan Pepperill!" said Silas, turning angrily on the recumbent figure, "what are you stretching your lazy bones thar fur? We're waiting fur them feathers, and you'll git a coat yourself, if you don't show a little more of the sperrit of a gentleman! You don't act as if your heart was in this yer act of dooty we're performin', any more'n as if you was a northern mudsill yourself!" "Wal, the truth is," said Dan Pepperill, reluctantly getting up from the bed, and preparing to shoulder it, "the schoolmaster has allus treated me well, and though I hate his principles,----" "You don't hate his principles, neither! You're more'n half a abolitionist yourself! And I swear to gosh," said Silas, "if you don't do your part now----" "I will! I'm a-going to!" said Dan, with something like a groan. "Though, as I said, he has allus used me well----" "Shet up!" Silas administered a kick, which Dan adroitly caught in the bed. Mr. Ropes got his foot embarrassed in the feathers, lost his balance, and fell. Dan, either by mistake or design, fell also, tumbling the bed in a smothering mass over the screaming mouth and coarse red nose of the prostrate Silas. The third man, who was guarding Carl, began to laugh. Carl laughed too, as if it was the greatest joke in the world; to enhance the fun of which, he gave his man a sudden push forwards, tripped him as he went, and so flung him headlong upon the struggling heap. This pleasant feat accomplished, he turned to run; but changed his mind almost instantly; and, instead of plunging into the undergrowth, threw himself upon the accumulating pile. There he scrambled, and kicked, with his heels in the air, and rolled over the topmost man, who rolled over Mr. Pepperill, who rolled over the feather-bed, which rolled again over Mr. Ropes, in a most lively and edifying manner. At this interesting juncture Carl's reason for changing his mind and remaining, became manifest. Two more of the chivalry from the tar kettle came rushing to the spot, and would speedily have seized him had he attempted to get off. So he staid, thinking he might be helping the master in this way as well as any other. And now the miscellaneous heap of legs and feathers began to resolve itself into its original elements. First Carl was pulled off by one of the new comers; then Dan and the man Carl had sent to comfort him fell to blows, clinched each other, and rolled upon the earth; and lastly, Mr. Silas Ropes arose, choked with passion and feathers, from under the rent and bursting bed. The two squabbling men were also quickly on their feet, Mr. Pepperill proving too much for his antagonist. "What did you pitch into me fur?" demanded Silas, threatening his friend Dan. "What did Gad pitch into me fur?" said the irate Dan, shaking his fist at Gad. "What did you push and jump on to me fur?" said Gad, clutching Carl, who was still laughing. Thus the wrath of the whole party was turned against the boy. "Pless me!" said he, staring innocently, "I tought it vas all for shport!" The furious Mr. Ropes was about to convince him, by some violent act, of his mistake, when cries from the direction of the school-house called his attention. "See what's there, boys!" said Silas. "Durn me," said Mr. Pepperill, looking across the field as he brushed the feathers from his clothes, "if it ain't the master himself!" In fact, Penn had by this time summoned courage to slip back the bolt, throw open the school-house door, and come out. The gentlemen who were heating the tar and drinking from the bottle were taken by surprise. They had not expected that the fellow would come out at all, but wait to be dragged out. Their natural conclusion was, that he was armed; for he appeared with as calm and determined a front as if he had been perfectly safe from injury himself, while it was in his power to do them some fatal mischief. They could not understand how the mere consciousness of his own uprightness, and a sense of reliance on the arm of eternal justice, could inspire a man with courage to face so many. "My friends," said Penn, as they beset him with threats and blasphemy, "I have never injured one of you, and you will not harm me." And as if some deity held an invisible shield above him, he passed by; and they, in their astonishment, durst not even lay their hands upon him. "I've hearn tell he was a Quaker, and wouldn't fight," muttered one; "but I see a revolver under his coat!" "Where's Sile? Where's Sile Ropes?" cried others, who, though themselves unwilling to assume the responsibility of seizing the young master, would have been glad to see Silas attempt it. Great was the joy of Carl when he saw Mr. Hapgood walking through the guard of ruffians untouched. But, a moment after, he uttered an involuntary groan of despair. It was Penn's custom to cross the fields in going from the Academy to the house where he boarded, and his path wound by the edge of the woods, where Silas and his accomplices were at this moment gathering up the spilt feathers. "All right!" said Mr. Ropes, crouching down in order to remain concealed from Penn's view. "This is as comf'table a place to do our dooty by him as any to be found. Keep dark, boys, and let him come!" II. _PENN AND THE RUFFIANS_. Penn traversed the field, followed by the gang from the school-house. As he approached the woods, Silas and his friends rose up before him. He was thus surrounded. "Thought you'd come and meet us half way, did ye?" said Mr. Ropes, striding across his path. "Very accommodating in you, to be shore!" And he laughed a brutal laugh, which was echoed by all his friends except Dan. "I have not come to meet you," replied Penn, "but I am going about my own private business, and wish to pass on." "Wal, you can't pass on till we've settled a small account with you that's been standing a little too long a'ready. Bring that tar, some on ye! Come, Pepperill! show your sperrit!" This Pepperill was a ragged, lank, starved-looking man, whose appearance was on this occasion rendered ludicrous by the feathers sticking all over him, and by an expression of dejection which _would_ draw down the corners of his miserable mouth and roll up his piteous eyes, notwithstanding his efforts to appear, what Silas termed, "sperrited." "You, too, among my enemies, Daniel!" said Penn, reproachfully. It was a look of grief, not of anger, which he turned on the wretched man. Poor Pepperill could not stand it. "I own, I own," he stammered forth, a picture of mingled fear and contrition, "you've allus used me well, Mr. Hapgood,--but," he hastened to add, with a scared glance at Silas, "I hate your principles!" "Look here, Dan Pepperill!" remarked Mr. Ropes, with grim significance, "you better shet your yaup, and be a bringin' that ar kittle!" Dan groaned, and departed. Penn smiled bitterly. "I have always used him well; and this is the return I get!" He thought of another evening, but little more than a week since, when, passing by this very path, he heard a deeper groan than that which the wretch had just uttered. He turned aside into the edge of the woods, and there beheld an object to excite at once his laughter and compassion. What he saw was this. Dan Pepperill, astride a rail; his hands tied together above it, and his feet similarly bound beneath. The rail had been taken from a fence a mile away, and he had been carried all that distance on the shoulders of some of these very men. They had taken turns with him, and when, tired at last, had placed the rail in the crotches of two convenient saplings, and there left him. The crotch in front was considerably higher than that behind, which circumstance gave him the appearance of clinging to the back of an animal in the act of rearing frightfully, and exposed a delicate part of his apparel that had been sadly rent by contact with splinters. And there the wretch was clinging and groaning when Penn came up. "For the love of the Lord!" said Dan, "take me down!" "Why, what is the matter? How came you here?" "I'm a dead man; that's the matter! I've been wipped to death, and then rode on a rail; that's the way I come here!" "Whipped! what for?" said Penn, losing no time in cutting the sufferer's bonds. "Ye see," said Dan, when taken down and laid upon the ground, "the patrolmen found Combs's boy Pete out t'other night without a pass, and took him and tied him to a tree, and licked him." The "boy Pete" was a negro man upwards of fifty years old, owned by the said Combs. "Wal, ye see, jest cause I found him, and took him home with me, and washed his back fur him, and bound cotton on to it, and kep' him over night, and gin him a good breakfast, and a drink o' suthin' strong in the morning, and then went home with him, and talked with his master so'st he wouldn't git another licking,--just for that, Sile Ropes and his gang took me and served me wus'n ever they served him!" And the broken-spirited man cried like a child at the recollection of his injuries. He was one of the "white trash" of the south, whom even the negroes belonging to good families look down upon; a weak, degraded, kind-hearted man, whose offence was not simply that he had shown mercy to the "boy Pete," after his flogging, but that he associated on familiar terms with such negroes as were not too proud to cultivate his acquaintance, and secretly sold them whiskey. After repeated warnings, he had been flogged, and treated to a ride on a three-cornered rail, and hung up to reflect upon his ungentlemanly conduct and its sad consequences. At sight of him, Penn, who knew nothing of his selling whiskey to the blacks, or of any other offence against the laws or prejudices of the community, than that of befriending a beaten and bleeding slave, felt his indignation roused and his sympathies excited. "It's a dreadful state of society in which such outrages are tolerated!" he exclaimed. "_I_ say, dreadful!" sobbed Mr. Pepperill. "The good Samaritan himself would be in danger of a beating here!" said Penn. "I don't know what good smart 'un you mean," replied the weeping Dan, whose knowledge of Scripture was extremely limited, "but I bet he'd git some, ef he didn't keep his eyes peeled!" And he wiped his nose with his sleeve. Penn smiled at the man's ignorance, and said, as he lifted him up,-- "Friend Daniel, do you know that it is partly your own fault that this deplorable state of things exists?" "How's it my fault, I'd like to know?" whimpered Daniel. "Come, I'll help thee home, and tell thee what I mean, by the way," said Penn, using the idiom of his sect, into which familiar manner of speech he naturally fell when talking confidentially with any one. "I am stiff as any old spavined hoss!" whined the poor fellow, straightening his legs, and attempting to walk. Penn helped him home as he promised, and comforted him, and said to him many things, which he little supposed were destined to be brought against him so soon, and by this very Daniel Pepperill. This was the way of it. When it was known that Penn had befriended the friend of the blacks, Silas Ropes paid Dan a second visit, and by threats of vengeance, on the one hand, and promises of forgiveness and treatment "like a gentleman," on the other, extorted from him a confession of all Penn had said and done. "Now, Dan," said Mr. Ropes, patronizingly, "I'll tell ye what you do. You jine with us, and show yourself a man of sperrit, a payin' off this yer abolitionist for his outrageous interference in our affairs." "Sile," interrupted Dan, earnestly, "what 'ge mean I'm to do? Turn agin' him?" "Exactly," replied Mr. Ropes. "Sile," said Dan, excitedly, "I be durned if I do!" "Then, I swear to gosh!" said Sile, spitting a great stream of tobacco juice across Mrs. Pepperill's not very clean floor, "you'll have a dose yourself before another sun, which like as not'll be your last!" This terrible menace produced its desired effect; and the unwilling Dan was here, this night, one of Penn's persecutors, in consequence. It was not enough that he had shown his "sperrit" by fetching the victim's own bed from his boarding-house, telling his landlady, the worthy Mrs. Sprowl, that Sile said she must "charge it to her abolition boarder." He must now show still more "sperrit" by bringing the tar. A well-worn broom had been borrowed of Mrs. Pepperill, by those who knew best how the tar in such cases should be applied: the handle of this was thrust by one of the men, named Griffin, through the bail of the kettle, and Dan was ordered to "ketch holt o' t'other eend," and help carry. Dan "ketched holt" accordingly. But never was kettle so heavy as that; its miserable weight made him groan at every step. Suddenly the broom-handle slipped from his hand, and down it went. No doubt his laudable object was to spill the tar, in order to gain time for his benefactor, and perhaps postpone the tarring and feathering altogether. But Griffin grasped the kettle in time to prevent its upsetting, and the next instant flourished the club over Dan's head. "I didn't mean tu! it slipped!" shrieked the terrified wretch. After which he durst no more attempt to thwart the chivalrous designs of his friends, but carried the tar like a gentleman. "This way!" said Silas, getting the escaped feathers into a pile with his foot. "Thar! set it down. Now, sir," throwing away his own coat, "peel off them clo'es o' yourn, Mr. Schoolmaster, mighty quick, if you don't want 'em peeled off fur ye!" Penn gave no sign of compliance, but fixed his eye steadfastly upon Mr. Ropes. "I insist," said he,--for he had already made the request while the men were bringing the tar,--"on knowing what I have done to merit this treatment." "Wal, that I don't mind tellin' ye," said Silas, "for we've all night for this yer little job before us. Dan Pepperill, stand up here!" Dan came forward, appearing extremely low-spirited and weak in the knees. "Is it you, Daniel, who are to bear witness against me?" said Penn, in a voice of singular gentleness, which chimed in like a sweet and solemn bell after the harsh clangor of Silas's ruffian tones. Dan rolled up his eyes, hugged his tattered elbows, and gave a dismal groan. "Come!" said Silas, bestowing a slap on his back which nearly knocked him down, "straighten them knees o' yourn, and be a man. Yes, Mr. Schoolmaster, Dan is a-going to bear witness agin' you. He has turned from the error of his ways, and now his noble southern heart is a-burnin' to take vengeance on all the enemies of his beloved country. Ain't it, Dan?--say yes," he hissed in his ear, giving him a second slap, "or else--you know!" "O Lord, yes!" ejaculated Dan, with a start of terror. "What Mr. Ropes says is perfectly--perfectly--jes' so!" "Your heart is a-burnin', ain't it?" said Silas. "Ye--yes! I be durned if it ain't!" said Dan. "This man," continued Ropes, who prided himself on being a great orator, with power to "fire the southern heart," and never neglected an occasion to show himself off in that capacity,--"this individgle ye see afore ye, gentlemen,"--once more hitting Dan, this time with the toe of his boot, gently, to indicate the subject of his remarks,--"was lately as low-minded a peep as ever you see. He had no more conscience than to 'sociate with niggers, and sell 'em liquor, and even give 'em liquor when they couldn't pay fur't; and you all know how he degraded himself by takin' Combs's Pete into his house and doin' for him arter he'd been very properly licked by the patrol. All which, I am happy to say, the deluded man sincerely repents of, and promises to behave more like a gentleman in futur'. Don't you, Dan?" As Dan, attempting to speak, only gasped, Ropes administered a sharp poke in his ribs, whispering fiercely,-- "Say you do, mighty quick, or I'll----!" "O! I repents! I--I be durned if I don't!" said Dan. "And now, as to you!" Silas turned on the schoolmaster. "Your offence in gineral is bein' a northern abolitionist. Besides which, your offences in partic'ler is these. Not contented with teachin' the Academy, which was well enough, since it is necessary that a few should have larnin', so the may know how to govern the rest,--not contented with that, you must run the thing into the ground, by settin' up a evenin' school, and offerin' to larn readin', writin', and 'rithmetic, free gratis, to whosomever wanted to 'tend. Which is contrary to the sperrit of our institootions, as you have been warned more 'n oncet. That's charge Number Two. Charge Number Three is, that you stand up for the old rotten Union, and tell folks, every chance you git, that secession, that noble right of southerners, is a villanous scheme, that'll ruin the south, if persisted in, and plunge the whole nation into war. Your very words, I believe. Can you deny it?" "Certainly, I have said something very much like that, and it is my honest conviction," replied Penn, firmly. "Gentlemen, take notice!" said Mr. Ropes. "We will now pass on to charge Number Four, and be brief, for the tar is a-coolin'. Suthin' like eight days ago, when the afore-mentioned Dan Pepperill was in the waller of his degradation, some noble-souled sons of the sunny south"--the orator smiled with pleasant significance--"lifted him up, and hung him up to air, in the crotches of two trees, jest by the edge of the woods here, and went home to supper, intending to come back and finish the purifying process begun with him later in the evenin'. But what did you do, Mr. Schoolmaster, but come along and take him down, prematoorely, and go to corruptin' him agin with your vile northern principles! Didn't he, Dan?" "I--I dun know" faltered Dan. "Yes, you do know, too! Didn't he corrupt you?" These words being accompanied by a severe hint from Sile's boot, Mr. Pepperill remembered that Penn _did_ corrupt him. "And if I hadn't took ye in season, you'd have returned to your base-born mire, wouldn't you?" "I suppose I would," the miserable Dan admitted. "Wal! now!"--Sile spread his palm over the tar to see if it retained its temperature,--"hurry up, Dan, and tell us all this northern agitator said to you that night." "O Lord!" groaned Pepperill, "my memory is so short!" "Bring that rope, boys! and give him suthin' to stretch it!" said Silas, growing impatient. Dan, knowing that stretching his memory in the manner threatened, implied that his neck was to be stretched along with it, made haste to remember. "My friends," said Penn, interrupting the poor man's forced and disconnected testimony, "let me spare him the pain of bearing witness against me. I recall perfectly well every thing I said to him that night. I said it was a shame that such outrages as had been committed on him should be tolerated in a civilized society. I told him it was partly his own fault that such a state of things existed. I said, 'It is owing to the ignorance and degradation of you poor whites that a barbarous system is allowed to flourish and tyrannize over you.' I said----" But here Penn was interrupted by a violent outcry, the majority of the persons present coming under the head of "poor whites." "Let him go on! let him perceed!" said Silas. "What did you mean by 'barbarous system'?" "I meant," replied Penn, all fear vanishing in the glow of righteous indignation which filled him,--"I meant the system which makes it a crime to teach a man to read--a punishable offence to befriend the poor and down-trodden, or to bind up wounds. A system which makes it dangerous for one to utter his honest opinions, even in private, to a person towards whom he is at the same time showing the mercy which others have denied him." He looked at Dan, who groaned. "A system----" "Wal, I reckon that'll do fur one spell," broke in Silas Ropes. "You've said more 'n enough to convict you, and to earn a halter 'stead of a mild coat of tar and feathers." "I am well aware," said Penn, "that I can expect no mercy at your hands; so I thought I might as well be plain with you." "And plain enough you've been, I swear to gosh!" said Silas. "Boys, strip him!" "Wait a moment!" said Penn, putting them off with a gesture which they mistook for an appeal to some deadly weapon in his pocket. "What I have said has been to free my mind, and to save Daniel trouble. Now, allow me to speak a few words in my own defence. I have committed no crime against your laws; if I have, why not let the laws punish me?" "We take the laws into our hands sech times as these," said the man called Gad. "You're an abolitionist, and that's enough," said another. "If I do not believe slavery to be a good thing, it is not my fault; I cannot help my belief. But one thing I will declare. I have never interfered with your institution in any way at all dangerous to you, or injurious to your slaves. I have not rendered them discontented, but, whenever I have had occasion, I have counselled them to be patient and faithful to their masters. I came among you a very peaceable man, a simple schoolmaster, and I have tried to do good to everybody, and harm to no one. With this motive I opened an evening school for poor whites. How many men here have any education? How many can read and write? Not many, I am sure." "What's the odds, so long as they're men of the true sperrit?" interrupted Silas Ropes. "I can read for one; and as for the rest, what good would it do 'em to be edecated? 'Twould only make 'em jes' sech low, sneakin', thievin' white slaves, like the greasy mechanics at the north." "The white slaves are not at the north," said Penn. "Education alone makes free men. If you, who threaten me with violence here to-night, had the common school education of the north, you would not be engaged in such business; you would be ashamed of assaulting a peaceable man on account of his opinions; you would know that the man who comes to teach you is your best friend. If you were not ignorant men, you, who do not own slaves, would know that slavery is the worst enemy of your prosperity, and you would not be made its willing tools." The firm dignity of the youth, assisted by the illusion that prevailed concerning a revolver in his pocket, had kept his foes at bay, and gained him a hearing. He now attempted to pass on, when the man Gad, stepping behind him, raised the broom-handle, and dealt him a stunning blow on the back of the head. "Down with him!" "Strip him!" "Give him a thrashing first!" "Hang him!" And the ruffians threw themselves furiously upon the fallen man. "Whar's that Dutch boy?" cried Silas. "I meant he should help Dan lay on the tar." But Carl was nowhere to be seen, having taken advantage of the confusion and darkness to escape into the woods. III. _THE SECRET CELLAR._ No sooner did the lad feel himself safe from pursuit, than he made his way out of the woods again, and ran with all speed to Mr. Stackridge's house. To his dismay he learned that that stanch Unionist was absent from home. "Is he in the willage?" said the breathless Carl. "I reckon he is," said the farmer's wife; adding in a whisper,--for she guessed the nature of Carl's business,--"inquire for him down to barber Jim's." And she told him what to say to the barber. Barber Jim was a colored man, who had demonstrated the ability of the African to take care of himself, by purchasing first his own freedom of his mistress, buying his wife and children afterwards, and then accumulating a property as much more valuable than all Silas Ropes and his poor white minions possessed, as his mind was superior to their combined intelligence. Jim had accomplished this by uniting with industrious habits a natural shrewdness, which enabled him to make the most of his labor and of his means. He owned the most flourishing barber-shop in the place, and kept in connection with it (I am sorry to say) a bar, at which he dealt out to his customers some very bad liquors at very good prices. Had Jim been a white man, he would not, of course, have stooped to make money by any such low business as rum-selling--O, no! but being only a "nigger," what else could you expect of him? Well, on this very evening Jim's place began to be thronged almost before it was dark. A few came in to be shaved, while many more passed through the shop into the little bar-room beyond. What was curious, some went in who appeared never to come out again; Mr. Stackridge among the number. It was not to get shaved, nor yet to get tipsy, that this man visited Jim's premises. The moment they were alone together in the bar-room, he gave the proprietor a knowing wink. "Many there?" "I reckon about a dozen," said Jim. "Go in?" Stackridge nodded; and with a grin Jim opened a private door communicating with some back stairs, down which his visitor went groping his way in the dark. Customers came and went; now and then one disappeared similarly down the back stairs; many remained in the barber's shop to smoke, and discuss in loud tones the exciting question of the day--secession; when, lastly, a boy of fifteen came rushing in. His face was flushed with running, and he was quite out of breath. "What's wanting, Carl?" said the barber. "A shave?" This was one of Jim's jokes, at which his customers laughed, to the boy's confusion, for his cheeks were as smooth as a peach. "I vants to find Mishter Stackridge," said the lad. "He ain't here," said Jim, looking around the room. "It is something wery partic'lar. One of his pigs have got choked mit a cob, and he must go home and unchoke him." This was what Carl had been directed by the farmer's wife to say to the barber, in case he should profess ignorance concerning her husband. "Pity about the pig," said Jim. "Mabby Stackridge'll be in bime-by. Any thing else I can do for ye?" Carl stepped up to the barber, and said in a hoarse whisper, loud enough to be heard by every body,-- "A mug of peer, if you pleashe." "I got some that'll make a Dutchman's head hum!" said Jim, leading the way into the little grog room. "That's Villars's Dutch boy," said one of the smokers in the barber-shop. "Beats all nater, how these Dutch will swill down any thing in the shape of beer!" This elegant observation may have had a grain of truth in it, as we who have Teutonic friends may have reason to know. However, the man had mistaken the boy this time. "It is not the peer I vants, it is Mr. Stackridge," whispered Carl, when alone with the proprietor. Jim regarded him doubtfully a moment, then said, "I reckon I shall have to open a cask in the suller. You jest tend bar for me while I am gone." He descended the stairs, closing the door after him. Carl, who thought of the schoolmaster in the hands of the mob, felt his heart swell and burn with anxiety at each moment's delay. Jim did not keep him long waiting. "This way, Carl, if you want some of the right sort," said the negro from the stairs. Carl went down in the darkness, Jim taking his hand to guide him. They entered a cellar, crowded with casks and boxes, where there was a dim lamp burning; but no human being was visible, until suddenly out of a low, dark passage, between some barrels, a stooping figure emerged, giving Carl a momentary start of alarm. "What's the trouble, Carl?" "O! Mishter Stackridge! is it you?" said Carl, as the figure stood erect in the dim light,--sallow, bony, grim, attired in coarse clothes. "The schoolmaster--that is the trouble!" and he hastily related what he had seen. "Wouldn't take the pistol? the fool!" muttered the farmer. "But I'll see what I can do for him." He grasped the boy's collar, and said in a suppressed but terribly earnest voice, "Swear never to breathe a word of what I'm going to show you!" "I shwear!" said Carl. "Come!" Stackridge took him by the wrist, and drew him after him into the passage. It was utterly dark, and Carl had to stoop in order to avoid hitting his head. As they approached the end of it, he could distinguish the sound of voices,--one louder than the rest giving the word of command. "_Order--arms!_" The farmer knocked on the head of a cask, which rolled aside, and opened the way into a cellar beyond, under an old storehouse, which was likewise a part of Barber Jim's property. The second cellar was much larger and better lighted than the first, and rendered picturesque by heavy festoons of cobwebs hanging from the dark beams above. The rays of the lamps flashed upon gun-barrels, and cast against the damp and mouldy walls gigantic shadows of groups of men. Some were conversing, others were practising the soldiers' drill. "Neighbors!" said Stackridge, in a voice which commanded instant attention, and drew around him and Carl an eager group. "It's just as I told you,--Ropes and his gang are lynching Hapgood!" "It's the fellow's own fault," said a stern, dark man, the same who had been drilling the men. "He should have taken care of himself." "Young Hapgood's a decent sort of cuss," said another whom Carl knew,--a farmer named Withers,--"and I like him. I believe he means well; but he ain't one of us." "I've been deceived in him," said a third. "He always minded his own business, and kept so quiet about our institutions, I never suspected he was anti-slavery till I talked with him t'other day about joining us--then he out with it." "He thinks we're all wrong," said a bigoted pro-slavery man named Deslow. "He says slavery's the cause of the war, and it's absurd in us to go in for the Union and slavery too!" For these men, though loyal to the government, and bitterly opposed to secession, were nearly all slaveholders or believers in slavery. "May be the fellow ain't far wrong there," said he who had been drilling his comrades. "I think myself slavery's the cause of the war, and that's what puts us in such a hard place. The time may come when we will have to take a different stand--go the whole figure with the free north, or drift with the cotton states. But that time hain't come yet." "But the time _has_ come," said Stackridge, impatiently, "to do something for Hapgood, if we intend to help him at all. While we are talking, he may be hanging." "And what can we do?" retorted the other. "We can't make a move for him without showing our hand, and it ain't time for that yet." "True enough, Captain Grudd," said Stackridge. "But three or four of us, with our revolvers, can happen that way, and take him out of the hands of Ropes and his cowardly crew without much difficulty. I, for one, am going." "Hapgood don't even believe in fighting!" observed Deslow, with immense disgust; "and blast me if I am going to fight _for_ him!" Carl was almost driven to despair by the indifference of these men and the time wasted in discussion. He could have hugged the grim and bony Stackridge when he saw him make a decided move at last. Three others volunteered to accompany them. The cask was once more rolled away from the entrance, and one by one they crept quickly through the passage into the first cellar. Stackridge preceded the rest, to see that the way was clear. There was no one at the bar; the door leading into the shop was closed; and Carl, following the four men, passed out by a long entry communicating with the street, the door of which was thrown open to the public on occasions when there was a great rush to Jim's bar, but which was fastened this night by a latch that could be lifted only from the inside. IV. _A SEARCH FOR THE MISSING._ The academy was situated in a retired spot, half a mile out of the village. Stackridge and his party were soon pushing rapidly towards it along the dark, unfrequented road. Carl ran on before, leading the way to the scene of the lynching. The place was deserted and silent. Only the cold wind swept the bleak wood-side, making melancholy moans among the trees. Overhead shone the stars, lighting dimly the desolation of the ground. "Now, where's yer tar-and-feathering party?" said Stackridge. "See here, Dutchy! ye hain't been foolin' us, have ye?" "I vish it vas notting but fooling!" said Carl, full of distress, fearing the worst. "We have come too late. The willains have took him off." "Feathers, men!" muttered Stackridge, picking up something from beneath his feet. "The boy's right! Now, which way have they gone?--that's the question." "Hark!" said Carl. "I see a man!" Indeed, just then a dim figure arose from the earth, and appeared slowly and painfully moving away. "Hold on there!" cried Stackridge. "Needn't be afeared of us. We're your friends." The figure stopped, uttering a deep groan. "Is it you, Hapgood?" "No," answered the most miserable voice in the world. "It's me." "Who's _me_?" "Pepperill--Dan Pepperill; ye know me, don't ye, Stackridge?" "You? you scoundrel!" said the farmer. "What have ye been doing to the schoolmaster? Answer me this minute, or I'll----" "O, don't, don't!" implored the wretch. "I'll answer, I'll tell every thing, only give me a chance!" "Be quick, then, and tell no lies!" The poor man looked around at his captors in the starlight, stooping dejectedly, and rubbing his bent knees. "I ain't to blame--I'll tell ye that to begin with. I've been jest knocked about, from post to pillar, and from pillar to post, till I don't know who's my friends and who ain't. I reckon more ain't than is!" added he, dismally. "That's neither here nor there!" said Stackridge. "Where's Hapgood? that's what I want to know." "Ye see," said Dan, endeavoring to collect his wits (you would have thought they were in his kneepans, and he was industriously rubbing them up), "Ropes sent me to tote the kittle home, and when I got back here, I be durned if they wasn't all gone, schoolmaster and all." "But what had they done to him?" "I don't know, I'm shore! That's what I was a comin' back fur to see. He let me down when I was hung up on the rail, and helped me home; and so I says to myself, says I, 'Why shouldn't I do as much by him?' so I come back, and found him gone." "What was in the kittle?" Stackridge took him by the throat. "O, don't go fur to layin' it to me, and I'll tell ye! Thar'd been tar in the kittle! It had been used to give him a coat. That's the fact, durn me if it ain't! They put it on with the broom--my broom--they made me bring my own broom, that's the everlastin' truth! made me do it myself, and spile my wife's best broom into the bargain!" And Pepperill sobbed. "You put on the tar?" "Don't kill me, and I'll own up! I did put on some on't, that's a fact. Ropes would a' killed me if I hadn't, and now you kill me fur doin' of it. He did knock me down, 'cause he said I didn't rub it on hard enough; and arter that he rubbed it himself." "What next, you scoundrel?" "Next, they rolled him in the feathers, and sent me, as I told ye, to tote the kittle home. Now don't, don't go fur to hang me, Mr. Stackridge! Help me, men! help me, Withers,--Devit! For he means to be the death of me, I'm shore!" Indeed, Stackridge was in a tremendous passion, and would, no doubt, have done the man some serious injury but for the timely interposition of Carl. "O, you're a good boy, Carl!" cried Dan, in an exstasy of terror and gratitude. "You know they druv me to it, don't ye? You know I wouldn't have gone fur to do it no how, if 't hadn't been to save my life. And as fur rubbing on the tar, I know'd they'd rub harder 'n I did; so I took holt, if only to do it more soft and gentle-like." Carl testified to Dan's apparent unwillingness to participate in the outrage; and Stackridge, finding that nothing more could be got out of the terror-stricken wretch, flung him off in great rage and disgust. "We must find what they have done with Hapgood," he said. "We're losing time here. We'll go to his boarding-place first." As Pepperill fell backwards upon some stones, and lay there helplessly, Carl ran to him to learn if he was hurt. "Wal, I be hurt some," murmured Dan; "a good deal in my back, and a durned sight more in my feelin's. As if I wan't sufferin' a'ready the pangs of death--wus'n death!--a thinkin' about the master, and what's been done to him, arter he'd been so kind to me--and thinkin' he'd think I'm the ongratefulest cuss out of the bad place!--and then to have it all laid on to me by Stackridge and the rest! that's the stun that hurts me wust of any!" Carl thought, if that was all, he could not assist him much; and he ran on after the men, leaving Pepperill snivelling like a whipped schoolboy on the stones. Penn's landlady, the worthy Mrs. Sprowl, lived in a lonesome house that stood far back in the fields, at least a dozen rods from the road. She was a widow, whose daughters were either married or dead, and whose only son was a rover, having been guilty of some crime that rendered it unsafe for him to visit his bereaved parent. Penn had chosen her house for his home, partly because she needed some such assistance in gaining a living, but chiefly, I think, because she did not own slaves. The other inmates of her solitary abode were two large, ferocious dogs, which she kept for the sake of their company and protection. But this night the house looked as if forsaken even by these. It was utterly dark and silent. When Stackridge shook the door, however, the illusion was dispelled by two fierce growls that resounded within. "Hello! Mrs. Sprowl!" shouted the farmer, shaking the door again, and knocking violently. "Let me in!" At that the growling broke into savage barks, which made Stackridge lay his hand on the revolver Carl had returned to him. A window was then cautiously opened, and a bit of night-cap exposed. "If it's you agin," said a shrill feminine voice, "I warn you to be gone! If you think I can't set the dogs on to you, because you've slep' in my house so long, you're very much mistaken. They'll tear you as they would a pa'tridge! Go away, go away, I tell ye; you've been the ruin of me, and I ain't a-going to resk my life a-harboring of you any longer." "Mrs. Sprowl!" answered the stern voice of the farmer. "Dear me! ain't it the schoolmaster?" cried the astonished lady. "I thought it was him come back agin to force his way into my house, after I've twice forbid him!" "Why forbid him?" "Is it you, Mr. Stackridge? Then I'll be free, and tell ye. I've been informed he's a dangerous man. I've been warned to shet my doors agin' him, if I wouldn't have my house pulled down on to my head." "Who warned you?" "Silas Ropes, this very night. He come to me, and says, says he, 'We've gin your abolition boarder a coat, which you must charge to his account;' for you see," added the head at the window, pathetically, "they took the bed he has slep' on, right out of my house, and I don't s'pose I shall see ary feather of that bed ever agin! live goose's feathers they was too! and a poor lone widder that could ill afford it!" "Where is the master?" "Wal, after Ropes and his friends was gone, he comes too, an awful lookin' object as ever you see! 'Mrs. Sprowl,' says he, 'don't be scared; it's only me; won't ye let me in?' for ye see, I'd shet the house agin' him in season, detarmined so dangerous a character should never darken my doors agin." "And he was naked!" "I 'spose he was, all but the feathers, and suthin' or other he seemed to have flung over him." "Such a night as this!" exclaimed Stackridge. "You're a heartless jade, Mrs. Sprowl!--I don't wonder the fellow hates slavery," he muttered to himself, "when it makes ruffians of the men and monsters even of the women!--Which way did he go?" "That's more'n I can tell!" answered the lady, sharply. "It's none o' my business where he goes, if he don't come here! That I won't have, call me what names you please!" And she shut the window. "Hang the critter! after all Hapgood has done for her!" said the indignant Stackridge,--for it was well-known that she was indebted to the gentle and generous Penn for many benefits. "But it's no use to stand here. We'll go to my house, men,--may be he's there." V. _CARL AND HIS FRIENDS._ Carl Minnevich was the son of a German, who, in company with a brother, had come to America a few years before, and settled in Tennessee. There the Minneviches purchased a farm, and were beginning to prosper in their new home, when Carl's father suddenly died. The boy had lost his mother on the voyage to America. He was now an orphan, destined to experience all the humiliation, dependence, and wrong, which ever an orphan knew. Immediately the sole proprietorship of the farm, which had been bought by both, was assumed by the surviving brother. This man had a selfish, ill-tempered wife, and a family of great boys. Minnevich himself was naturally a good, honest man; but Frau Minnevich wanted the entire property for her own children, hated Carl because he was in the way, and treated him with cruelty. His big cousins followed their mother's example, and bullied him. How to obtain protection or redress he knew not. He was a stranger, speaking a strange tongue, in the land of his father's adoption. Ah, how often then did he think of the happy fatherland, before that luckless voyage was undertaken, when he still had his mother, and his friends, and all his little playfellows, whom he could never see more! So matters went on for a year or two, until the boy's grievances grew intolerable, and he one day took it into his head to please Frau Minnevich for once in his life, if never again. In the night time he made up a little bundle of his clothes, threw it out of the window, got out himself after it, climbed down upon the roof of the shed, jumped to the ground, and trudged away in the early morning starlight, a wanderer. It has been necessary to touch upon this point in Carl's history, in order to explain why it was he ever afterwards felt such deep gratitude towards those who befriended him in the hour of his need. For many days and nights he wandered among the hills of Tennessee, looking in vain for work, and begging his bread. Sometimes he almost wished himself a slave-boy, for then he would have had a home at least, if only a wretched cabin, and friends, if only negroes,--those oppressed, beaten, bought-and-sold, yet patient and cheerful people, whose lot seemed, after all, so much happier than his own. Carl had a large, warm heart, and he longed with infinite longing for somebody to love him and treat him kindly. At last, as he was sitting one cold evening by the road-side, weary, hungry, despondent, not knowing where he was to find his supper, and seeing nothing else for him to do but to lie down under some bush, there to shiver and starve till morning, a voice of unwonted kindness accosted him. "My poor boy, you seem to be in trouble; can I help you?" Poor Carl burst into tears. It was the voice of Penn Hapgood; and in its tones were sympathy, comfort, hope. Penn took him by the arm, and lifted him up, and carried his bundle for him, talking to him all the time so like a gentle and loving brother, that Carl said in the depths of his soul that he would some day repay him, if he lived; and he prayed God secretly that he might live, and be able some day to repay him for those sweet and gracious words. Penn never quitted him until he had found him a home; neither after that did he forget him. He took him into his school, gave him his tuition, and befriended him in a hundred little ways beside. And now the time had arrived when Penn himself stood in need of friends. The evening came, and Carl was missing from his new home. "Whar's dat ar boy took hisself to, I'd like to know!" scolded old Toby. "I'll clar away de table, and he'll lose his supper, if he stays anoder minute! Debil take me, if I don't!" He had made the same threat a dozen times, and still he kept Carl's potatoes hot for him, and the table waiting. For the old negro, though he loved dearly to show his importance by making a good deal of bluster about his work, had really one of the kindest hearts in the world, and was as devoted to the boy he scolded as any indulgent old grandmother. "The 'debil' will take you, sure enough, I'm afraid, Toby, if you appeal to him so often," said a mildly reproving voice. It was Mr. Villars, the old worn-out clergyman; a man of seventy winters, pale, white-haired, blind, feeble of body, yet strong and serene of soul. He came softly, groping his way into the kitchen, in order to put his feet to Toby's fire. "Laws, massa," said old Toby, grinning, "debil knows I ain't in 'arnest! he knows better'n to take me at my word, for I speaks his name widout no kind o' respec', allus, I does. Hyar's yer ol' easy char fur ye, Mass' Villars. Now you jes' make yerself comf'table." And he cleared a place on the stove-hearth for the old man's feet. "Thank you, Toby." With his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his hands folded thoughtfully before his breast, and his beautiful old face smiling the kindness which his blind eyes could not _look_, Mr. Villars sat by the fire. "Where is Carl to-night, Toby?" "Dat ar's de question; dat's de pint, massa. Mos' I can say is, he ain't whar he ought to be, a eatin' ob his supper. Chocolate's all a bilin' away to nuffin! ketch dis chile tryin' to keep tings hot for his supper anoder time!" And Toby added, in a whisper expressive of great astonishment at himself, "What I eber took dat ar boy to keep fur's one ob de mysteries!" For Toby, though only a servant (indeed, he had formerly been a slave in the family), had had his own way so long in every thing that concerned the management of the household, that he had come to believe himself the proprietor, not only of the house and land, and poultry and pigs, but of the family itself. He owned "ol' Mass Villars," and an exceedingly precious piece of property he considered him, especially since he had become blind. He was likewise (in his own exalted imagination) sole inheritor and guardian-in-chief of "Miss Jinny," Mr. Villars's youngest daughter, child of his old age, of whom Mrs. Villars said, on her death-bed, "Take always good care of my darling, dear Toby!"--an injunction which the negro regarded as a sort of last will and testament bequeathing the girl to him beyond mortal question. There was, in fact, but one member of the household he did not exclusively claim. This was the married daughter, Salina, whose life had been embittered by a truant husband,--no other, in fact, than the erring son of the worthy Mrs. Sprowl. The day when the infatuated girl made a marriage so much beneath the family dignity, Toby, in great grief and indignation, gave her up. "I washes my hands ob her! she ain't no more a chile ob mine!" said the old servant, passionately weeping, as if the washing of his hands was to be literal, and no other fluid would serve his dark purpose but tears. And when, after Sprowl's desertion of her, she returned, humiliated and disgraced, to her father's house,--that is to say, Toby's house,--Toby had compassion on her, and took her in, but never set up any claim to her again. "Where is Carl? Hasn't Carl come yet?" asked a sweet but very anxious voice. And Virginia, the youngest daughter, stood in the kitchen door. "He hain't come yet, Miss Jinny; dat ar a fact!" said Toby. "'Pears like somefin's hap'en'd to dat ar boy. I neber knowed him stay out so, when dar's any eatin' gwine on,--for he's a master hand for his supper, dat boy ar! Laws, I hain't forgot how he laid in de vittles de fust night Massa Penn fetched him hyar! He was right hungry, he was, and he took holt powerful! 'I neber can keep dat ar boy in de world,' says I; 'he'll eat me clar out o' house an' home!' says I. But, arter all, it done my ol' heart good to see him put in, ebery ting 'peared to taste so d'effle good to him!" And Toby chuckled at the reminiscence. "My daughter," said Mr. Villars, softly. She was already standing behind his chair, and her trembling little hands were smoothing his brow, and her earnest face was looking pale and abstracted over him. He could not see her face, but he knew by her touch that the tender act was done some how mechanically to-night, and that she was thinking of other things. She started as he spoke, and, bending over him, kissed his white forehead. "I suspect," he went on, "that you know more of Carl than we do. Has he gone on some errand of yours?" "I will tell you, father!" It seemed as if her feelings had been long repressed, and it was a relief for her to speak at last. "Carl came to me, and said there was some mischief intended towards Penn. This was long before dark. And he asked permission to go and see what it was. I said, 'Go, but come right back, if there is no danger.' He went, and I have not seen him since." "Is this so? Why didn't you tell me before?" "Because, father, I did not wish to make you anxious. But now, if you will let Toby go----" "I'll go myself!" said the old man, starting up. "My staff, Toby! When I was out, I heard voices in the direction of the school-house,--I felt then a presentiment that something was happening to Penn. I can control the mob,--I can save him, if it is not too late." He grasped the staff Toby put into his hand. "O, father!" said the agitated girl; "are you able?" "Able, child? You shall see how strong I am when our friend is in danger." "Let me go, then, and guide you!" she exclaimed, glad he was so resolved, yet unwilling to trust him out of her sight. "No, daughter. Toby will be eyes for me. Yet I scarcely need even him. I can find my way as well as he can in the dark." The negro opened the door, and was leading out the blind old minister, when the light from within fell upon a singular object approaching the house. It started back again, like some guilty thing; but Toby had seen it. Toby uttered a shriek. "De debil! de debil hisself, massa!" and he pulled the old man back hurriedly into the house. "The devil, Toby? What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Villars. "O, laws, bress ye, massa, ye hain't got no eyes, and ye can't see!" said Toby, shutting the door in his fright, and rolling his eyes wildly. "It's de bery debil! he's come for dis niggah dis time, sartin'. Cos I, cos I 'pealed to him, as you said, massa! cos I's got de habit ob speakin' his name widout no kind o' respec'!" And he stood bracing himself, with his back against the door, as if determined that not even that powerful individual himself should get in. "You poor old simpleton!" said Mr. Villars, "there is no fiend except in your own imagination. Open the door!" "No, no, massa! He's dar! he's dar! He'll cotch old Toby, shore!" And the terrified black held the latch and pushed with all his might. "What did he see, Virginia?" "I don't know, father! There was certainly somebody, or something,--I could not distinguish what." "It's what I tell ye!" gibbered Toby. "I seed de great coarse har on his speckled legs, and de wings on his back, and a right smart bag in his hand to put dis niggah in!" "It might have been Carl," said Virginia. "No, no! Carl don't hab sech legs as dem ar! Carl don't hab sech great big large ears as dem ar! O good Lord! good Lord!" the negro's voice sank to a terrified whisper, "he's a-knockin' for me now!" "It's a very gentle rap for the devil," said Mr. Villars, who could not but be amused, notwithstanding the strange interruption of his purpose, and Toby's vexatious obstinacy in holding the door. "It's some stranger; let him in!" "No, no, no!" gasped the negro. "I won't say nuffin, and you tell him I ain't to home! Say I'se clar'd out, lef', gone you do'no' whar!" "Toby!" was called from without. "Dat's his voice! dat ar's his voice!" said Toby. And in his desperate pushing, he pushed his feet from under him, and fell at full length along the floor. "It's the voice of Penn Hapgood!" exclaimed the old minister. "Arise, quick, Toby, and open!" Toby rubbed his head and looked bewildered. "Are ye sartin ob dat, massa? Bress me, I breeve you're right, for oncet! It _ar_ Mass' Penn's voice, shore enough!" He opened the door, but started back again with another shriek, convinced for an instant that it was, after all, the devil, who had artfully borrowed Penn's voice to deceive him. But no! It was Penn himself, his hat and clothes in his hand, smeared with black tar and covered with feathers from head to foot; not even his features spared, nor yet his hair; on his cheeks great clumps of gray goose plumes, suggestive of diabolical ears, and with no other covering but this to shield him from the night wind, save the emptied bed-tick, which he had drawn over his shoulders, and which Toby had mistaken for Satanic wings. VI. _A STRANGE COAT FOR A QUAKER._ Now, Virginia Villars was the very last person by whom Penn would have wished to be seen. He was well aware how utterly grotesque and ludicrous he must appear. But he was not in a condition to be very fastidious on this point. Stunned by blows, stripped of his clothing (which could not be put on again, for reasons), cruelly suffering from the violence done him, exposed to the cold, excluded from Mrs. Sprowl's virtuous abode, he had no choice but to seek the protection of those whom he believed to be his truest friends. In the little sitting-room of the blind old minister he had always been gladly welcomed. Such minds as his were rare in Curryville. His purity of thought, his Christian charity, his ardent love of justice, and (quite as much as any thing) his delight in the free and friendly discussion of principles, whether moral, political, or theological, made him a great favorite with the lonely old man. His coming made the winter evenings bloom. Then the aged clergyman, deprived of sight, bereft of the companionship of books, and of the varied consolations of an active life, felt his heart warmed and his brain enlivened by the wine of conversation. He and Penn, to be sure, did not always agree. Especially on the subject of _non-resistance_ they had many warm and well-contested arguments; the young Quaker manifesting, by his zeal in the controversy, that he had an abundance of "fight" in him without knowing it. Nor to Mr. Villars alone did Penn's visits bring pleasure. They delighted equally young Carl and old Toby. And Virginia? Why, being altogether devoted to her blind parent, for whose happiness she could never do enough, she was, of course, enchanted with the attentions she saw Penn pay _him_. That was all; at least, the dear girl thought that was all. As for Salina, forsaken spouse of the gay Lysander Sprowl, she too, after sulkily brooding over her misfortunes all day, was glad enough to have any intelligent person come in and break the monotony of her sad life in the evening. Such were Penn's relations with the family to whom alone he durst apply for refuge in his distress. Others might indeed have ventured to shelter him; but they, like Stackridge, were hated Unionists, and any mercy shown to him would have brought evil upon themselves. Mr. Villars, however, blind and venerated old man, had sufficient influence over the people, Penn believed, to serve as a protection to his household even with him in it. So hither he came--how unwillingly let the proud and sensitive judge. For Penn, though belonging to the meekest of sects, was of a soul by nature aspiring and proud. He had the good sense to know that the outrage committed on him was in reality no disgrace, except to those guilty of perpetrating it. Yet no one likes to appear ridiculous. And the man of elevated spirit instinctively shrinks from making known his misfortunes even to his best friends; he is ashamed of that for which he is in no sense to blame, and he would rather suffer heroically in secret, than become an object of pity. Most of all, as I have said, Penn dreaded the pure Virginia's eyes. Mr. Villars could not see him, and for Salina he did not care much--singularly enough, for she alone was of an acrid and sarcastic temper. What he devoutly desired was, to creep quietly to the kitchen door, call out Carl if he was there, or secretly make known his condition to old Toby, and thus obtain admission to the house, seclusion, and assistance, without letting Virginia, or her father even, know of his presence. How this honest wish was thwarted we have seen. When the door was first opened, he had turned to fly. But that was cowardly; so he returned, and knocked, and called the negro by name, to reassure him. And the door was once more opened, and Virginia saw him--recognized him--knew in an instant what brutal deed had been done, and covered her eyes instinctively to shut out the hideous sight. But it was no time to indulge in feelings of false modesty, if she felt any. It was no time to be weak, or foolish, or frightened, or ashamed. "It is Penn!" she exclaimed in a burst of indignation and grief. "Toby! Toby! you great stupid----! what are you staring for? Take him in! why don't you? O, father!" And she threw herself on the old man's bosom, and hid her face. "What has happened to Penn?" asked the old man. "I have been tarred-and-feathered," answered Penn, entering, and closing the door behind him. "And I have been shut out of Mrs. Sprowl's house. This is my excuse for coming here. I must go somewhere, you know!" "And where but here?" answered the old man. He had suppressed an outburst of feeling, and now stood calm, compassionating, extending his hands,--his staff fallen upon the floor. "I feared it might come to this! Terrible times are upon us, and you are only one of the first to suffer. You did well to come to us. Are you hurt?" "I hardly know," replied Penn. "I beg of you, don't be alarmed or troubled. I hope you will excuse me. I know I am a fearful object to look at, and did not intend to be seen." He stood holding the bed-tick over him, and his clothes before him, to conceal as much as possible his hideous guise, suffering, in that moment of pause, unutterable things. Was ever a hero of romance in such a dismal plight? Surely no writer of fiction would venture to show his hero in so ridiculous and damaging an aspect. But this is not altogether a romance, and I must relate facts as they occurred. "Do not be sorry that I have seen you," said Virginia, lifting her face again, flashing with tears. "I see in this shameful disguise only the shame of those who have so cruelly treated you! Toby will help you. And there is Carl at last!" She retreated from the room by one door just as Carl and Stackridge entered by the other. Poor Penn! gentle and shrinking Penn! it was painful enough for him to meet even these coarser eyes, friendly though they were. The shock upon his system had been terrible; and now, his strength and resolution giving way, his bewildered senses began to reel, and he swooned in the farmer's arms. VII. _THE TWO GUESTS._ Virginia entered the sitting-room--the same where so many happy evenings had been enjoyed by the little family, in the society of him who now lay bruised, disfigured, and insensible in Toby's kitchen. She walked to and fro, she gazed from the windows out into the darkness, she threw herself on the lounge, scarce able to control the feelings of pity and indignation that agitated her. For almost the first time in her life she was fired with vindictiveness; she burned to see some swift and terrible retribution overtake the perpetrators of this atrocious deed. Mr. Villars soon came out to her. She hastened to lead him to a seat. "How is he?--much injured?" she asked. "He has been brutally used," said the old man. "But he is now in good hands. Where is Salina?" "I don't know. I had been to look for her, when I came and found you in the kitchen. I think she must have gone out." "Gone out, to-night? That is very strange!" The old man mused. "She will have to be told that Penn is in the house. But I think the knowledge of the fact ought to go no farther. Mr. Stackridge is of the same opinion. Now that they have begun to persecute him, they will never cease, so long as he remains alive within their reach." "And we must conceal him?" "Yes, until this storm blows over, or he can be safely got out of the state." "There is Salina now!" exclaimed the girl, hearing footsteps approach the piazza. "If it is, she is not alone," said the old man, whose blindness had rendered his hearing acute. "It is a man's step. Don't be agitated, my child. Much depends on our calmness and self-possession now. If it is a visitor, you must admit him, and appear as hospitable as usual." It was a visitor, and he came alone--a young fellow of dashy appearance, handsome black hair and whiskers, and very black eyes. "Mr. Bythewood, father," said Virginia, showing him immediately into the sitting-room. "I entreat you, do not rise!" said Mr. Bythewood, with exceeding affability, hastening to prevent that act of politeness on the part of the blind old man. "Did you not bring my daughter with you?" asked Mr. Villars. "Your daughter is here, sir;" and he of the handsome whiskers gave Virginia a most captivating bow and smile. "He means my sister," said Virginia. "She has gone out, and we are feeling somewhat anxious about her." She thought it best to say thus much, in order that, should the visitor perceive any strangeness or abstraction on her part, he might think it was caused by solicitude for the absent Salina. "Nothing can have happened to her, certainly," remarked Mr. Bythewood, seating himself in an attitude of luxurious ease, approaching almost to indolent recklessness. "We are the most chivalrous people in the world. There is no people, I think, on the face of the globe, among whom the innocent and defenceless are so perfectly secure." Virginia thought of the hapless victim of the mob in the kitchen yonder, and smiled politely. "I have no very great fears for her safety," said the old man. "Yet I have felt some anxiety to know the meaning of the noises I heard in the direction of the academy, an hour ago." Bythewood laughed, and stroked his glossy mustache. "I don't know, sir. I reckon, however, that the Yankee schoolmaster has been favored with a little demonstration of southern sentiment." "How! not mobbed?" "Call it what you please, sir," said Bythewood, with an air of pleasantry. "I think our people have been roused at last; and if so, they have probably given him a lesson he will never forget." "What do you mean by 'our people'?" the old man gravely inquired. "He means," said Virginia, with quiet but cutting irony, "the most chivalrous people in the world! among whom the innocent and defenceless are more secure than any where else on the globe!" "Precisely," said Mr. Bythewood, with a placid smile. "But among whom obnoxious persons, dangerous to our institutions, cannot be tolerated. As for this affair,"--carelessly, as if what had happened to Penn was of no particular consequence to anybody present, least of all to him,--"I don't know anything about it. Of course, I would never go near a popular demonstration of the kind. I don't say I approve of it, and I don't say I disapprove of it. These are no ordinary times, Mr. Villars. The south is already plunged into a revolution." "Indeed, I fear so!" "Fear so? I glory that it is so! We are about to build up the most magnificent empire on which the sun has ever shone!" "Cemented with the blood of our own brethren!" said the old man, solemnly. "There may be a little bloodshed, but not much. The Yankees won't fight. They are not a military people. Their armies will scatter before us like chaff before the wind. I know you don't think as I do. I respect the lingering attachment you feel for the old Union--it is very natural," said Bythewood, indulgently. The old man smiled. His eyes were closed, and his hands were folded before him near his breast, in his favorite attitude. And he answered,-- "You are very tolerant towards me, my young friend. It is because you consider me old, and helpless, and perhaps a little childish, no doubt. But hear my words. You are going to build up a magnificent empire, founded on--slavery. But I tell you, the ruin and desolation of our dear country--that will be your empire. And as for the institution you mean to perpetuate and strengthen, it will be crushed to atoms between the upper and nether millstones of the war you are bringing upon the nation." He spoke with the power of deep and earnest conviction, and the complacent Bythewood was for a moment abashed. "I was well aware of your opinions," he remarked, rallying presently. "It is useless for us to argue the point. And Virginia, I conceive, does not like politics. Will you favor us with a song, Virginia?" "With pleasure, if you wish it," said Virginia, with perfect civility, although a close observer might have seen how repulsive to her was the presence of this handsome, but selfish and unprincipled man. He was their guest; and she had been bred to habits of generous and self-sacrificing hospitality. However detested a visitor, he must be politely entertained. On this occasion, she led the way to the parlor, where the piano was,--all the more readily, perhaps, because it was still farther removed from the kitchen. Bythewood followed, supporting, with an ostentatious show of solicitude, the steps of the feeble old man. Bythewood named the pieces he wished her to sing, and bent graciously over the piano to turn the music-leaves for her, and applauded with enthusiasm. And so she entertained him. And all the while were passing around them scenes so very different! There was Penn, heroically stifling the groans of a wounded spirit, within sound of her sweet voice, and Bythewood so utterly ignorant of his presence there! A little farther off, and just outside the house, a young woman was even then parting, with whispers and mystery, from an adventurous rover. Still a little farther, in barber Jim's back room, Silas Ropes was treating his accomplices; and while these drank and blasphemed, close by, in the secret cellar, Stackridge's companions were practising the soldier's drill. Salina parted from the rover, and came into the house while Virginia was singing, throwing her bonnet negligently back, as she sat down. "Why, Salina! where have you been?" said Virginia, finishing a strain, and turning eagerly on the piano stool. "We have been wondering what had become of you!" "You need never wonder about me," said Salina, coldly. "I must go out and walk, even if I don't have time till after dark." She drummed upon the carpet with her foot, while her upper lip twitched nervously. It was a rather short lip, and she had an unconscious habit of hitching up one corner of it, still more closely, with a spiteful and impatient expression. Aside from this labial peculiarity (and perhaps the disproportionate prominence of a very large white forehead), her features were pretty enough, although they lacked the charming freshness of her younger sister's. Virginia knew well that the pretence of not getting time for her walk till after dark was absurd, but, perceiving the unhappy mood she was in, forbore to say so. And she resumed her task of entertaining Bythewood. VIII. _THE ROVER._ Meanwhile the nocturnal acquaintance from whom Salina had parted took a last look at the house, and shook his envious head darkly at the room where the light and the music were; then, thrusting his hands into his pockets, with a swaggering air, went plodding on his lonely way across the fields, in the starlight. The direction he took was that from which Penn had arrived; and in the course of twenty minutes he approached the door of the solitary house with the dark windows and the dogs within. He walked all around, and seeing no light, nor any indication of life, drew near, and rapped softly on a pane. The dogs were roused in an instant, and barked furiously. Nothing daunted, he waited for a lull in the storm he had raised, and rapped again. "Who's there?" creaked the stridulous voice of good Mrs. Sprowl. "_You know!_" said the rover, in a suppressed, confidential tone. "One who has a right." Now, the excellent relict of the late lamented Sprowl reflected, naturally, that, if anybody had a right there, it was he who paid her for his board in advance. "You, agin, after all, is it!" she exclaimed, angrily. "Couldn't you find nowhere else to go to? But if you imagine I've thought better on't, and will let you in, you're grandly mistaken! Go away this instant, or I'll let the dogs out!" "Let 'em out, and be----!" No matter about the last word of the rover's defiant answer. It was a very irritating word to the temper of the good Mrs. Sprowl. This was the first time (she thought) she had ever heard the mild and benignant schoolmaster swear; but she was not much surprised, believing that it was scarcely in the power of man to endure what he had that night endured, and not swear. "Look out for yourself then, you sir! for I shall take you at your word!" And there was a sound of slipping bolts, followed by the careful opening of the door. Out bounced the dogs, and leaped upon the intruder; but, instead of tearing him to pieces, they fell to caressing him in the most vivacious and triumphant manner. "Down, Brag! Off, Grip! Curse you!" And he kicked them till they yelped, for their too fond welcome. "How dare you, sir, use my dogs so!" screamed the lady within, enraged to think they had permitted that miserable schoolmaster to get the better of them. "I'll kick them, and you too, for this trick!" muttered the man. "I'll learn ye to shut me out, and make a row, when I'm coming to see you at the risk of my----" She cut him short, with a cry of amazement. "Lysander! is it you!" "Hold your noise!" said Lysander, pressing into the house. "Call my name again, and I'll choke you! Where's your schoolmaster? Won't he hear?" "Dear me! if it don't beat everything!" said Mrs. Sprowl in palpitating accents. "Don't you know I took you for the master!" "No, I didn't know it. This looks more like a welcome, though!" Lysander began to be mollified. "There, there! don't smother a fellow! One kiss is as good as fifty. The master is out, then? Anybody in the house?" "No, I'm so thankful! It seems quite providential! O, dearie, dearie, sonny dearie! I'm so glad to see you agin!" "Come! none of your sonny dearies! it makes me sick! Strike a light, and get me some supper, can't you?" "Yes, my boy, with all my heart! This is the happiest day I've seen----" "Ah, what's happened to-day?" said Lysander, treating with levity his mother's blissful confession. "I mean, this night! to have you back again! How could I mistake you for that dreadful schoolmaster!" Here her trembling fingers struck a match. "Draw the curtains," said Lysander, hastily executing his own order, as the blue sputter kindled up into a flame that lighted the room. "It ain't quite time for me to be seen here yet." "Where did you come from? What are you here for? O, my dear, dear Lysie!" (she gazed at him affectionately), "you ain't in no great danger, be you?" "That depends. Soon as Tennessee secedes, I shall be safe enough. I'm going to have a commission in the Confederate army, and that'll be protection from anything that might happen on account of old scores. I'm going to raise a company in this very place, and let the law touch me if it can!" He tossed his cap into a corner, and sprawled upon a chair before the stove, at which his devoted mother was already blowing her breath away in the endeavor to kindle a blaze. She stopped blowing to gape at his good news, turning up at him her low, skinny forehead, narrow nose, and close-set, winking eyes. "There! I declare!" said she. "I knowed my boy would come back to me some day a gentleman!" "A gentleman? I'm bound to be that!" said the man, with a braggart laugh and swagger. "I tell ye, mar, we're going to have the greatest confederacy ever was!" "Do tell if we be!" said the edified "mar." "Six months from now, you'll see the Yankees grovelling at our feet, begging for admission along with us. We'll have Washington, and all of the north we want, and defy the world!" "I want to know now!" said Mrs. Sprowl, overcome with admiration. "The slave-trade will be reopened, Yankee ships will bring us cargoes of splendid niggers, not a man in the south but'll be able to own three or four, they'll be so cheap, and we'll be so rich, you see," said Lysander. "You don't say, re'lly!" "That's the programme, mar! You'll see it all with your own eyes in six months." "Why, then, why _shouldn't_ the south secede!" replied "mar," hastening to put on the tea-kettle, and then to mix up a corn dodger for her son's supper. "I'm sure, we ought all on us to have our servants, and live without work; and I knowed all the time there was another side to what Penn Hapgood preaches (for he's dead set agin' secession), though I couldn't answer him as _you_ could, Lysie dear!" "Wal, never mind all that, but hurry up the grub!" said "Lysie dear," putting sticks in the stove. "I hain't had a mouthful since breakfast." "You hain't seen _her_, of course," observed Mrs. Sprowl, mysteriously. "Her? who?" "Salina!" in a whisper, as if to be overheard by a mouse in the wall would have been fatal. "Wal, I have seen _her_, I reckon! Not an hour ago. By appointment. I wrote her I was coming, got a woman to direct the letter, and had a long talk with her to-night. What I want just now is, a little money, and she's got to raise it for me, and what she can't raise I shall look to you for." "O dear me! don't say money to me!" exclaimed the widow, alarmed. "Partic'larly now I've lost my best feather-bed and my boarder!" "What is it about your boarder? Out with it, and stop this hinting around!" Thus prompted, Mrs. Sprowl, who had indeed been waiting for the opportunity, related all she knew of what had happened to Penn. Lysander kindled up with interest as she proceeded, and finally broke forth with a startling oath. "And I can tell you where he has gone!" he said. "He's gone to the house I can't get into for love nor money! She refused me admission to-night--refused me money! but he is taken in, and their money will be lavished on him!" "But how do you know, my son,----" "How do I know he's there? Because, when I was with her in the orchard, we saw an object--she said it was some old nigger to see Toby--go into the kitchen. Then in a little while a man--it must have been Stackridge, if you say he was looking for him--went in with Carl, and didn't come out again, as I could see. I staid till the light from the kitchen went up into the bedroom, in the corner of the house this way. There's yer boarder, mar, I'll bet my life! But he won't be there long, I can tell ye!" laughed Lysander, maliciously. IX. _TOBY'S PATIENT HAS A CALLER._ Mr. Bythewood had now taken his departure; Salina had been intrusted with the secret; and Penn had been put to bed (as the rover correctly surmised) in the corner bedchamber. He had been diligently plucked; as much of the tar had been removed as could be easily taken off by methods known to Stackridge and Toby, and his wounds had been dressed. And there he lay, at last, in the soothing linen, exhausted and suffering, yet somehow happy, thinking with gratitude of the friends God had given him in his sore need. "Bress your heart, dear young massa!" said old Toby, standing by the bed (for he would not sit down), and regarding him with an unlimited variety of winks, and nods, and grins, expressive of satisfaction with his work; "ye're jest as comf'table now as am possible under de sarcumstances. If dar's anyting in dis yer world ye wants now, say de word, and ol' Toby'll jump at de chance to fetch 'em fur ye." "There is nothing I want now, good Toby, but that you and Carl should rest. You have done everything you can--and far more than I deserve. I will try to thank you when I am stronger." "Can't tink ob quittin' ye dis yer night, nohow, massa! Mr. Stackridge he's gone; Carl he can go to bed,--he ain't no 'count here, no way. But I'se took de job o' gitt'n you well, Mass' Penn, and I'se gwine to put it frew 'pon honor,--do it up han'some!" And notwithstanding Penn's remonstrances, the faithful black absolutely refused to leave him. Indeed, the most he could be prevailed upon to do for his own comfort, was to bring his blanket into the room, and promise that he would lie down upon it when he felt sleepy. Whether he kept his word or not, I cannot say; but there was no time during the night when, if Penn happened to stir uneasily, he did not see the earnest, tender, cheerful black face at his pillow in an instant, and hear the affectionate voice softly inquire,-- "What can I do fur ye, massa? Ain't dar nuffin ol' Toby can be a doin' fur ye, jes' to pass away de time?" Sometimes it was water Penn wanted; but it did him really more good to witness the delight it gave Toby to wait upon him, than to drink the coolest and most delicious draught fresh from the well. At length Penn began to feel hot and stifled. "What have you hung over the window, Toby?" "Dat ar? 'Pears like dat ar's my blanket, sar. Ye see, 'twouldn't do, nohow, to let nary a chink o' light be seen from tudder side, 'cause dat 'ud make folks s'pec' sumfin', dis yer time o' night. So I jes' sticks up my ol' blanket--'pears like I can sleep a heap better on de bar floor!" "But I must have some fresh air, you dear old hypocrite!" said Penn, deeply touched, for he knew that the African had deprived himself of his blanket because he did not wish to disturb him by leaving the room for another. "I'll fix him! Ill fix him!" said Toby. And he seemed raised to the very summit of happiness on discovering that there was something, requiring the exercise of his ingenuity, still to be done for his patient. After that Penn slept a little. "Tank de good Lord," said the old negro the next morning, "you're lookin' as chirk as can be! I'se a right smart hand fur to be nussin' ob de sick; and sakes! how I likes it! I'se gwine to hab you well, sar, 'fore eber a soul knows you'se in de house." Yet Toby's words expressed a great deal more confidence than he felt; for, though he had little apprehension of Penn's retreat being discovered, he saw how weak and feverish he was, and feared the necessity of sending for a doctor. Penn now insisted strongly that the old servant should not neglect his other duties for him. "Now you jes' be easy in yer mind on dat pint! Dar's Carl, tends to out-door 'rangements, and I'se got him larnt so's't he's bery good, bery good indeed, to look arter my cow, and my pigs, and sech like chores, when I'se got more 'portant tings on hand myself. And dar's Miss Jinny, she's glad enough to git de breakfust herself dis mornin'; only jes' I kind o' keeps an eye on her, so she shan't do nuffin wrong. She an' Massa Villars come to 'quire bery partic'lar 'bout you, 'fore you was awake, sar." These simple words seemed to flood Penn's heart with gratitude. Toby withdrew, but presently returned, bringing a salver. "Nuffin but a little broff, massa. And a toasted cracker." "O, you are too kind, Toby! Really, I can't eat this morning." "Can't eat, sar? I declar, now!" (in a whisper), "how disappinted she'll be!" "Who will be disappointed?" "Who? Miss Jinny, to be sure! She made de broff wid her own hands. Under my d'rections, ob course! But she would make 'em herself, and took a heap ob pains to hab 'em good, and put in de salt wid her own purty fingers, and looked as rosy a stirrin' and toastin' ober de fire as eber you see an angel, sar!" For some reason Penn began to think better of the broth, and, to Toby's infinite satisfaction, he consented to eat a little. Toby soon had him bolstered up in bed, and held the salver before him, and looked a perfect picture of epicurean enjoyment, just from seeing his patient eat. "It is delicious!" said Penn; at which brief eulogium the whole rich, exuberant, tropical soul of the unselfish African seemed to expand and blossom forth with joy. "I shall be sure to get well and strong soon, under such treatment. You must let Carl go to Mrs. Sprowl's and fetch my clothes; I shall want some of them when I get up." "Bress you, sar! you forgets nobody ain't to know whar you be! Mass' Villars he say so. You jes' lef' de clo'es alone, yit awhile. Wouldn't hab dat ar Widder Sprowl find out you'se in dis yer house, not if you'd gib me----" Rap, rap, at the chamber door; two light, hurried knocks. "Miss Jinny herself!" said old Toby, forgetting Mrs. Sprowl in an instant. And setting down the salver, he ran to the door. Penn heard quick whispers of consultation; then Toby came back, his eyes rolling and his ivory shining with a ludicrous expression of wrath and amazement. "It's de bery ol' hag herself! Speak de debil's name and he's allus at de door!" "Who? Mrs. Sprowl?" "Yes, sar! and I wish she was furder, sar! She's a 'quirin' fur you,--says she knows you'se in de house, and it's bery 'portant she must see ye. But, tank de Lord, massa!" chuckled the old negro, "Carl's forgot his English, and don't know nuffin what she wants! he, he, he! Or if she makes him und'stan' one ting, den he talks Dutch, and _she_ don't und'stan.' And so dey'se habin' it, fust one, den tudder, while Miss Jinny she hears 'em and comes fur to let us know. But how de ol' critter eber found you out, dat am one ob de mysteries!" "She merely guesses I am here," said Penn. "I'm only afraid Carl will overdo his part, and confirm her suspicions." "'Sh!" hissed Toby in sudden alarm. "She's a comin! She's a comin' right up to dis yer door!" And he flew to fasten it. He had scarcely done so when a hand tried the latch, and a voice called,-- "Come! ye needn't, none of ye, try to impose on me! I know you're in this very room, Penn Hapgood, and you'll let me in, old friends so, I'm shore! I've bothered long enough with that stupid Dutch boy, and now Virginny wants to keep me, and talk with me; but I've nothing to do with nobody in this house but _you_!" Mrs. Sprowl had not been on amicable terms with her daughter-in-law's family since Salina and her husband separated; and this last declaration she made loud enough for all in the house to hear. Penn motioned for Toby to open the door, believing it the better way to admit the lady and conciliate her. But Toby shook his head--and his fist with grim defiance. "Wal!" said Mrs. Sprowl, "you can do as you please about lettin' a body in; but I'll give ye to understand one thing--I don't stir a foot from this door till it's opened. And if you want it kept secret that you're here, it'll be a great deal better for you, Penn Hapgood, to let me in, than to keep me standin' or settin' all day on the stairs." The idea of a long siege struck Toby with dismay. He hesitated; but Penn spoke. "I am very weak, and very ill, madam. But I have learned what it is to be driven from a door that should be opened to welcome me; and I am not willing, under any circumstances, to treat another as you last night treated me." This was spoken to the lady's face; for Toby, seeing that concealment was at an end, had slipped the bolt, and she had come in. "Wal! now! Mr. Hapgood!" she began, with a simper, which betrayed a little contrition and a good deal of crafty selfishness,--"you mustn't go to bein' too hard on me for that. Consider that I'm a poor widder, and my life war threatened, and I _had_ to do as I did." "Well, well," said Penn, "I certainly forgive you. Give her a chair, Toby." Toby placed the chair, and widow Sprowl sat down. "I couldn't be easy--old friends so--till I had come over to see how you be," she said, folding her hands, and regarding Penn with a solemn pucker of solicitude. "I know, 'twas a dreadful thing; but it's some comfort to think it's nothing I'm any ways to blame fur. It's hard enough for me to lose a boarder, jest at this time,--say nothing about a friend that's been jest like one of my own family, and that I've cooked, and washed, and ironed fur, as if he war my own son!" And Mrs. Sprowl wiped her eyes, while she carefully watched the effect of her words. "I acknowledge, you have cooked, washed, and ironed for me very faithfully," said Penn. "And I thought," said she,--"old friends so,--may be you wouldn't mind making me a present of the trifle you've paid over and above what's due for your board; for I'm a poor widder, as you know, and my only son is a wanderer on the face of the 'arth." Penn readily consented to make the present--perhaps reflecting that it would be equally impossible for him ever to board it out, or get her to return the money. "Then there's that old cloak of yourn," said Mrs. Sprowl, sympathizingly. "I believe you partly promised it to me, didn't you? I can manage to get me a cape out on't." "Yes, yes," said Penn, "you can have the cloak;" while Toby glared with rage behind her chair. "And I considered 'twouldn't be no more'n fair that you should pay for the----I don't see how in the world I can afford to lose it, bein' a poor widder, and live geeses' feathers at that, and my only son----" She hid her face in her apron, overcome with emotion. "What am I to pay for?" asked Penn. "Fur, you know," she said, "I never would have parted with it fur any money, and it will take at least ten dollars to replace it, which is hard, bein' a poor widder, and as strong a linen tick as ever you see, that I made myself, and that my blessed husband died on, and helped me pick the geese with his own hands; and I never thought, when I took you to board, that ever _that_ bed would be sacrificed by it,--for 'twas on your account, you are ware, it was took last night and done for." "And you think I ought to pay for the bed!" said Penn, as much astonished as if Silas Ropes had sent in his bill, "To 1 coat tar and feathers, $10.00." "They said I must look to you," whined the visitor; "and if you don't pay fur't, I don't know who will, I'm shore! for none of them have sot at my board, and drinked of my coffee, and e't of my good corn dodgers, and slep' in my best bed, all for four dollars fifty a week, washing and ironing throwed in, and a poor widder at that!" "Mrs. Sprowl," said Penn, laughing, ill as he was, "have the kindness not to tell any one that I am here, and as soon as I am able to do so, I will pay you for your excellent feather-bed." "Thank you,--very good in you, I'm shore!" said the worthy creature, brightening. "And if there's anything else among your things you can spare." "I'll see! I'll see!" said Penn, wearily. "Leave me now, do!" "But if you had a few dollars, this morning, towards the bed," she insisted, "for my son----" She almost betrayed herself; being about to say that Lysander had arrived, and must have money; but she coughed, and added, in a changed voice, "is a wanderer on the face of the 'arth." Penn, however, reflecting that she would have more encouragement to keep his secret if he held the reward in reserve, replied, that he could not possibly spare any money before collecting what was due him from the trustees of the Academy. Her countenance fell on hearing this; and, reluctantly abandoning the object of her mission, she took her leave, and went home to her hopeful son. X. _THE WIDOW'S GREEN CHEST._ Mr. Villars had spoken truly when he said Penn's persecutors would not rest here. In fact, Mr. Ropes, and three of his accomplices, were even now on the way to Mrs. Sprowl's abode, to make inquiries concerning the schoolmaster. That lone creature had scarcely reached her own door when she saw them coming. Now, though Penn was not in the house, her son was. Great, therefore, was her trepidation at the sight of visitors; and she evinced such eagerness to assure them that the object of their pursuit was not there, and appeared altogether so frightened and guilty, that Ropes winked knowingly at his companions, and said,-- "He's here, boys, safe enough." So they forced their way into the house; her increased tremor and confusion serving only to confirm them in their suspicions. "Not that we doubt your word in the least, Mrs. Sprowl,"--Ropes smiled sarcastically. "But of course you can't object to our searching the premises, for we're in the performance of a solemn dooty. Any whiskey in the house, widder?" The obliging lady went to find a bottle. She was gone so long, however, that the visitors became impatient. Ropes accordingly stationed two of his men at the doors, and with the third went in pursuit of Mrs. Sprowl, whom they met coming down stairs. "Keep your liquor up there, do ye?" said Ropes, significantly. "I--I thought--" Mrs. Sprowl gasped for breath before she could proceed--"the master had some in his room. But I can't find it. You are at liberty to--to look in his room, if you wants to." "Wal, it's our dooty to, I suppose. Meantime, you can be bringing the whiskey. Give some to the boys outside, then bring the bottle up to us. That's the way, Gad," said Silas, as she unwillingly obeyed; "allus be perlite to the sex, ye know." "Sartin! allus!" said Gad. It was evident these men fancied themselves polite. "But he ain't here," said Silas, just glancing into Penn's room, "or else she wouldn't have been so willing for us to search. Le's begin at the top of the house, and look along down." They entered a low-roofed, empty garret. "As we can't perceed without the whiskey, we'll wait here. Meantime, I'll tell you what you wanted to know." They sat down on a little old green chest, and Ropes, producing a plug of tobacco, gave his friend a bite, and took a bite himself. "What I'm going to say is in perfect confidence, between friends;" chewing and crossing his legs. Gad chewed, and crossed his legs, and said, "O, of course! in perfect confidence!" "Wal, then, I'll tell ye whar the money fur our job comes from. It comes from Gus Bythewood." "Sho!" said Gad, looking surprised at Silas. "Fact!" said Silas, looking wise at Gad. "But what's he so dead set agin' the master fur?" "I'll tell ye, Gad." And Mr. Ropes rested a finger confidingly on his friend's knee. "Fur as I kin jedge, Gus has a sneakin' notion arter that youngest Villars gal; Virginny, ye know." "Don't blame him!" chuckled Gad. "But ye see, thar's that Hapgood; he's a great favoryte with the Villarses, and Gus nat'rally wants to git him out of the way. It won't do, though, for him to have it known he has any thing to do with our operations. He pays us, and backs us up with plenty of cash if we get into trouble; but he keeps dark, you understand." "The master ought to be hung for his abolitionism!" said Gad, by way of self-excuse for being made a jealous man's tool. "That ar's jest my sentiment," replied Silas. "But then he's allus been a peaceable sort of chap, and held his tongue; so he might have been let alone some time yet, if it hadn't been for----What in time!" Ropes started, and changed color, glancing first at Gad, then down at the chest. "He's in it!" whispered Gad. Both jumped up, and, facing about, looked at the green lid, and at each other. The chest was so small it had not occurred to them that a man could get into it. Lysander had got into it, however, and there he lay, so cramped, and stifled, and compressed, that he could not endure the torture without an effort to ease it by moving a little. He had stirred; then all was still again. "Think he's heerd us?" said Silas. "Must have heerd something," said Gad. "Then he's as good as a dead man!" Silas drew his pistol, resolved to sacrifice the schoolmaster on the altar of secrecy. But as he was about to fire into the chest at a venture (for your cowardly assassin does not like to face his victim), the lid flew open, the chivalry stepped hastily back, and up rose out of the chest--not the schoolmaster, but--Lysander Sprowl. Silas had struck his head against a rafter, and was quite bewildered for a moment by the shock, the multitude of meteors that rushed across his firmament, and the sudden apparition. Gad, at the same time, stood ready to take a plunge down the stairs in case the schoolmaster should show fight. "Gentlemen," said the "wanderer on the face of the 'arth," straightening his limbs, and saluting with a reckless air, "I hope I see ye well. Never mind about shooting an old friend, Sile Ropes. I reckon we're about even; and I'll keep your secret, if you'll keep mine." "That's fair," said Ropes, recovering from the falling stars, and putting up his weapon. "Lysander, how are ye? Good joke, ain't it?" And they shook hands all around. "But whar's the schoolmaster?" And Silas rubbed his head. "I know all about the schoolmaster," said Lysander, stepping out of the chest; "he ain't in this house, but I know just where he is. And I reckon 'twill be for the interest of me and Gus Bythewood if we can have a little talk together, tell him. If he's got money to spare, that'll be to my advantage; and what I know will be to his advantage." So saying, Lysander closed the chest, and coolly invited the chivalry to resume their seats. They did so, much to the amazement of Mrs. Sprowl, who came up stairs with the whiskey, and found the "wanderer on the face of the 'arth" conversing in the most amicable manner with Gad and Silas. XI. _SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY._ If what Silas Ropes had said of his patron, Augustus Bythewood, was true, great must have been the chagrin of that chivalrous young gentleman when an interview was brought about between him and Lysander, and he learned that Penn, instead of being driven from the state, had found refuge in the family of Mr. Villars--that he was there even at the moment when he made his delightful little evening call, and was entertained so charmingly by Virginia. Bythewood gave Sprowl money, and Sprowl gave Bythewood information and advice. It was in accordance with the programme decided upon by these two worthies, that Mr. Ropes at the head of his gang presented himself the next night at Mr. Villars's door. Virginia, by her father's direction, admitted them. They crowded into the sitting-room, where the old man rose to receive them, with his usual urbanity. "Virginia, have chairs brought for all our friends. I cannot see to recognize them individually, but I salute them all." "No matter about the cheers," said Silas. "We can do our business standing. Sorry to trouble you with it, sir, but it's jest this. We understand you're harboring a Yankee abolitionist, and we've called to remind you that sech things can't be allowed in a well-regulated community." The old man, holding himself still erect with punctilious politeness,--for his guests were not seated,--and smiling with grand and venerable aspect, made reply in tones full of dignity and sweetness: "My friends, I am an old man; I am a native of Virginia, and a citizen of Tennessee; and all my life long I have been accustomed to regard the laws of hospitality as sacred." "My sentiments exactly. I won't hear a word said agin' southern horsepitality, or southern perliteness." Mr. Ropes illustrated his remark by spitting copious tobacco-juice on the floor. "Horsepitality I look upon as one of the stable institootions of our country." "No doubt it is so," said Mr. Villars, smiling at the unintentional pun. "That's one thing," added Silas; "but harboring a abolitionist is another. That's the question we've jest took the liberty to call and have a little quiet talk about, to-night." "Sit down, dear father, do!" entreated Virginia, remaining at his side in spite of her dread and abhorrence of these men. Holding his hand, and regarding him with pale and anxious looks, she endeavored with gentle force to get him into his chair. "My father is very feeble," she said, appealing to Silas, "and I beg you will have some consideration for him." "Sartin, sartin," said Silas. "Keep yer settin', keep yer settin', Mr. Villars." But the old man still remained upon his feet,--his tall, spare form, bent with age, his long, thin locks of white hair, and his wan, sightless, calm, and beautiful countenance presenting a wonderful contrast to the blooming figure at his side. It was a picture which might well command the respectful attention of Silas and his compeers. "My friends," he said, with a grave smile, "we men of the south are rather boastful of our hospitality. But true hospitality consists in something besides eating and drinking with those whose companionship is a sufficient recompense for all that we do for them. It clothes the naked, feeds the hungry, shelters the distressed. With the Arabs, even an enemy is sacred who happens to be a guest. Shall an old Virginian think less of the honor of his house than an Arab?" Silas looked abashed, silenced for a moment by these noble words, and the venerable and majestic mien of the blind old clergyman. It would not do, however, to give up his mission so; and after coughing, turning his quid, and spitting again, he replied,-- "That'll do very well to talk, Mr. Villars. But come to the pint. You've got a Yankee abolitionist in your house--that you won't deny." "I have in my house," said the old man, "a person whose life is in danger from injuries received at your hands last night. He came to us in a condition which, I should have thought, would excite the pity of the hardest heart. Whether or not he is a Yankee abolitionist, I never inquired. It was enough for me that he was a fellow-creature in distress. He is well known in this community, where he has never been guilty of wrong towards any one; and, even if he were a dangerous person, he is not now in a condition to do mischief. Gentlemen, my guest is very ill with a fever." "Can't help that; you must git red of him," said Silas. "I'm a talking now for your own good as much as any body's, Mr. Villars. You're a man we all respect; but already you've made yourself a object of suspicion, by standing up fur the old rotten Union." "When I can no longer befriend my guests, or stand up for my country, then I shall have lived long enough!" said the old man, with impressive earnestness. "The old Union," said Gad, coming to the aid of Silas, "is played out. We couldn't have our rights, and so we secede." "What rights couldn't you have under the government left to us by Washington?" "That had become corrupted," said Mr. Ropes. "How corrupted, my friend?" "By the infernal anti-slavery element!" "You forget," said Mr. Villars, "that Washington, Jefferson, and indeed all the wisest and best men who assisted to frame the government under which we have been so prospered, were anti-slavery men." "Wal, I know, some on 'em hadn't got enlightened on the subject," Mr. Ropes admitted. "And do you know that if a stranger, endowed with all the virtues of those patriots, should come among you and preach the political doctrines of Washington and Jefferson, you would serve him as you served Penn Hapgood last night?" "Shouldn't wonder the least mite if we should!" Silas grinned. "But that's nothing to the purpose. We claim the right to carry our slaves into the territories, and Lincoln's party is pledged to keep 'em out, and that's cause enough for secession." "How many slaves do you own, Mr. Ropes?" Mr. Villars, still leaning on his daughter's arm, smiled as he put this mild question. "I--wal--truth is, I don't own nary slave myself--wish I did!" said Silas. "How many friends have you with you?" "'Lev'n," said Gad, rapidly counting his companions. "Well, of the eleven, how many own slaves?" "I do!" "I do!" spoke up two eager voices. "How many slaves do you own?" "I've got as right smart a little nigger boy as there is anywheres in Tennessee!" said the first, proudly. "How old is he?" "He'll be nine year' old next grass, I reckon." "Well, how many negroes has your friend?" "I've got one old woman, sir." "How old is she?" "Wal, plaguy nigh a hunderd,--old Bess, you know her." "Yes, I know old Bess; and an excellent creature she is. So it seems that you eleven men own two slaves. And these you wish to take into some of the territories, I suppose." The men looked foolish, and were obliged to own that they had never dreamed of conveying either the nine-year-old lad or the female centenarian out of the state of Tennessee. "Then what is the grievance you complain of?" asked the old man. They could not name any. "O, now, my friends, look you here! I believe in the right of revolution when a government oppresses a people beyond endurance. But in this case it appears, by your own showing, that not one of you has suffered any wrong, and that this is not a revolution in behalf of the poor and oppressed. If anybody is to be benefited by it, it is a few rich owners of slaves, who are prosperous enough already, and have really no cause of complaint. It is a revolution precipitated by political leaders, who wish to be rulers; and what grieves me at the heart is, that the poor and ignorant are thus permitting themselves to be made the tools of this tyranny, which will soon prove more despotic than it was possible for the dear old government ever to become. God bless my country! God bless my poor distracted country!" As he finished speaking, the old man sank down overcome with emotion upon his chair, clasping his daughter's hand, while tears ran down his cheeks. His argument was so unanswerable that nothing was left for Silas but to get angry. "I see you're not only a Unionist, but more'n half a Yankee abolitionist yourself! We didn't come here to listen to any sech incendiary talk. Kick out the schoolmaster, if you wouldn't git into trouble,--I warn you! That's the business we've come to see to, and you must tend to't." "Pity him--spare him!" cried Virginia, shielding her aged father as Ropes approached him. "He cannot turn a sick man out of his house, you know he cannot!" "You're partic'larly interested in the young man, hey?" said Ropes, grinning insolently. "I am interested that no harm comes either to my father or to his guests," said the girl. "Go, I implore you! As soon as Mr. Hapgood is able to leave us, he will do so,--he will have no wish to stay,--this I promise you." "I'll give him three days to quit the country," said Silas. "Only three days. He'd better be dead than found here at the end of that time. Gentlemen, we've performed this yer painful dooty; now le's adjourn to Barber Jim's and take a drink." With these words Mr. Ropes retired. While, however, he was treating his men to whiskey and cigars with Augustus Bythewood's money, advanced for the purpose, one of the eleven, separating himself from the rest, hurried back to the minister's house. He had taken part in the patriotic proceedings of his friends with great reluctance, as appeared from the manner in which he shrank from view in corners and behind the backs of his comrades, and drew down his woe-begone mouth, and rolled up his dismal eyes, during the entire interview. And he had returned now, at the risk of his life, to do Penn a service. He crept to the kitchen door, and knocked softly. Carl opened it. There stood the wretched figure, terrified, panting for breath. "Vat is it?" said Carl. "I've come fur to tell ye!" said the man, glancing timidly around into the darkness to see if he was followed. "They mean to kill him! They told you they'd give him three days, but they won't. I heard them saying so among themselves. They may be back this very night, for they'll all git drunk, and nothing will stop 'em then." Carl stared, as these hoarsely whispered words were poured forth rapidly by the frightened man at the door. "Come in, and shpeak to Mishter Willars." "No, no! I'll be killed if I'm found here!" But Carl, sturdy and resolute, had no idea of permitting him to deliver so hasty and alarming a message without subjecting him to a cross-examination. He had already got him by the collar, and now he dragged him into the house, the man not daring to resist for fear of outcry and exposure. "What is it?" asked Mr. Villars. "A wisitor!" said Carl. And he repeated Dan's statement, while Dan was recovering his breath. "Is this true, Mr. Pepperill?" asked the old man, deeply concerned. "Yes, I be durned if it ain't!" said Dan. Virginia clung to her father's chair, white with apprehension. Toby was also present, having left his patient an instant to run down stairs, and learn what was the cause of this fresh disturbance. "He's a lyin' to ye, Mass' Villars; he's a lyin' to ye! White trash can't tell de troof if dey tries! Don't ye breeve a word he says, massa." Yet it was evident from the consternation the old negro's face betrayed that he believed Dan's story,--or at least feared it would prove true if he did not make haste and deny it stoutly; for Toby, like many persons with whiter skins, always felt on such occasions a vague faith that if he could get the bad news sufficiently denounced and discredited in season, all would be well. As if simply setting our minds against the truth would defeat it! "But they spoke of fittin' yer neck to a noose too!" "Mine? Ah, if nobody but myself was in danger, I should be well content! What do you think we ought to do, Mr. Pepperill?" "The master has done me a good turn, and I'll do him one, if I swing fur't!" said Dan, straightening himself with sudden courage. "Get him out 'fore they suspect what you're at, and I'll take him to my house and hide him, I be durned if I won't!" "It is a kind offer, and I thank you," said the old man. "But how can I resolve to send a guest from my house in this way? Not to save my own life would I do it!" "But to save his, father!" "It is only of him I am thinking, my child. Would it be safe to move him, Toby?" "Safe to move Massa Penn!" ejaculated the old negro, choking with wrath and grief. "Neber tink o' sech a ting, massa! He'd die, shore, widout I should go 'long wid him, and tote him in my ol' arms on a fedder-bed jes' like I would a leetle baby, and den stay and nuss him arter I got him dar. For dem 'ar white trash, what ye s'pose day knows 'bout takin' keer ob a sick gemman like him? It's a bery 'tic'lar case. He's got de delirimum a comin' on him now, and I can't be away from him a minute. I mus' go back to him dis bery minute!" And Toby departed, having suddenly conceived an idea of his own for hiding Penn in the barn until the danger was over. He had been absent from the room but a moment, however, when those remaining in it heard a wild outcry, and presently the old negro reappeared, inspired with superstitious terror, his eyes starting from their sockets, his tongue paralyzed. "What's the matter, Toby?" cried Virginia, perceiving that something really alarming had happened. The negro tried to speak, but his throat only gurgled incoherently, while the whites of his eyes kept rolling up like saucers. "Penn--has anything happened to Penn?" said Mr. Villars. "O, debil, debil, Lord bress us!" gibbered Toby. "Dead?" cried Virginia. "Gone! gone, missis!" Struck with consternation, but refusing to believe the words of the bewildered black, Virginia flew to the sick man's chamber. Then she understood the full meaning of Toby's words. Penn was not in his bed, nor in the room, nor anywhere in the house. He had disappeared suddenly, strangely, totally. XII. _CHIVALROUS PROCEEDINGS._ Thus the question of what should be done with his guest, which Mr. Villars knew not how to decide, had been decided for him. Great was the mystery. There was the bed precisely as Penn had left it a minute since. There was the candle dimly burning. The medicines remained just where Toby had placed them, on the table under the mirror. But the patient had vanished. What had become of him? It was believed that he was too ill to leave his bed without assistance. And, even though he had been strong, it was by no means probable that one so uniformly discreet in his conduct, and ever so regardful of the feelings of others, would have quitted the house in this abrupt and inexplicable manner. In vain the premises were searched. Not a trace of him could be anywhere discovered. Neither were there any indications of a struggle. Yet it was Toby's firm conviction that the ruffians had entered the house, and seized him; that Pepperill was in the plot, the object of whose visit was merely a diversion, while Ropes and the rest accomplished the abduction. This could not, of course, have been done without the aid of magic and the devil; but Toby believed in magic and the devil. The fact that Dan had taken advantage of the confusion to escape, appeared to the Ethiopian mind conclusive. Nor was the negro alone in his bewilderment. Carl was utterly confounded. The old clergyman, usually so calm, was deeply troubled; while Virginia herself, pierced with the keenest solicitude, could scarce keep her mind free from horrible and superstitious doubts. The doors between the sitting-room and back stairs were all wide open, and it seemed impossible that any one could have come in or gone out that way without being observed. On the other hand, to have reached the front stairs Penn must have passed through Salina's room. But Salina, who was in her room at the time, averred that she had not been disturbed, even by a sound. "He has got out the vinder," said Carl. But the window was fifteen feet from the ground. Thus all reasonable conjecture failed, and it seemed necessary to accept Toby's theory of the ruffians, magic, and the devil. Only one thing was certain: Penn was gone. And, as if to add to the extreme and painful perplexity of his friends, the clothes, which had been stripped from him by the lynchers, which he had brought away in his hands, and which had been hung up in his room by Toby, were left hanging there still, untouched. The family had not recovered from the dismay his disappearance occasioned, when they had cause to rejoice that he was gone. Ropes and his crew returned, as Pepperill had predicted. They were intoxicated and bloodthirsty. They had brought a rope, with which to hang their victim before the old clergyman's door. They were furious on finding he had eluded them, and searched the house with oaths and uproar. Virginia, on her knees, clung to her father, praying that he might not be harmed, and that Penn, whom all had been so anxious just now to find, might be safe from discovery. Exasperated by their unsuccessful search, the villains hesitated about laying violent hands on the blind old man, and concluded to wreak their vengeance on Toby. That he was a freed negro, was alone a sufficient offence in their eyes to merit a whipping. But he had done more; he had been devoted to the schoolmaster, and they believed he had concealed him. So they seized him, dragged him from the house, bared his back, and tied him to a tree. As long as the mob had confined itself to searching the premises, Mr. Villars had held his peace. But the moment his faithful old servant was in danger, he roused himself. He rushed to the door, bareheaded, his white hair flowing, his staff in his hand. Both his children accompanied him,--Salina, who was really not void of affection, appearing scarcely less anxious and indignant than her sister. There, in the light of a wood-pile to which fire had been set, stood the old negro, naked to the waist, lashed fast to the trunk, writhing with pain and terror; his brutal tormentors grouped around him in the glare of the flames, preparing, with laughter, oaths, and much loose, leisurely swaggering, to flay his flesh with rods. "My friends!" cried the old clergyman, with an energy that startled them, "what are you about to do?" "We're gwine to sarve this nigger," said the man Gad, "jest as every free nigger'll git sarved that's found in the state three months from now." "Free niggers is a nuisance," added Ropes, now very drunk, and very much inclined to make a speech on a barrel which his friends rolled out for him. "A nuisance!" he repeated, with a hiccough, steadying himself on his rostrum by holding a branch of the tree. "And let me say to you, feller-patriots, that one of the glorious fruits of secession is, that every free nigger in the state will either be sold for a slave, or druv out, or hung up. I tell you, gentlemen, we're a goin' to have our own way in these matters, spite of all the ministers in creation!" The men cheered, and one of them struck Toby a couple of preliminary blows, just to try his hand, and to add the poor old negro's howls to the chorus. "No doubt,"--the old clergyman's voice rose above the tumult,--"you will have your way for a season. You will commit injustice with a high hand. You will glut your cruelty upon the defenceless and oppressed. But, as there is a God in heaven,"--he lifted up his blind white face, and with his trembling hands shook his staff on high, like a prophet foretelling woe,--"as there is a God of justice and mercy who beholds this wickedness,--just so sure the hour of your retribution will come! so sure the treason you are breathing, and the despotism you are inaugurating, will prove a snare and a destruction to yourselves! Unbind that man! leave my house in peace! go home, and learn to practise a little of the mercy of which you will yourselves soon stand in need." His venerable aspect, and the power and authority of his words, awed even that drunken crew. But Silas, vain of his oratorical powers, was enraged that anybody should dispute his influence with the crowd. Holding the branch with one hand, and gesticulating violently with the other, he exclaimed,-- "Who is boss here? Who ye goin' to mind? that old traitor, or me? I say, lick the nigger! We're a goin' to have our way now, and we're a goin' to have our way to the end of the 'arth, sure as I am a gentleman standing on this yer barrel!" To emphasize his declaration, he stamped with his foot; the head of the cask flew in, and down went orator, cask, and all, in a fashion rendered all the more ridiculous by the climax of oratory it illustrated. "Just so sure will your hollow and inhuman schemes fail from under your feet!" exclaimed Mr. Villars, as soon as he learned what had happened. "So surely and so suddenly will you fall." This incident occurred as Toby's flogging was about to begin in earnest. Virginia had instinctively covered her eyes to shut out the terrible sight, her ears to shut out the sounds of the beating and the poor old fellow's groans. Luckily, Silas had fallen partly in the barrel, and partly across the sharp edge of it, and being too tipsy to help himself, had been seriously hurt, and was now helpless. The ruffians hastened to extricate him, and raise him up. Carl, who, with an open knife concealed in his sleeve, had been waiting for an opportunity, darted at the tree, cut the negro's bonds in a twinkling, and set him free. Both took to their heels without an instant's delay. But the trick was discovered. They were pursued immediately. Carl was lively on his legs, as we know; but poor old Toby, never a good runner, and now stiff and decrepit with age, was no match even for the slowest of their pursuers. They ran straight into the orchard, hoping to lose themselves among the shadows. The glare of the burning wood-pile flickered but faintly and unsteadily among the trees. Carl might easily have escaped; but he thought only of Toby, and kept faithfully at his side, assisting him, urging him. A fence was near--if they could only reach that! But Toby was wheezing terribly, and the hand of the foremost ruffian was already extended to seize him. "Jump the vence over!" was Carl's parting injunction to the old negro, who made a last desperate effort to accomplish the feat; while Carl, turning sharp about, tripped the foot of him of the extended hand, and sent him headlong. The second pursuer he grappled, and both rolled upon the ground together. Favored by this diversion, Toby reached the fence, climbed it, and without looking how, he leaped, jumped down upon--a human figure, stretched there upon the ground! Notwithstanding his own danger, Toby thought of his patient, and stopped. "Is it you, massa?" The man rose slowly to his feet. It was not Penn; it was, on the contrary, the worst of Penn's enemies, who had stationed himself here, in order to observe, unseen, and from a safe distance, the operations of Silas Ropes and his band of patriots. "O, Massa Bythewood!" ejaculated Toby, inspired with sudden joy and hope; "help a poor old niggah! Help! De Villarses will remember it ob ye de longest day you live, if you on'y will." "Why, what's the matter, Toby?" said Augustus, full of rage at having been thus discovered, yet assuming a gracious and patronizing manner. Toby did not make a very coherent reply; but probably the young gentleman was already sufficiently aware of what was going on. He had no especial regard for Toby, yet his credit with Virginia and her father was to be sustained. And so Toby was saved. Augustus met and rebuked his pursuers, released Carl, who was suffering at the hands of his antagonist, and led the way back to the house. There he expressed to Mr. Villars and his daughters the utmost regret and indignation for what had occurred, and took Mr. Ropes aside to remonstrate with him for such violent proceedings. His influence over that fallen orator was extraordinary. Ropes excused himself on the plea of his patriotic zeal, and called off his men. "How fortunate," said Augustus, conducting the old man, with an excessive show of deference and politeness, back into the sitting-room,--"how extremely fortunate that I happened to be walking this way! I trust no serious harm has been done, my dear Virginia?" Bythewood no doubt thought himself entitled to use this affectionate term, after the service he had rendered the family. After he was gone, Toby, having recovered from his fright and the fatigue of running, and got his clothes on again, rushed into the presence of his master and the young ladies. "I've seed Mass' Penn!" he said. "Arter Bythewood done got up from under de fence whar I jumped on him, I seed anoder man a crawlin' away on his hands and knees jest a little ways off. 'Twas Mass' Penn! I know 'twas Mass' Penn." But Toby was mistaken. The second figure he had seen was Mr. Lysander Sprowl, now the confidential adviser and secret companion of Augustus. XIII. _THE OLD CLERGYMAN'S NIGHTGOWN HAS AN ADVENTURE._ Where, then, all this time, was Penn? He was himself almost as profoundly ignorant on that subject as anybody. For two or three hours he had been lost to himself no less than to his friends. When he recovered his consciousness he found that he was lying on the ground, in the open air, in what seemed a barren field, covered with rocks and stunted shrubs. How he came there he did not know. He had nothing on but his night-dress,--a loan from the old clergyman,--besides a blanket wrapped about him. His feet were bare, and he now perceived that they were painfully aching. Almost too weak to lift a hand to his head, he yet tried to sit up and look around him. All was darkness; not a sign of human habitation, not a twinkling light was visible. The cold night wind swept over him, sighing drearily among the leafless bushes. Chilled, shivering, his temples throbbing, his brain sick and giddy, he sat down again upon the rocks, so ill and suffering that he could scarcely feel astonishment at his situation, or care whether he lived or died. Where had he been during those hours of oblivion? He seemed to have slept, and to have had terrible dreams. Could he have remembered these dreams, it seemed to him that the whole mystery of his removal to this desolate spot would be explained. And he knew that it required but an effort of his will to remember them. But his soul was too weak: he could not make the effort. To get upon his feet and walk was impossible. What, then, was left him but to perish here, alone, uncared for, unconsoled by a word of love from any human being? Death he would have welcomed as a relief from his sufferings. Yet when he thought of his home far away, in the peaceful community of Friends, of his parents and sisters now anxiously expecting his return,--and again when he remembered the hospitable roof under which he lay, so tenderly nursed, but a little while ago, and thought of the blind old clergyman, of Virginia fresh as a rose, of kind-hearted Carl, and the affectionate old negro,--he was stung with the desire to live, and he called feebly,-- "Toby! Toby!" Was his cry heard? Surely, there were footsteps on the rocks! And was not that a human form moving dimly between him and the sky? It passed on, and was lost in the shadows of the pines. Was it some animal, or only a phantom of his feverish brain? "Toby!" he called again, exerting all his force. But only the wailing wind answered him, and, overcome by the effort, he sunk into a swoon. In that swoon it seemed to him that Toby had heard his voice, and that he came to him. Hands, gentle human hands, groped on him, felt the blanket, felt his bare feet, and his head, pillowed on stones. Then there seemed to be two Tobys, one good and the other evil, holding a strange consultation over him, which he heard as in a dream. "We can't leave him dying here!" said the good Toby. "What dat to me, if him die, or whar him die?" said the other Toby. "Straight har!" He seemed to be feeling Penn's locks, in order to ascertain to which race he belonged. "Dat's nuff fur me! Lef him be, I tell ye, and come 'long!" "Straight hair or curly, it's all the same," said Toby the Good. "Take hold here; we must save him!" "Hyah-yah! ye don't cotch dis niggah!" chuckled Toby the Bad, maliciously. "Nuff more ob his kind, in all conscience! Reckon we kin spar' much as one! Hyah-yah!" Something like a quarrel ensued, the result of which was, that Toby the Good finally prevailed upon Toby the Malevolent to assist him. Then Penn was dreamily aware of being lifted in the strong arms of this double individual, and borne away, over rocks, and among thickets, along the mountain side; until even this misty ray of consciousness deserted him, and he fell into a stupor like death. And what was this he saw on awaking? Had he really died, and was this unearthly place a vestibule of the infernal regions? Days and nights of anguish, burning, and delirium, relieved at intervals by the same death-like stupor, had passed over him; and here he lay at length, exhausted, the terrible fever conquered, and his soul looking feebly forth and taking note of things. And strange enough things appeared to him! He was in an apartment of prodigious and uncouth architecture, dimly lighted from one side by some opening invisible to him, and by a blazing fire in a little fireplace built on the broad stone floor. The fireplace was without chimney, but a steady draught of air, from the side where the opening seemed to be, swept the smoke away into sombre recesses, where it mingled with the shadows of the place, and was lost in gloom which even the glare of the flames failed to illumine. Such a cavernous room Penn seemed to have seen in his dreams. The same irregular, rocky roof started up from the wall by his bed, and stretched away into vague and obscure distance. All was familiar to him, but all was somehow mixed up with frightful fantasies which had vanished with the fever that had so recently left him. The awful shapes, the struggles of demoniac men, the processions of strange and beautiful forms, which had visited him in his delirious visions,--all these were airy nothings; but the cave was real. Here he lay, on a rude bed constructed of four logs, forming the ends and sides, with canvas stretched across them, and secured with nails. Under him was a mattress of moss, over him a blanket like that which he remembered to have had wrapped about him last night in the field. Last night! Poor Penn was deeply perplexed when he endeavored to remember whether his mysterious awaking in the open air occurred last night, or many nights ago. He moved his head feebly to look for Toby. Which Toby? for all through his sufferings the same two Tobys, one good and the other evil, who had taken him from the field, had appeared still to attend him, and he now more than half expected to see the faithful old negro duplicated, and waiting upon him with two bodies and four hands. But neither the better nor even the worse half of that double being was near him now. Penn was alone, in that subterranean solitude. There burned the fire, the shadows flickered, the smoke floated away into the depths of the dark cavern, in such loneliness and silence as he had never experienced before. He would have thought himself in some grotto of the gnomes, or some awful cell of enchantment, whose supernatural fire never went out, and whose smoke rolled away into darkness the same perpetually,--but for the sound of the crackling flames, and the sight of piles of wood on the floor, so strongly suggestive of human agency. On one side was what appeared to be an artificial chamber built of stones, its door open towards the fire. Ranged about the cave, in something like regular order, were several massy blocks of different sizes, like the stools of a family of giants. But where were the giants? Ah, here came Toby at last, or, at any rate, the twin of him. He approached from the side where the daylight shone, bearing an armful of sticks, and whistling a low tune. With his broad back turned towards Penn, he crouched before the fire, which he poked and scolded with malicious energy, his grotesque and gigantic shadow projected on the wall of the cave. "Burn, ye debil! K-r-r-r! sputter! snap! git mad, why don't ye?" Then throwing himself back upon a heap of skins, with his heels at the fire, and his long arms swinging over his head, in a savage and picturesque attitude, he burst into a shout, like the cry of a wild beast. This he repeated several times, appearing to take delight in hearing the echoes resound through the cavern. Then he began to sing, keeping time with his feet, and pausing after each strain of his wild melody to hear it die away in the hollow depths of the cave. "De glory ob de Lord, it am comin', it am comin', De glory ob de Lord, let it come! De angel ob de Lord, hear his trumpet, hear his trumpet, De angel ob de Lord, he ar come!" At the last words, "_He ar come!_" a shadow darkened the entrance, and Penn looked, almost expecting to see a literal fulfilment of the prophecy. A form of imposing stature appeared. It was that of a negro upwards of six feet in height, magnificently proportioned, straight as a pillar, and black as ebony. He wore a dress of skins, carried a gun in his hand, and had an opossum slung over his shoulder. "Hush your noise!" he said to the singer, in a tone of authority. "Haven't I told you not to _wake him_?" "No fear o' dat!" chuckled the other. "Him's past dat! Ki! how fat he ar!" seizing the opossum, and beginning to dress him on the spot. "Past waking! I tell you he's asleep, and every thing depends on his waking up right. But you set up a howl that would disturb the dead!" "Howl! dat's what ye call singin'; me singin', Pomp." "Well, keep your singing to yourself till he is able to stand it, you unfeeling, ungrateful fellow!" "What dat ye call dis nigger?" cried the singer, jumping up in a passion, with his blood-stained knife in his hand. "Ongrateful! Say dat ar agin, will ye?" "Yes, Cudjo, as often as you please," said Pomp, calmly placing his gun in the artificial chamber. "You are an unfeeling, ungrateful fellow." He turned, and stood regarding him with a proud, lofty, compassionating smile. Cudjo's anger cooled at once. Penn had already recognized in them the twin Tobys of his dreams. And what a contrast between the two! There was Toby the Good, otherwise called Pomp, dignified, erect, of noble features; while before him cringed and grimaced Toby the Malign, alias Cudjo, ugly, deformed, with immensely long arms, short bow legs resembling a parenthesis, a body like a frog's, and the countenance of an ape. "You know," said Pomp, "you would have left this man to die there on the rocks, if it hadn't been for me." "Gorry! why not?" said Cudjo. "What's use ob all dis trouble on his 'count?" "He has had trouble enough on our account," said Pomp. "On our 'count? Hiyah-yah!" laughed Cudjo, getting down on his knees over the opossum; "how ye make dat out, by?" "Pay attention, Cudjo, while I tell ye," said Pomp, stooping, and laying his finger on the deformed shoulder. Cudjo looked up, with his hands and knife still in the opossum's flesh. "This is the way of it, as I heard last night from Pepperill himself, who got into trouble, as you know, by befriending old Pete after his licking. And you know, don't you, how Pete came by his licking?" "Bein' out nights, totin' our meal and taters to de mountains,--dough I reckon de patrol didn't know nuffin' 'bout dat ar, or him wouldn't got off so easy!" said Cudjo. "Well, it was by befriending Pepperill, who had befriended Pete, who brings us meal and potatoes, that this man got the ill will of those villains. Do you understand?" "Say 'em over agin, Pomp. How, now? Lef me see! Dat ar's old Pete," sticking up a finger to represent him. "Dat ar's Pepperill," sticking up a thumb. "Now, yonder is dis yer man, and here am we. Now, how is it, Pomp?" Pomp repeated his statement, and Cudjo, pointing to his long, black finger when Pete was alluded to, and tapping his thumb when Pepperill was mentioned, succeeded in understanding that it was indirectly in consequence of kindness shown to himself that Penn had come to grief. "Dat so, Pomp?" he said, seriously, in a changed voice. "Den 'pears like dar's two white men me don't wish dead as dis yer possom! Pepperills one, and him's tudder." Pomp, having made this explanation, walked softly to the bedside. He had not before perceived that Penn, lying so still there, was awake. His features lighted up with intelligence and sympathy on making the discovery, and finding him free from feverish symptoms. "Well, how are you getting on, sir?" he said, feeling Penn's pulse, and seating himself on one of the giant's stools near the bedstead. "Where am I?" was Penn's first anxious question. "I fancy you don't know very well where you are, sir," said the negro, with a smile; "and you don't know me either, do you?" "I think--you are my preserver--are you not?" "That's a subject we will not talk about just now, sir; for you must keep very quiet." "I know," said Penn, not to be put off so, "I owe my life to you!" "Dat's so! dat ar am a fac'!" cried Cudjo, approaching, and wrapping the warm opossum skin about his naked arm as he spoke. "Gorry! me sech a brute, me war for leavin' ye dar in de lot. But, Pomp, him wouldn't; so we toted you hyar, and him's doctored you right smart eber sence. He ar a great doctor, Pomp ar! Yah!" And Cudjo laughed, showing two tremendous rows of ivory glittering from ear to ear; capering, swinging the opossum skin over his head, and, on the whole, looking far more like a demon of the cave than a human being. "Go about your business, Cudjo!" said Pomp. "You mustn't mind his freaks, sir," turning to Penn. "You are a great deal better; and now, if you will only remain quiet and easy in your mind, there's no doubt but you will get along." Many questions concerning himself and his friends came crowding to Penn's lips; but the negro, with firm and gentle authority, silenced him. "By and by, sir, I will tell you everything you wish to know. But you must rest now, while I see to making you a suitable broth." And nothing was left for Penn but to obey. XIV. _A MAN'S STORY._ Three days longer Penn lay there on his rude bed in the cave, helpless still, and still in ignorance. Pomp repeatedly assured him that all was well, and that he had no cause for anxiety, but refused to enlighten him. The negro's demeanor was well calculated to inspire calmness and trust. There was something truly grand and majestic, not only in his person, but in his character also. He was a superb man. Penn was never weary of watching him. He thought him the most perfect specimen of a gentleman he had ever seen; always cheerful, always courteous, always comporting himself with the ease of an equal in the presence of his guest. His strength was enormous. He lifted Penn in his arms as if he had been an infant. But his grace was no less than his vigor. He was, in short, a lion of a man. Cudjo was more like an ape. His gibberings, his grimaces, his antics, his delight in mischief, excited in the mind of the convalescent almost as much surprise as the other's princely deportment. For hours together he would lie watching those two wonderfully contrasted beings. Petulant and malicious as Cudjo appeared, he was completely under the control of his noble companion, who would often stand looking down at his tricks and deformity, with composedly folded arms and an air of patient indulgence and compassion beautiful to witness. Meanwhile Penn gradually regained his strength, so that on the fourth day Pomp permitted him to talk a little. "Tell me first about my friends," said Penn. "Are they well? Do they know where I am?" "I hope not, sir," said the negro, with a significant smile, seating himself on the giant's stool. "I trust that no one knows where you are." "What, then, must they think?" said Penn. "How did I leave them?" "That is what they are very much perplexed to find out, sir." "You have heard from them, then?" "O, yes; we have a way of getting news of people down there. Toby has nearly gone distracted on your account. He is positive that you are dead, for he believes you could never have got well out of his hands." "And Miss--Mr. Villars----?" "They have been so much disturbed about you, that I would have been glad to inform them of your safety, if I could. But not even they must know of this place." "Where am I, then?" "You are, as you perceive, in a cave. But I suppose you know so little how you came here that you would find some difficulty in tracing your way to us again?" This was spoken interrogatively, with an intelligent smile. "I am so ignorant of the place," said Penn, "that it may be in the planet Mars, for aught I know." "That is well! Now, sir," continued the negro, "since you have several times expressed your obligations to us for preserving your life, I wish to ask one favor in return. It is this. You are welcome to remain here as long as you find your stay beneficial; but when you conclude to go, we desire the privilege of conducting you away. That is not an unreasonable request?" "Far from it. And I pledge you my word to make no movement without your sanction, and to keep your secret sacredly. But tell me--will you not?--how you came to inhabit this dreadful place?" "Dreadful? There are worse places, my friend, than this. Is it gloomy? The house of bondage is gloomier. Is it damp? It is not with the cruel sweat and blood of the slave's brow and back. Is it cold? The hearts of our tyrants are colder." "I understand you," said Penn, whose suspicion was thus confirmed that these men were fugitives. "And I am deeply interested in you. How long have you lived here?" "Would you like to hear something of my story?" said the negro, the expression of his eyes growing deep and stern,--his black, closely curling beard stirring with a proud smile that curved his lips. "Perhaps it will amuse you." "Amuse me? No!" said Penn. "I know by your looks that it will not amuse: it will absorb me!" "Well, then," said Pomp, bearing his head upon his massy and flexible neck of polished ebony like a king, yet speaking in tones very gentle and low,--and he had a most mellow, musical, deep voice,--"you are talking with one who was born a slave." "You know what I think of that!" said Penn. "Even such a birth could not debase the manhood of one like you." "It might have done so under different circumstances. But I was so fortunate as to be brought up by a young master who was only too kind and indulgent to me, considering my station. We were playmates when children; and we were scarcely less intimate when we had both grown up to be men. He went to Paris to study medicine, and took me with him. I passed for his body servant, but I was rather his friend. He never took any important step in life without consulting me; and I am happy to know," added Pomp, with grand simplicity, "that my counsel was always good. He acknowledged as much on his death-bed. 'If I had taken your advice oftener,' said he, 'it would have been better for me. I always meant to reward you. You are to have your freedom--your freedom, my dear boy!'" The negro knitted his brows, his breath came thick, and there was a strange moisture in his eye. "I loved my master," he continued, with simple pathos. "And when I saw him troubled on my account, when he ought to have been thinking of his own soul, I begged him not to let a thought of me give him any uneasiness. My free papers had not been made out, and he was for sending at once for a notary. But his younger brother was with him--he who was to be his heir. 'Don't vex yourself about Pomp, Edwin,' said he. 'I will see that justice is done him.' "'Ah, thank you, brother!' said Edwin. 'You will set him free, and give him a few hundred dollars to begin life with. Promise that, and I will rest in peace.' For you must know Edwin had neither wife nor child, and I was the only person dependent on his bounty. He was not rich; he had spent a good part of his fortune abroad, and had but recently established himself in a successful practice in Montgomery. Yet he left enough so that his brother could have well afforded to give me my freedom, and a thousand dollars." "And did he not promise to do so?" "He promised readily enough. And so my master died, and was buried, and I--had another master. For a few days nothing was said about free papers; and I had been too much absorbed in grief for the only man I loved to think much about them. But when the estate was settled up, and my new master was preparing to return to his home here in Tennessee, I grew uneasy. "'Master,' said I, taking off my hat to him one morning, 'there is nothing more I can do for him who is gone; so I am thinking I would like to be for myself now, if you please.' "'For yourself, you black rascal?' said my new master, laughing in my face. "I wasn't used to being spoken to in that way, and it cut. But I kept down that which swelled up in here"--Pomp laid his hand on his heart--"and reminded him, respectfully as I could, of the doctor's last words about me, and of his promise. "'You fool!' said he, 'do you think I was in earnest?' "'If you were not,' said I, 'the doctor was.' "'And do you think,' said he, 'that I am to be bound by the last words of a man too far gone to know his own mind in the matter?' "'He always meant I should have my freedom,' I answered him, 'and always said so.' "'Then why didn't he give it to you before, instead of requiring me to make such a sacrifice? Come, come, Pomp!' he patted my shoulder; 'you are altogether too valuable a nigger to throw away. Why, people say you know almost as much about medicine as my brother did. You'll be an invaluable fellow to have on a plantation; you can doctor the field hands, and, may be, if you behave yourself, get a chance to prescribe for the family. Come, my boy, you musn't get foolish ideas of freedom into your head; they're what spoil a nigger, and they'll have to be whipped out of you, which would be too bad for a fine, handsome darkey like you.' "He patted my shoulder again, and looked as pleasant and flattering as if I had been a child to be coaxed,--I, as much a man, every bit, as he!" said Pomp, with a gleam of pride. "I could have torn him like a tiger for his insolence, his heartless injustice. But I repressed myself; I knew nothing was to be gained by violence. "'Master,' said I, 'what you say is no doubt very flattering. But I want what my master gave me--what you promised that I should have--I shall be contented with nothing else.' "'What! you persist?' he said, kindling up. 'Let me tell you now, Pomp, once for all, you'll have to be contented with a good deal less; and never mention the word "freedom" to me again if you would keep that precious hide of yours whole!' "I saw he meant it, and that there was no help for me. Despair and fury were in me. Then, for the only time in my life, I felt what it was to wish to murder a man. I could have smitten the life out of that smiling, handsome face of his! Thank God I was kept from that. I concealed what was burning within. Then first I learned to pray,--I learned to trust in God. And so better thoughts came to me; and I said, 'If he uses me well, I will serve him; if not, I will run for my life.' "Well, he brought me here to Tennessee. Here he was managing his aunt's estate, which she, soon dying, bequeathed to him. Up to this time I had got on very well; but he never liked me; he often said I knew too much, and was too proud. He was determined to humiliate me; so one day he said to me, 'Pomp, that Nance has been acting ugly of late, and you permit her.' I was a sort of overseer, you see. 'Now I'll tell you what I am going to have done. Nance is going to be whipped, and you are the fellow that's going to whip her.' "'Pardon, master,' said I, 'that's what I never did--to whip a woman.' "'Then it's time for you to begin. I've had enough of your fine manners, Pomp, and now you have got to come down a little.' "'I will do any thing you please to serve your interests, sir,' said I. 'But whip a woman I never can, and never will. That's so, master.' "'You villain!' he shouted, seizing a riding whip, 'I'll teach you to defy my authority to my face!' And he sprang at me, furious with rage. "'Take care, sir!' I said, stepping back. ''Twill be better for both of us for you not to strike me!' "'What! you threaten, you villain?' "'I do not threaten, sir; but I say what I say. It will be better for both of us. You will never strike me twice. I tell you that.' "I reckon he saw something dangerous in me, as I said this, for, instead of striking, he immediately called for help. 'Sam! Harry! Nap! bind this devil! Be quick!' "'They won't do it!' said I. 'Woe to the man that lays a finger on me, be he master or be he slave!' "'I'll see about that!' said he, running into the house. He came out again in a minute with his rifle. I was standing there still, the boys all keeping a safe distance, not one daring to touch me. "'Master,' said I, 'hear one word. I am perfectly willing to die. Long enough you have robbed me of my liberty, and now you are welcome to what is less precious--my poor life. But for your own sake, for your dead brother's sake, let me warn you to beware what you do.' "I suppose the allusion to his injustice towards me maddened him. He levelled his piece, and pulled the trigger. Luckily the percussion was damp,--or else I should not be talking with you now. His aim was straight at my head. I did not give him time for a second attempt. I was on him in an instant. I beat him down, I trampled him with rage. I snatched his gun from him, and lifted it to smash his skull. Just then a voice cried, 'Don't, Pomp! don't kill master!' "It was Nance, pleading for the man who would have had her whipped. I couldn't stand that. Her mercy made me merciful. 'Good by, boys!' I said. They were all standing around, motionless with terror. 'Good by, Nance! I am off; live or die, I quit this man's service forever!' "So I left him," said Pomp, "and ran for the woods. I was soon ranging these mountains, free, a wild man whom not even their blood-hounds could catch. I took the gun with me--a good one: here it is." He removed the rifle from its crevice in the rocks. "Do you know that name? It is that of its former owner--the man who called himself my master. Do you think it was taking too much from one who would have robbed me of my soul?" He held the stock over the bed, so that Penn could make out the lettering. Delicately engraved on a surface of inlaid silver, was the well-known name,-- "_Augustus Bythewood._" XV. _AN ANTI-SLAVERY DOCUMENT ON BLACK PARCHMENT._ Penn was not surprised at this discovery. He had already recognized in Pomp the hero of a story which he had heard before. "But all this happened before I came to Tennessee, did it not? Have you lived in this cave ever since?" "It is three years since I took to the mountains. But I have spent but a little of that time here. Sometimes, for weeks together, I am away, tramping the hills, exploring the forests, sleeping on the ground in the open air, living on fish, game, and fruits. That is in the summer time. Winters I burrow here." "If you are so independent in your movements, why have you never escaped to the north?" "Would I be any better off there? Does not the color of a negro's skin, even in your free states, render him an object of suspicion and hatred? What chance is there for a man like me?" "Little--very true!" said Penn, sadly, contemplating the form of the powerful and intelligent black, and thinking with indignation and shame of the prejudice which excludes men of his race from the privileges of free men, even in the free north. "These crags," said the African, "do not look scornfully upon me because of the color of my skin. The watercourses sing for me their gladdest songs, black as I am. And the serious trees seem to love me, even as I love them. It is a savage, lonely, but not unhappy life I lead--far better for a man like me than servitude here, or degradation at the north. I have one faithful human friend at least. Cudjo, cunning and capricious as he seems, is capable of genuine devotion." "Have you two been together long?" "One day, a few weeks after I took to the mountains, I was watching for an animal which I heard rustling the foliage of a tree that grows up out of a chasm. I held my gun ready to fire, when I perceived that my animal was something human. It climbed the tree, ran out on one of the branches, leaped, like a squirrel, to some bushes that grew in the wall of the chasm, and soon pulled itself up to the top. Then I saw that it was a man--and a black man. He came towards the spot where I was concealed, sauntering along, chewing now and then a leaf, and muttering to himself; appearing as happy as a savage in his native woods, and perfectly unconscious of being observed. Suddenly I rose up, levelling my gun. He uttered a yell of terror, and started to cast himself again into the chasm. But with a threat I prevented him, and he threw himself at my feet, begging me to grant him his life, and not to take him back to his master. "'Who is your master?' said I. "'Job Coombs was my master,' said he, 'but I left him.' "'You are Cudjo, then!' said I,--for I had heard of him. He ran away from a tolerably good master on account of unmercifully cruel treatment from the overseer. But as he had been frightfully cut up the night before he disappeared, it was generally believed he had crawled into a hole in the rocks somewhere, and died, and been eaten by buzzards. But it seems that he had been concealed and cured by an old slave on the plantation named Pete." "Coombs's Pete!" exclaimed Penn. "You have good cause to remember the name!" said Pomp. "As soon as Cudjo was well enough to tramp, he took to the mountains. It was a couple of years afterwards that I met him. We soon came to an understanding, and he conducted me to his cave. Here he lived. He has always kept up a communication with some of his friends--especially with old Pete, who often brings us provisions to a certain place, and supplies us with ammunition. We give him game and skins, which he disposes of when he can, generally to such men as Pepperill. He was going to Pepperill's house, after meeting Cudjo, that night when the patrolmen discovered and whipped him. That led to Pepperill's punishment, and that led to your being here." "Does old Pete visit you since?" "No, but he has sent us a message, and I have seen Pepperill." "Not here!" "Nobody ever comes here, sir. We have a place where we meet our friends; and as for Pepperill, I went to his house." "That was bold in you!" "Bold?" The negro smiled. "What will you say then when I tell you I have been in Bythewood's house, since I left him? I wanted my medicine-case, and the bullet-moulds that belong with the rifle. I entered his room, where he was asleep. I stood for a long time and looked at him by the moonlight. It was well for him he didn't wake!" said Pomp, with a dancing light in his eye. "He did not; he slept well! Having got what I wanted, I came away; but I had changed knives with him, and left mine sticking in the bedstead over his head, so that he might know I had been there, and not accuse any one else of the theft." "The sight of that knife must have given him a shudder, when he woke, and saw who had been there, and remembered his wrongs towards you!" said Penn. "Well it might!" said Pomp. "Come here, Cudjo." Cudjo had just entered the cave, bringing some partridges which he had caught in traps. "It's allus 'Cudjo! Cudjo do dis! Cudjo do dat!' What ye want o' Cudjo?" Pomp paid no heed to the ill-natured response, but said calmly, addressing Penn,-- "I have told you my reasons for escaping out of slavery: now I will show you Cudjo's." The back of the deformed was stripped bare. Penn uttered a groan of horror at the sight. "Dem's what ye call lickins!" said Cudjo, with a hideous grin over his shoulder. "Dat ar am de oberseer's work." "Good Heaven!" said Penn, sick at the sight of the scars. "I can't endure it! Take him away!" "Don't be 'fraid!" said Cudjo. "Feel of 'em, sar!" And taking Penn's hand, he seemed to experience a vindictive joy in passing it over his lash-furrowed flesh. "Not much skin dar, hey? Rough streaks along dar, hey? Needn't pull your hand away dat fashion, and shet yer eyes, and look so white! It's all ober now. What if you'd seen dat back when 'twas fust cut up? or de mornin' arter? Shouldn't blame ye, if 't had made ye sick den!" "But what had you done to merit such cruelty?" exclaimed Penn, relieved when the back was covered. "What me done? De oberseer didn't hap'm to like me; dat's what me done. But he did hap'm to like my gal; dat's more what me done! So he cut me up wid his own hand,--said me sassy, and wouldn't work. Coombs, him's a good man 'nuff,--neber found no fault 'long wid him; but debil take dat ar Silas Ropes!" "Silas Ropes!" "Him was Coombs's oberseer dem times," said Cudjo. "Him gi' me de lickins; him got my gal--me owe him for dat!" And, with a ferocious grimace, clinching his hands together as if he felt his enemy's throat, he gave a yell of rage which resounded through the cavern. "Go about your work, Cudjo," said Pomp. "What do you think of that back, sir?" "It is the most powerful anti-slavery document I ever saw!" said Penn. "He is a native African," said Pomp. "He was brought to this country a young barbarian; and he has barely got civilized--hardly got Christianized yet! I will make him tell you more of his history some day. Then you will no longer wonder that his lessons in Christian love have not made a saint of him! Now you must rest, while I help him get dinner." The manner of cooking practised in the cave was exceedingly primitive. The partridges broiled over the fire, the potatoes roasted in the ashes, and the corn-cake baked in a kettle, the meal was prepared. The artificial chamber was Cudjo's pantry. One of the giant's stools, having a broad, flat surface, served as a table. On this were placed two or three pewter plates, and as many odd cups and saucers. Cudjo had an old coffee-pot, in which he made strong black coffee. He could afford, however, neither sugar nor milk. Penn's wants were first attended to. He picked the bones of a partridge lying in bed, and thought he had never tasted sweeter meat. "With how few things men can live, and be comfortable! and what simple fare suffices for a healthy appetite!" he said to himself, watching Pomp and Cudjo at their dinner. Pomp did not even drink coffee, but quenched his thirst with cold water dipped from a pool in the cave. XVI. _IN THE CAVE AND ON THE MOUNTAIN._ That afternoon, as Penn was alone, the mystery of his removal from Mr. Villars's house was suddenly revealed to him. "I remember it very distinctly now," he said to Pomp, who presently came in and sat by his bed. "Ropes and his crew had been to the house for me. Sick and delirious as I was, I knew the danger to my friends, and it seemed to me that I _must_ leave the house. So I watched my opportunity, and when Toby left me for a minute, I darted through his room over the kitchen, climbed down from the window to the roof of the shed, and from there descended by an apple tree to the ground. This is the dream I have been trying to recall. It is all clear to me now. But I do not remember any thing more. The delirium must have given me preternatural strength, if I walked all the distance to the spot where you found me." "That you did walk it, your bruised and bleeding feet were a sufficient evidence," said the negro. "You had just such delirious attacks afterwards, when it was as much as Cudjo and I wanted to do to hold you." "And the blanket--it is Toby's blanket, which I caught up as I fled," added Penn. He now became extremely anxious to communicate with his friends, to explain his conduct to them, and let them know of his safety. Besides, he was now getting sufficiently strong to sit up a little, and other clothing was necessary than the old minister's nightgown and Toby's blanket. "I have been thinking it all over," said Pomp, "and have concluded to pay your friends a visit." "No, no, my dear sir!" exclaimed Penn, with gratitude. "I can't let you incur any such danger on my account. I can never repay you for half you have done for me already!" And he pressed the negro's hand as no white man had ever pressed it since the death of his good master, Dr. Bythewood. Pomp was deeply affected. His great chest heaved, and his powerful features were charged with emotion. "The risk will not be great," said he. "I will take Cudjo with me, and between us we will manage to bring off your clothes." At night the two blacks departed, leaving Penn alone in the fire-lit cave, waiting for their return, picturing to himself all the difficulties of their adventure, and thinking with warm gratitude and admiration of Pomp, whose noble nature not even slavery could corrupt, whose benevolent heart not even wrong could embitter. It was late in the evening when the two messengers arrived at Mr. Villars's house. All was dark and still about the premises. But one light was visible, and that was in the room over the kitchen. "That is Toby's room," said Pomp. "Stay here, Cudjo, while I give him a call." "Stay yuself," said Cudjo, "and lef dis chil' go. Me know Toby; you don't." So Pomp remained on the watch while Cudjo climbed the tree by which Penn had descended, scrambled up over the shed-roof, reached the window, opened it, and thrust in his head. Toby, who was just going to bed, heard the movement, saw the frightful apparition, and with a shriek dove under the bed-clothes, where he lay in an agony of fear, completely hidden from sight, while Cudjo, grinning maliciously, climbed into the room. "See hyar, ye fool! none ob dat! none ob your playin' possum wid me!" said the visitor, rolling Toby over, while Toby held the clothes tighter and tighter, as if to show a lock of wool or the tip of an ear would have been fatal. "Me's Cudjo! don't ye know Cudjo? Me come for de gemman's clo'es!" "Hey? dat you, Cudjo?" said Toby, venturing at length to peep out. "Wha--wha--what de debil you want hyar?" "De gemman sent me. Dis yer letter's for your massy." "De gemman?" cried Toby, jumping up. "Not Mass' Penn? not Mass' Hapgood?" Immense was his astonishment on being assured that Penn was alive, recovering, and in need of garments. Carl, who had been awakened in the next room by the noise, now came in to see what was the matter. He recognized Penn's handwriting on the note, and immediately hastened with it to Virginia's room. A minute after she was reading it to her father at his bedside. It was written with a pencil on a leaf torn from a little blank book in which Pomp kept a sort of diary; but never had gilt-edged or perfumed billet afforded the blind old minister and his daughter such unalloyed delight. It was long past midnight when Pomp and Cudjo returned to the cave, bringing with them not only Penn's garments, but a goodly stock of provisions, which Cudjo had hinted to Toby would be acceptable, and, more precious still, a letter from Mr. Villars, written by his daughter's own hand. Penn now began to sit up a little every day. Gloomy as the cave was, it was not an unwholesome abode even for an invalid. The atmosphere was pure, cool, and bracing; the temperature uniform. Nor did Penn suffer inconvenience from dampness; though often, in the deep stillness of the night, he could hear the far-off, faint, and melancholy murmur of dropping water in the hollow recesses of the cavern beyond. One day, as soon as he was well enough for the undertaking, Pomp ordered Cudjo to light torches and show them the hidden wonders of his habitation. Cudjo was delighted with the honor. He ran on before, waving the flaring pine knots over his head, and shouting. Penn's astonishment was profound. Keen as had been his curiosity as to what was beyond the shadowy walls the fire dimly revealed, he had formed no conception of the extent and sublimity of the various galleries, chambers, glittering vaults, and falling waters, embosomed there in the mountain. "Dis yer all my own house!" Cudjo kept repeating, with fantastic grimaces of satisfaction. "Me found him all my own self. Nobody war eber hyar afore me; Pomp am de next; and you's de on'y white man eber seen dis yer cave." It grew light as they proceeded, Cudjo's torch paled, and the waters of a subterranean stream they were following caught gleams of the struggling day from another opening beyond. Climbing over fragments of huge tumbled rocks, and up an earthy bank, Penn found himself in the bottom of an immense chasm. It had apparently been formed by the sinking down of the roof of the cave, with a tremendous superincumbent weight of forest trees. There, on an island, so to speak, in the midst of the subterranean darkness, they were growing still, their lofty tops barely reaching the level of the mountain above. "It was out of this sink I saw the wild beast climbing, that turned out to be Cudjo," said Pomp. "Dat ar am de tree," said Cudjo. "No oder way but dat ar to get up out ob dis yer hole." "What a terrible place!" said Penn, little thinking at the time how much more terrible it was soon to become as a scene of deadly human conflict. Beyond the chasm the stream flowed on into still more remote parts of the cave. But Penn had seen enough for one day, and the torch-bearing Cudjo guided them back to the spot from which they had started. Penn had now completely won the confidence of the blacks, who no longer placed any restrictions on his movements. It had been their original purpose never to suffer him to leave the cave without being blindfolded. But now, having shown him one opening, they freely permitted him to pass out by the other. This was that by which he had been brought in, and which was used by the blacks themselves on all ordinary occasions. It was a mere fissure in the mountain, hidden from external view by thickets. Above rose steep ledges of rocks, thickly covered with earth and bushes. Below yawned an immense ravine, far down in the cool, dark depths of which a little streamlet flowed. Pomp piloted his guest through the thickets, and along a narrow shelf, from which the ascent to the barren ledges was easy. Upon these they sat down. It was a beautiful April day. This was Penn's first visit to the upper world since he was brought to the cave. The scene filled him with rapture; the loveliness of earth and sky intoxicated him. Here he was among the rugged ranges of the Cumberland Mountains, in the heart of Tennessee. On either hand they rolled away in tremendous billows of forest-crowned rocks. The ravines in their sides opened into little valleys, and these spread out into a broad and magnificent intervale, checkered with farms, streaked with roads, and dotted with dwellings. Spring seemed to have come in a night. It was chill March weather when Penn left the world, which was now warm with sweet south winds, and green with April verdure. "How beautiful, how beautiful!" said he, receiving, with the susceptibility of a convalescent, the exquisite impression made upon the senses by every sight and sound and odor. "O! and to think that all this divine loveliness is marred by the passions of men! Up here, what glory, what peace! Down yonder, what hatred, violence, and sin! No wonder, Pomp, you love the mountains so!" "It is doubtful if they leave the mountains in peace much longer," said Pomp. He had heard the night before that fighting had begun at Charleston, and the news had stirred his soul. "The country is all alive with excitement, and the waves of its fury will reach us here before long. Take this glass, sir: you can see soldiers marching through the streets." "They are marching past my school-house!" said Penn. He became very thoughtful. He knew that they were soldiers recruited in the cause of rebellion, although Tennessee had not yet seceded,--although the people had voted in February against secession: a dishonest governor, and a dishonest legislature, aided by reckless demagogues everywhere, being resolved upon precipitating the state into revolution, by fraud and force,--if not with the consent of the people, then without it. "I had hoped the storm would soon blow over, and that it would be safe for me to go peaceably about my business." "The storm," said Pomp, his soul dilating, his features kindling with a wild joy, "is hardly begun yet! The great problem of this age, in this country, is going to be solved in blood! This continent is going to shake with such a convulsion as was never before. It is going to shake till the last chain of the slave is shaken off, and the sin is punished, and God says, 'It is enough!'" He spoke with such thrilling earnestness that Penn regarded him in astonishment. "What makes you think so, Pomp?" "That I can't tell. The feeling rises up here,"--the negro laid his hand upon his massive chest,--"and that is all I know. It is strong as my life--it fills and burns me like fire! The day of deliverance for my race is at hand. That is the meaning of those soldiers down there, arming for they know not what." XVII. _PENN'S FOOT KNOCKS DOWN A MUSKET._ Weeks passed. But now every day brought to Penn increasing anxiety of mind with regard to his situation. His abhorrence of war was as strong as ever; and his great principle of non-resistance had scarcely been shaken. But how was he to avoid participating in scenes of violence if he remained in Tennessee? And how was his escape from the state to be effected? "You are welcome to a home with us as long as you will stay," said Pomp. "I shall miss you--even Cudjo will hate to see you go." Penn thanked him, fully appreciating their kindness; but his heart was yearning for other things. Day after day he lingered still, however. The difficulties in the way of escape thickened, instead of diminishing. In February, as I have said, the people had voted against secession. Not content with this, the governor called an extra session of the legislature, which proceeded to carry the state out of the Union by fraud. On the sixth of May an ordinance of separation was passed, to be submitted to the vote of the people on the eighth of June. But without waiting for the will of the people to be made manifest, the authors of this treason went on to act precisely as if the state had seceded. A league was formed with the confederate states, the control of all the troops raised in Tennessee was given to Davis, and troops from the cotton states were rushed in to make good the work thus begun. The June election, which took place under this reign of terror, resulted as was to have been expected. Rebel soldiers guarded the polls. Few dared to vote openly the Union ticket; while those who deposited a close ticket were "spotted." Thus timid men were frightened from the ballot-box; while soldiers from the cotton states voted in their places. Then, as it was charged, there were the grossest frauds in counting the votes. And so Tennessee "seceded." The state authorities had also achieved a politic stroke by disarming the people. Every owner of a gun was compelled to deliver it up, or pay a heavy fine. The arms thus secured went to equip the troops raised for the Confederacy; while the Union cause was left crippled and defenceless. Many firelocks were of course kept concealed: some were taken to pieces, and the pieces scattered,--the barrel here, the stock there, and the lock in still another place,--to come together again only at the will of the owner: but, as a general thing, the loyalists could not be said to have arms. It was in those times that the precaution of Stackridge and his fellow-patriots was justified. The secrecy with which they had conducted their night-meetings and drills, though seemingly unnecessary at first, saved them from much inconvenience when the full tide of persecution set in. They were suspected indeed, and it was believed they had arms; but they still met in safety, and the place where their arms were deposited remained undiscovered. All this time, Penn had no money with which to defray the expenses of travel. When his school was broken up, several hundred dollars were due him for his services. This sum the trustees of the Academy placed to his credit in the Curryville Bank; but, in consequence of a recent enactment, designed to rob and annoy loyal men, he could not draw the money without appearing personally, and first taking the oath of allegiance to the confederate government. This, of course, was out of the question. Meanwhile he learned to rough it on the mountain with the fugitives. Pomp taught him the use of the rifle, and he was soon able to shoot, dress, and cook his own dinner. He grew robust with the exercise and exposure. But every day his longing eyes turned towards the valley where the friends were whom he loved, and whom he resolved at all hazards to visit again, if for the last time. At length, one morning at breakfast, he informed Pomp and Cudjo of his intention to leave them,--to return secretly to the village, place himself under the protection of certain Unionists he knew, and attempt, with their assistance, to make his way out of the state. "Why go down there at all?" said Pomp. "If you are determined to leave us, let me be your guide. I will take you over the mountains into Kentucky, where you will be safe. It will be a long, hard journey; but you are strong now; we will take it leisurely, killing our game by the way." "You are very kind--and----" Penn blushed and stammered. The truth was, he was willing to risk his life to see Virginia once more; and the thought of quitting the state without bidding her good by was intolerable to him. "And what?" said Pomp, smiling intelligently. "And I may possibly be glad to accept your proposal. But I am determined to try the other way first." Both Pomp and Cudjo endeavored to dissuade him from the undertaking, but in vain. That evening he took his departure. The blacks accompanied him to the foot of the mountain. Notwithstanding the friendship and gratitude he had all along felt towards them, he had not foreseen how painful would be the separation from them. "I never quitted friends more reluctantly!" he said, choked with his emotion. "Never, never shall I forget you--never shall I forget those rambles on the mountains, those days and nights in the cave! Let me hope we shall meet again, when I can make you some return for your kindness." "We may meet again, and sooner than you suppose," said Pomp. "If you find escape too difficult, be sure and come back to us. Ah, I seem to foresee that you will come back!" With this prediction ringing in his ears, and filling him with vague forebodings, Penn went his way; while the negroes, having shaken hands with him in sorrowful silence, returned to their savage mountain home, which had never looked so lonely to them as now, since their beloved and gentle guest had departed. The night was not dark, and Penn, having been guided to a bridle-path that led to the town, experienced no difficulty in finding his way on alone. He approached the minister's house from the fields. Although late in the evening, the windows were still lighted. He was surprised to see men walking to and fro by the house, and to hear their footsteps on the piazza floor. He drew near enough to discern that they carried muskets. Then the truth flashed upon him: they were soldiers guarding the house. Whether they were there to protect the venerable Unionist from mob-violence, or to prevent his escape, Penn could only conjecture. In either case it would have been extremely indiscreet for him to enter the house. Bitter disappointment filled him, mingled with apprehensions for the safety of his friends, and remorse at the thought that he himself had, although unintentionally, been instrumental in drawing down upon them the vengeance of the secessionists. Penn next thought of Stackridge. It was indeed upon that sturdy patriot that he relied chiefly for aid in leaving the state. He took a last, lingering look at the minister's house,--the windows whose cheerful light had so often greeted him on his way thither, in those delightful winter evenings which were gone, never to return,--the soldiers on the piazza, symbolizing the reign of terror that had commenced,--and with a deep inward prayer that God would shield with his all-powerful hand the beleaguered family, he once more crossed the fields. By a circuitous route he came in sight of Stackridge's house. There were lights there also, although it must have been now near midnight. And as Penn discerned them, he became aware of loud voices engaged in angry altercation around the farmer's door. It was no time for him to approach. He stole away as noiselessly as he had come. In the still, quiet night he paused, asking himself what he should do. The Academy was not far off. He remembered that he had left there, among other things, a pocket Bible, a gift from his sister, which he wished to preserve. Perhaps it was there still; perhaps he could get in and recover it. At all events, he had plenty of leisure on his hands, and could afford to make the trial. He heard the mounted patrol pass by, and waited for the sound of hoofs to die in the distance. Then cautiously he drew near the gloomy and silent school-house. Not doubting but the door was locked,--for he still had the key with him which he had turned for the last time when he walked out in defiance of the lynchers,--he resolved not to unlock it, but to keep in the rear of the building, and enter, if possible, by a window. The window was unfastened, as it had ever remained since he had opened it, on that memorable occasion, to communicate with Carl. Softly he raised the sash, and softly he crept in. His foot, however, struck an object on the desk, and swept it down. It fell with a loud, rattling sound upon the floor. It was a musket; the owner of which bounded up on the instant from a bench where he was lying, and seized Penn by the leg. The school-house had been turned into a barrack-room for recruits, and the late master found that he had descended upon a squad of confederate soldiers. Lights were struck, and the sleepy sentinels, rubbing their eyes open, recognized, struggling in the arms of their companion, the unfortunate young Quaker. "I knowed 'twas him! I knowed 'twas him!" cried his overjoyed captor, who proved to be no other than Silas Ropes's worthy friend Gad. "I heern him gittin' inter the winder, but I kept dark till he knocked my gun down; then I grabbed him! He's a traitor, and this time will meet a traitor's doom!" "My friends," said Penn, recovering from the agitation of his first surprise and struggle, "I am in your power. It is perhaps the best thing that could happen to me; for I have committed no crime, and I cannot doubt but that I shall receive justice all the sooner for this accident. You need not take the trouble to bind me; I shall not attempt to escape." His captors, however, among whom he recognized with some uneasiness more than one of those who had been engaged in lynching him, persisted in binding him upon a bench, in no very comfortable position, and then set a guard over him for the remainder of the night. XVIII. _CONDEMNED TO DEATH._ Early the next morning Virginia Villars overheard the soldiers conversing on the piazza. The mention of a certain name arrested her attention. She listened: what they said terrified her. Penn Hapgood had been apprehended during the night, and his trial by drum-head court-martial was at that moment proceeding. "Mr. Pepperill!" she called, in a scarcely audible whisper; and, looking around, Daniel saw her alarmed face at the window. Daniel was one of the soldiers who had been detailed to guard the house. Strongly against his will, he had been compelled to enlist, in order to avoid the persecutions of his secession neighbors. Such was already becoming the fate of many whose hearts were not in the cause, whose sympathies were all with the government against which they were forced to rebel. "What, marm?" said Pepperill, meekly. "Is it true what that man is saying?" "About the schoolmaster? I--I'm afeard it ar true! They've cotched him, marm, and there's men that's swore the death of him, marm." Virginia flew to inform her father. The old man rose up instantly, forgetting his blindness, forgetting his own feebleness, and the danger into which he would have rushed, to go and plead Penn's cause. Fortunately, perhaps, for him, the guard crossed their muskets before him, refusing to let him pass. Their orders were, not only to defend the house, but also to prevent his leaving it. "Then I will go alone!" said Carl, who was to have been his guide. And scarcely waiting to receive instructions from Virginia and her father, he ran out, slipping between the soldiers, who had no orders to detain any person but the minister, and ran to the Academy. The mockery of a trial was over. The prisoner had been condemned. The penalty pronounced against him was death. Already the noose was dangling from a tree, and some soldiers were bringing from the school-house a table to serve as a scaffold. Silas Ropes, who had a feather stuck in his cap, and wore an old rusty scabbard at his side, and flourished a sword, enjoying the title of "lieutenant," obtained for him through Bythewood's influence; Lysander Sprowl, who had been honored with a captaincy from the same source, and who, though a forger, and late a fugitive from justice, now boldly defied the power of the civil authorities to arrest him, trusting to that atrocious policy of the confederate government which virtually proclaimed to the robber and murderer, "Become, now, a traitor to your country, and all other crimes shall be forgiven you;"--these, and other persons of like character, appeared chiefly active in Penn's case. That they had no right whatever to constitute themselves a court-martial, and bring him to trial, they knew perfectly well. They had not waited even for a shadow of authority from their commanding officer. What they were about to do was nothing more nor less than murder. Penn, with his hands tied behind him, and surrounded by a violent rabble, some armed, and others unarmed, was already mounted upon the table, when Carl arrived, and attempted to force his way through the crowd. "Feller-citizens and soldiers!" cried Lieutenant Ropes, standing on a chair beside the scaffold, "this here man has jest been proved to be a traitor and a spy, and he is about to expatiate his guilt on the gallus." Two men then mounted the table, passed the noose over Penn's neck, drew it close, and leaped down again. "Now," said Ropes, "if you've got any confession to make 'fore the table is jerked out from under ye, you can ease your mind. Only le' me suggest, if you don't mean to confess, you'd better hold yer tongue." Penn, pale, but perfectly self-possessed, expecting no mercy, no reprieve, made answer in a clear, strong voice,-- "I can't confess, for I am not guilty. I die an innocent man. I appeal to Heaven, before whose bar we must all appear, for the justice you deny me." In his shirt sleeves, his head uncovered, his feet bare, his naked throat enclosed by the murderous cord, his hands bound behind him, he stood awaiting his fate. Carl in the mean time struggled in vain to break through the ring of soldiers that surrounded the extemporized scaffold,--screamed in vain to obtain a hearing. "Let him go, and you may hang me in his place!" The soldiers answered with a brutal laugh,--as if there would be any satisfaction in hanging him! But the offer of self-sacrifice on the part of the devoted Carl touched one heart, at least. Penn, who had maintained a firm demeanor up to this time, was almost unmanned by it. "God bless you, dear Carl! Remember that I loved you. Be always honest and upright; then, if you die the victim of wrong, it will be your oppressors, not you, who will be most unhappy. Good by, dear Carl. Bear my farewell to those we love. Don't stay and see me die, I entreat you!" Yet Carl staid, sobbing with grief and rage. "Why don't you hurry up this business?" cried Lysander Sprowl, angrily, coming out of the school-house. "Somebody tie a handkerchief over his eyes, and get through some time to-day." "All right, cap'm," said Ropes. "Make ready now, boys, and take away this table in a hurry, when I give the word." "Hold on, there! What's going on?" cried an unexpected voice, and a recruiting officer from the village made his appearance, riding up on a white horse. The summary proceedings were stayed, and the case explained. The man listened with an air of grim official importance, his coarse red countenance betraying not a gleam of sympathy with the prisoner. Yet being the superior in rank to any officer present (Silas called him "kunnel"), besides being the only one of them all who had been regularly commissioned by the confederate government, this man held Penn's fate in his hands. "Hanging's too good for such scoundrels!" he said, frowning at the prisoner. "As for this particular case, there's only one thing to be said: his life shall be spared on only one condition." Carl's heart almost stood still, in his eagerness to listen. Even Penn felt a faint--a very faint--pulse of hope in his breast. The "kunnel" went on. "Let him take his choice--either to hang, or enlist. What do you say, youngster? Which do you prefer--the death of a traitor, or the glorious career of a soldier in the confederate army?" "It is impossible for me, sir," said Penn, in a voice of deep feeling and unalterable conviction--"it is impossible for me to bear arms against my country!" "But the Confederate States shall be your country, and a country to be proud of!" said the man. "I am a citizen of the United States; to the United States I owe allegiance," said Penn. "So far from being a traitor, I am willing to die rather than appear one." "Then you won't enlist?" "No, sir." "Not even to save your life?" "Not even to save my life!" "Then," growled the man, turning away, "if you will be such a fool, I've nothing more to say." So it only remained for Penn to submit quietly to his fate. The executioners laid hold of the table, and waited for the order to remove it. But just then Carl, breaking through the crowd, threw himself before the officer's horse. "O, Colonel Derring! hear me--von vord!" "Von vord!" repeated the officer, with a coarse laugh, mocking him. "What's that, you Dutchman?" "You vill let him go, and I shall wolunteer in his place!" said Carl. "You!" The officer regarded him critically. Carl, though so young, was very sturdy. "You offer yourself as a substitute, eh, if I will spare his life?" "Carl!" cried Penn, "I forbid you! You shall not commit that sin for me! Better a thousand times that I should die than that you should be a rebel in arms against your country." "I have no country," answered Carl, ingeniously excusing himself. "I am vot this man says, a Tuchman. I vill enlisht mit him, and he vill shpare your life." "Boy, it's a bargain," said Colonel Derring, whose passion for obtaining recruits overruled every other consideration. "Cut that fellow's cords, lieutenant, and let him go. Come along with me, Dutchy." Ropes obeyed, and Penn, bewildered, almost stunned, by the sudden change in his destiny, saw himself released, and beheld, as in a dream, poor Carl marching off as his substitute to the recruiting station. "Now let me give you one word of advice," said Captain Sprowl in his ear. "Don't let another night find you within twenty miles of that halter there, if you wouldn't have your neck in it again." "Will you give me a safe conduct?" said Penn, who thought the advice excellent, and would have been only too glad to act upon it. "I've no authority," said Sprowl. "You must take care of yourself." Penn looked around upon the ferocious, disappointed faces watching him, and felt that he might about as well have been despatched in the first place, as to be let loose in the midst of such a pack of wolves thirsting for his blood. He did not despair, however, but, putting on his clothes, determined to make one final and desperate effort to escape. XIX. _THE ESCAPE._ Walking off quickly across the field towards Mrs. Sprowl's house, he turned suddenly aside from the path and plunged into the woods. He soon perceived that he was followed. A man--only one--came through the undergrowth. Penn stopped. "God forgive me!" he said within himself; "but this is more than human nature can bear!" He had been, as it were, smitten on one cheek and on the other also: it was time to smite back. He picked up a club: his nerves became like steel as he grasped it: his eyes flashed fire. The man advanced; he was unarmed. Suddenly Penn dropped his club, and uttered a cry of joy. It was his friend Stackridge. "What! the Quaker will fight?" said the farmer, with a grim smile. "That shows," said Penn, bursting into tears as he wrung the farmer's hand, "that I have been driven nearly insane!" "It shows that some of the insanity has been driven out of you!" replied Stackridge, beginning to have hopes of him. "If you had taken my pistol and used it freely in the first place, or at least shown a good will to use it, you'd have proved yourself a good deal more of a man in my estimation, and been quite as well off." "Perhaps," murmured Penn, convinced that this passive submission to martyrdom was but a sorry part to play. "But now to business," said Stackridge. "You must get away as quickly and secretly as possible, unless you mean to stay and fight it out. I am here to help you. I have a horse in the woods here, at your disposal. I thought there might be such a thing as your slipping through their hands, and so I took this precaution. I will show you a bridle-road that will take you to the house of a friend of mine, who is a hearty Unionist. You can leave my horse with him. He will help you on to the house of some friend of his, who will do the same, and so you will manage to get out of the state. I advise you to travel by night, as a general thing; but just now it seems necessary that you should see a little hard riding by daylight. You'll find some luncheon in the saddlebags. When you get into some pretty thick woods, leave the road, and find a good place to tie up till night; then go on cautiously to my friend's house. I'll give you full directions, while we're finding the horse." They made haste to the spot where the animal was tied. "He has been well fed," said the farmer. "You will water him at the first brook you cross, and let him browse when you stop. Now just trade that coat for one that will make you look a little less like a Quaker schoolmaster." He had brought one of his own coats, which he made Penn put on, and then exchanged hats with him. Penn was admirably disguised. Brief, then, were the thanks he uttered from his overflowing heart, short the leave-takings. He was mounted. Stackridge led the horse through the bushes to the bridle-path. "Now, don't let the grass grow under your feet till you are at least five miles away. If you meet anybody, get along without words if you can; if you can't, let words come to blows as quick as you please, and then put faith in Dobbin's heels." Again, for the last time, he made Penn the offer of a pistol. There was no leisure for idle arguments on the subject. The weapon was accepted. The two wrung each other's hands in silence: there were tears in the eyes of both. Then Stackridge gave Dobbin a resounding slap, and the horse bounded away, bearing his rider swiftly out of sight in the woods. All this had passed so rapidly that Penn had scarcely time to think of any thing but the necessity of immediate flight. But during that solitary ride through the forest he had ample leisure for reflection. He thought of the mountain cave, whose gloomy but quiet shelter, whose dark but nevertheless humane and hospitable inmates he seemed to have quitted weeks ago, so crowded with experiences had been the few hours since last he shook Pomp and Cudjo by the hand. He thought of Virginia and her father, to visit whom for perhaps the last time he had incurred the risk of descending into the valley; whom now he felt, with a strangely swelling heart, that he might never see again. And he thought with grief, pity, and remorse of Carl, a rebel now for his sake. These things, and many more, agitated him as he spurred the farmer's horse along the narrow, shaded, lonesome path. He met an old man on horseback, with a bright-faced girl riding behind him on the crupper, who bade him a pleasant good morning, and pursued their way. Next came some boys driving mules laden with sacks of corn. At last Penn saw two men in butternut suits with muskets on their shoulders. He knew by their looks that they were secessionists hastening to join their friends in town. They regarded him suspiciously as he came galloping up. Penn perceived that some off-hand word was necessary in passing them. "Hurry on with those guns!" he cried; "they are wanted!" And he dashed away, as if his sole business was to hurry up guns for the confederate cause. He met with no other adventure that day. He followed Stackridge's directions implicitly, and at evening, leaving his horse tied in the woods, approached on foot the house to which he had been sent. He was cordially received by the same old man whom he had seen riding to town in the morning with a bright-faced girl clinging behind him. At a hint from Stackridge the man had hastily ridden home again, passing Penn at noon while he lay hidden in the woods; and here he was, honest, friendly, vigilant, to receive and protect his guest. "You did well," he said, "to turn off up the mountain; for I am not the only man that passed you there. You have been pursued. Three persons have gone on after you. I met them as I was going into town; they inquired of me if I had seen you, and when I got home I found they had passed here in search of you. They have not yet gone back." This was unpleasant news. Yet Penn was soon convinced that he had been extremely fortunate in thus throwing his pursuers off his track. It was far better that they should have gone on before him, than that they should be following close upon his heels. He staid with the farmer all night, and departed with him early the next morning to pursue his journey. It was not safe for him to keep the road, for he might at any moment meet his pursuers returning; accordingly, the old man showed him a circuitous route along the base of the mountains, which could be travelled only on foot, and by daylight. "Here I leave you," said his kind old guide, when they had reached the banks of a mountain stream. "Follow this run, and it will take you around to the road, about a mile this side of my brother's house. There's a bridge near which you can wait, when you get to it. If your pursuers go back past my house, then I will harness up and drive on to the bridge, and water my horse there. You will see me, and get in to ride, and I will take you to my brother's, and make some arrangement for helping you on still farther to night." So they parted; the lonely fugitive feeling that the kindness of a few such men, scattered like salt through the state, was enough to redeem it from the fate of Sodom, which otherwise, by its barbarism and injustice, it would have seemed to deserve. Following the stream in its windings through a wilderness of thickets and rocks, he reached the bridge about the middle of the afternoon. His progress had been leisurely. The day was warm, bright, and tranquil. The stream poured over ledges, or gushed among mossy stones, or tumbled down jagged rocks in flashing cascades. Its music filled him with memories of home, with love that swelled his heart to tears, with longings for peace and rest. Its coolness and beauty made a little Sabbath in his soul, a pause of holy calm, in the midst of the fear and tumult that lay before and behind him. During that long, solitary ramble he had pondered much the great question which had of late agitated his mind--the question which, in peaceful days, he had thought settled with his own conscience forever. But days of stern experience play sad havoc with theories not founded in experience. In all the ordinary emergencies of life Penn had found the doctrine of non-resistance to evil, of overcoming evil with good, beautiful and sublime. But had he not the morning before given way to a natural impulse, when he seized a club, firmly resolved to oppose force with force? The recollection of that incident had led him into a singular train of reasoning. "I know," he said, "that it is still the highest doctrine. But am I equal to it? Can I, under all circumstances, live up to it? I have seen something of the power and recklessness of the faction that would destroy my country. Would I wish to see my country submit? Never! Such submission would be the most unchristian thing it could do. It would be the abandonment of the cause of liberty; it would be to deliver up the whole land to the blighting despotism of slavery; it would postpone the millennium I hope for thousands of years. I see no other way than that the nation must resist; and what I would have the nation do I should be prepared, if called upon, to do myself. If this government were a Christian government I would have it use only Christian weapons, and no doubt those would be effectual for its preservation. But there never was a Christian government yet, and probably there will not be for an age or two. Governments are all founded on human policy, selfishness, and force. Or if _I_ was entirely a Christian, then _I_ would have no temptation, and no right, to use any but spiritual weapons. But until I attain to these, may I not use such weapons as I have?" These thoughts revolved slowly and somewhat confusedly in the young man's mind, when an incident occurred to bring form, sharply and suddenly, out of that chaos. He had reached the bridge. He looked up and down the road, and saw no human being. It was hardly time to expect the farmer yet; so he climbed down upon some dry stones in the bed of the stream, where he could watch for his coming, and be at the same time hidden from view and sheltered from the sun. He had not been long in that situation when he heard the sounds of hoofs. It was not his white-haired farmer whom he saw approaching, but two men on horseback. They were coming from the same direction in which he was looking for the old man. As they drew near, he discovered that one was a negro. The face of the other he recognized shortly afterwards. It was that of Mr. Augustus Bythewood, who was evidently taking advantage of the fine weather to make a little journey, accompanied by a black servant. Penn's heart contracted within him as he thought of his friend Pomp, and of the wrongs he had suffered at this man's hands. He thought of his own safety too, and crept under the bridge. He had time, however, before he disappeared, to catch a glimpse of three other horsemen coming from the north. His heart beat fast, for he knew in an instant that these were his pursuers returning. He had already prepared for himself a good hiding-place, in a cavity between the two logs that supported the bridge. Upon the butment, close under the trembling planks, he lay, when Bythewood and his man rode over. The dust rattled upon him through the cracks, and sifted down into the stream. The thundering and shaking of the planks ceased, but he listened in vain to hear the hoofs of the two horses clattering off in the distance. To his alarm he perceived that Bythewood and his man had halted on the other side of the bridge, and were going to water their horses in the bed of the stream. Clashing and rattling down the steep, stony banks, and plashing into the water, came the foam-streaked animals. The negro rode one, and led the other by the bridle. There he sat in the saddle, watching the eager drinking of the thirsty beasts, and pulling up their heads occasionally to prevent them from swallowing too fast or too much; all in full sight of the concealed schoolmaster. Bythewood, after dismounting, also walked down to the edge of the stream in full view. Such was the situation when the three horsemen from the north arrived. They all rode their animals down the bank into the water. Penn had not been mistaken as to their character and business. Two of them were the men who had adjusted the noose to his neck the day before. The third was no less a personage than Captain Lysander Sprowl. Penn lay breathless and trembling in his hiding-place; for those men were but a few yards from him, and all in such plain view that it seemed inevitable but they must discover him. "What luck?" said Bythewood, carelessly, seating himself on a rock and lighting a cigar. "The rascal has given us the slip," said Lysander, from his horse. "I believe we have passed him, and so, on our way back, we'll search the house of every man suspected of Union sentiments. He started off with Stackridge's horse, and we tracked him easy at first, but to-day we haven't once heard of him." "It's my opinion he don't intend to leave the state," said Bythewood, coolly smoking. "Sam, walk those horses up and down the road till I call you: I want a little private talk with the captain." The captain's attendants likewise took the hint, reined their horses up out of the water, rode over the shaking bridge and Penn's head under it, and proceeded to search the next house for him, while Sprowl was conversing with Augustus. "Let's go over the other side," said Bythewood, "where we can be in the shade. The sun is powerful hot." They accordingly walked over Penn's head a moment later, climbed down the same rocks he had descended, picked their way along the dry stones to the bridge, and took their seats in its shadow beneath him, and so near that he could easily have reached over and taken the captain's cap from his head! XX. _UNDER THE BRIDGE._ "The colonel wasn't aware of your sentiments," said Sprowl, "or he wouldn't have let him off for fifty substitutes." "Or if you and Ropes," retorted Bythewood, "had only put through the job with the celerity I had a right to expect of you, he would have been strung up before the colonel had a chance to interfere." And he puffed impatiently a cloud of smoke, whose fragrance was wafted to the nostrils of the listener under the planks. "Well," said Lysander, accepting a cigar from his friend, "if he gets out of the state,"--biting off the end of it,--"and never shows himself here again,"--rubbing a match on the stones,--"you ought to be satisfied. If he stays, or comes back,"--smoking,--"then we'll just finish the little job we begun." Penn lay still as death. What his thoughts were I will not attempt to say; but it must have given him a curious sensation to hear the question of his life or death thus coolly discussed by his would-be assassins over their cigars. "Where are you bound?" asked Lysander. "O, a little pleasure excursion," said Bythewood. "There's to be some lively work at home this evening, and I thought I'd better be away." "What's going on?" "The colonel is going to make some arrests. About fifteen or twenty Union-shriekers will find themselves snapped up before they think of it. Stackridge among the first. 'Twas he, confound him! that helped the schoolmaster off." "Has the colonel orders to make the arrests?" "No, but he takes the responsibility. It's a military necessity, and the government will bear him out in it. Every man that has been known to drill in the Union Club, and has refused to deliver up his arms, must be secured. There's no other way of putting down these dangerous fellows," said Augustus, running his jewelled fingers through his curls. "But why do you prefer to be away when the fun is going on?" "There may be somebody's name in the list on whose behalf I might be expected to intercede." "Not old Villars!" exclaimed Lysander. "Yes, old Villars!" laughed Augustus,--"if by that lively epithet you mean to designate your venerable father-in-law." "By George, though, Gus! ain't it almost too bad? What will folks say?" "Little care I! Old and blind as he is, he is really one of the most dangerous enemies to our cause. His influence is great with a certain class, and he never misses an opportunity to denounce secession. That he openly talks treason, and harbors and encourages traitors arming against the confederate government, is cause sufficient for arresting him with the others." "Really," said Sprowl, chuckling as he thought of it, "'twill be better for our plans to have him out of the way." "Yes," said Bythewood; "the girls will need protectors, and your wife will welcome you back again." "And Virginia," added Sprowl, "will perhaps look a little more favorably on a rich, handsome, influential fellow like you! I see! I see!" There was another who saw too,--a sudden flash of light, as it were, revealing to Penn all the heartless, scheming villany of the friendly-seeming Augustus. He grasped the Stackridge pistol; his eyes, glaring in the dark, were fixed in righteous fury on the elegant curly head. "If I am discovered, I will surely shoot him!" he said within himself. "The old man," suggested Sprowl, "won't live long in jail." "Very well," said Bythewood. "If the girls come to terms, why, we will secure their everlasting gratitude by helping him out. If they won't, we will merely promise to do everything we can for him--and do nothing." "And the property?" said Lysander, somewhat anxiously. "You shall have what you can get of it,--I don't care for the property!" replied Bythewood, with haughty contempt. "I believe the old man, foreseeing these troubles, has been converting his available means into Ohio railroad stock. If so, there won't be much for you to lay hold of until we have whipped the north." "That we'll do fast enough," said Lysander, confidently. "Well, I must be travelling," said Augustus. "And I must be looking for that miserable schoolmaster." So saying the young men arose from their cool seats on the stones,--Lysander placing his hand, to steady himself, on the edge of the butment within an inch of Penn's leg. Darkness, however, favored the fugitive; and they passed out from the shadow of the bridge without suspecting that they had held confidential discourse within arms' length of the man they were seeking to destroy. They ascended the bank, mounted their horses, and took leave of each other,--Bythewood and his black man riding north, while Sprowl hastened to rejoin his companions in the search for the schoolmaster. XXI. _THE RETURN INTO DANGER._ Trembling with excitement Penn got down from the butment, and peering over the bank, saw his enemies in the distance. What was to be done? Had he thought only of his own safety, his way would have been clear. But could he abandon his friends? forsake Virginia and her father when the toils of villany were tightening around them? leave Stackridge and his compatriots to their fate, when it might be in his power to forewarn and save them? How he, alone, suspected, pursued, and sorely in need of assistance himself, was to render assistance to others, he did not know. He did not pause to consider. He put his faith in the overruling providence of God. "With God's aid," he said, "I will save them or sacrifice myself." As for fighting, should fighting prove necessary, his mind was made up. The conversation of the villains under the bridge had settled that question. Instead, therefore, of waiting for the friend who was to help him on his journey, he leaped up from under the bridge, and set out at a fast walk to follow his pursuers back to town. He had travelled but a mile or two when he saw the farmer driving towards him in a wagon. "Are you lost? are you crazy?" cried the astonished old man. "You are going in the wrong direction! The men have been to my house, searched it, and passed on. Get in! get in!" "I will," said Penn; "but, Mr. Ellerton, you must turn back." He briefly related his adventure under the bridge. The old man listened with increasing amazement. "You are right! you are right!" he said. "We must get word to Stackridge, somehow!" And turning his wagon about, he drove back over the road as fast as his horse could carry them. It was sunset when they reached his house. There they unharnessed his horse and saddled him. The old man mounted. "I'll do my best," he said, "to see Stackridge, or some of them, in season. If I fail, may be you will succeed. But you'd better keep in the woods till dark." Ellerton rode off at a fast trot. Penn hastened to the woods, where Stackridge's horse was still concealed. The animal had been recently fed and watered, and was ready for a hard ride. The bridle was soon on his head, and Penn on his back, and he was making his way through the woods again towards home. As soon as it was dark, Penn came out into the open road; nor did he turn aside into the bridle-path when he reached it, because he wished to avoid travelling in company with Ellerton, who was to take that route. He also supposed that Sprowl's party would be returning that way. In this he was mistaken. Riding at a gallop through the darkness, his heart beating anxiously as the first twinkling lights of the town began to appear, he suddenly became aware of three horsemen riding but a short distance before him. They had evidently been drinking something stronger than water at the house of some good secessionist on the road, perhaps to console themselves for the loss of the schoolmaster,--for these were the excellent friends who were so eager to meet with him again! They were merry and talkative, and Penn, not ambitious of cultivating their acquaintance, checked his horse. It was too late. They had already perceived his approach, and hailed him. What should he do? To wheel about and flee would certainly excite their suspicions; they would be sure to pursue him; and though he might escape, his arrival in town would be thus perhaps fatally delayed. The arrests might be even at that moment taking place. He reflected, "There are but three of them; I may fight my way through, if it comes to that." Accordingly he rode boldly up to the assassins, and in a counterfeit voice, answered their hail. He was but little known to either of them, and there was a chance that, in the darkness, they might fail to recognize him. "Where you from?" demanded Sprowl. "From a little this side of Bald Mountain," said Penn,--which was true enough. "Where bound?" "Can't you see for yourself?" said Penn, assuming a reckless, independent air. "I am following my horse's nose, and that is going pretty straight into Curryville." "Glad of your company," said Sprowl, riding gayly alongside. "What's your business in town, stranger?" "Well," replied Penn, "I don't mind telling you that my business is to see if I and my horse can find something to do for old Tennessee." "Ah! cavalry?" suggested Lysander, well pleased. "I should prefer cavalry service to any other," answered Penn. "There's where you right," said Sprowl; and he proceeded to enlighten Penn on the prospects of raising a cavalry company in Curryville. "Did you meet any person on the road, travelling north?" "What sort of a person?" "A young feller, rather slim, brown hair, blue eyes, with a half-hung look, a perfect specimen of a sneaking abolition schoolmaster." "I--I don't remember meeting any such a person," said Penn, as if consulting his memory. "I met _two_ men, though, this side of old Bald. One of them was a rather gentlemanly-looking fellow; but I think his hair was black and curly." "The schoolmaster's har is wavy, and purty dark, I call it," said one of Sprowl's companions. "He must have been the man!" said Lysander, suddenly stopping his horse. "What sort of a chap was with him? Did he look like a Union-shrieker?" "Now I think of it," said Penn, "if that man wasn't a Unionist at heart, I am greatly mistaken. His sympathies are with the Lincolnites, I know by his looks!" He neglected to add, however, that the man was black. Sprowl was excited. "It was some tory, piloting the schoolmaster! Boys, we must wheel about! It never'll do for us to go home as long as we can hear of him alive in the state. Remember the pay promised, if we catch him." "Luck to you!" cried Penn, riding on, while Sprowl turned back in ludicrous pursuit of his own worthy friend, Mr. Augustus Bythewood, and his negro man Sam. Penn lost no time laughing at the joke. His heart was too full of trouble for that. It had seemed to him, at each moment of delay, that the blind old minister was even then being torn from his home--that he could hear Virginia's sobs of distress and cries for help. He urged his horse into a gallop once more, and struck into a path across the fields. He rode to the edge of the orchard, dismounted, tied the horse, and hastened on foot to the house. The guard was gone from the piazza, and all seemed quiet about the premises. The kitchen was dark. He advanced quickly, but noiselessly, to the door. It was open. He went in. "Toby!" No answer. "Carl! Carl!" he called in a louder voice. No Carl replied. Then he remembered--what it seemed so strange that he could even for an instant forget--that Carl was in the rebel ranks, for his sake. He had seen a light in the sitting-room. He found the door, and knocked. No answer came. He opened it softly, and entered. There burned the lamp on the table--there stood the vacant chairs--he was alone in the deserted room. "Virginia!" He started at his own voice, which sounded, in the hollow apartment, like the whisper of a ghost. He was proceeding still farther, wondering at the stillness, terrified by his own forebodings, feeling in his appalled heart the contrast between this night, and this strange, furtive visit, and the happy nights, and the many happy visits, he had made to his dear friends there only a few short months before,--pausing to assure himself that he was not walking in a dream,--when he heard a footstep, a flutter, and saw, spring towards him through the door, pale as an apparition, Virginia. Speechless with emotion, she could not utter his name, but she testified the joy with which she welcomed him by throwing herself, not into his arms, but upon them, as he extended his hands to greet her. "What has happened?" said Penn. "O, my father!" said the girl. And she bowed her face upon his arm, clinging to him as if he were her brother, her only support. "Where is he?" asked Penn, alarmed, and trembling with sympathy for that delicate, agitated, fair young creature, whom sorrow had so changed since he saw her last. "They have taken him--the soldiers!" she said. And by these words Penn knew that he had come too late. XXII. _STACKRIDGE'S COAT AND HAT GET ARRESTED._ The outrage had been committed not more than twenty minutes before. Toby had followed his old master, to see what was to be done with him, and Virginia and her sister were in the street before the house, awaiting the negro's return, when Penn arrived. "You could have done no good, even if you had come sooner," said Virginia. "There is but one man who could have prevented this cruelty." "Why not send for him?" "Alas! he left town this very day. He is a secessionist; but he has great influence, and appears very friendly to us." Penn started, and looked at her keenly. "His name?" "Augustus Bythewood." Penn recoiled. "What's the matter?" "Virginia, that man is thy worst enemy? I did not tell thee how I learned that the arrests were to be made. But I will!" And he told her all. "O," said she, "if I had only believed what my heart has always said of that man, and trusted less to my eyes and ears, he would never have deceived me! If he, then, is an enemy, what hope is there? O, my father!" "Do not despair!" answered Penn, as cheerfully as he could. "Something may be done. Stackridge and his friends may have escaped. I will go and see if I can hear any thing of them. Have faith in our heavenly Father, my poor girl! be patient! be strong! All, I am sure, will yet be well." "But you too are in danger! You must not go!" she exclaimed, instinctively detaining him. "I am in greater danger here, perhaps, than elsewhere." "True, true! Go to your negro friends in the mountain--there is yet time! go!" and she hurriedly pushed him from her. "When I find that nothing can be done for thy father, then I will return to Pomp and Cudjo--not before." And he glided out of the back door just as Salina entered from the street. He left the horse where he had tied him, and hastened on foot to Stackridge's house. He approached with great caution. There was a light burning in the house, as on other summer evenings at that hour. The negroes--for Stackridge was a slaveholder--had retired to their quarters. There were no indications of any disturbance having taken place. Penn reconnoitred carefully, and, perceiving no one astir about the premises, advanced towards the door. "Halt!" shouted a voice of authority. And immediately two men jumped out from the well-curb, within which they had been concealed. Others at the same time rushed to the spot from dark corners, where they had lain in wait. Almost in an instant, and before he could recover from his astonishment, Penn found himself surrounded. "You are our prisoner, Mr. Stackridge!" And half a dozen bayonets converged at the focus of his breast. The young man comprehended the situation in a moment. Stackridge had not been arrested; he was absent from home; these ambushed soldiers had been awaiting his return; and they had mistaken the schoolmaster for the farmer. The night was just light enough to enable them to recognize the coat and hat which had been Stackridge's, and which Penn still wore as a disguise. Features they could not discern so easily. The prisoner made no resistance, for that would have been useless; no outcry, for that would have revealed to them their mistake. He submitted without a word; and they marched him away, just as his supposed wife and children flew to the door, calling frantically, "Father! father!" and lamenting his misfortune. By proclaiming his own identity, the prisoner would have gained nothing, probably, but a halter on the spot. On the other hand, by accepting the part forced upon him, he was at least gaining time. It might be, too, that he was rendering an important service to the real Stackridge by thus withdrawing the soldiers from their ambush, and giving him an opportunity to reach home and learn the danger he had escaped. These considerations passed rapidly through his mind. He slouched his hat over his eyes, and marched with sullen, stubborn mien. In this manner he was taken to the village, and conducted to an old storehouse, which had lately been turned into a guard-house by the confederate authorities. There was a great crowd around the dimly-lighted door, and other prisoners, similarly escorted, were going in. Amid the press and hurry, Penn passed the sentinels still unrecognized. He immediately found himself wedged in between the wall and a number of Tennessee Union men, some terrified into silence, others enraged and defiant, but all captives like himself. In the farther end of the room, at a desk behind the counter, with candles at each side, sat the confederate colonel to whom Penn owed his life. He seemed to be receiving the reports of those who had conducted the arrests, and to be examining the prisoners. Beside him sat his aids and clerks. Before him Penn knew that he must soon appear. He was in darkness and disguise as yet, but he could not long avoid facing the light and the eyes of those who knew him well. What, then, would be his fate? Would he be retained a prisoner, like the rest, or delivered over to the mob that sought his life? He had time to decide upon a course which he hoped might gain him some favor. Taking advantage of the shadow and confusion in which he was, he slipped off his disguise, and, elbowing his way through the crowd of prisoners, appeared, hat in hand and coat on arm, before the interior guard, and demanded to speak with the commanding officer. "Sir, who are you?" said the colonel, failing, at first, to recognize him. Upon which Mr. Ropes, who was at his side, swore a great oath that it was the schoolmaster himself. "But I have had no report of his arrest," cried the colonel. "How came you here, sir?" "I wish to place myself under your protection," said Penn. "You received a substitute in my place, and ordered me to be set at liberty. But your commands have been disregarded; I have been hunted for two days; and men, calling themselves confederate soldiers, are still pursuing me. Under these circumstances I have thought it best to appeal to you, relying upon your honor as a gentleman and an officer." "But how came you here? Who brought in this fellow?" Nobody could answer that question, although the leader of the party that had brought him in was at the very moment on the spot, waiting to make his report of Stackridge's arrest. As soon, therefore, as Penn could gain a hearing, he continued. "I came in, sir, with a crowd of soldiers and prisoners, none of whom recognized me. The sentinels no doubt supposed I was arrested, and so let me pass." "Well, sir, you have done a bold thing, and perhaps the best thing for you. Since you have voluntarily delivered yourself up, I shall feel bound to protect you. But I have only one of two alternatives to offer you--the same I offer to each of these worthy gentlemen here, giving them their choice. Take the oath of allegiance to the confederate government, and volunteer; that is one condition." "I am a northern man," replied Penn, "and owe allegiance to the United States; so that condition it is impossible for me to accept." "Very well; I'll give you time to think of it. In the mean while, my only means of affording the protection you demand will be to retain you a prisoner. Guard, take this man below." Not another word was said; and, indeed, Penn had already gained more than he hoped for, with the eyes of Lieutenant Ropes glaring on him so murderously. He was conducted to a stairway that led to the cellar, and ordered to descend. He obeyed, marching down between two soldiers on guard at the door, and two more at the foot of the stairs. It was a lugubrious subterranean apartment, lighted by a single lantern suspended from a beam. By its dim rays he discovered the figures of half a dozen fellow-prisoners; and, in the midst of the group, he recognized one, the sight of whom caused him to forget all his own misfortunes in an instant. "My dear Mr. Villars! I have found you at last!" he exclaimed, grasping the old clergyman's hand. "Penn, is it you?" said the blind old man. He was seated on a dry goods box. Trembling and feeble, he arose to greet his young friend, with a noble courtesy very beautiful and touching under the circumstances. "I cannot tell thee," said Penn, in a choked voice, "how grieved I am to see thee here!" "And grieved am I that you should see me here!" Mr. Villars replied. "I hoped you were a hundred miles away. I was never sorry to have your company till now! How does it happen?" Penn made him sit down again, giving him Stackridge's coat for a cushion, and related briefly his adventures. "It is very singular," said the old man, thoughtfully. "It seems almost providential that you are here." "I think it is so," said Penn. "I think I am here because I may be of service to you." "Ah!" replied the old man, with a tender smile, "my life is of but little value compared with yours. I am a worn-out servant; my day of usefulness is past; I am ready to go home. I do not speak repiningly," he added. "If I can serve my country or my God by suffering--if nothing remains for me but that--then I will cheerfully suffer. Our heavenly Father orders all things; and I am content. All will be well with us, if we are obedient children; all will yet be well with our poor country, if it is true to itself and to Him." "O, do not say thy day of usefulness is past, as long as thou canst speak such words!" said Penn, deeply moved. "Thank God, I have faith! Even in this darkest hour of my life and of my country, I think I have more faith than ever. And I have love, too--love even for those violent men who have thrown us into this dungeon. They know not what they do. They act in ignorance and passion. They seek to destroy our dear old government; but they will only destroy what they are striving so madly to build up." "Yes," said one of the prisoners, "the institution will be ruined by those very men! They are worse than the abolitionists themselves; and I hate 'em worse!" "Hate their errors, Captain Grudd, hate their crimes, but hate no man," Mr. Villars softly replied. "And you would have us submit to them?" "Submit, when you can do no better. But even for their sakes, even for the love of them, my friend, resist their crimes when you can. No man will stand by and see a maniac murder his wife and children. It will be better for the poor maddened wretch himself to prevent him; don't you think so, Penn?" "I do," said Penn, who knew that the argument was meant for himself, not for the rest. "I am thoroughly convinced. You were always right on that subject; and I was always wrong." "I perceive," said the old man, "that you have had experience. It is not I that have convinced you; it is the logic of events." One by one, the prisoners from above followed Penn down the dismal stairs. Only now and then a fainthearted Unionist consented to regain his liberty by taking the oath of allegiance, and "volunteering." At length the room above was cleared, and no more prisoners arrived. Penn, who had kept anxious watch for his friend Stackridge, was congratulating himself upon the perfect success of his stratagem, when the corporal who had brought him in came rushing down the stairs, accompanied by Lieutenant Ropes. "Stackridge!" he called, searching among the prisoners; "is Medad Stackridge here?" No man had seen him. "Then I tell you," said the corporal to Silas, "he is hid somewhere up stairs, or else he has escaped; for I can swear I arrested him." "I can swear you was drunk," said Silas, much disgusted. "You have let the wust man of the lot slip through your fingers; for it's certain he ain't here." Penn trembled for a minute. But both Ropes and the corporal passed him without a suspicion of what was agitating him; and he felt immensely relieved when they returned up the stairs, and the mystery remained unexplained. The prisoners in the cellar were about twelve in number. Nearly all were sturdy, earnest men. Penn noticed that they were not cast down by their misfortunes, but that they whispered among themselves, exchanging glances of intelligence and defiance. At length Captain Grudd came to him, and taking him aside, said,-- "Well, professor, what do you think of the situation?" "We seem to be at the mercy of the villains," replied Penn. "Not so much at their mercy either, if we choose to be men! What we want to know is, will you join us? And if there should be a little fighting to do, will you help do it?" Penn grasped his hand. "Show me that we have any chance of escape, and I am with you!" "I thought you would come to it at last!" Grudd smiled grimly. "What we want, to begin with, is a few handy weapons. But we have all been disarmed. Have you anything? I noticed they did not search you, probably because you came voluntarily and gave yourself up." "I have Stackridge's pistol. It is in the coat Mr. Villars is sitting on." Grudd's eyes lighted up at this unexpected good news. "It will come in play! We must shoot or strangle these fellows, and have their guns,"--with a glance at the soldiers on guard. "But the room up stairs is full of soldiers, and there is a strong guard posted outside, probably surrounding the building." "We will have as little to do with them as possible. Young man, I have a secret for you. Do you know whose property this is?" "Barber Jim's, I believe." "And do you know there's a secret passage from this cellar into the cellar under Jim's shop? It was dug by Jim himself, as a hiding-place for his wife and children. He had bought them, but the heirs of their former owner had set up a claim to them. After that matter was settled, he showed Stackridge the place; and that's the way we came to make use of it. We stored our guns in the passage, and came through into this cellar at night to consult and drill. The store being shut, and the windows all fastened and boarded up, made a quiet place of it. As good luck would have it, the night before the military took possession, Jim warned us, and we carefully put back every stone in the wall, and left. But some of our guns are still in the passage, if they have not been discovered. We have only to open the wall again to get at them. But before that can be done, the guard must be disposed of." Penn, who had listened with intense interest to this recital, drew a long breath. "Is the passage behind the spot where Mr. Villars is sitting?" "Within three feet of the box." "Then I fear it is discovered. I heard a noise behind that wall not ten minutes ago." Grudd started. "Are you sure?" "Quite sure." "It must be Jim himself; or else we have been betrayed." "Was the secret known to many?" "To all our club, and one besides," said Grudd, frowning anxiously. "Stackridge made a mistake; I told him so!" "How?" "We were drilling here that night when Dutch Carl came to tell us you were in danger. Stackridge said he knew the boy, and would trust him. So he brought him in here. And Carl is now a rebel volunteer." "With him your secret is safe!" Penn hastened to assure the captain. "Stackridge was right. Carl----" He paused suddenly, looking at the stairs. Even while the boy's name was on his lips, the boy himself was entering the cellar. He carried a musket. He wore the confederate uniform. He was accompanied by Gad and an officer. They had come to relieve the guard. The men who had previously been on duty at the foot of the stairs retired with the officer, and Gad and Carl remained in their place. Penn at the sight was filled with painful solicitude. To have seen his young friend and pupil shoulder a confederate musket, knowing that it was the love of him that made him a rebel, would alone have been grief enough. How much worse, then, to see him placed here in a position where it might be necessary, in Grudd's opinion, to "shoot or strangle" him! But having once exchanged glances with the boy, Penn's mind was set at rest. "He has kept your secret," he said to Grudd. "He is very shrewd; and if we need help, he will help us." But the noise Penn had heard behind the wall was troubling the captain. They retired to that part of the cellar. They had been there but a short time when a very distinct knock was heard on the stones. It sounded like a signal. Grudd responded, striking the wall with his heel as he leaned his back against it. Then followed a low whistle in the passage. The captain's dark features lighted up. "We are safe!" he whispered in Penn's ear. "It is Stackridge himself!" XXIII. _THE FLIGHT OF THE PRISONERS._ Then commenced strategy. The prisoners gathered in a group before the closed passage, and talked loud, while Grudd established a communication with Stackridge. In the course of an hour a single stone in the wall had been removed. Through the aperture thus formed a bottle was introduced. This Grudd pretended afterwards to take from his pocket; and having (apparently) drank, he offered it to his friends. All drank, or appeared to drink, in a manner that provoked Gad's thirst. He vowed that it was too bad that anything good should moisten the lips of tory prisoners while a soldier like him went thirsty. "I never saw the time, Gad," said the captain, "when I wouldn't share a bottle with you, and I will now." Gad held his gun with one hand and grasped the bottle with the other. Penn seized the moment when his eyes were directed upwards at the cobweb festoons that adorned the cellar, and the sound of gurgling was in his throat, to whisper in Carl's ear,-- "Appear to drink, and by and by pass the bottle up stairs." Carl understood the game in an instant. "Here, you fish!" he said, in the midst of Gad's potation. "Leafe a little trop for me, vill you?" It was some time before the torrent in Gad's throat ceased its murmuring, and he removed his eyes from the cobwebs. Then, smacking his lips, and remarking that it was the right sort of stuff, he passed the bottle to Carl. "Who's the fish this time?" said he, enviously, after Carl had made believe swallow for a few seconds. He snatched the bottle, and was drinking as before, when the guard above, hearing what passed, called for a taste. "You shust vait a minute till Gad trinks it all up, then you shall pe velcome to vot ish left," said Carl. And, possessing himself of the bottle, he handed it up to his comrades. All the soldiers above were asleep except the sentinels. They drank freely, and returned the bottle to Gad. He had not finished it before he began to be overcome by drowsiness, its contents having been drugged for the occasion. He sat down on the stairs, and soon slid off upon the ground. Carl, who had not in reality swallowed a drop, followed his example. Their guns were then taken from them. Penn stole softly up the stairs, and reconnoitred while Grudd and his companions opened the passage in the wall. "All asleep!" Penn whispered, descending. "Carl!" Carl opened one eye, with a droll expression. "Are you asleep?" "Wery!" said Carl. "Will you stay here, or go with us?" "You vill take me prisoner?" "If you wish it." "Say you vill plow my brains out if I say vun vord, or make vun noise." "Come, come! there's no time for fooling, Carl!" "It ish no vooling!" And Carl insisted on Penn's making the threat. "Veil, then, I vill vake up and go 'long mit you." Mr. Villars had been for some time sleeping soundly; for it was now long past midnight, and weariness had overcome him. Penn awoke him; but the old man refused to escape. "Go without me. I shall be too great a burden for you." But not one of his fellow-prisoners would consent to leave him behind; and, listening to their expostulations, he at length arose to accompany them. Stackridge was in the passage, with the old man Ellerton, whom Penn had sent to warn him. They had brought a supply of ammunition for the guns, which they had loaded and placed ready for use. Penn, supporting and guiding the old minister, was the first to pass through into the cellar under Jim's shop. Stackridge, preceding them with a lantern, greeted their escape with silent and grim exultation. Carl came next. Then, one by one, the others followed, each grasping his gun; the rays of the lantern lighting up their determined faces, as they emerged from the low passage, and stood erect, an eager, whispering group, around Stackridge. Brief the consultation. Their plans were soon formed. Leaving Gad asleep in the cellar behind them; the guard asleep, the soldiers all asleep, in the room above; the sentinels outside the old storehouse keeping watch, pacing to and fro around the cellar, in which not a prisoner remained,--Stackridge and his companions filed out noiselessly through Jim's closed and silent shop, upon the other street, and took their way swiftly through the town. Having appointed a place of meeting with his friends, Penn left them, and hastened alone to Mr. Villars's house. The lights had long been out. But the sisters were awake; Virginia had not even gone to bed. She was sitting by her window, gazing out on the hushed, gloomy, breathless summer night,--waiting, waiting, she scarce knew for what,--when she was aware of a figure approaching, and knew Penn's light, quick tap at the door. She ran down to admit him. His story was quickly told. Toby was roused up; blankets were rolled together, and all the available provisions that could be carried were thrust into baskets. "How shall we get news to you? You will want to hear from your father." Penn hastily thought of a plan. "Send Toby to the round rock,--he knows where it is,--on the side of the mountain. Between nine and ten o'clock to-morrow night. I will try to communicate with him there." And Penn, bidding the young girl be of good cheer, departed as suddenly as he had arrived. The old negro accompanied him, assisting to carry the burdens. They found Stackridge's horse where he had been fastened. Penn made Toby mount, take a basket in each hand, and hold the blankets before him on the neck of the horse; then, seizing the bridle, and running by his side, he trotted the beast away across the field in a manner that shook the old negro up in lively style. "O, Massa Penn! I can't stan' dis yere! I's gwine all to pieces! I shall drap some o' dese yer tings, shore!" "You must stand it! hold on to them!" said Penn. "And now keep still, for we are near the road." The party had halted at the rendezvous. Mr. Villars, quite exhausted by his unusual exertions, was seated on the ground when Penn came up with Toby and the horse. Toby dismounted; the old minister mounted in his place, and the negro was sent back. All this passed swiftly and silently; the fugitives were once more on the march, Penn walking by the old man's side. Scarce a word was spoken; the tramp of feet and the sound of the horse's hoofs alone broke the silence of the night. Suddenly a voice hailed them:-- "Who goes there?" And they discovered some horsemen drawn up before them beside the road. It was the night-patrol. "Friends," answered Stackridge, marching straight on. "Halt, and give an account of yourselves!" shouted the patrol. "We are peaceable citizens, if let alone," said Stackridge. "You'd better not meddle with us." The horsemen waited for them to pass, then, firing their pistols at the fugitives, put spurs to their horses, and galloped away towards the village. "Don't fire!" cried Stackridge, as half a dozen pieces were levelled in the darkness. "We've no ammunition to throw away, and no time to lose. They'll give the alarm. Take straight to the mountains!" Nobody had been hit. Turning aside from the road, they took their way across the broad pasture lands that sloped upwards to the rocky hills. The dark valley spread beneath them; on the other side rose the dim outlines of the shadowy mountain range; over all spread a still, cloudless sky, thick-strewn with glittering star-dust. In the village, the ringing of bells startled the night with a wild clamor. Stackridge laughed. "They'll make noise enough now to wake Gad himself! But noise won't hurt anybody. Hear the drums!" "They are coming this way," said Penn. "Fools, to set out in pursuit of us with drums beating!" said Captain Grudd. "Very kind in them to give us notice! They should bring lighted torches, too." "Once in the mountains," said Stackridge, "we are safe. There we can defend ourselves against a hundred. Other Union men will join us, or bring us supplies. We ought to have made this move before; and I'm glad we've been forced to it at last. If every Union man in the south had made a bold stand in the beginning, this cursed rebellion never would have got such a start." Suddenly bells and drums were silent. "The less noise the more danger," said Stackridge. The way was growing difficult for the horse's feet. The cow-paths, which it had been easy to follow at first, disappeared among the thickets. At length, on the crest of a hill, the party halted to rest. "Daylight!" said Stackridge, turning his face to the east. The sky was brightening; the shadows in the valley melted slowly away; far off the cocks crew. "Hark!" said the captain. "Do you hear anything?" "I heard a woice!" said Carl. "Hist!" said Penn. "Look yonder! there they come! around those bushes at the foot of the oak!" "Sure as fate, there they are!" said the captain. The fugitives crowded to his side, eager, grasping their gunstocks, and peering with intent eyes through the darkness in the direction in which he pointed. "Take the horse," said Stackridge to Penn, "and lead him up through that gap out of the reach of the bullets. We'll stay and give these rascals a lesson. Go along with him, Carl, if you don't want to fight your friends." There were not guns enough for all; and Grudd had Stackridge's revolver. There was nothing better, then, for Penn and Carl to do than to consent to this arrangement. Penn went before, leading the horse up the dry bed of a brook. Carl followed, urging the animal from behind. Mr. Villars rode with the baggage, which had been lashed to the saddle. Only the clashing of the iron hoofs on the stones broke the stillness of the morning in that mountain solitude. Stackridge and his compatriots had suddenly become invisible, crouching among bushes and behind rocks. The retreat of Penn and his companions was discovered by the pursuing party, who mistook it for a general flight of the fugitives. They rushed forward with a shout. They had a rugged and barren hill to ascend. Half way up the slope they saw flashes of fire burst from the rocks above, heard the rapid "crack--crackle--crack!" of a dozen pieces, and retreated in confusion down the hill again. Stackridge and his companions coolly proceeded to reload their guns. "They didn't know we had arms," said the farmer, with a grim smile. "They'll be more cautious now." "We've done for two or three of 'em!" said Captain Grudd. "There they lie; one is crawling off." "Let him crawl!" said Stackridge. "Sorry to kill any of 'em; but it's about time for 'em to know we're in 'arnest." "They've gone to cover in the laurels," said Grudd. "Let's shift our ground, and watch their movements." Penn and Carl in the mean time made haste to get the horse and his burden beyond the reach of bullets. They toiled up the bed of the brook until it was no longer passable. Huge bowlders lay jammed and crowded in clefts of the mountain before them. Penn remembered the spot. He had been there in spring, when down over the rocks, now covered with lichens and dry scum, poured an impetuous torrent. "Now I know where I am," he said. "I don't believe it is possible to get the horse any farther. We will wait here for our friends. Mr. Villars, if you will dismount, we will try to get you up on the bank." "I pity you, my children," said the old man. "You should never have encumbered yourselves with such a burden as I am. I can neither fight nor run. Is it sunrise yet?" "It is sunrise, and a beautiful morning! The fresh rays come to us here, sifted through the dewy trees. Sit down on this rock. Find the luncheon, Carl. Ah, Carl!"--Penn regarded the boy affectionately,--"I am glad to have you with me again, but I can't forget that you are a rebel! and a deserter!" "I a deserter? you mishtake," said Carl. "I am a prisoner." "You disobeyed me, Carl! I told you not to enlist. You did wrong." "Now shust listen," said Carl, "and I vill tell you. I did right. Cause vy. You are alive and vell now, ain't you?" Penn smilingly admitted the fact. "And that is petter as being hung?" "I am not so very certain of that, Carl!" "Vell, I am certain for you. Hanging ish no goot. Hunderts of vellers that don't like the rebels no more as you do, wolunteer rather than to be hung. Shows their goot sense." "But you have taken an oath--you are under a solemn engagement, Carl, to fight against the government." "You mishtake unce more--two times. I make a pargain. I say to that man, 'You let Mishter Hapgoot go free, and not let him be hurt, and I vill be a rebel.' Vell, he agrees. But he don't keep his vord. He lets 'em go for to hang you vunce more. Now, if he preaks his part of the pargain, vy shouldn't I preak mine?" "Well, Carl," said Penn, laughing, while his eyes glistened, "I trust thy conscience is clear in the matter. I can only say that, though I don't approve of thy being a rebel, I love thee all the better for it. What do you think, Mr. Villars?" "Sometimes people do wrong from a motive so pure and disinterested that it sanctifies the action. This is Carl's case, I think." "Hello!" cried Carl, jumping up from the bank on which they were seated. "Guns! They are at it again! I vill go see!" The boy disappeared, scrambling down the dry bed of the torrent. The firing continued at irregular intervals for half an hour. Carl did not return. Penn grew anxious. He stood, intently listening, when he heard a noise behind him, and, turning quickly, saw the glimmer of musket-barrels over the rocks. "Fire!" said a voice. And Penn threw himself down under the bank just in time to avoid the discharge of half a dozen pieces aimed at his head. "What is the trouble?" asked the old man, who was lying on some blankets spread for him there in the shade. Before Penn could reply, Silas Ropes and six men came rushing down upon them. Stackridge had been out-generalled. Whilst he and his men were being diverted by a feigned attack in front, two different parties had been despatched by circuitous routes to get in his rear. In executing the part of the plan intrusted to him, Ropes had unexpectedly come upon the schoolmaster and his companion. A minute later both were seized and dragged up from the bed of the torrent. "Ye don't escape me this time!" said Silas, with brutal exultation. "Tie him up to the tree thar; serve the old one the same. We can't be bothered with prisoners." "What are you going to do to that helpless, blind old man?" cried Penn. "Do what you please with me; I expect no mercy,--I ask none. But I entreat you, respect his gray hair!" The appeal seemed to have some effect even on the savage-hearted Silas. He glanced at his men: they were evidently of the opinion that the slaughter of the old clergyman was uncalled for. "Wal, tie the old ranter, and leave him. Quick work, boys. Got the schoolmaster fast?" "All right," said the men. "Wal, now stand back here, and les' have a little bayonet practice." Penn knew very well what that meant. His clothes were stripped from him, in order to present a fair mark for the murderous steel; and he was bound to a tree. "One at a time," said Silas. "Try your hand, Griffin. _Charge--bayonet!_" In vain the old minister endeavored to make himself heard in his friend's behalf. He could only pray for him. Penn saw the ferocious soldier springing towards him, the deadly bayonet thrust straight at his heart. In an instant the murder would have been done. But when within two paces of his victim, the steel almost touching his breast, Griffin uttered a yell, dropped his gun, flung up his hands, and fell dead at Penn's feet. At the same moment a light curl of smoke was wafted from the heaped bowlders in the chasm above, and the echoes of a rifle-crack reverberated among the rocks. The assassins were terror-struck. They looked all around; not a human being was in sight. Distant firing proclaimed that Stackridge and his men were still engaged. The death that struck down Griffin seemed to have fallen from heaven. They waited but a moment, then fled precipitately, leaving Penn still bound, but uninjured, with the dead rebel at his feet. Then two figures came gliding swiftly down over the rocks. Penn uttered a cry of joy. It was Pomp and Cudjo. XXIV. _THE DEAD REBEL'S MUSKET._ Pomp came reloading his rifle, while Cudjo, knife in hand, flew at the cords that confined the schoolmaster. In his gratitude to Heaven and his deliverers, Penn could have hugged that grotesque, half-savage creature to his heart. But no time was to be lost. Snatching the knife, he hastened to release the bewildered clergyman. "Pomp, my noble fellow!" The negro turned from looking after the retreating rebels, with a gleam of triumph on his proud and lofty features: Penn wrung his hand. "You have twice saved my life--now let me ask one more favor of you! Take Mr. Villars to your cave--do for him what you have done for me. He is a much better Christian, and far more deserving of your kindness, than I ever was." "And you?" said Pomp, quietly. "I will take my chance with the others." And Penn in few words explained the occurrences of the night and morning. Pomp shrugged his shoulders frowningly. The time was at hand when he and Cudjo could no longer enjoy in freedom their wild mountain life; even they must soon be drawn into the great deadly struggle. This he foresaw, and his soul was darkened for a moment. "Cudjo! Shall we take this old man to our den?" "No, no! Don't ye take nobody dar! on'y Massa Hapgood." "But he is blind!" said Penn. "Others will come after who are not blind," said Pomp, his brow still stern and thoughtful. "My friends," interposed the old clergyman, mildly, "do nothing for me that will bring danger to yourselves, I entreat you!" These unselfish words, spoken with serious and benignant aspect, touched the generous chords in Pomp's breast. "Why should we blacks have anything to do with this quarrel?" he said with earnest feeling. "Your friends down there"--meaning Stackridge and his party--"are all slaveholders or pro-slavery men. Why should we care which side destroys the other?" "There is a God," answered Mr. Villars, with a beaming light in his unterrified countenance, "who is not prejudiced against color; who loves equally his black and his white children; and who, by means of this war that seems so needless and so cruel, is working out the redemption, not of the misguided white masters only, but also of the slave. Whether you will or not, this war concerns the black man, and he cannot long keep out of it. Then will you side with your avowed enemies, or with those who are already fighting in your cause without knowing it?" These words probed the deep convictions of Pomp's breast. He had from the first believed that the war meant death to slavery; although of late the persistent and almost universal cry of Union men for the "Union as it was,"--the Union with the injustice of slavery at its core,--had somewhat wearied his patience and weakened his faith. "Here, Cudjo! help get this horse up--we can find a path for him." Reluctantly Cudjo obeyed; and almost by main strength the two athletic blacks lifted and pulled the animal up the bank, and out of the chasm. Penn assisted his old friend to remount, then took leave of him. "I will be with you again soon!" he cried, hopefully, as the negroes urged the horse forward into the thickets. Then the young Quaker, left alone, turned to look at the dead rebel. For a moment horrible nausea and faintness made him lean against the tree for support. It was the first violent death of which he had ever been an eye-witness. He had known this man,--who was indeed the same Griffin, who had assisted the unwilling Pepperill to bring the tar-kettle to the wood-side on a certain memorable evening; ignorant, intemperate, too proud to work in a region where slavery made industry a disgrace, and yet a fierce champion of the system which was his greatest curse. Now there he lay, in his dirt, and rags, and blood, his neck shot through; the same expression of ferocious hate with which he had rushed to bayonet the schoolmaster still distorting his visage;--an object of horror and loathing. Was it not assuming a terrible responsibility to send this rampant sinner to his long account? Yet the choice was between his life and Penn's; and had not Pomp done well? Still Penn could not help feeling remorse and commiseration for the wretch. "Poor Griffin! I have no murderous hatred for such as you! But if you come in the way of my country's safety, or of the welfare of my friends, you must take the penalty!" He picked up the musket that had fallen at his feet where he stood bound. Then, stifling his disgust, he felt in the dead man's pockets for ammunition. Cartridges there were none; but in their place he found some bullets and a powder-flask. Then putting in practice the lessons he had learned of Pomp when they hunted together on the mountain, he loaded the gun, resolutely setting his teeth and drawing his breath hard when he thought of the different kind of game it might now be his duty to shoot. While thus occupied he heard footsteps that gave him a sudden start. He turned quickly, catching up the gun. To his immense relief he saw Pomp, approaching with a smile. "I thought you were with Mr. Villars!" "Cudjo has gone with him. I am going with you." "O Pomp!" cried Penn, with a joyful sense of reliance upon his powerful and sagacious black friend. "But is Mr. Villars safe?" "Cudjo is faithful," said Pomp. "He believes the old man is your friend, and a friend of the slave. Besides, I promised, if he would take him to the cave, that my next shot, if I have a chance, should be at his old acquaintance, Sile Ropes." Pomp took the lead, guiding Penn through hollows and among thickets to a ledge crowned with shrubs of savin, whose summit commanded a view of all that mountain-side. They crept among the bushes to the edge of the cliff. There they paused. Neither friend nor foe was in sight. No sound of fire-arms was heard,--only the birds were singing. Penn never forgot that scene. How fresh, and beautiful, and still the morning was! The sunlight flushed the craggy and wooded slopes. Far off, dim with early mist, lay the lovely hills and valleys of East Tennessee. On the north the peaks of the mountain range soared away, purple, rosy, glorious, in soft suffusing light. In the south-west other peaks receded, billowy and blue. And God's pure, deep sky was over all. Touched by the divine beauty of the day, Penn lay thinking with shame of the scenes of human folly and violence with which it had been desecrated, when the negro drew him softly by the sleeve. "Look yonder! down in the edge of that little grove!" Peering through an opening in the savins through which Pomp had thrust his rifle, Penn saw, stealing cautiously out of the grove, a man. "It is Stackridge! He is reconnoitring." "It is a retreat," said Pomp. "See, there they all come!" "Carl with the rest, showing them the way!" added Penn. He was watching with intense interest the movements of his friends, and rejoicing that no foe was in sight, when suddenly Pomp uttered a warning whisper. "Where? what?" said Penn, eagerly looking in the direction in which the negro pointed. Down at their left was a long line of dark thickets which marked the edge of a ravine; out of which he now saw emerging, one by one, a file of armed men. They climbed up a narrow and difficult pass, and halted on the skirts of the thicket. Ten--twelve--fifteen, Penn counted. It was the other party that had been sent out simultaneously with that under Lieutenant Ropes, to get in the rear of the fugitives. And they had succeeded. Only a bushy ridge concealed them from Stackridge's men, who were coming up under the shelter of the same ridge on the other side. Penn trembled with excitement as he saw the rebels cross swiftly forward, skulking among the bushes, to the summit of the ridge. The negro's eyes blazed, but he was perfectly cool. On one knee, his left foot advanced,--holding his rifle with one hand, and parting the bushes with the other,--he smiled as he observed the situation. "Here," said he to Penn, "rest your gun in this little crotch. Now can you see to take aim?" "Yes," said Penn, with his heart in his throat. "Calm your nerves! Everything depends on our first shot. Wait till I give the word. See! they have discovered Stackridge!" "We might shout, and warn him," said Penn, whose nature still shrank from using any more deadly means of saving his friends. "And so discover ourselves! That never'll do. Have you sighted your man?" "Yes--the one lying on his belly behind that cedar." "Very well! I'll take the fellow next him. The moment you have fired, keep perfectly still, only draw your gun back and load. Now--fire!" Just then Stackridge and his men, in full view of their hidden friends on the ledge, were appearing to the fifteen ambushed rebels also. Suddenly the loud bang of a musket, followed instantly by the sharp crack of a rifle, echoed down the mountain side. The rebel behind the cedar sprang to his feet, dropping his gun, and throwing up his hands, and rushed back down the ridge, screaming, "I'm hit! I'm hit!" while the man next him also attempted to rise, but fell again, Pomp having discreetly aimed at an exposed leg. "I'm glad we've only wounded them!" whispered Penn, very pale, his lips compressed, his eyes gleaming. "It has the effect!" said Pomp. "Your friends have discovered the ambush, thanks to that coward's uproar; and now the rascals are panic-struck! Fire again as they go into the ravine--powder alone will do now--a little noise will send them tumbling!" They accordingly fired blank discharges; at the same time Stackridge and his friends, recovering from their momentary astonishment, charged after the retreating rebels, who had barely time to carry off their wounded and escape into the ravine, when their pursuers scaled the ridge. "I'm off!" said Pomp, creeping back through the savins. "These men are not my friends, though they are yours. I'll go and look after Cudjo." And bounding down into a hollow, he was quickly out of sight. XXV. _BLACK AND WHITE._ Penn attached his handkerchief to the end of the musket, and standing upon the ledge, waved it over the bushes. Carl, recognizing him, was the first to scramble up the height. The whole party followed, each sturdy patriot wringing the schoolmaster's hand with hearty congratulations when they learned what use he had made of the rebel musket. "But the whole credit of the manoeuvre belongs not to me, but to the negro Pomp!" And he related the story of his own rescue and theirs. The patriots looked grave. "Where is the fellow?" asked Stackridge. "Being a fugitive slave, he feared lest he should find little favor in the eyes of his master's neighbors," said Penn. "That's where he was right!" said Deslow, with a bigoted and unforgiving expression. "Nothing under the sun shall make me give encouragement to a nigger's running away." Two or three others nodded grim assent to this first principle of the slaveholder's discipline. Penn was fired with exasperation and scorn, and would have separated himself from these narrow-minded patriots on the spot, had not Stackridge jumped up from the ground upon which he had thrown himself, and, striking his gun barrel fiercely, exclaimed,-- "Now, that's what I call cursed foolishness, Deslow! and every man that holds to that way of thinking had better go over to t'other side to oncet! If we can't make up our minds to sacrifice our property, and, what's more to some folks, our prejudices, in the cause we're fighting for, we may as well stop before we stir a step further. I'm a slaveholder, and always have been; but I swear, I can't say as I ever felt it was such a divine institution as some try to make it out, and I don't believe there's a man here that thinks in his heart that it's just right. And as for the niggers running away, my private sentiment is, that I don't blame 'em a mite. You or I, Deslow, would run in their place; you know you would." And Stackridge wiped his brow savagely. "And as for this particular case," said Captain Grudd, with a gleam of light in his lean and swarthy countenance, "don't le's be blind to our own interests; don't le's be downright fools. I've said from the first that slavery and the rebellion was brother and sister,--they go together; and I've made up my mind to stand by my country and the old flag, whatever comes of the institution." All, except the conservative Deslow, applauded this resolution. "Then consider," added the captain, his deliberate, impressive manner proving quite as effective as Stackridge's more excited and fiery style,--"here we are fighting for our very lives and liberties; and if, as I say, slavery's the cause of this war, then we're fighting against slavery, the best we can fix it. How monstrous absurd 'twill be, then, for us to refuse the assistance of any nigger that has it to give! Bythewood, Pomp's owner, is one of the hottest secessionists I know; and d'ye think I want Pomp sent back to him, to help that side, when he has shown that he can be of such mighty good service to us? I move that we send the professor to make a treaty with him. What do you say, Mr. Hapgood?" "I say," replied Penn with enthusiasm, "that he and Cudjo are in a condition to do infinitely more for us than we can do for them; and if their alliance can be secured, I say that we ought by all means to secure it." "That depends," said Grudd, "upon what we intend to do. Are we going to make a stand here, and see if the loyal part of old Tennessee will rise up and sustain us? or are we going to fight our way over the mountains, and never come back till a Union army comes with us to set things a little to rights here?" "Wa'al," said Withers, who concealed a hardy courage and earnest patriotism under a phlegmatic and droll exterior, "while we're discussin' that question, I reckon we may as well have breakfast. This is as good a place as any,--we can take turns keeping a lookout from that ledge." He proceeded to kindle a fire in the hollow. The fugitives, in passing a field of corn, had thrust into their pockets a plentiful supply of green ears, which they now husked and roasted. There was a spring in the rocks near by, from which they drank lying on their faces, and dipping in their beards. This was their breakfast; during which Penn's mission to the blacks was fully discussed, and finally decided upon. The meal concluded, the refugees resumed their march, and entered an immense thick wood farther up the mountain. In a cool and shadowy spot they halted once more; and here Penn took leave of them, setting out on his visit to the cave. He had a mile to travel over a rough, wild region, where the fires that had formerly devastated it had left the only visible marks of a near civilization. In a tranquil little dell that had grown up to wild grass, he came suddenly upon a horse feeding. It was Stackridge's useful nag, which looked up from his lofty grove-shaded pasture with a low whinny of recognition as Penn patted his neck and passed along. A furlong or two farther on the well-known ravine opened,--dark, silent, profound, with its shaggy sides, one in shadow and the other in the sun, and its little embowered brook trickling far down there amid mossy stones;--as lonesome, wild, and solitary as if no human eye had ever beheld it before. Penn glided over the ledges, and descended along the narrow shelf of rock, behind the thickets that screened the entrance to the cave. Sunlight, and mountain wind, and summer heat he left behind, and entered the cool, still, gloomy abode. Cudjo ran to the mouth of the cave to meet him. "Lef me frow dis yer blanket ober your shoulders, while ye cool off; cotch yer de'f cold, if ye don't. De ol' man's a 'speckin' ye." Penn was relieved to learn that Mr. Villars had arrived in safety, and gratified to find him lying comfortably on the bed conversing with Pomp. "By the blessing of God, I am very well indeed, my dear Penn. These excellent fellow-Christians have taken the best of care of me. The atmosphere of the cave, which I thought at first chilly, I now find deliciously pure and refreshing. And its gloom, you know, don't trouble me," added the blind old man with a smile. "Have you had any more trouble since Pomp left you?" "No," said Penn; "thanks to him. Pomp, our friends want to see you and thank you, and they have sent me to bring you to them." The negro merely shrugged his shoulders, and smiled. "What good der tanks do to we?" cried Cudjo. "Ain't one ob dem ar men but what would been glad to hab us cotched and licked for runnin' away, fur de 'xample to de tudder niggers." "If that was true of them once, it is not now," said Penn. "Yet, Pomp, if you feel that there is the least danger in going to them, do not go." "Danger?" The negro's proud and lofty look showed what he thought of that. "Cudjo, make Mr. Hapgood a cup of coffee; he looks tired. You have had a hard time, I reckon, since you left us." "Him stay wid us now till he chirk up again," said Cudjo, running to his coffee-box. "Him and de ol' gemman stay--nobody else." While the coffee was making, Penn, sitting on one of the stone blocks which he had named giant's stools, repeated such parts of the late breakfast talk of Stackridge and his friends as he thought would interest Pomp and win his confidence. Then he drank the strong, black beverage in silence, leaving the negro to his own reflections. "Are you going again?" said Pomp. "Yes; I promised them I would return." "Take some coffee and a kettle to boil it in; they will be glad of it, I should think." "O Pomp! you know how to do good even to your enemies! What shall I say to them for you?" "What I have to say to them I will say myself," said Pomp, taking his rifle in one hand, and the kettle in the other, to Cudjo's great wrath and disgust. He set out with Penn immediately. They found the patriots reposing themselves about the roots of the forest trees, on the banks of a stream that came gurgling and plashing down the mountain side. Above them spread the beautiful green tops of maples, tinted with sunshine and softly rustling in the breeze. The curving banks formed here a little natural amphitheatre, carpeted with moss and old leaves, on which they sat or reclined, with their hats off and their guns at their sides. A sentry posted on the edge of the forest brought in Penn and his companion. There was a stir of interest among the patriots, and some of them rose to their feet. Stackridge, Grudd, and two or three others cordially offered the negro their hands, and pledged him their gratitude and friendship. Pomp accepted these tokens of esteem in silence,--his countenance maintaining a somewhat haughty expression, his lips firm, his eyes kindling with a strange light. Penn took the kettle, and proceeded, with Carl's help, to make a fire and prepare coffee for the company, intently listening the while to all that was said. Jutting from one bank of the stream, which washed its base, was a huge, square block covered with dark-green moss. Upon this Pomp stepped, and rested his rifle upon it, and bared his massive and splendid head, and stood facing his auditors with a placid smile, under the canopy of leaves. There was not among them all so noble a figure of a man as he who stood upon the rock; and he seemed to have chosen this somewhat theatrical attitude in order to illustrate, by his own imposing personal presence, the words that rose to his lips. "You will excuse me, gentlemen, if I cannot forget that I am talking with those who buy and sell men like me!" Men like him! The suggestion seemed for a moment to strike the slave-owning patriots dumb with surprise and embarrassment. "No, no, Pomp," cried Stackridge, "not men like you--there are few like you anywhere." "I wish there was more like him, and that I owned a good gang of 'em!" muttered the man Deslow. "I don't," replied Withers, with a drawl which had a deep meaning in it; "twould be too much like sleeping on a row of powder barrels, with lighted candles stuck in the bung holes. Dangerous, them big knowin' niggers be." Pomp did not answer for a minute, but stood as if gathering power into himself, with one long, deep breath inflating his chest, and casting a glance upward through the sun-lit summer foliage. "You buy and sell men, and women, and children of my race. If I am not like them, it is because circumstances have lifted me out of the wretched condition in which it is your constant policy and endeavor to keep us. By your laws--the laws you make and uphold--I am this day claimed as a slave; by your laws I am hunted as a slave;--yes, some of you here have joined your neighbor in the hunt for me, as if I was no more than a wild beast to be hounded and shot down if I could not be caught. Now tell me what union or concord there can be between you and me!" "I own," said Deslow,--for Pomp's gleaming eyes had darted significant lightnings at him,--"I did once come up here with Bythewood to see if we could find you. Not that I had anything against you, Pomp,--not a thing; and as for your quarrel with your master, I ain't sure but you had the right on't; but you know as well as we do that we can't countenance a nigger's running away, under any circumstances." "No!" said Pomp, with sparkling sarcasm. "Your secessionist neighbors revolt against the mildest government in the world, and resort to bloodshed on account of some fancied wrongs. You revolt against them because you prefer the old government to theirs. Your forefathers went to war with the mother country on account of a few taxes. But a negro must not revolt, he must not even attempt to run away, although he feels the relentless heel of oppression grinding into the dust all his rights, all that is dear to him, all that he loves! A white man may take up arms to defend a bit of property; but a black man has no right to rise up and defend either his wife, or his child, or his liberty, or even his own life, against his master!" Only the narrow-minded Deslow had the confidence to meet this stunning argument, enforced as it was by the speaker's powerful manner, superb physical manhood, and superior intelligence. "You know, Pomp, that your condition, to begin with, is very different from that of any white man. Your relation to your master is not that of a man to his neighbor, or of a citizen to the government; it is that of property to its owner." "Property!" There was something almost wicked in the wild, bright glance with which the negro repeated this word. "How came we property, sir?" "Our laws make you so, and you have been acquired as property," said Deslow, not unkindly, but in his bigoted, obstinate way. "So, really, Pomp, you can't blame us for the view we take of it, though it does conflict a little with your choice in the matter." "But suppose I can show you that you are wrong, and that even by your own laws we are not, and cannot be, property?" said Pomp, with a princely courtesy, looking down from the rock upon Deslow, so evidently in every way his inferior. "I will admit your title to a lot of land you may purchase, or reclaim from nature; or to an animal you have captured, or bought, or raised. But a man's natural, original owner is--himself. Now, I never sold myself. My father never sold himself. My father was stolen by pirates on the coast of Africa, and brought to this country, and sold. The man who bought him bought what had been stolen. By your own laws you cannot hold stolen property. Though it is bought and sold a thousand times, let the original owner appear, and it is his,--nobody else has the shadow of a claim. My father was stolen property, if he was property at all. He was his own rightful owner. Though he had been robbed of himself, that made no difference with the justice of the case. It was so with my mother. It is so with me. It is the same with every black man on this continent. Not one ever sold himself, or can be sold, or can be owned. For to say that what a man steals or takes by force is his, to dispose of as he chooses, is to go back to barbarism: it is not the law of any Christian land. So much," added Pomp, blowing the words from him, as if all the false arguments in favor of slavery were no more to the man's soul, and its eternal, God-given rights, than the breath he blew contemptuously forth into those mountain woods,--"so much for the claim of PROPERTY!" Penn was so delighted with this triumphant declaration of principles that he could have flung his hat into the maple boughs and shouted "Bravo!" He deemed it discreet, however, to confine the expression of his enthusiasm to a tight grasp on Carl's sympathetic hand, and to watch the effect of the speech on the rest. "Deslow," laughed Stackridge, himself not ill pleased with Pomp's arguments, "what do you say to that?" "Wal," said Deslow, "I never thought on't in just that light before; and I own he makes out a pooty good show of a case. But yet--" He hesitated, scratching for an idea among the stiff black hair that grew on his low, wrinkled forehead. "But yet, but yet, but yet!" said Pomp, ironically. "It's so hard, when our selfish interests are at stake, to confess our injustice or give up a bad cause! But I did not come here to argue my right to my own manhood. I take it without arguing. Neither did I come to ask anything for myself. You can do nothing for me but get me into trouble. Yet I believe in the cause in which you have taken up arms. I have served you this morning without being asked by you to do it; and I may assist you again when the time comes. In the mean while, if you want anything that I have, it is yours; for I recognize that we are brothers, though you do not. But I will not join you, for I am neither slave nor inferior, and I have no wish to be acknowledged an equal." And Pomp stepped off the rock with an air that seemed to say, "_I_ know who is the equal of the best of you; and that is enough." If this man had any fault more prominent than another, it was pride; yet that haughty self-assertion which would have been offensive in a white man, was vastly becoming to the haughty and powerful black. "I, for one," said the impulsive Stackridge, again grasping his hand, "honor the position you take. What I wanted was to thank you for what you have done, and to promise that you are safe from danger as far as regards us. I'm glad you've got your liberty. I hope you will keep it. You deserve it. Every slave deserves the same that has the manliness to strike a blow for the good old government----" "That has kept him a slave," added Pomp, with a bitter smile. "Yes; and so much the more noble in him to fight for it!" said Stackridge. "Now, if you don't want to let us into the secrets of your way of life, I can't say I blame ye. We're glad to get the coffee; and if you've any game or potatoes on hand, that you can spare, we'll take 'em, and pay ye when we have a chance to forage for ourselves, which won't be long first." "I have some salted bear's meat that you'll be welcome to; and may be Cudjo can spare a little meal." His eye rested on Carl, whose fidelity he knew. "Let that boy come with us! We will send the provisions by him." Carl was delighted with the honor, for Penn was likewise going back to Mr. Villars with the negro. XXVI. _WHY AUGUSTUS DID NOT PROPOSE._ The valiant confederates, returning from the pursuit of the escaped prisoners, proved themselves possessed of at least one important qualification for serving the rebel cause. They were able to give a marvellously good account of themselves. Whatever the military authorities may have thought of it, the people believed that the little band of Union men had been nearly annihilated. In the midst of the excitement, Mr. Augustus Bythewood returned home, and went in the evening to call upon, counsel, and console the daughters of the old man Villars. "O, Massa Bythewood!" cried Toby, in great joy at sight of him, "dey been killin' ol' massa up on de mountain; and de young ladies--O, Massa Bythewood! ye must do sumfin' for de young ladies and ol' massa!" Mr. Augustus flattered himself that he had arrived at just the right time. "My dear Virginia! you cannot conceive of my astonishment and grief on hearing what has happened to your family! I have but just this hour returned to town, or I should have hastened before to assure you that all I can do for you I will most gladly undertake. My very dear young lady, be comforted, I conjure you; for it grieves me to the heart to see how pale, how very pale and distressed, you look!" Thus the amiable, the chivalrous, the friendly Gus overflowed with eloquent sympathy and protestation, pressing affectionately the hand of the "very pale and distressed" fair one, and bowing low his dark, aristocratic southern curls over it; appearing, in short, the very courteous, noble, and devoted gentleman he wasn't. Virginia breathed hard, compressed her lips, white with indignation as well as with suffering, and let him act his part. And the confident lover did not dream that those eyes, red with grief and surrounded by dark circles, saw through all his hypocritical professions, or that the cold, passive little hand, abandoned through the apathy of despair to his caresses, would have been thrust into the fire, before ever he would have been allowed to win it. "Surely," she managed to say in a voice scarce above a whisper, "if ever we needed a true, disinterested friend, it is now. Sit down; and be so kind as to excuse me a moment. I will call my sister." So she withdrew. And Augustus smiled. "Now is my time!" he said complacently to himself, resolved to make an offer of that valuable hand of his that very night: forlorn, friendless, wretched, was it possible that she could refuse such a prize? So he sat, and fondled his curls, and practised sweet smiles, and sympathized with Salina when she came, and waited for Virginia,--little knowing what was to happen to her, and to him, and to all, before ever he saw that vanished face again. For Virginia had business on her hands that night. She remembered the hurried directions Penn had given for communicating with her father, and she was already preparing to send off Toby to the round rock. "Gracious, missis!" said the old negro, returning hastily to the kitchen door where she stood watching his departure, "dar's a man out dar, a waitin'! Did ye see him, missis?" She had indeed seen a human figure advance in the darkness, as if with intent to intercept or follow him. Perplexed and indignant at the discovery, she suffered the old servant to return into the house, and remained herself to see what became of the figure. It moved off a little way in the darkness, and disappeared. "Wha' sh'll we do?" Toby rolled up his eyes in consternation. "Do jes' speak to Mr. Bythewood, Miss Jinny; he's de bestist friend--he'll tell what to do." "No, no, Toby!" said Virginia, collecting herself, and speaking with decision. "He is the last person I would consult. Toby, you must try again; for either you or I must be at the rock before ten o'clock." "You, Miss Jinny? Who eber heern o' sich a ting!" "Go yourself, then, good Toby!" And she earnestly reminded him of the necessity. "O, yes, yes! I'll go! Massa can't lib widout ol' Toby, dat's a fac'!" But looking out again in the dark, his zeal was suddenly damped. "Dey cotch me, dey sarve me wus 'n dey sarved ol' Pete, shore! Can't help tinkin' ob dat!" Virginia saw what serious cause there was to dread such a catastrophe. But her resolution was unshaken. "Toby, listen. That man out there is a spy. His object is to see if any of our friends come to the house, or if we send to them. He won't molest you; but he may follow to see where you go. If he does, then make a wide circuit, and return home, and I will find some other means of communication." Thus encouraged, the negro set out a second time. Virginia followed him at a distance. She saw, as she anticipated, the figure start up again, and move off in the direction he was going. Toby accordingly commenced making a large detour through the fields, and both he and the shadow dogging him were soon out of sight. Then Virginia lost no time in executing the other plan at which she had hinted. Instead of returning, to give up the undertaking in despair, and listen to matrimonial proposals from Gus Bythewood, she took a long breath, gathered up her skirts, and set out for the mountain. There was a new moon, but it was hidden by clouds. Still the evening was not very dark. The long twilight of the summer day still lingered in the valley. Here and there she could distinguish landmarks,--a knoll, a rock, or a tree,--which gave her confidence. I will not say that she feared nothing. She was by nature timid, imaginative, and she feared many things. Her own footsteps were a terror to her. The moving of a bush in the wind, the starting of a rabbit from her path, caused her flesh to thrill. At sight of an object slowly and noiselessly emerging from the darkness and standing before her, motionless and spectral, she almost fainted, until she discovered that it was an old acquaintance, a tall pine stump. But all these childish terrors she resolutely overcame. Her heart never faltered in its purpose. Affection for her father, anxiety for his welfare, and, it may be, some little solicitude for her father's friend, who had appointed the tryst at the rock,--not with herself, indeed, but with Toby,--kept her firm and unwavering in her course. And beneath all, deep in her soul, was a strong religious sense, a faith in a divine guidance and protection. What most she feared was neither ghost nor wild beast of the mountains. She felt that, if she could avoid encountering the brutal soldiers of secession, keeping watch along the mountain-side, she would willingly risk everything else. With the utmost caution, with breathless tread, she drew near the road she was to cross. Her footsteps were less loud than her heart-beats. Dogs barked in the distance. In a pool near by, some happy frogs were singing. The shrill cry of a katydid came from a poplar tree by the road--"Katy did! Katy didn't!" with vehement iteration and contradiction. No other sounds; she waited and listened long; then glided across the road. She had come far from the village in order to avoid meeting any one. Her course now lay directly up the mountain-side. The round rock was a famous bowlder known to picnic parties that frequented the spot in summer to enjoy a view from its summit, and a luncheon under its shadow. She had been there a dozen times; but could she find it in the night? In vain, as she toiled upwards, she strained her eyes to see the huge dim stone jutting out from the shadowy rocks and bushes. At length a sudden light, faint and silvery, streamed down upon her. She looked and saw the clouds parted, and below them the crescent moon setting, like a cimeter of white flame withdrawn by an invisible hand behind the vast shadowy summit of the mountain. Almost at the same moment she discovered the object she sought. The rock was close before her; and close upon her right was the grove which she herself had so often helped to fill with singing and laughter. How little she felt like either singing or laughing now! She remembered--indeed, had she not remembered all the way?--that the last time she visited the spot it was in company with Penn. Now she had come to meet him again--how unmaidenly the act! In darkness, in loneliness, far from the village and its twinkling lights, to meet an attractive and a very good looking young man! What would the world say? Virginia did not care what the world would say. But now she began to question within herself, "What would Penn think?" and almost to shrink from meeting him. Strong, however, in her own conscious purity of heart, strong also in her confidence in him, she put behind her every unworthy thought, and sought the shelter of the rock. And there, after all her labors and fears, scratches in her flesh and rents in her clothes,--there she was alone. Penn had not come. Perhaps he would not come. It was by this time ten o'clock. What should she do? Remain, hoping that he would yet fulfil his promise? or return the way she came, unsatisfied, disheartened, weary, her heart and strength sustained by no word of comfort from him, by no tidings from her father? She waited. It was not long before her eager ear caught the sound of footsteps. An active figure was coming along the edge of the grove. How joyously her heart bounded! In order that Penn might not be too suddenly surprised at finding her in Toby's place, she stepped out from the shadow of the bowlder, and advanced to meet him. She shrank back again as suddenly, fear curdling her blood. The comer was not Penn. He wore the confederate uniform: this was what terrified her. She crouched down under the rock; but perceiving that the man did not pass by,--that he walked straight up to her,--she started forth again, in the vain hope to escape by flight. Almost at the first step she tripped and fell; and the hand of the confederate soldier was on her arm. XXVII. _THE MEN WITH THE DARK LANTERN._ The moon had now set, and it was dark. The frightened girl could not distinguish the features of him who bent over her; but through the trance of horror that was upon her, she recognized a voice. "Wirginie! I tought it vas you! Don't you know me, Wirginie?" No voice had ever before brought such joy to her soul. "O Carl! why didn't I know you?" "Vy not? Pecause maybe you vas looking for somepody else. Mishter Hapgoot came part vay mit me, but he vas so used up I made him shtop till I came to pring Toby up vere he is." Then Virginia, recovering from her agitation, had a score of questions to ask about her father, about the fight, and about Penn. "If you vill only go up, he vill tell you so much more as I can. Then you vill go and see your fahder. That vill be petter as going back to-night, vere there is no goot shtout fellow in the house to prewail on them willains to keep their dishtance." Even at the outset of her adventurous journey Virginia had felt a vague hope that she should visit her father before she returned. What the boy said inspired her with courage to proceed. She would go up as far as where Penn was waiting, at all events: then she would be guided by his advice. The two set out, Carl leading her by the hand, and assisting her. It grew darker and darker. The stars were hidden: the sky was almost completely overcast by black clouds. Slowly and with great difficulty they made their way among trees and bushes, through abrupt hollows, and over rocks. Virginia felt that she could have done nothing without Carl; and the thought of returning alone, in such darkness, down the mountain, made her shudder. But at length even Carl began to sweat with something besides the physical exertion required in making the ascent. His mind had grown exceedingly perturbed, and Virginia perceived that his course was wavering and uncertain. He stopped, blowing and wiping his face. "Dish ish de all confoundedesht, meanesht, mosht dishgusting road for a dark night the prince of darkness himself ever inwented!" he exclaimed, speaking unusually thick in his heat and excitement. "I shouldn't be wery much surprised if I vas a leetle out of the right vay. You shtay right here till I look." She sat down and waited. Intense darkness surrounded her; not a star was visible; she could not see her own hand. For a little while Carl's footsteps could be heard feeling for more familiar ground; and then, occasionally, the crackling of a dry twig, as he trod upon it, showed that he was not far off. Then he whistled; then he softly called, "Hello!" in the woods; moving all the time farther and farther away. Carl believed that Penn could not be far distant, and, in order to get an answering signal, he kept whistling and calling louder and louder. At length came a response--a low warning whistle. So he plodded on, and had nearly reached the spot where he was confident Penn was searching for him, when there came a rush of feet, and he was suddenly and violently seized by invisible assailants. "Got him?" "Yes! all right!" "Hang on to him! It's the Dutchman, ain't it? I thought I knew the brogue!" The last speaker was Lieutenant Silas Ropes; and Carl perceived that he had fallen into the hands of a squad of confederate soldiers. That he was vastly astonished and altogether disconcerted at first, we may well suppose. But Carl was not a lad to remain long bereft of his wits when they were so necessary to him. "Ho! vot for you choke a fellow so?" he indignantly demanded. "I vas treated petter as that ven I vas a prisoner." "What do you mean, you d--d deserter?" "Haven't I just got avay from Stackridge? and vasn't I running to find you as vast as ever a vellow could? And now you call me a deserter!" retorted Carl, aggrieved. "Running to find _us_!" "To be sure! Didn't I say, 'Is it you?' For they said you vas on the mountain. Though I did not think I should find you so easy!" which was indeed the truth. Carl persisted so earnestly in regarding the affair from this point of view, that his captors began to think it worth while to question him. "Vun of them vellows just says to me, he says, 'Shpeak vun vord, or make vun noise, and I vill plow your prains out!' I vasn't wery much in favor to have my prains plowed out, so I complied mit his wery urgent request. That's the vay they took me prisoner." "Wal," remarked Silas, "what he says may be true, but I don't believe nary word on't. Got his hands tied? Now lock arms with him, and bring him along." Carl was in despair at this mode of treatment, for it rendered escape impossible,--and what would become of Virginia? His anxiety for her safety became absolute terror when he discovered the errand on which these men were bound. By the light of a dark lantern they led him through the grove, across a brook that came tumbling down out of a wild black gorge, and up the mountain slope into the edge of the great forest above. Here they stopped. "This yer's a good place, boys, to begin. Kick the leaves together. That's the talk." They were in a leafy hollow of the dry woods. A blaze was soon kindled, which shot up in the darkness, and threw its ruddy glare upon the trunks and overhanging canopy of foliage, and upon the malignant, gleaming faces of the soldiers. Little effort was needed to insure the spreading of the flames. They ran over the ground, licking up the dry leaves, crackling the twigs, catching at the bark of trees, and filling the forest, late so silent and black, with their glow and roar. "That's to smoke out your d--d Union friends!" said Silas to Carl, with a hideous grin. Yes, Carl understood that well enough. In this same forest, on the banks of the brook above where it fell into the gorge, the patriots were encamped. And Virginia? Still believing that the worst that could happen to her would be to fall into the hands of these ruffians, the lad sweated in silent agony over the secret he was bound to keep. "What makes ye look so down-in-the-mouth, Dutchy? 'Fraid your friends will get scorched?" "I vas thinking the fire vill be apt to scorch us as much as it vill them. And I have my hands tied so I can't run." "Don't be afraid; we'll look out for you. I swear, boys! the fire looks as though 'twas dying down! Get out o' this yer holler and there ain't no leaves to feed it; and I be hanged if the wind ain't gitting contrary!" Carl witnessed these effects with a gleam of hope. The soldiers fell to gathering bark and sticks, which they piled at the roots of trees. The lad was left almost alone. Had his hands been free, he would have run. A soldier passed near him, dragging a dead bush. "Dan Pepperill! cut the cord!" Dan shook his head, with a look of terror. "Drop your knife, then!" "O Lord!" said Dan. "They'd hang me! I be durned if they wouldn't!" "Dan, you must! I don't care vun cent for myself. But Wirginie Willars--she is just beyond vere you took me. Vill you leave her to die? And Mishter Hapgoot is just a little vay up the mountain, and there is nopody to let him know!" A look of ghastly intelligence came into Dan's face as he stopped to listen to this explanation. He seemed half inclined to set the boy's limbs free, and risk the consequences. But just then Ropes shouted at him,-- "What ye at thar, Pepperill? Why don't ye bring along that ar brush?" So the brief conference ended, and the cords remained uncut. And a great, dangerous fire was kindling in the woods. And now Carl's only hope for Virginia was, that she would take advantage of its light to make good her retreat from the mountain. XXVIII. _BEAUTY AND THE BEAST._ Unfortunately the poor girl had no suspicion of the mischance that had overtaken her guide. She heard voices, and believed that he had fallen in with some friends. Thus she waited, expecting momently that he would return to her. She saw a single gleam of light that vanished in the darkness. Then the voices grew fainter and fainter, and at length died in the distance. And she was once more utterly alone. Fearful doubt and uncertainty agitated her. In a moment of despair, yielding to the terrors of her situation, she wrung her hands and called on Carl imploringly not to abandon her, but to come back--"O, dear, dear Carl, come back!" Suddenly she checked herself. Why was she sitting there, wasting the time in tears and reproaches? "Poor Carl never meant to desert me in this way, I know. If I ever see him again, he will make me sorry that I have blamed him. No doubt he has done his best. But, whatever has become of him, I am sure he cannot find his way back to me now. I'll follow him; perhaps I may find him, or Penn, or some of their friends." She arose accordingly, and groped her way in the direction in which she had seen the light and heard the voices. And soon another and very different light gladdened her eyes--a faint glow, far off, as of a fire kindled among the forest trees. It was the camp of the patriots, she thought. She came to the brook, which, invisible, mysterious, murmuring, rolled along in the midnight blackness, and seemed too formidable for her to ford. She felt the cold rush of the hurrying water, the slippery slime of the mossy and treacherous stones, and withdrew her appalled hands. To find a shallow place to cross, she followed up the bank; and as the light was still before her, higher on the mountain, she kept on, groping among trees, climbing over logs and rocks, falling often, but always resolutely rising again, until, to her dismay, the glow began to disappear. She had, without knowing it, followed the stream up into the deep gorge through which it poured; and now the precipitous wood-crowned wall, rising beside her, overhanging her, shut out the last glimpse of the fire. She was by this time exceedingly fatigued. It seemed useless to advance farther; she felt certain that she was only getting deeper and deeper into the entangling difficulties of that unknown, horrible place. Neither had she the courage or strength to retrace her steps. Nothing then remained for her but to pass the remainder of the night where she was, and wait patiently for the morning. Little knowing that the light she had seen was the glare of the kindled forest, she endeavored to convince herself that she had nothing to fear. At all events, she knew that trembling and tears could avail her nothing. She had not ventured to call very loudly for help, fearing lest her voice might bring foe instead of friend. And now it occurred to her that perhaps Carl had been taken by the soldiers: yes, it must be so: she explained it all to herself, and wondered why she had not thought of it before. It would therefore be folly in her now to scream for aid. Comfortless, yet calm, she explored the ground for a resting-place. She cleared the twigs away from the roots of a tree, and laid herself down there on the moss and old leaves. Everything seemed dank with the never-failing dews of the deep and sheltered gorge; but she did not mind the dampness of her couch. A strong wind was rising, and the great trees above her swayed and moaned. She was vexed by mosquitoes that bit as if they then for the first time tasted blood, and never expected to taste it again; but she was too weary to care much for them either. She rested her arm on the mossy root; she rested her head on her arm; she drew her handkerchief over her face; she shut out from her soul all the miseries and dangers of her situation, and quietly said her prayers. There is nothing that calms the perturbations of the mind like that inward looking for the light of God's peace which descends upon us when in silence and sweet trust we pray to him. A delicious sense of repose ensued, and her thoughts floated off in dreams. She dreamed she was flying with her father from the fury of armed men. She led him into a wilderness; and it was night; and great rocks rose up suddenly before them in the gloom, and awful chasms yawned. Then she was wandering alone; she had lost her father, and was seeking him up and down. Then it seemed that Penn was by her side; and when she asked for her father he smilingly pointed upward at a wondrously beautiful light that shone from the summit of a hill. She sought to go up thither, but grew weary, and sat down to rest in a deep grove, with an ice-cold mountain stream dashing at her feet. Then the light on the hill became a lake of fire, and it poured its waves into the stream, and the stream flowed past her a roaring river of flame. Lightnings crackled in the air above her. Thunderbolts fell. The heat was intolerable. The river had overflowed, and set the world on fire. And she could not fly, for terror chained her limbs. She struggled, screamed, awoke. She started up. Her dream was a reality. Either the fire set by the soldiers had spread, driven by the wind over the dry leaves, into the grove below her, or else they had fired the grove itself on their retreat. Her eyes opened upon a vision of appalling brightness. For a moment she stood utterly dazzled and bewildered, not knowing where she was. Memory and reason were paralyzed: she could not remember, she could not think: amazement and terror possessed her. Instinctively shielding her eyes, she looked down. The ground where she had lain, the log, the sticks, the moss, and her handkerchief fallen upon it, were illumined with a glare brighter than noonday. At sight of the handkerchief came recollection. Her terrible adventure, the glow she had seen in the woods, her bed on the earth,--she remembered everything. And now the actual perils of her position became apparent to her returning faculties. Where all was blackness when she lay down, now all was preternatural light. Every bush and jutting rock of the wild overhanging cliffs stood out in fearful distinctness. The saplings and trees on their summits, fifty feet above her head, seemed huddling together, and leaning forward terror-stricken, in an atmosphere of whirling flame and smoke. Climb those cliffs she could not, though she were to die. She must then flee farther up into the deep and narrow gorge, or endeavor to escape by the way she had come. But the way she had come was fire. The conflagration already enveloped the mouth of the gorge, shutting her in. The trunks of near trees stood like the bars of a stupendous cage, through which she looked at the raging demons beyond. Burning limbs fell, shooting through the air with trails of flame. Every tree was a pillar of fire. Here a bough, still untouched, hung, dark and impassive, against the lurid, surging chaos. Then the whirlwind of heated air struck it, and you could see it writhe and twist, until its darkness burst into flame. There stood what was late a lordly maple, but now,--trunk, and limb, and branch,--a tree of living coal. And down under this gulf of fire flowed the brook, into which showers of sparks fell hissing, while over all, fearfully illumined clouds of smoke and cinders and leaves went rolling up into the sky. Virginia approached near enough to be impressed with the dreadful certainty that there was no outlet whatever, for any mortal foot, in that direction. Tortured by the heat, and pursued by lighted twigs, that fell like fiery darts around her, she fled back into the gorge. The conflagration was still spreading rapidly. The timber along both sides of the gorge, at its opening, began to burn upwards towards the summits of the cliffs. Soon the very spot where she had slept, and where she now paused once more in her terrible perplexity and fear, would be an abyss of flame. Again she took to flight, hasting along the edge of the stream, up into the heart of the gorge. Over roots of trees, over old decaying trunks, over barricades of dead limbs brought down by freshets and left lodged, she climbed, she sprang, she ran. All too brightly her way was lighted now. A ghastly yellow radiance was on every object. The waters sparkled and gleamed as they poured over the dark brown stones. Every slender, delicate fern, every poor little startled wild flower nestled in cool, dim nooks, was glaringly revealed. Little the frightened girl heeded these darlings of the forest now. All the way she looked eagerly for some slant or cleft in the mountain walls where she might hope to ascend. Here, over the accumulated soil of centuries, fastened by interwoven roots to the base of the cliff, she might have climbed a dozen feet or more. Yonder, by the aid of shrubs and boughs, she might have drawn herself up a few feet farther. But, wherever her eye ranged along the ledges above, she beheld them dizzy-steep and unscalable. And so she kept on until even the way before her was closed up. On the brink of a rock-rimmed, flashing basin she stopped. Down into this, from a shelf twenty feet in height, fell the brook in a bright, fire-tinted cascade. Fear-inspired as she was, she could not but pause and wonder at the strange beauty of the scene,--the plashy pool before her, the flame-color on the veil of silver foam dropped from the brow of the ledge, and--for a wild background to the picture--the wooded, fire-lit, shadowy gorge, opening on a higher level above. During the moment that she stood there, a great bird, like an owl, that had probably been driven from his hollow tree or fissure in the rocks by the conflagration, flapped past her face, almost touching her with his wings, and dashed blindly against the waterfall. He was swept down into the pool. After some violent fluttering and floundering in the water, he extricated himself, perched on a stone at its edge, shook out his wet feathers, and stared at her with large cat-like eyes, without fear. She was near enough to reach him with her hand; but either he was so dazzled and stunned that he took no notice of her, or else the greater terror had rendered him tame to human approach. She believed the latter was the case, and saw something exceedingly awful in the incident. When even the wild winged creatures of the forest were stricken down with fear, what cause had she to apprehend danger to herself! On reaching the waterfall she had felt for a moment that all was over--that certain death awaited her. Then, out of her very despair, came a gleam of hope. She might creep under the cascade, or behind it, and that would protect her. But when she looked up, and saw, around and above her, the forest trees with the frightful and ever-increasing glow upon them, and knew that they too soon must kindle, and thought of firebrands rained down upon her, and falling columns of fire filling the gorge with burning rubbish,--then her soul sickened: what protection would a little sheet of water prove against such furnace heat? No: she must escape, or perish. Beside the cascade there was a broken angle of the rocks, by which, if she could reach it, she might at least, she thought, climb to the upper part of the gorge. But the nearest foothold she could discover was ten feet above the basin, in sheer ascent. The ledge was dank and slippery with the dashing spray. Gain the top of it, however, she must. She ran up the embankment under the cliff. Here a sapling gave her support; she clung to a crevice or projection there; a drooping bough saved her from falling when the soft earth slid from beneath her feet farther on. So she climbed along the side of the precipice, until the broken corner of the cliff was hardly two yards off before her. Yes, a secure foothold was there, and above it rose irregular pointed stairs, leading steeply to the top of the cascade. O, to reach that shattered ledge! A space of perpendicular wall intervened. No shrub, no drooping bough, was there. Here was only a slight projection, just enough to rest the edge of a foot upon. She placed her foot upon it. She found a crevice above, and thrust her fingers into it as if there was no such thing as pain. She clung, she took a step--she was half a yard nearer the angle. But what next could she do? She was hanging in the air above the basin, into which the slightest slip would precipitate her. To change hands--relieve the one advanced and insert the fingers of the other in its place,--was a perilous undertaking. But she did it. Then she reached forward again with hand and foot, found another spot to cling to, and took another step. She was thankful for the great light that lighted the rocks before her. Close by now was the fractured angle of the cliff: one more step, and she could set her foot upon the nethermost stair. Her strength was almost gone; her hands, though insensible to pain, were conscious of slipping. To fall would be to lose all she had gained, and all the strength she had exhausted in the effort. Her feet now--or rather one of them--had a tolerably secure hold on the rib of the ledge. She made one last effort with her hands, and, just as she was falling, gave a spring. She knew that all was staked upon that one dizzy instant of time. But for that knowledge she could never have accomplished what she did. She fell forwards towards the angle, caught a point of the rock with her hands, and clung there until she had safely placed her feet. This done, it was absolutely necessary to stop a moment to rest. She looked downwards and behind her, to see what she had done. The sight made her dizzy--it seemed such a miracle that she could ever have scaled that wall! Nearer and louder roared the conflagration, and she had little time to delay. Her labor was not ended, neither was the danger past. She cast a hurried glance upwards over the ridge she was to climb, and advanced cautiously, step by step. Her soul kept saying within her, "I will not fall; I will not fall;" but she dared not look backwards again, lest even then she should grow giddy and miss her hold. As she ascended, the ridge inclined nearer and nearer to the side of the cascade, until she found the stones slimy and dripping. This was an unforeseen peril. Still she resolutely advanced, taking the utmost precaution at each step against slipping. At length she was at the top of the waterfall. She could look up into the upper gorge, and see the water come rushing down. There was space beside the brook for her to continue her flight; and the sides of the gorge above were far less steep and rugged than below. She was thrilled with hope. She had but one steep, high stair to surmount. She was getting her knee upon it, when a crashing sound in the underbrush arrested her attention. The crashing was followed by a commotion in the water, and she saw a huge black object plunge into the stream, and come sweeping down towards her. On it came, straight at the rock on which she clung, and from which a motion, a touch, might suffice to hurl her back into the lower gorge. She saw what it was; and for a moment she was frozen with terror. She was directly in its path: it would not stop for her. The sight of the blazing woods below, however, brought it to a sudden halt. And there, close by the brink of the waterfall, facing her, not a yard distant, in the full glare of the fire, it rose slowly on its hind feet to look--a monster of the forest, an immense black bear. And now, but for the nightmare of horror that was upon her, Virginia might have perceived that the forest _above_ the cascade was likewise wrapped in flames. The bear had been driven by the terror of them down the stream; and here, between the two fires, on the verge of the waterfall, the slight young girl and the great shaggy wild beast had met. She would have shrieked, but she had no voice. The bear also was silent; with his huge hairy bulk reared up before her, his paws pendant, and his jaws half open in a sort of stupid amazement, he stood and gazed, uttering never a growl. XXIX. _IN THE BURNING WOODS._ The incessant excitement and fatigue of the past few days had caused Penn to fall asleep almost immediately after Carl left him. The rude ground on which he stretched himself proved a blissful couch of repose. Virginia climbed the mountain to meet him, and no fine intuitive sense of her approach thrilled him with wakeful expectancy. Carl was captured, and still he slept. The lost young girl wandered within fifty yards of where he lay steeped in forgetfulness, dreaming, perhaps, of her; and all the time they were as unconscious of each other's presence as were Evangeline and her lover when they passed each other at night on the great river. Penn was the first to wake; and still his stupid heart whispered to him no syllable of the strange secret of the beautiful sleeper whom he might have looked down upon from the edge of the cliff so near. The grove had been but recently fired, and it would have been easy enough then for him to rush into the gorge and rescue her. From what terrors, from what perils would she have been saved! But he wasted the precious moments in staring amazement; then, thinking of his own safety, he commenced running _away_ from her,--his escape lighted by the same fatal flames that were enclosing her within the gorge. She never knew whether, on awaking, she cried for help or remained dumb; nor did it matter much then: he was already too far off to hear. The glow on the clouds lighted all the broad mountain side. Under the ruddy canopy he ran,--now through dimly illumined woods, and now over bare rocks faintly flushed by the glare of the sky. As he drew near the cave, he saw, on a rock high above him, a wild human figure making fantastic gestures, and prostrating itself towards the burning forests. He ran up to it, and, all out of breath, stood on the ledge. "Cudjo! Cudjo! what are you doing here?" The negro made no reply, but, folding his arms above his head, spread them forth towards the fire, bowing himself again and again, until his forehead touched the stone. Penn shuddered with awe. For the first time in his life he found himself in the presence of an idolater. Cudjo belonged to a tribe of African fire-worshippers, from whom he had been stolen in his youth; and, although the sentiment of the old barbarous religion had smouldered for years forgotten in his breast, this night it had burst forth again, kindled by the terrible splendors of the burning mountain. Penn waited for him to rise, then grasped his arm. The negro, startled into a consciousness of his presence, stared at him wildly. "That is not God, Cudjo!" "No, no, not your God, massa! My God!" and the African smote his breast. "Me mos' forgit him; now me 'members! Him comin' fur burn up de white folks, and set de brack man free!" Penn stood silent, thinking the negro might not be altogether wrong. No doubt the dim, dark soul of him saw vaguely, with that prophetic sense which is in all races of men, a great truth. A fire was indeed coming--was already kindled--which was to set the bondman free: and God was in the fire. But of that mightier conflagration, the combustion of the forests was but a feeble type. Penn turned from Cudjo to watch the burning, and became aware of its threatening and rapidly increasing magnitude. The woods had been set in several places, but the different fires were fast growing into one, swept by a strong wind diagonally across and up the mountain. It seemed then as if nothing could prevent all the forest growths that lay to the southward and westward along the range from being consumed. As he gazed, he became extremely alarmed for the safety of Stackridge and his friends: and where all this time was Carl? In vain he questioned Cudjo. He turned, and was hastening to the cave when he met Pomp coming towards him. Tall, majestic, naked to the waist, wearing a garment of panther-skins, with the red gleam of the fire on his dusky face and limbs, the negro looked like a native monarch of the hills. "O Pomp! what a fire that is!" "What a fire it is going to be!" answered Pomp, with a lurid smile. "Our new neighbors have brought us bad luck. All those woods are gone. The fire is sweeping up directly towards us--it will pass over all the mountain--nothing will be left." Yet he spoke with a lofty calmness that astonished Penn. "And our friends!--Carl!--have you heard from them?" "I have not seen Carl since he left the cave with you, nor any of Stackridge's people to-night." "Then they are in the woods yet!" "Yes; unless they have been wise enough to get out of them! I was just starting out to look for them.--Who comes there?"--poising his rifle. "It's Carl!" exclaimed Penn, recognizing the confederate coat. But in an instant he saw his mistake. "It is one of Ropes's men!" said Pomp. "He has discovered us--he shall die for setting my mountains on fire!" "Hold!" Penn grasped his arm. "He is beckoning and calling!" Pomp frowned as he lowered his rifle, and waited for the soldier to come up. "What! is it you? I didn't know you in that dress, and came near shooting you, as you deserve, for wearing it!" And Pomp turned scornfully away. The comer was Dan Pepperill, breathless with haste, horror-struck, haggard. It was some time before he could reply to Penn's impetuous demand--what had brought him up thither? "Carl!" he gasped. "What has happened to Carl?" "Ben tuck! durned if he hain't! But that ar ain't the wust!" "What, then, is the worst?" for that seemed bad enough. "Virginny--Miss Villars!" "Virginia! what of her?" "She's down thar! in the fire!" "Virginia in the fire!" "She ar,--durned if she ain't! Carl said she war on the mountain, and wanted me to hurry up and help her or find you; and I'd a done it, but I couldn't git off till we was runnin' from the fires we'd sot; then I kinder got scattered a puppus; t'other ones hung on to Carl, though, so I had to come alone." Penn interrupted the loose and confused narrative--Virginia: had he _seen_ her? "Wal, I reckon I hev! Ye see I war huntin' fur her thar, above the round rock; fur Carl said,----" A short, sharp groan broke from the lips of Penn. At first the idea of Virginia being on the mountain had appeared to him incredible. But at the mention of the place of rendezvous the truth smote him: she had come up there with Toby, or in his stead. With spasmodic grip he wrung Pepperill's arm as if he would have wrung the truth out of him that way. "You saw her!--where?" His hoarse voice, his terrible look, bewildered the poor man more and more. "I war a tellin' ye! Don't break my arm, and don't look so durned f'erce at me, and I'll out with the hull story. Ye see, I warn't to blame, now, no how. They sot the fires; they sot the grove on our way back; and if I helped any, 'twas cause I had ter. But about _her_. Wal, I begun to the big rock, and war a-huntin' up along, till the grove got all in a blaze, and the red limbs begun ter fall, and I see 'twas high time for me to put. Says I ter myself, 'She hain't hyar; she ar off the mountain and safe ter hum afore this time, shore!' But jest then I heern a screech; it sounded right inter the grove, and I run up as clust ter the fire's I could, and looked, and thar I seen right in the middle on't, amongst the burnin' trees, a woman's gownd, and then a face: 'twas her face, I knowed it, fur she hadn't nary bunnit on, and the fire shone on it bright as lightnin'! But thar war half a acre o' blazin' timber atween her and me; and besides, I was so struck up all of a heap, I couldn't do nary thing fur nigh about a minute--I couldn't even holler ter let her know I war thar. And 'fore I knowed what I war about, durned if she hadn't gone!" Penn afterwards understood that Dan had actually had a glimpse of Virginia when she ran out to the entrance of the gorge, and stood there a moment in the terrible heat and glare. "Where--show me where!" he exclaimed with fierce vehemence, dragging Pepperill after him down the rocks. "It war a considerable piece this side the round rock, nigh the upper eend o' the grove," said Dan, in a jarred voice, clattering after him, as fast as he could. "I reckon I kin find it, if 'tain't too late." Too late? It must not be too late! Penn leaps down the ledges, and rushes through the thickets, as if he would overtake time itself. They reach the burning grove. Pepperill points out as nearly as he can the spot where he stood when he saw Virginia. Great God! if she was in there, what a frightful end was hers! "Daniel! are you sure?"--for Penn cannot, will not believe--it is too terrible! Daniel is very sure; and he withdraws from the insufferable heat, to which his companion appears insensible. "There is a gorge just above there; perhaps she escaped into the gorge. O, if I had known!" groans the half-distracted youth, thinking how near he must have been to her when the fire awoke him. He still hopes that Dan's vision of her in the fire was but the hallucination of a bewildered brain. Yet no effort will he spare, no danger will he shun. The entrance to the gorge is all a gulf of flame; and the woods are blazing upwards along the cliffs, and all the forest beyond is turning to a sea of fire. Yet the gorge must be reached. Back again up the steep slope they climb. Penn flies to the verge of the cliff. He looks down: the chasm is all a glare of light. There runs the red-gleaming brook. He sees the logs, the stones, the mosses, all the wild entanglement, deep below. But no Virginia. He runs almost into the crackling flames, in order to peer farther down the gorge. Then he darts away in the opposite direction, along the very brink of the precipice, among the fire-lit trees,--Pepperill stupidly following. He seizes hold of a sapling, and, with his foot braced against its root, swings his body forward over the chasm, the better to gaze into its depths. From that position he casts his eye up the gorge. He sees the cascade falling over the ledge in a sheet of ruddy foam. He discovers the upper gorge; sees a monster of the forest come plunging and plashing down to the fall, and there lift himself on his haunches to look;--and what is that other object, half hidden by a drooping bough? It is Virginia clinging to the rocks. A moment before, had Penn made the discovery of the young girl still unharmed by fire, his happiness would have been supreme. But now joy was checked by an appalling fear. The bear might seize her, or with a stroke of his paw hurl her from his path. Penn caught hold of the bough that impeded his view, and saw how precarious was her hold. He dared not so much as call to her, or shout to frighten the monster away, lest, her attention being for an instant distracted, she might turn her head, lose her balance, and fall backwards from the rocks. "Durned if she ain't thar!" said Dan, excitedly. "But she's got a powerful slim chance with the bar!" "Come with me!" said Penn. He ran to the upper gorge, showed himself on the bank above the cascade, and shouted. The bear, as he anticipated, turned and looked up at him. Virginia at the same time saw her deliverer. "Hold on! I'll be with you in a minute!" he cried in a voice heard above the noise of the waterfall and the roar of the conflagration. She clung fast, hope and gladness thrilling her soul, and giving her new strength. To reach her, Penn had a precipitous descent of near thirty feet to make. He did not pause to consider the difficulty of getting up again, or the peril of encountering the bear. He jumped down over a perpendicular ledge upon a projection ten feet below. Beyond that was a rapid slope covered with moss and thin patches of soil, with here and there a shrub, and here and there a tree. Striking his heels into the soil, and catching at whatever branch or stem presented itself, he took the plunge. Clinging, sliding, falling, he arrived at the bottom. In a posture half sitting, half standing, and considerably jarred, he found himself face to face with Bruin. The animal had settled down on all fours, and now, with his surly, depressed head turned sullenly to one side, he looked at Penn, and growled. Penn looked at him, and said nothing. He had heard of staring wild beasts out of countenance--an experiment that could be conducted strictly on peace principles, if the bear would only prove as good a Quaker as himself. He resolved to try it: indeed, all unarmed as he was, what else could he do? He might at least, by diverting the brute's attention, give Virginia time to get into a position of safety. So he stood up, and fixed his eyes on the red-blinking eyes of the ferocious beast. Something Bruin did not like: it might have been the youth's company and valiant bearing, but more probably his observation of the fire had satisfied him that he was out of his place. With another growl, that seemed to say, "All I ask is to be let alone," he seceded,--turning his head still more, twisting his body around, after it, and retreating up the gorge. In an instant Penn was at the young girl's side: his hand clasped hers; he drew her up over the rock. Not a word was uttered. He was too agitated to speak; and she, after the terror and the strain to which her nerves had been subjected so long, felt all her strength give way. But as he lifted her in his arms, a faint smile of happiness flitted over her white face, and her lips moved with a whisper of gratitude he did not hear. In spite of all the dangers behind them, and of the dangers still before, both felt, in that moment, a shock of mutual bliss. Neither had ever known till then how dear the other was. Pepperill had by this time leaped down upon the bulge of the bank. There he waited for them, shouting,-- "Hurry up! the bar'll meet the fire up thar, and be comin' down agin!" Penn required no spur to his exertions: he knew too well the necessity of getting speedily beyond the reach, not of the bear only, but also of the fire, which threatened them now on three sides--below, above, and on the farther bank of the gorge. Clasping the burden more precious to him than life, resolved in his soul to part with it only with life, he toiled heavily up the bank, down which he had descended with such tremendous swiftness a few minutes before. But it was not in Virginia's nature to remain long a helpless encumbrance. Seeing the labor and peril still before them, her will returned, and with it her strength. She grasped a branch by which he was trying in vain with one hand, holding her with the other, to draw them both up a steep place. Her prompt action enabled him to seize the trunk of a young tree: she assisted still, and slipping from his hands, clung to it until he had reached the next tree above. He pulled her up after him, and then pushed her on still farther, until Pepperill could reach her from where he stood. A minute later the three were together on the summit of the slope. But now they had above them the ten feet of sheer perpendicularity down which Dan had indiscreetly jumped, following Penn's lead. A single hand above them would now be worth several hands below. "What a fool I war! durned if I warn't!" said Dan, endeavoring unsuccessfully to find a place by which he could reascend. "Get on my shoulders!" And Penn braced himself against the ledge. Dan made the attempt, but fell, and rolled down the bank. Just then a grinning black face appeared above. "Gib me de gal! gib me de gal!" and a prodigiously long arm reached down. "O Cudjo! you are an angel!" cried Penn, "Daniel! Here!" Pepperill was up the bank again in a minute, at Penn's side. They lifted Virginia above their heads. Holding on by a sapling with one hand, the negro extended the other far down over the ledge. Those miraculous arms of his seemed to have been made expressly for this service. He grasped a wrist of the girl; with the other hand she clung to his arm until he had drawn her up to the sapling; this she seized, and helped herself out. Then once more Penn gave Daniel his shoulder, while Cudjo gave him a hand from above; and Daniel was safe. Last of all, Penn remained. "Cotch holt hyar!" said Cudjo, extending towards him the end of a branch he had broken from a tree. To this Penn held fast, assisting himself with his feet against the ledge, while Cudjo and Dan hauled him up. "Good Cudjo! how came you here?" "Me see you and Pepperill a gwine inter de fire. So me foller." "This is the old man's daughter, Cudjo." Cudjo regarded the beautiful young girl with a look of vague wonder and admiration. "He remembers me," said Virginia. "I saw him the night he climbed in at Toby's window." She gave him her hand; it trembled with emotion. "I thank you, Cudjo, for what you have done for my father--and for me." "Now, Cudjo! show us the nearest and easiest path. We must take her to the cave--there is no other way." "You must be right spry, den!" said Cudjo. "De fire am a runnin' ober dat way powerful!" Indeed, it had already crossed the upper end of the gorge, where the forest brook fell into it; and, getting into some beds of leaves, and thence into dense and inflammable thickets, it was now blazing directly across their line of retreat. Penn would have carried Virginia in his arms, but she would not suffer him. "I can go where you can!" she cried, once more full of spirit and daring. "Just give me your hand--you shall see!" Penn took one of her hands, Pepperill the other, and with their aid, supporting her, lifting her, she sprang lightly up the ledges, and from rock to rock. Cudjo, carrying Dan's gun, ran on before, leading the way through hollows and among bushes, by a route known only to himself. So they reached a piece of woods, by the thin skirts of which he hoped to head off the fire. Too late--it was there before them. It ran swiftly among the fallen leaves and twigs, and spread far into the woods. The negro turned back. There was a wild grimace in his face, and a glitter in his eyes, as he threw up his hand, by way of signal that their flight in that direction was cut off. "Cudjo! what is to be done!" And Penn drew Virginia towards him with a look that showed his fears were all for her. "We can't git off down the mountain, nuther!" said Dan. "It's gittin' into the woods down thar. It'll be all around us in no time!" "You let Cudjo do what him pleases?" said the black. "I can trust you! Can you, Virginia?" "He should know what is best. Yes, I will trust him." "Take dat 'ar!" Pepperill received his gun. "Now you look out fur youselves. Me tote de gal." And catching up Virginia, before Penn could stop him, or question him, he rushed with her into the fire. Penn ran after him, perceiving at once the meaning of this bold act. The woods were not yet fairly kindled; only now and then the loose bark of a dry trunk was beginning to blaze. Cudjo leaped over the line of flame that was running along the ground, and bore Virginia high above it to the other side. Penn followed, and Dan came close behind. They then had before them a tract of blackened ground which the flames had swept, leaving here and there a dead limb or mat of leaves still burning. These little fires were easily avoided. But they soon came to another line of flame raging on the upper side of the burnt tract. They were almost out of the woods: only that red, crackling hedge fenced them in; but that they could not pass: the underbrush all along the forest edge was burning. And there they were, brought to a halt, half-stifled with smoke, in the midst of woods kindling and blazing all around them. "May as well pull up hyar, and take a bref," remarked Cudjo, grimly, placing Virginia on a log too dank with decay and moss to catch fire easily. "Den we's try 'em agin." A horrible suspicion crossed Penn's mind; the fanatical fire-worshipper had brought them there to destroy them--to sacrifice them to his god! "Virginia!"--eagerly laying hold of her arm,--"we must retreat! It will soon be too late! We can get out of the woods where we came in, if we go at once!" "Beg pardon, sar," said Cudjo, stamping out fire in the leaves by the end of the log,--and he looked up through the smoke at Penn, with the old malignant grin on his apish face. "What do you mean, Cudjo?" said Penn, in an agony of doubt. "Can't get back dat way, sar!" "Then you have led us here to destroy us!" "You's no longer trust Cudjo!" was the negro's only reply. "Didn't we trust you? Haven't we come through fire, following you? O Cudjo! more than once you have helped to save my life! You have helped to save this life, dearer than mine! Why do you desert us now?" "'Sert you? Cudjo no 'sert you." But the negro spoke sullenly, and there was still a sparkle of malignancy in his look. "Then why do you stop here?" "Hugh! tink we's go trough dat fire like we done trough tudder?" "What then are we to do?" "You's no longer trust Cudjo!" was once more the sullen response. Virginia, with her quick perceptions, saw at once what Penn was either too dull or too much excited to see. Cudjo felt himself aggrieved; but he was not unfaithful. "_I_ trust you, Cudjo!"--and she laid her hand frankly and confidingly on his shoulder. "Did I tremble, did I shrink when you carried me through the fire? I shall never forget how brave, how good you are! He trusts you too,--only he is so afraid for me! You can forgive that, Cudjo." "She is right," said Penn, though still in doubt. "If you know a way to save her, don't lose a moment!" "He knows; on'y let him take his time," said Pepperill, whose firm faith in the negro's good will shamed Penn for his distrust. And yet Pepperill did not love, as Penn loved, the girl whose life was in danger; and he had not seen the evidences of Cudjo's fire-worshipping fanaticism which Penn had seen. Under the influence of Virginia's gentle and soothing words, the glitter of resentment died out of the negro's face. But his aspect was still morose. "De fire take his time to burn out; so we's take our time too," said he. "You try your chance wid Cudjo agin, miss?" "Certainly! for I am sure you will take us safely through yet!" said Virginia, without a shadow of doubt or hesitation on her face, however dark may have been the shadow on her heart. The negro was evidently well pleased. He examined carefully the line of fire in the undergrowth. And now Penn discovered, what Cudjo had known very well from the first, that there were barren ledges above, and that the fire was rapidly burning itself out along their base. An opening through which a courageous and active man might dash unscathed soon presented itself. Then Cudjo waited no longer to "take bref." He caught Virginia in his arms, and bore her through the second line of fire, as he had borne her through the first, and placed her in safety on the rocks above. "Cudjo, my brave, my noble fellow!" said Penn, deeply affected, "I have wronged you; I confess it with shame. Forgive me!" "Cudjo hab nuffin to forgib," replied the negro, with a laugh of pleasure "Neber mention um, massa! All right now! Reckon we's better be gitt'n out o' dis yer smudge!" He showed the way, and Penn and Daniel helped Virginia up the rocks as before. They had reached a smooth and unsheltered ledge near the ravine, a little below the mouth of the cave, when a hideous and inhuman shriek rent the air. "What dat?" cried Cudjo, stopping short; and his visage in the smoky and lurid light looked wild with superstitious alarm. The sound was repeated, louder, nearer, more hideous than before, seeming to make the very atmosphere shudder above their heads. "Go on, Cudjo! go on!" Penn commanded. The terrified black crouched and gibbered, but would not stir. Then straightway a sharp clatter, as of iron hoofs flying at a furious gallop, resounded along the mountain-side. By a simultaneous impulse the little party huddled together, and turned their faces towards the fire, and saw coming down towards them a horse with the speed of the wind. "Stand close!" said Penn; and he threw himself before Virginia, to shield her, shouting and swinging his hat to frighten the animal from his course. "Stackridge's hoss!" exclaimed Cudjo, recovering from his fright, leaping up, and flinging abroad his long arms in the air. "Wiv some poor debil onter him's back!" It was so. The little group stood motionless, chilled with horror. The beast came thundering on, with lips of terror parted, nostrils wide and snorting, mane and tail flying in the wild air, hoofs striking fire from the rocks. A human being--a man--was lying close to his neck, and clinging fast: the face hidden by the tossing and streaming mane: a fearful ride! the mystery surrounding him, and the awful glare and smoke, enhancing the horror of it. Approaching the group on the ledge, the animal veered, and shot past them like a thunderbolt; clearing rocks, hollows, bushes, with incredible bounds; nearing the ravine, but halting not; dashing into the thickets there, missing suddenly the ground beneath his feet, striking only the air and yielding boughs with frantic hoofs; then plunging down with a dull, reverberant crash,--horse and unknown rider rolling together over rocks and spiked limbs to the bottom of the ravine. Then all was still again: it had passed like a vision of fear. XXX. _REFUGE._ For a moment the little group stood dumb and motionless on the ledge, in the flare of the vast flame-curtains. They looked at each other. Penn was the first to speak. "Which of us goes down into the ravine?" "Wha' fur?" said Cudjo. "To find him!" And Penn gazed anxiously towards the thickets into which the horse and horseman had gone down. "Dat no good! Deader 'n de debil, shore!" "O, may be he is not!" exclaimed Virginia, full of compassion for the unfortunate unknown. "Do go and see, Cudjo!" "Fire'll be dar in less'n no time. Him nuffin to Cudjo. We's best be gwine." And the negro started off, doggedly, towards the cave. Then Penn took the resolution which he would have taken at once but for Virginia. "Stay with her, Daniel! I will go!" Virginia turned pale; she had not thought of that. But immediately she controlled her fears: she would not be selfish: if he was brave and generous enough to descend into the ravine for one he did not know, she would be equally brave and generous, and let him go. She clasped her hands together so that they should not hold him back, and forced her lips to say,-- "I will wait for you here." "No, I be durned if ye shall! Hapgood, you stick to her: take this yer gun, and I'll slip down inter the holler, and see whuther the cuss's alive or dead, any how." "O, Mr. Pepperill, if you will!" said Virginia, overjoyed. Penn remonstrated,--rather feebly, it must be confessed, for the determination to part from her had cost him a struggle, and the privilege of keeping by her side till all danger was past, seemed too sweet to refuse. "I'll take her to her father, and hurry back, and meet you." "All right!" came the response from Dan, already far down the rocks. "The cave is close by," said Penn. "There is Cudjo, waiting for us!" Coming up with the black, and once more following his lead, they descended along the shelf of rocks, between the thickets and the overhanging ledge. So they came to the still dark jaws of the cavern. A grateful coolness breathed in their faces from within. But how dismal the entrance seemed to eyes lately dazzled by the blazing woods! Virginia clung tightly to Penn's hand, as they groped their way in. At first nothing was visible but a few smouldering embers, winking their sleepy eyes in the dark. Out of these Cudjo soon blew a little blaze, which he fed with sticks and bits of bark until it lighted up fitfully the dim interior and shadowy walls of his abode. Penn hushed Virginia with a finger on his lips, and restrained her from throwing herself forward upon the rude bed, where the blind old man was just awaking from a sound sleep. In that profound subterranean solitude the roar of the fiery breakers, dashing on the mountain side, was subdued to a faint murmur, less distinct than the dripping of water from roof to floor in the farther recesses of the cave. There, left alone, lulled by the dull, monotonous trickle,--thinking, if he heard the roar at all, that it was the mountain wind blowing among the pines,--Mr. Villars had slept tranquilly through all the horrors of that night. "Is it you, Penn? Safe again!" And sitting up, he grasped the young man's hand. "What news from my dear girl?--from my two dear girls?" he added, remembering Virginia was not his only child. "Toby did not come to the rock," said Penn, still holding Virginia back. "O! did he not?" It seemed a heavy disappointment; but the patient old man rallied straightway, saying, with his accustomed cheerfulness, "No doubt something hindered him; no doubt he would have come if he could. My poor, dear girl, how I wish I could have got word to her that I am safe! But I thank you all the same; it was kind in you to give yourself all that trouble." "I believe all is for the best," said Penn, his voice trembling. "No doubt, no doubt. It will be some time before I can have the consolation of my dear girl's presence again; I, who never knew till now how necessary she is to my happiness,--I may say, to my very life!" Mr. Villars wiped a tear he could not repress, and smiled. "Yes, Penn, God knows what is best for us all. His will be done!" But now Virginia could restrain herself no longer; her sobs would burst forth. "Father! father!"--throwing herself upon his neck. "O, my dear, dear father!" Penn had feared the effect of the sudden surprise upon the old and feeble man, and had meant to break the good news to him softly. But human nature was too strong; his own emotions had baffled him, and the pious little artifice proved a complete failure. So now he could do nothing but stand by and make grim faces, struggling to keep down what was mastering him, and turning away blindly from the bed. Even Cudjo appeared deeply affected, staring stupidly, and winking something like a tear from the whites of his eyes at sight of the father embracing his child, and the white locks mingling with the wet, tangled curls on her cheek. He was a ludicrous, pathetic object, winking and staring thus; and Penn laughed and cried too, at sight of him. "Luk dar!" said Cudjo, coming up to him, and pointing at the little walled chamber that served as his pantry. "She hab dat fur her dressum room. Sleep dar, too, if she likes." "Thank you, Cudjo! it will be very acceptable, I am sure." "Me clar it up fur her all scrumptious!" added the negro, with a grin. Penn had thought of that. But now he had other business on his hands: he must hasten to find Pepperill: nor could he keep anxious thoughts of Stackridge and his friends out of his mind. And Pomp--where all this time was Pomp? He had hoped to find him and the patriots all safely arrived in the cave. Virginia was seated on the bed by her father's side. Penn threw a blanket over the dear young shoulders, to shield her from the sudden cold of the cave; then left her relating her adventures,--beckoning to Cudjo, who followed him out. "Cudjo!"--the black glided to his side as they emerged from the ravine,--"you must go and find Pomp." Cudjo laughed and shrugged. "No use't! Reckon Pomp take keer o' hisself heap better'n we's take keer on him!" True. Pomp knew the woods. He was athletic, cautious, brave. But he had gone to extricate from peril others, in whose fate he himself might become involved. Cudjo refused to take this view of the matter; and it was evident that, while he comforted himself with his deep convictions of Pomp's ability to look out for his own safety, he was, to say the least, quite indifferent as to the welfare of the patriots. Forgetting Dan and the unknown horseman in his great solicitude for his absent friends, Penn climbed the ledges, and gazed away in the direction of the camp, and beheld the forest there a raging gulf of fire. Assuredly, they must have fled from it before this time; but whither had they gone? Had Pomp been able to find them? Or might they not all have become entangled in the intricacies of the wilderness until encompassed by the fire and destroyed? Penn watched in vain for their coming--in vain for some signal of their safety on the crags above the forest. Had they reached the crags, he thought he might discover them somewhere with a glass, so vividly were those grim rock-foreheads of the hills lighted up beneath the red sky. He sent Cudjo to find Dan, ran to the cave for Pomp's glass, and returned to the ledge. There he waited; there he watched; still in vain. Wider and wider, spread the destroying sea; fiercer and fiercer leaped the billows of flame--the billows that did not fall again, but broke away in rent sheets, in red-rolling scrolls, and vanished upward in their own smoke. And now Penn, lowering the glass, perceived what he must long since have been made aware of, had not the greater light concealed the less. It was morning; a dull and sunless dawn; the despairing daylight, filtered of all warmth and color, spreading dim and gray on the misty valleys, and on the sombre, far-off hills, under an interminable canopy of cloud. Pepperill came clambering up the rocks. Penn turned eagerly to meet and question him. "Find him?" "Wal, a piece on him." "Killed?" "I reckon he ar that!" "Who is it?" "Durned if I kin tell! He's jammed in thar 'twixt two gre't stuns, and the hoss is piled on top, and you can't see nary featur' of his face, only the legs,--but durned if I know the legs!" "Couldn't you move the horse?" "Nary a bit. His neck is broke, and he lays wedged so clust, right on top o' the poor cuss, 'twould take a yoke o' oxen to drag him out." "Are you sure the man is dead?" "Shore? I reckon! He had one arm loose. I jest lifted it, and it drapped jest like a club when I let go; then I see 'twas broke square off jest above the elbow, about where the backbone o' the hoss comes. Made me durned sick!" "What have you got in your hand?" "A boot--one o' his'n--thought I'd pull it off, his leg stuck up so kind o' handy; didn't know but some on ye might know the boot." And Dan held it up for Penn's inspection. "What is this on it? Blood?" "It ar so! Mebby it's the hoss's, and then agin mebby it's his'n; I hadn't noticed it afore." "I'll go back with you, Daniel. Together perhaps we can move the horse." "Ye're behind time for that! The fire's thar. I hadn't only jest time to git cl'ar on't myself. The poor cuss is a br'ilin'!" "K-r-r-r! hi! don't ye har me callin'!" Cudjo sprang up the ledge. "Fire's a comin' to de cave! All in de brush dar! Can't get in widout ye go now!" "And Pomp and the rest! They will be shut out, if they are not lost already!" "Pomp know well 'nuff what him 'bout, tell ye! Gorry, massa! ye got to come, if Cudjo hab to tote ye!" Yielding to his importunity, Penn quitted the ledge. On the shelf of rock Cudjo paused to gnash his teeth at the flames sweeping up towards them. He had long since recovered from his fit of superstitious frenzy. He had seen the fire burning the woods that sheltered him in his mountain retreat, instead of going intelligently to work to destroy the dwellings of the whites; and he no longer regarded it as a deity worthy of his worship. "All dis yer brush be burnt up! Den nuffin' to hide Cudjo's house!" "Don't despair, Cudjo. We will trust in Him who is God even of the fire." Even as Penn spoke, he felt a cool spatter on his hand. He looked up; sudden, plashy drops smote his face. "Rain! It is coming! Thank Heaven for the rain!" At the same time, the wind shifted, and blew fitful gusts down the mountain. Then it lulled; and the rain poured. "Cudjo, your thickets are saved!" said Penn, exultantly. Then immediately he thought of the absent ones, for whom the rain might be too late; of the beautiful forests, whose burning not cataracts could quench; of the unknown corpse far below in the ravine there, and the swift soul gone to God. "What news?" asked the old man as he entered the cave. "It is morning, and it rains; but your friends are still away.--The man is dead," aside to Virginia. "Heaven grant they be safe somewhere!" said the old man. "And Pomp?" "He is missing too." There was a long, deep silence. A painful suspense seemed to hold every heart still, while they listened. Suddenly a strange noise was heard, as of a ghost walking. Louder and louder it sounded, hollow, faint, far-off. Was it on the rocks over their heads? or in caverns beneath their feet? "Told ye so! told ye so!" said Cudjo, laughing with wild glee. The fire had burnt low again, and he was in the act of kindling it, when a novel idea seemed to strike him, and, seizing a pan, he inverted it over the little remnant of a flame. In an instant the cave was dark. It was some seconds before the eyes of the inmates grew accustomed to the gloom, and perceived the glimmer of mingled daylight and firelight that shone in at the entrance. "Luk a dar! luk a dar!" said Cudjo. And turning their eyes in the opposite direction, they saw a faint golden glow in the recesses of the cave. The footsteps approached; the glow increased; then the superb dark form of Pomp advanced in the light of his own torch. Penn hastened to meet him, and to demand tidings of Stackridge's party. Pomp first saluted Virginia, with somewhat lofty politeness, holding the torch above his head as he bowed. Then turning to Penn,-- "Your friends are all safe, I believe." "All?" Penn eagerly asked, his thoughts on the luckless horseman. "None missing?" "There were three absent when I reached their camp. They had gone on a foraging expedition. I found the rest waiting for them, standing their ground against the fire, which was roaring up towards them at a tremendous rate. Soon the foragers came in. They brought a basket of potatoes and a bag of meal, but no meat. Withers had caught a pig, but it had got away from him before he could kill it, and he lost it in the dark. The others were cursing the rascals who had set the woods afire, but Withers lamented the pig. "'Gentlemen,' said I, 'you have not much time to mourn either for the woods or the pork. We must take care of ourselves.' And I offered to bring them here. But just then we heard a rushing noise; it sounded like some animal coming up the course of the brook; and the next minute it was amongst us--a big black bear, frightened out of his wits, singed by the fire, and furious." "Your acquaintance of the gorge, Virginia!" said Penn. "You will readily believe that such an unexpected supply of fresh meat, sent by Providence within their reach, proved a temptation to the hungry. Withers, in his hurry to make up for the loss of the pig, ran to head the fellow off, and attempted to stop him with his musket after it had missed fire. In an instant the gun was lying on the ground several yards off, and Withers was sprawling. The bear had done the little business for him with a single stroke of his paw; then he passed on, directly over Withers's body, which happened to be in his way, but which he minded no more than as if it had been a bundle of rags. All this time we couldn't fire a shot; there was the risk, you see, of hitting Withers instead of the bear. Even after he was knocked down, he seemed to think he had nothing more formidable than his stray pig to deal with, and tried to catch the bear by the tail as he ran over him." "So ye lost de bar!" cried Cudjo, greatly excited. "Fool, tink o' cotchin' on him by de tail!" "Still we couldn't fire, for he was on his legs again in a second, chasing the bear's tail directly before our muzzles," said Pomp, quietly laughing. "But luckily a stick flew up under his feet. Down he went again. That gave two or three of us a chance to send some lead after the beast. He got a wound--we tracked him by his blood on the ground--we could see it plain as day by the glare of light--it led straight towards the fire that was running up through the leaves and thickets on the north. I expected that when he met that he would turn again; but he did not: we were just in time to see him plough through it, and hear him growl and snarl at the flames that maddened him, and which he was foolish enough to stop and fight. Then he went on again. We followed. Nobody minded the scorching. We kept him in sight till he met the fire again--for it was now all around us. This time his heart failed him; he turned back only to meet us and get a handful of bullets in his head. That finished him, and he fell dead." "Poor brute!" said Mr. Villars; "he found his human enemies more merciless than the fire!" "That's so," said Pomp, with a smile. "But we had not much time to moralize on the subject then. The fire we had leaped through had become impassable behind us. The men hurried this way and that to find an outlet. They found only the fire--it was on every side of us like a sea--the spot where we were was only an island in the midst of it--that too would soon be covered. The bear was forgotten where he lay; the men grew wild with excitement, as again and again they attempted to break through different parts of the ring that was narrowing upon us, and failed. Brave men they are, but death by fire, you know, is too horrible!" "How large was this spot, this island?" asked Penn. "It might have comprised perhaps twenty acres when we first found ourselves enclosed in it. But every minute it was diminishing; and the heat there was something terrific. The men were rather surprised, after trying in vain on every side to discover a break in the circle of fire, to come back and find me calm. "'Gentlemen,' said I, 'keep cool. I understand this ground perhaps better than you do. Don't abandon your game; you have lost your meal and potatoes, and you will have need of the bear.' "'But what is the use of roast meat, if we are to be roasted too?' said Withers, who will always be droll, whatever happens. "Then Stackridge spoke. He proposed that they should place themselves under my command; for I knew the woods, and while they had been running to and fro in disorder, I had been carefully observing the ground, and forming my plans. I laughed within myself to see Deslow alone hang back; he was unwilling to owe his life to one of my complexion--one who had been a slave. For there are men, do you know," said Pomp, with a smile of mingled haughtiness and pity, "who would rather that even their country should perish than owe in any measure its salvation to the race they have always hated and wronged!" "I trust," said Mr. Villars, "that you had the noble satisfaction of teaching these men the lesson which our country too must learn before it can be worthy to be saved." "I showed them that even the despised black may, under God's providence, be of some use to white men, besides being their slave: I had that satisfaction!" said Pomp, proudly smiling. "Stackridge was right: I had observed: I saw what I could do. On one side was a chasm which you know, Mr. Hapgood." "Yes! I had thought of it! But I knew it was in the midst of the burning forest, and never supposed you could get to it." "The fire was beyond; and it also burned a little on the side nearest to us. But the vegetation there is thin, you remember. The chasm could be reached without difficulty. "'Follow me who will!' said I. 'The rest are at liberty to shirk for themselves.' "'Follow--where?' said Deslow. I couldn't help smiling at the man's distress. All the rest were prepared to obey my directions; and it was hard for him to separate himself from them. But it seemed harder still for him to trust in me. I was not a Moses; I could not take them through that Red Sea. What then? "I made for the chasm. All followed, even Deslow,--dragging and lugging the bear. We came to the brink. The place, I must confess, had an awful look, in the light of the trees burning all around it! Deslow was not the only one who shrank back then; for though the spot was known to some of them, they had never explored it, and could not guess what it led to. It was difficult, in the first place, to descend into it; it looked still more difficult ever to get out again; and there was nothing to prevent the burning limbs above from falling into it, or the trees that grew in it from catching fire. For this is the sink, Mr. Villars, which you have probably heard of,--where the woods have been undermined by the action of water in the limestone rocks, and an acre or more of the mountain has fallen in, with all its trees, so that what was once the roof of an immense cavern is now a little patch of the forest growing seventy feet below the surface of the earth. The sides are precipitous and projecting. Only one tree throws a strong branch upwards to the edge of the sink. "'This way, gentlemen,' said I, 'and you are safe!' "It was a trial of their faith; for I waited to explain nothing. First, I tumbled the bear off the brink. We heard him go crashing down into the abyss, and strike the bottom with a sound full of awfulness to the uninitiated. Then, with my rifle swung on my back, I seized the limb, and threw myself into the tree. "'Where he can go, we can!' I heard Stackridge say; and he followed me. I took his gun, and handed it to him again when he was safe in the tree. He did the same for another; and so all got into the branches, and climbed down after us. The trunk has no limbs within twenty feet of the bottom, but there is a smaller tree leaning into it which we got into, and so reached the ground. "'Now, gentlemen,' said I, when all were down, 'I will show you where you are.' And opening the bushes, I discovered a path leading down the rocks into the caverns, of which this cave is only a branch. Then I made them all take an oath never to betray the secret of what I had shown them. Then I lighted one of the torches Cudjo and I keep for our convenience when we come in that way, and gave it to them; lighted another for my own use; invited them to make themselves quite at home in my absence; left them to their reflections;--and here I am." Still the mystery with regard to the unknown horseman was in no wise explained. Pomp, informed of what had happened, arose hastily. Penn followed him from the cave. Pepperill accompanied them, to show the way. It was raining steadily; but the thickets in which lay the dead horse and his rider were burning still. "As I was going to Stackridge's camp," said Pomp, "I thought I saw a man crawling over the rocks above where the horse was tied. I ran up to find him, but he was gone. Peace to his ashes, if it was he!" "Won't be much o' the cuss left but ashes!" remarked Pepperill. Pomp ascended the ledges, and stood, silent and stern, gazing at the destruction of his beloved woods. The winds had died. The fires had evidently ceased to spread. Portions of the forest that had been kindled and not consumed were burning now with slow, sullen combustion, like brands without flame. Stripped of their foliage, shorn of their boughs, and seen in the dull and smoky daylight, through the rain, they looked like a forest of skeletons, all of glowing coal, brightening, darkening, and ever crumbling away. All at once Pomp seemed to rouse himself, and direct his attention more particularly at the part of the woods in which the patriots' camp had been. "Come with me, Pepperill, if you would help do a good job!" They started off, and were soon out of sight. As Penn turned from gazing after them, he heard a voice calling from the opposite side of the ravine. He looked, but could see no one. The figure to which the voice belonged was hidden by the bushes. The bushes moved, however; the figure was descending into the ravine. It arrived at the bottom, crossed, and began to ascend the steep side towards the cave. Penn concealed himself, and waited until it had nearly emerged from the thickets beneath him, and he could distinctly hear the breath of a man panting and blowing with the toil of climbing. Then a well-known voice said in a hoarse whisper,-- "Massa Hapgood! dat you?" And peering over the bank, he saw, upturned in the rain and murky light, among the wet bushes, the black, grinning face of old Toby. He responded by reaching down, grasping the negro's hand, and drawing him up. The grin on the old man's face was a ghastly one, and his eyes rolled as he stammered forth,-- "Miss Jinny--ye seen Miss Jinny?" Penn did not answer immediately; he was considering whether it would be safe to conduct Toby into the cave. Toby grew terrified. "Don't say ye hain't seen her, Massa Penn! ye kill ol' Toby if ye do! I done lost her!" And the poor old faithful fellow sobbed out his story,--how Virginia had disappeared, and how, on discovering the woods to be on fire, he had set out in search of her, and been wandering he scarcely knew where ever since. "Now don't say ye don't know nuffin' about her! don't say dat!" falling on his knees, and reaching up his hands beseechingly, as if he had only to prevail on Penn to _say_ that all was well with "Miss Jinny," and that would make it so. Such faith is in simple souls. "I'll say anything you wish me to, good old Toby! only give me a chance." "Den say you _has_ seen her." "I _has seen her_," repeated Penn. "O, bress you, Massa Penn! And she ar safe--say dat too!" "_She ar safe_," said Penn, laughing. "Bress ye for dat!" And Toby, weeping with joy, kissed the young man's hand again and again. "And ye knows whar she ar?" "Yes, Toby! So now get up: don't be kneeling on the rocks here in the rain!" "Jes' one word more! Say ye got her and ol' Massa Villars safe stowed away, and ye'll take me to see 'em; den dis ol' nigger'll bress you and de Lord and dem, and be willin' fur to die! only say dat, massa!" "Ah! did I promise to say all you wished?" "Yes, you did, you did so, Massa Penn!" cried Toby, triumphantly. "Then I suppose I must say that, too. So come, you dear old simpleton! Cudjo!" to the proprietor of the cave, who just then put out his head to reconnoitre, "Cudjo! Here is your friend Toby, come to pay his master and mistress a visit!" "What business he got hyar?" said Cudjo, crossly. "We's hab all de wuld, and creation besides, comin' bime-by!" "Cudjo! You knows ol' Toby, Cudjo!" said Toby, in the softest and most conciliatory tone imaginable. "Nose ye!" Cudjo snuffed disdainfully. "Yes! and wish you'd keep fudder off!" "Why, Cudjo! don't you 'member Toby? Las' time I seed you! ye 'member dat, Cudjo!" "Don't 'member nuffin'!" "'Twan't you, den, got inter my winder, and done skeert me mos' t' def 'fore I found out 'twas my ol' 'quaintance Cudjo, come fur Massa Penn's clo'es! Dat ar wan't you, hey?" And Toby's honest indignation cropped out through the thin crust of deprecating obsequiousness which he still thought it politic to maintain. Penn got under the shelter of the ledge, and waited for the dispute to end. It was evident to him that Cudjo was not half so ill-natured as he appeared; but, feeling himself in a position of something like official importance, he had the human weakness to wish to make the most of it. "Your massa and missis bery well off. Dey in my house. No room dar for you. Ain't wanted hyar, nohow!" turning his back very much like a personage of lighter complexion, clad in brief authority. "Ain't wanted, Cudjo? You don't know what you's sayin' now. Whar my ol' massa and young missis is, dar ol' Toby's wanted. Can't lib widout me, dey can't! Ol' massa wants me to nuss him. Ye don't tink--you's a nigger widout no kind ob 'sideration, Cudjo." "Talk o' you nussin' him when him's got Pomp!" "Pomp! what can Pomp do? Wouldn't trust him to nuss a chick sicken!" Toby talked backwards in his excitement. "Ki! didn't him take Massa Hapgood and make him well? Don't ye know nuffin'?" Toby seemed staggered for a moment. But he rallied quickly, and said,-- "He cure Massa Hapgood? He done jes' nuffin' 't all fur him. De fac's is, I had de nussin' on him for a spell at fust, and gib him a start. Dar's ebery ting in a start, Cudjo." "O, what a stupid nigger!" said Cudjo. "Hyar's Massa Hapgood hisself! leab it to him now!" "You are both right," said Penn. "Toby did nurse me, and give me a good start; for which I shall always thank him." "Dar! tol' ye so, tol' ye so!" said Toby. "But it was Pomp who afterwards cured me," added Penn. "Dar! tol' you so!" cried Cudjo, while Toby's countenance fell. "For while Toby is a capital nurse" (Toby brightened), "Pomp is a first-rate doctor" (Cudjo grinned). "So don't dispute any more. Shake hands with your old friend, Cudjo, and show him into your house." Cudjo was still reluctant; but just then occurred a pleasing incident, which made him feel good-natured towards everybody. Pomp and Pepperill arrived, bringing the bag of meal and the basket of potatoes which the bear-hunters had forsaken in the woods, and which the rain had preserved from the fire. XXXI. _LYSANDER TAKES POSSESSION._ Gad the "Sleeper" (he had earned that title) had been himself placed under guard for drinking too much of the prisoners' liquor, and suffering them to escape. Miserable, sullen, thirsty, he languished in confinement. "Let 'em shoot me, and done with it, if that's the penalty," said this chivalrous son of the south; "only give a feller suthin' to drink!" But that policy of the confederates, which opened the jails of the country, and put arms in the hands of the convicts, and pardoned every felon that would fight, might be expected to find a better use for an able-bodied fellow, like Gad, than to shoot him. The use they found for him was this: He had been a mighty hunter before the Lord, ere he became too besotted and lazy for such sport; and he professed to know the mountains better than any other man. Accordingly, on the recommendation of his friend Lieutenant Ropes, it was resolved to send him to spy out the position of the patriots. It was an enterprise of some danger, and, to encourage him in it, he was promised two things--pardon for his offence, and, what was of more importance to him, a bottle of old whiskey. "I'll see that you have light enough," said Ropes, significantly. It was the evening of the firing of the forests. How well the lieutenant fulfilled his part of the engagement, we have seen. Gad put the bottle in his pocket, and set off at dark by routes obscure and circuitous to get upon the trail of the patriots. How well _he_ succeeded will appear by and by. The burning of the forests caused a great excitement in the valley, especially among those families whose husbands and fathers were known to have taken refuge in them. Who had committed the barbarous act? The confederates denounced it with virtuous indignation, charging the patriots with it, of course. There was in the village but one witness who could have disputed this charge, and he now occupied Gad's place in the guard-house. It was the deserter Carl. All the morning Gad's return was anxiously awaited. No doubt there were good reasons why he did not come. So said his friend Silas; and his friend Silas was right: there were good reasons. "Anyhow, I kep' my word--I giv him light enough, I reckon!" chuckled Silas. That was true: Gad had had light enough, and to spare. The rain continued all the morning. Perhaps that was what detained the scout; for it was known that he had a great aversion to water. In the afternoon came one with tidings from the mountain. It was not Gad. It was old Toby. He was seized by some soldiers and taken before Captain Sprowl, at the school-house. "Toby, you black devil, where have you been?" This was Lysander's chivalrous way of addressing an inferior whom he wished to terrify. Now, if there was a person in the world whom Toby detested, it was this roving Lysander, who had disgraced the Villars family by marrying into it. However, he concealed his contempt with a politic hypocrisy worthy of a whiter skin. "Please, sar," said the old negro, cap in hand, "I'se been lookin' for my ol' massa and my young missis." "Well, what luck, you lying scoundrel?" "O, no luck 't all, I 'sure you, sar!" "What! couldn't you find 'em? Don't you lie, you ----." (We may as well omit the captain's energetic epithets.) "O, sar!"--Toby looked up earnestly with counterfeit grief in his wrinkled old face,--"dey ain't nowhars on de face ob de 'arth!" "Not on the face of the earth!" "If dey is, den de fire's done burnt 'em all up. I seen, down in a big holler, a place whar somebody's been burnt, shore! Dar's a man, and a hoss on top on him, and de hoss's har am all burnt off, and de man's trouse's-legs am all burnt off too, and one foot's got a fried boot onto it, and tudder han't got nuffin' on, but jes' de skin and bone all roasted to a crisp; and I 'specs dar's 'nuff sight more dead folks down in dar, on'y I didn't da's to look, it make me feel so skeerylike!" All which, and much more, Toby related so circumstantially, that Captain Sprowl was strongly impressed with the truth of the story. Great, therefore, was the joy of the captain. Perhaps the patriots had been destroyed: he hoped so! Still more ardently he hoped that Virginia had perished with her father. For was he not the husband of Salina? and the snug little Villars property, did he not covet it? "Can you show me that spot, Toby?" "'Don'o', sar: I specs I could, sar." "Don't you forget about it! Now, Toby, go home to your mistress,--my wife's your mistress, you know,--and wait till you are wanted." "Yes, sar,"--bowing, and pulling his foretop. Captain Sprowl did not overhear the irrepressible chuckle of satisfaction in which the old negro indulged as he retired, or he would have perceived that he had been trifled with. We are apt to be extremely credulous when listening to what we wish to believe; and Lysander's delight left no room in his heart for suspicion. All he desired now was that Gad should appear and confirm Toby's report; for surely Gad must know something about the dead horse and the dead man under him; and why did not the fellow return? As for Toby, he hastened home as fast as his tired old legs could carry him, chuckling all the way over his lucky escape, and the cunning answers by which he had mystified the captain without telling a downright falsehood. "Ob course, dey ain't on de face ob de 'arth, long as dey's inside on't! Hi, hi, hi!" He did not greatly relish reporting himself to Salina: nevertheless, he had been ordered to do so, not only by the captain, but by those whose authority he respected more. Salina, though so bitter, was not without natural affection, and she had suffered much and waited anxiously ever since Toby, terrified into the avowal of his belief that Virginia was in the burning woods, had set out in search of her. She was not patient; she was wanting in religious trust. She had not slept. All night and all day she had tortured herself with terrible fancies. Instead of calming her spirit with prayer, she had kept it irritated with spiteful thoughts against what she deemed her evil destiny. There are certain natures to which every misfortune brings a blessing; for, whatever it may take away, it is sure to leave that divine influence which comes from resignation and a deepened sense of reliance upon God. Such a nature was the old clergyman's. Every blow his heart had received had softened it; and a softened heart is a well of interior happiness; it is more precious to its possessor than all outward gifts of friends and fortune. Such a nature, too, was Virginia's. She too, through all things, kept warm in her bosom that holy instinct of faith, that blessed babe named Love, ever humbly born, whose life within is a light that transfigures the world. To such, despair cannot come; for when the worst arrives, when all they cherished is gone, heaven is still left to them; and they look up and smile. To them sorrow is but a preparation for a diviner joy. All things indeed work together for their good; since, whether fair fortune comes, or ill, they possess the spiritual alchemy that transmutes it into blessing. This love, this faith, Salina lacked. She fostered in their place that selfishness and discontent which sour the soul. Every blow upon her heart had hardened it. Every trial embittered and angered her. Hence the swollen and flaming eyes, the impatient and scowling looks, with which she met the returning Toby. "Where is Virginia?" "Dat I can't bery well say, Miss Salina," replied Toby, scratching his woolly head. He would never sacrifice his family pride so far as to call her Mrs. Sprowl. "How dare you come back without her?" And she heaped upon him the bitterest reproaches. It was he who, through his cowardice, had been the cause of Virginia's night adventure. It was he who had ruined everything by concealing her departure until it was too late. Then he might have found her, if he had so resolved. But if he could not, why had he remained absent all day? Under this sharp fire of accusations Toby stood with ludicrous indifference, grinning, and scratching his head. At length he scratched out of it a little roll of paper that had been confided to his wool for safe keeping, in case he should be seized and searched. It fell upon the floor. He hastily snatched it up, and gave it, with obsequious alacrity, to Mrs. Sprowl. She took, unrolled it, and read. It was a pencilled note in the handwriting of Virginia. * * * * * "Dear Sister: Thanks to a kind Providence and to kind friends, we are safe. I was rescued last night from the most frightful dangers in the burning woods. I had come, without your knowledge, to get news of our dear father. I am now with him. He has excellent shelter, and devoted attendants; but the comforts of his home are wanting, and I have learned how much he is dependent upon us for his happiness. For this reason I shall remain with him as long as I can. To relieve your mind we send Toby back to you. V." * * * * * That evening Captain Sprowl entered the house of the absent Mr. Villars with the air of one who had just come into possession of that little piece of property. He nodded with satisfaction at the walls, glanced approvingly at the furniture, curved his lip rather contemptuously at the books (as much as to say, "I'll sell off all that sort of rubbish"), and expressed decided pleasure at sight of old Toby. "Worth eight hundred dollars, that nigger is!" He had either forgotten that Mr. Villars had given Toby his freedom, or he believed that, under the new order of things, in a confederacy founded on slavery, such gifts would not be held valid. "Well, Sallie, my girl,"--throwing himself into the old clergyman's easy chair,--"here we are at home! Bring me the bootjack, Toby." "I don't know about your being at home!" said Salina, indignantly. And it was evident that Toby did not know about bringing the bootjack. He looked as if he would have preferred to jerk the chair from beneath the sprawling Lysander, and break it over him. "I suppose Toby has told you the news? Awful news! a fearful dispensation of Providence! Pepperill came in this afternoon and confirmed it. We thought he had deserted, but it appears he had only got lost in the woods. He reports some dead bodies in a ravine, and his account tallies very well with Toby's. We'll wear mourning, of course, Sallie." Lysander stroked his chin. Mrs. Lysander tapped the floor with her impatient foot, gnawed her lip, and scowled. "Come, my dear!" said the captain, coaxingly; "we may as well understand each other. Times is changed. I tell ye, I'm going to be one of the big men under the new government. Now, Sal, see here. I'm your husband, and there's no getting away from it. And what's the use of getting away from it, even if we could? Let's settle down, and be respectable. We've had quarrels enough, and I've got tired of 'em. Toby, why don't you bring that bootjack?" Lysander swung his chair around towards Salina. She turned hers away from him, still knitting her brows and gnawing that disdainful lip. "Now what's the use, Sal? Since the way is opened for us to live together again, why can't you make up your mind to it, let bygones be bygones, and begin life over again? When I was a poor devil, dodging the officers, and never daring to see you except in the dark, I couldn't blame you for feeling cross with me; for it was a cursed miserable state of things. But you're a captain's wife now. You'll be a general's wife by and by. I shall be off fighting the battles of my country, and you'll be proud to hear of my exploits." Salina was touched. Weary of the life she led, morbidly eager for change, she was a secessionist from the first, and had welcomed the war. Moreover, strange as it may seem, she loved this worthless Lysander. She hated him for the misery he had caused her; she was exceedingly bitter against him; yet love lurked under all. She was secretly proud to see him a captain. It was hard to forgive him for all the wrongs she had suffered; but her heart was lonely, and it yearned for reconciliation. Her scornful lip quivered, and there was a convulsive movement in her throat. "Go away!" she exclaimed, violently, as he approached to caress her. "I am as unhappy as I can be! O, if I had never seen you! Why do you come to torture me now?" This passion pleased Lysander: it was a sign that her spirit was breaking. He caught her in his arms, called her pet names, laughed, and kissed her. And this woman, after all, loved to be called pet names, and kissed. "Toby! you devil!" roared Lysander, "why don't you bring that bootjack?" The old negro stood behind the door, with the bootjack in his hand, furious, ready to hurl it at the captain's head. He hesitated a moment, then turned, discreetly, and flung it out of the kitchen window. "Ain't a bootjack nowars in de house, sar!" "Then come here yourself!" And the gay captain made a bootjack of the old negro. "Now shut up the house and go to bed!" he said, dismissing him with a kick. After Toby had retired, and Salina had wiped her eyes, and Lysander had got his feet comfortably installed in the old clergyman's slippers, the long-estranged couple grew affectionate and confidential. "Law, Sallie!" said the captain, caressingly, "we can be as happy as two pigs in clover!" And he proceeded to interpret, in plain prosaic detail, those blissful possibilities expressed by the choice poetic figure. It was evident to Salina that all his domestic plans were founded on the supposition that the slippers he had on were the dead man's shoes he had been waiting for. Was she shocked by this cold, atrocious spirit of calculation? At first she was; but since she had begun to pardon his faults, she could easily overlook that. She, who had lately been so spiteful and bitter, was now all charity towards this man. Even the image of her blind and aged father faded from her mind; even the pure and beautiful image of her sister grew dim; and the old, revivified attachment became supreme. Shall we condemn the weakness? Or shall we pity it, rather? So long her affections had been thwarted! So long she had carried that lonely and hungry heart! So long, like a starved, sick child, it had fretted and cried, till now, at last, nurture and warmth made it grateful and glad! A babe is a sacred thing; and so is love. But if you starve and beat them? Perhaps Salina's unhappiness of temper owed its development chiefly to this cause. No wonder, then, that we find her melancholy, morbid, unreasonable, and now so ready to cling again to this wretch, this scamp, her husband, forgiving all, forgetting all (for the moment at least), in the wild flood of love and tears that drowned the past. "O, yes! I do think we can be happy!" she said--"if you will only be kind and good to me! If not here, why, then, somewhere else; for place is of no consequence; all I want is love." "Ah!" said Lysander, knocking the ashes from his cigar, "but I have a fancy for this place! And what should we leave it for?" "Because--you know--there is no certainty--I believe father is alive yet, and well." "Not unless Toby lied to me!--Did he?" "Pshaw! you can't place any reliance on what Toby says!"--evasively. "But I tell you Pepperill confirms his report about the dead bodies in the ravine! Now, what do you know to the contrary?" Lysander appeared very much excited, and a quarrel was imminent. Salina dreaded a quarrel. She broke into a laugh. "The truth is, Toby did fool you. He couldn't help bragging to me about it." O Toby, Toby! that little innocent vanity of yours is destined to cost you, and others besides you, very dear! Lysander sprang upon his feet; his eyes sparkled with rage. Salina saw that it was now too late to keep the secret from him; there was no way but to tell him all. She showed Virginia's note. Virginia and her father alive and safe--that was what maddened Lysander! But where were they? Salina could not answer that question; for the most she had been able to get out of Toby was only a vague hint that they were hidden somewhere in a cave. "No matter!" said Lysander, with a diabolical laugh showing his clinched and tobacco-stained teeth. "I'll have the nigger licked! I'll have the truth out of him, or I'll have his life?" XXXII. _TOBY'S REWARD._ Filled with disgust and wrath, Toby had obeyed the man who assumed to be his master, and gone to bed. But he was scarcely asleep, when he felt somebody shaking him, and awoke to see bending over him, with smiling countenance, lamp in hand, Captain Lysander. "What's wantin', sar?" "I want you to do an errand for me, Toby," Lysander kindly replied. "Wal, sar, I don'o', sar," said Toby, reluctant, sitting up in bed and rubbing his elbows. "You know I had a right smart tramp. I's a tuckered-out nigger, sar; dat's de troof." "Yes, you had a hard time, Toby. But you'll just run over to the school-house for me, I know. That's a good fellow!" Toby hardly knew what to make of Lysander's extraordinarily persuasive and indulgent manner. He didn't know before that a Sprowl could smile so pleasantly, and behave so much like a gentleman. Then, the captain had called him a good fellow, and his African soul was not above flattery. Weary, sleepy as he was, he felt strongly inclined to get up out of his delicious bed, and go and do Lysander's errand. "You've only to hand this note to Lieutenant Ropes. And I'll give you something when you come back--something you don't get every day, Toby! Something you've deserved, and ought to have had long ago!" And Lysander, all smiles, patted the old servant's shoulder. This was too much for Toby. He laughed with pleasure, got up, pulled on his clothes, took the note, and started off with alacrity, to convince the captain that he merited all the good that was said of him, and that indefinite "something" besides. What could that something be? He thought of many things by the way: a dollar; a knife; a new pair of boots with red tops, such as Lysander himself wore;--which last item reminded him of the bootjack he had been used for, and the kick he had received. He stopped in the street, his wrath rising up again at the recollection. "Good mind ter go back, and not do his old arrant." But then he thought of the smiles and compliments, and the promised reward. "Somefin' kinder decent 'bout dat mis'ble Sprowl, 'long wid a heap o' mean tings, arter all!" And he started on again. Lysander's note was in these words:-- "Leiutent Ropes Send me with the bearrer of This 2 strappin felloes capble of doin a touhgh Job." This letter was duly signed, and duly delivered, and it brought the "2 strappin felloes." The internal evidence it bore, that Lysander had not pursued his studies at school half as earnestly as he had of late pursued the schoolmaster, made no difference with the result. The two strapping fellows returned with Toby. They were raw recruits, who had travelled a long distance on foot in order to enlist in the confederate ranks. They had an unmistakable foreign air. They called themselves Germans. They were brothers. "All right, Toby!" said Lysander, well pleased. "What are you bowing and grinning at me for? O, I was to give you something!" "If you please, sar," said Toby--wretched, deceived, cajoled, devoted Toby. "Well, you go to the woodshed and bring the clothes line for these fellows--to make a swing for the ladies, you know--then I'll tell you what you're to have." "Sartin, sar." And Toby ran for the clothes line. "Good old Toby! Now, what you have deserved so long, and what these stout Dutchmen will proceed to give you, is the damnedest licking you ever had in your life!" Toby almost fainted; falling upon his knees, and rolling up his eyes in consternation. Sprowl smiled. The "Dutchmen" grinned. Just then Salina darted into the room. "Lysander! what are you going to do with that old man?" She put the demand sharply, her short upper lip quivering, cheeks flushed, eyes flaming. "I'm going to have him whipped." "No, you are not. You promised me you wouldn't. You told me that if he would go to the Academy for you, and be respectful, you would forgive him. If I had known what you were sending for, he should never have left this house. Now send those men back, and let him go." "Not exactly, my lady. I am master in this house, whatever turns up. I am this nigger's master, too." "You are not; you never were. Toby has his freedom. He shall not be whipped!" And with a gesture of authority, and with a stamp of her foot, Salina placed herself between the kneeling old servant and the grinning brothers. Alas! this woman's dream of love and happiness had been brief, as all such dreams, false in their very nature, must ever be. She loved him well enough to concede much. She was not going to quarrel with him any more. To avoid a threatened quarrel, she betrayed Toby. But she was not heartless: she had a sense of justice, pride, temper, an impetuous will, not yet given over in perpetuity to the keeping of her husband. The captain laughed devilishly, and threw his arms about his wife (this time in no loving embrace), and seizing her wrists, held them, and nodded to the soldiers to begin their work. They laid hold of Toby, still kneeling and pleading, bound his arms behind him with the cord, and then looked calmly at Lysander for instructions. "Take him to the shed," said the captain. "One of you carry this light. You can string him up to a crossbeam. If you don't understand how that's done, I'll go and show you. He's to have twenty lashes to begin with, for lying to me. Then he's to be whipped till he tells where our escaped prisoners are hid in the mountains. You understand?" "Ve unterstan," said the brothers, coldly. Toby groaned. They took hold of him, and dragged him away. "Now will you behave, my girl? A pretty row you're making! Ye see it's no use. I am master. The nigger'll only get it the worse for your interference." Lysander looked insolently in his wife's face. It was livid. "Hey?" he said. "One of your tantrums?" He placed her on a chair. She was rigid; she did not speak; he would have thought she was in a fit but for the eyes which she never took off of him--eyes fixed with deep, unutterable, deadly, despairing hate. "I reckon you'll behave--you'd better!" he said, shaking his finger warningly at her as he retired backwards from the room. She saw the door close behind him. She did not move: her eyes were still fixed on that door: heavy and cold as stone, she sat there, and gazed, with that same look of unutterable hate. Perhaps five minutes. Then she heard blows and shrieks. Toby's shrieks: he had no Carl now to rush in and cut his bands. The twenty lashes for lying had been administered on the negro's bare back. Then Lysander put the question: Was he prepared to tell all he knew about the fugitives and the cave? "O, pardon, sar! pardon, sar!" the old man implored; "I can't tell nuffin', dat am de troof!" "Work away, boys," said Lysander. Was it supposed that the good old practice of applying torture to enforce confession had long since been done away with? A great mistake, my friend. Driven from that ancient stronghold of conservatism, the Spanish Inquisition, it found refuge in this modern stronghold of conservatism, American Slavery. Here the records of its deeds are written on many a back. But Toby was not a slave. No matter for that. For in the school of slavery, this is the lesson that soon or late is learned: Not simply that there are two castes, freeman and slave; two races, white and black; but that there are two great classes, the rich and the poor, the strong and the weak, the lord and the laborer, one born to rule, and the other to be ruled. All, who are not masters, are, or ought to be, slaves: black or white, it makes no difference; and the slave has no rights. This is the first principle of human slavery. This every slave society tends directly to develop. It may be kept carefully out of sight, but there it lurks, in the hardened hearts of men, like water within rocks. It is forever gushing up in little springs of despotism. Once it burst forth in a vast convulsive flood, and that was the Rebellion. Although Lysander had never owned a slave, he had all his life breathed the atmosphere of the institution, and imbibed its spirit. He hated labor. He was ambitious. But he was poor. Like a flying fish, he had forced himself out of the lower element of society, to which he naturally belonged, and had long desperately endeavored to soar. The struggle it had cost him to attain his present position rendered him all the more violent in his hatred of the inferior class, and all the more eager to enjoy the privileges of the aristocracy. Do not blame this man too much. The injustice, the cruelty, the atrocious selfishness he displays, do not belong so much to the individual as to the institution. The milk of this wolf makes the child it nourishes wolfish. Torture to the extent of ten lashes was applied; then once more the question was put. Gashed, bleeding, strung up by his thumbs to the crossbeam; every blow of the extemporized whips extorting from him a howl of agony; no rescue at hand; Lysander looking on with a merciless smile; the brothers doing their assigned work with merciless nonchalance; well might poor Toby cry out, in the wild insanity of pain,-- "Yes, sar! I'll tell, I'll tell, sar!" "Very good," said Lysander. "Let him breathe a minute, boys." But in that minute Toby gathered up his soul again, dismissed the traitor, Cowardice, and took counsel of his fidelity. Betray his good old master to these ruffians? Break his promise to Virginia, his oath to Cudjo and Pomp? No, he couldn't do that. He thought of Penn, who would certainly be hung if captured; and hung through his treachery! "Now, out with it," said Lysander. "All about the cave. And don't ye lie, for you'll have to go and show it to us when we're ready."' "I can't tell!" said Toby. "Dar ain't no cave! none't I knows about--dat's shore!" This was of course a downright lie; but it was told to save from ruin those he loved; and I do not think it stands charged against his soul on the books of the recording angel. "Ten more, boys," said Lysander. "O, wait, wait, sar!" shrieked Toby. "Des guv me time to tink!" He thought of ten lashes; ten more afterwards; and still another ten; for he knew that the whipping would not cease until either he betrayed the fugitives or died; and every lash was to him an agony. "Think quick," said Captain Sprowl. Just then the door, of the kitchen opened. Toby grasped wildly at that straw of hope. It broke instantly. The comer was Salina. She had had the power to betray him, but not the power to save. She stood with folded arms, and smiled. "I can't help you, Toby, but I can be revenged." "Hello!" cried Lysander, with a start. "What smoke is that?" She had left the door open, and a draught of air wafted a strange smell of burning cloth and pine wood to his nostrils. "Nothing," replied Salina, "only the house is afire." XXXIII. _CARL MAKES AN ENGAGEMENT._ Lysander looked in through the doors and saw flames. She had touched the lamp to the sitting-room curtains, and they had ignited the wood-work. "Your own house," he said, furiously. "What a fiend!" "It was my father's house until you took possession of it," she answered. "Now it shall burn." If he had not already considered that he had an interest at stake, that gentle remark reminded him. "Boys! come quick! By----! we must put out the fire!" He rushed into the kitchen. The German brothers had come to execute his commands: whether to flay a negro or extinguish a fire, was to them a matter of indifference; and they followed him, seizing pails. Salina was prepared for the emergency. She held a butcher-knife concealed under her folded arms. With this she cut the cords above Toby's thumbs. It was done in an instant. "Now, take this and run! If they go to take you, kill them!" She thrust the handle of the knife into his hand, and pushed him from the shed. Terrified, bewildered, weak, he seemed moving in a kind of nightmare. But somehow he got around the corner of the shed, and disappeared in the darkness. The brothers saw him go. They were drawing water at the well, and handing it to Lysander in the house. But they had been told to hand water, not to catch the negro. So they looked placidly at each other, and said nothing. The fire was soon extinguished; and Lysander, with his coat off, pail in hand, excited, turned and saw his "fiend" of a wife seated composedly in a chair, regarding him with a smile sarcastic and triumphant. He uttered a frightful oath. "Any more of your tantrums, and I'll kill you!" "Any more of yours," she replied, "and I'll burn you up. I can set fires faster than you can put them out. I don't care for the house any more than I care for my life, and that's precious little." By the tone in which she said these words, level, determined, distinct, with that spice which compressed fury lends, Captain Lysander Sprowl knew perfectly well that she meant them. The brothers looked at each other intelligently. One said something in German, which we may translate by the words "Incompatibility of temper;" and he smiled with dry humor. The other responded in the same tongue, and with a sleepy nod, glancing phlegmatically at Sprowl. What he said may be rendered by the phrase--"Caught a Tartar." Although Lysander did not understand the idiom, he seemed to be quite of the Teutonic opinion. He regarded Mrs. Sprowl with a sort of impotent rage. If he was reckless, she had shown herself more reckless. Though he was so desperate, she had outdone him in desperation. He saw plainly that if he touched her now, that touch must be kindness, or it must be death. "Have you let Toby go?" "Yes," replied Salina. "We can catch him," said Lysander. "If you do you will be sorry. I warn you in season." Since she said so, Lysander did not doubt but that it would be so. He concluded, therefore, not to catch Toby--that night. Moreover, he resolved to go back to his quarters and sleep. He was afraid of that wildcat; he dreaded the thought of trusting himself in the house with her. He durst not kill her, and he durst not go to sleep, leaving her alive. The Germans, perceiving his fear, looked at each other and grunted. That grunt was the German for "mean cuss." They saw through Lysander. After all were gone, Salina went out and called Toby. The old negro had fled for his life, and did not hear. She returned into the house, the aspect of which was rendered all the more desolate and drear by the marks of fire, the water that drenched the floor, the smoky atmosphere, and the dim and bluish lamp-light. The unhappy woman sat down in the lonely apartment, and thought of her brief dream of happiness, of this last quarrel which could never be made up, and of the hopeless, loveless, miserable future, until it seemed that the last drop of womanly blood in her veins was turned to gall. At the same hour, not many miles away, on a rude couch in a mountain cave, by her father's side, Virginia was tranquilly sleeping, and dreaming of angel visits. Across the entrance of the cavern, like an ogre keeping guard, Cudjo was stretched on a bed of skins. The fire, which rarely went out, illumined faintly the subterranean gloom. By its light came one, and looked at the old man and his child sleeping there, so peacefully, so innocently, side by side. The face of the father was solemn, white, and calm; that of the maiden, smiling and sweet. The heart of the young man yearned within him; his eyes, as they gazed, filled with tears; and his lips murmured with pure emotion,-- "O Lord, I thank thee for their sakes! O Lord, preserve them and bless them!" And he moved softly away, his whole soul suffused with ineffable tenderness towards that good old man and the dear, beautiful girl. He had stolen thither to see that all was well. All was indeed well. And now he retired once more to a recess in the rock, where he and Pomp had made their bed of blankets and dry moss. The footsteps on the solid floor of stone had not awakened her. And what was more remarkable, the lover's beating heart and worshipping gaze had not disturbed her slumber. But now the slightest movement on the part of her blind parent banishes sleep in an instant. "Daughter, are you here?" "I am here, father!" "Are you well, my child?" "O, very well! I have had such a sweet sleep! Can I do anything for you?" "Yes. Let me feel that you are near me. That is all." She kissed him. "Heaven is good to me!" he said. She watched him until he slept again. Then, her soul filled with thankfulness and peace, she closed her eyes once more, and happy thoughts became happy dreams. At about that time Salina threw herself despairingly upon her bed, at home, gnashing her teeth, and wishing she had never been born. And these two were sisters. And Salina had the house and all its comforts left to her, while Virginia had nothing of outward solace for her delicate nature but the rudest entertainment. So true it is that not place, and apparel, and pride make us happy, but piety, affection, and the disposition of the mind. The night passed, and morning dawned, and they who had slept awoke, and they who had not slept watched bitterly the quickening light which brought to them, not joy and refreshment, but only another phase of weariness and misery. Captain Lysander Sprowl was observed to be in a savage mood that day. The cares of married life did not agree with him: they do not with some people. Because Salina had baffled him, and Toby had escaped, his inferiors had to suffer. He was sharp even with Lieutenant Ropes, who came to report a fact of which he had received information. "Stackridge was in the village last night!" "What's that to me?" said Lysander. "The lieutenant-colonel--" whispered Silas. Sprowl grew attentive. By the lieutenant-colonel was meant no other person than Augustus Bythewood, who had received his commission the day before. Well might Lysander, at the mention of him to whom both these aspiring officers owed everything, bend a little and listen. Ropes proceeded. "He feels a cussed sight badder now he believes the gal is in a cave somewhars with the schoolmaster, than he did when he thought she was burnt up in the woods. He entirely approves of your conduct last night, and says Toby must be ketched, and the secret licked out of him. In the mean while he thinks sunthin' can be done with Stackridge's family. Stackridge was home last night, and of course his wife will know about the cave. The secret might be frightened out on her, or, I swear!" said Silas, "I wouldn't object to using a little of the same sort of coercion you tried with Toby; and Bythewood wouldn't nuther. Only, you understand, he musn't be supposed to know anything about it." Lysander's eyes gleamed. He showed his tobacco-stained teeth in a way that boded no good to any of the name of Stackridge. "Good idee?" said Silas, with a coarse and brutal grin. "Damned good!" said Lysander. Indeed, it just suited his ferocious mood. "Go yourself, lieutenant, and put it into execution." "There's one objection to that," replied Silas, thrusting a quid into his cheek. "I know the old woman so well. It's best that none of us in authority should be supposed to have a hand in't. Send somebody that don't know her, and that you can depend on to do the job up harnsome. How's them Dutchmen?" "Just the chaps!" said Lysander, growing good-natured as the pleasant idea of whipping a woman developed itself more and more to his appreciative mind. From flogging a slave, to flogging a free negro, the step is short and easy. From the familiar and long-established usage of beating slave-women, to the novel fashion of whipping the patriotic wives of Union men, the step is scarcely longer, or more difficult. Even the chivalrous Bythewood, who was certainly a gentleman in the common acceptation of the term, magnificently hospitable to his equals, gallant to excess among ladies worthy of his smiles,--yet who never interfered to prevent the flogging of slave-mothers on his estates,--saw nothing extraordinary or revolting in the idea of extorting a secret from a hated Union woman by means of the lash. To such gross appetites for cruelty as Ropes had cultivated, the thing relished hugely. The keen, malignant palate of Lysander tasted the flavor of a good joke in it. The project was freely discussed, and in the hilarity of their hearts the two officers let fall certain words, like crumbs from their table, which a miserable dog chanced to pick up. That miserable dog was Dan Pepperill, whose heart was so much bigger than his wit. He knew that mischief was meant towards Mrs. Stackridge. How could he warn her? The drums were already beating for company drill, and he despaired of doing anything to save her, when by good fortune--or is there something besides good fortune in such things?--he saw one of his children approaching. The little Pepperill came with a message from her mother. Dan heard it unheedingly, then whispered in the girl's ear,-- "Go and tell Mrs. Stackridge her and the childern's invited over to our house this forenoon. Right away now! Partic'lar reasons, tell her!" added Dan, reflecting that ladies in Mrs. Stackridge's station did not visit those in his wife's without particular reasons. The child ran away, and Pepperill fell into the ranks, only to get repeatedly and severely reprimanded by the drill-officer for his heedlessness that morning. He did everything awkwardly, if not altogether wrong. His mind was on the child and the errand on which he had sent her, and he kept wondering within himself whether she would do it correctly (children are so apt to do errands amiss!), and whether Mrs. Stackridge would be wise enough, or humble enough, to go quietly and give Mrs. P. a call. After company drill the brothers were summoned, and Lysander gave them secret orders. They were to visit Stackridge's house, seize Mrs. Stackridge and compel her, by blows if necessary, to tell where her husband was concealed. "You understand?" said the captain. "Ve unterstan," said they, dryly. Scarcely had the brothers departed, when a prisoner was brought in. It was Toby, who had been caught endeavoring to make his way up into the mountains. "Now we've got the nigger, mabby we'd better send and call the Dutchmen back," said Silas Ropes. "No, no!" said Lysander, through his teeth. "'Twon't do any harm to give the jade a good dressing down. I wish every man, woman, and child, that shrieks for the old rotten Union, could be served in the same way." Having set his heart on this little indulgence, Sprowl could not easily be persuaded to give it up. It was absolutely necessary to his peace of mind that somebody should be flogged. The interesting affair with Toby, which had been so abruptly broken off,--left, like a novelette in the newspapers, to be continued,--must be concluded in some shape: it mattered little upon whose flesh the final chapters were struck off. In the mean time the recaptured negro was taken to the guard-house. There he found a sympathizing companion. It was Carl. To him he told his story, and showed his wounds, the sight of which filled the heart of the lad with rage, and pity, and grief. "Vot sort of Tutchmen vos they?" Toby described them. Carl's eyes kindled. "I shouldn't be wery much susprised," said he, "if they vos--no matter!" Lieutenant Ropes arrived, bringing into the guard-house a formidable cat-o'-nine-tails. "String that nigger up," said Silas. Ropes was not the man to await patiently the issue of the woman-whipping, while here was a chance for a little private sport. He remembered how Toby had got away from him once--that he too owed him a flogging. Debts of this kind, if no others, Silas delighted to pay; and accordingly the negro was strung up. It was well for the lieutenant that Carl had irons on his wrists. The sound of the poor old man's groans,--the sight of his gashed, oozing, and inflamed back, bared again to the whip,--was to Carl unendurable. But as it was not in his power to obey the impulse of his soul, to spring for a musket and slay that monster of cruelty, Ropes, on the spot,--he must try other means, perhaps equally unwise and desperate, to save Toby from torture. "Vait, sir, if you please, vun leetle moment," he called out to Silas. "I have a vord or two to shpeak." He had as yet, however, scarcely made up his mind what to propose. A moment's reflection convinced him that only one thing could purchase Toby's reprieve; and perhaps even that would fail. Regardless of consequences to himself, he resolved to try it. "I know petter as he does about the cave; I vos there," he cried out, boldly. "Hey? You offer yourself to be whipped in this old nigger's place?" said Ropes. "Not wery much," replied Carl. "I can go mit you or anypody you vill send, and show vair the cave is. I remember. But if you vill have me whipped, I shouldn't be wery much surprised if that vould make me to forget. Whippins," he added, significantly, "is wery pad for the memory." "You mean to say, if you are licked, then you won't tell?" "That ish the idea I vished to conwey." "We'll see about that." Silas laughed. "In the mean time we'll try what can be got out of this nigger." Toby, who had had a gleam of hope, now fell again into despair. Just then Captain Sprowl came in. "Hold! What are you doing with that nigger?" Silas explained, and Carl repeated his proposal. Lysander caught eagerly at it. He remembered Salina's warning, and was glad of any excuse to liberate the old negro. "You promise to take me to the cave?" Carl assented. "Why, then, lieutenant, that's all we want, and I order this boy to be set free." "This boy" was Toby, who was accordingly let off, to his own inexpressible joy and Ropes's infinite disgust. "If Carl he take de responsumbility to show de cave, dat ain't my fault. 'Sides, dat boy am bright, he am; de secesh can't git much de start o' him!" Thus the old negro congratulated himself on his way home. At the same time Carl, still in irons, was saying to himself,-- "So far so goot. If they had whipped Toby, two things vould be wery pad--the whipping, for one, and he would have told, for another. But I have made vun promise. It vas a pad promise, and a pad promise is petter proken as kept. But if I preak it, they vill preak my head. Vot shall I do? Now let me see!" said Carl. And he remained plunged in thought. XXXIV. _CAPTAIN LYSANDER'S JOKE._ Since the time when she lost her best feather-bed and her boarder, the worthy widow Sprowl had suffered serious pecuniary embarrassment. She missed sadly the regular four dollars a week, and the irregular gratuities, she had received from Penn. So much secession had cost her, without yielding as yet any of its promised benefits. The Yankees had not stepped up with the alacrity expected of them, and thrust their servile necks into the yoke of their natural masters. The slave trade was not reopened. Niggers were not yet so cheap that every poor widow could, at a trifling expense, provide herself with several, and grow rich on their labor. In the pride of seeing her son made what she called a "capting," and in the hope of enjoying some of the golden fruits of his valor, she had given him her last penny, and received up to the present time not a penny from him in return. In short, Lysander was ungrateful, and the widow was a disappointed woman. So it happened that the sugar-bowl and tea-canister were often empty, and the poor widow had no legitimate means of replenishing them. In this extremity she resorted to borrowing. She borrowed of everybody, and never repaid. She borrowed even of the hated Unionists in the neighborhood, and confessed with bitterness to her son that she found them more ready to lend to her than the families of secessionists. Again, on the morning of the events related in the last chapter, she found herself in want of many things--tea, sugar, meal, beans, potatoes, snuff, and tobacco; for this excellent woman snuffed, "dipped," and smoked. "Where shall I go and borry to-day?" said she, counting her patrons, and the number of times she had been to borrow of each, on her fingers. "Thar's Mis' Stackridge. I hain't been to her but oncet. I'll go agin, and carry the big basket." With her basket on her arm, and an ancient brown bonnet (which had been black at the time of the demise of the late lamented Sprowl,) on her head, and a multitude of excuses on her tongue, she set out, and walked to the farmer's house. This had one of those great, shed-like openings through it, so common in Tennessee. A door on the left, as you entered this covered space, led to the kitchen and living-room of the family. Here the widow knocked. There was no response. She knocked again, with the same result. Then she pulled the latch-string--for the door even of this well-to-do farmer had a latch-string. She entered. The house was deserted. "Ain't to home, none of 'em, hey?" said the widow, peering about her with a disagreeable scowl. "House wan't locked, nuther. Wonder if Mis' Stackridge and the childern have gone to the mountains too? And whar's old Aunt Deb?" Her first feeling was that of resentment. What right had Mrs. Stackridge to be absent when she came to borrow? As she explored the pantry and closets, however, and became convinced that she was absolutely alone in a well-provisioned farm-house, her countenance lighted up with a smile. "I can borry what I want jest exac'ly as well as if Mis' Stackridge war to home," thought the widow. And she proceeded to fill her basket. She helped herself to a pan of meal, borrowing the pan with it. "I'll fetch home the pan," said she, "when I do the meal,"--exposing her craggy teeth with a grim smile. "If I don't before, I'm a feared Mis' Stackridge'll haf to wait for't a considerable spell! What's in this box? Coffee! May as well take box and all. Bring back the box when I do the coffee. Wish I could find some tobacky somewhars--wonder whar they keep their tobacky!" Now, the excellent creature did not indulge in these liberties without some apprehension that Mrs. Stackridge might return suddenly and interrupt them. Perhaps she had not followed Mr. Stackridge to the mountains. Perhaps she had only gone into the village to buy shoes for her children, or to call on a neighbor. "If she should come back and ketch me at it,--why, then, I'll tell her I'm only jest a borryin', and see what she'll do about it. The prop'ty of these yer durned Union-shriekers is all gwine to be confisticated, and I reckon I may as well take my sheer when I can git it. Thar's a paper o' black pepper, and I'll take it jest as 'tis. Thar's a jar o' lump butter,--wish I could tote jar and all!--have some of the lumps on a plate anyhow!" She had soon filled her basket, and was regretting she had not brought two, or a larger one, when a handsome, new tin pail, hanging in the pantry, caught her eye. "Been wantin' jest sich a pail as that, this long while!" And she proceeded to fill that also. Just as she was putting the cover on, she was very much startled by hearing footsteps at the door. "O, dear me! What shall I do? If it should be Mr. Stackridge! But it can't be him! If it's only Mis' Stackridge or one of the niggers, I'll face it out! They won't das' to make a fuss, for they're Union-shriekers, and my son's a capting in the confederate army!" Thump, thump, thump!--loud knocking at the door. "My, it's visitors! Who can it be?" She set down her pail and basket. "I'll act jest as if I had a right here, anyhow!" She was hesitating, when the string was pulled, and two strangers, stout, square built, with foreign looking faces, carrying muskets, and dressed in confederate uniform, entered. "Mrs. Stackridge?" said they, in a heavy Teutonic accent. "Ye--ye--yes--" stammered the widow, trying to hide the guilty basket and pail behind her skirts. "What do you want of Mis' Stackridge?" One of the strangers said to the other, in German, indicating the plunder,-- "This is the woman. She is getting provisions ready to send to her husband in the mountains." "Let us see what there is good to eat," said the other. Mrs. Sprowl, although understanding no word that was spoken, perceived that the borrowed property formed the theme of their remarks. "Have some?" she hastened to say, with extreme politeness, as the Germans approached the provisions. "Tank ye," said they, finding some bread and cold meat. And they ate with appetite, exchanging glances, and grunting with satisfaction. "O, take all you want!" said the widow. "You're welcome to anything there is in the house, I'm shore!"--adding, within herself, "I am so glad these soldiers have come! Now, whatever is missing will be laid to them." "You de lady of de house?" said the foreigners, munching. "Yes, help yourselves!" smiled the hospitable widow. "You Mrs. Stackridge?" they inquired, more particularly. "Yes; take anything you like!" replied the widow. "Where your husband?" "My husband! my poor dear husband! he has been dead these----" She checked herself, remembering that the soldiers took her for Mrs. Stackridge. If she undeceived them, then they would know she had been stealing. "Dead?" The Germans shook their heads and smiled. "No! He was here last night. He was seen. You take dese tings to him up in de mountain." "Would you like some cheese?" said the embarrassed widow. "Tank ye. Dis is better as rations." Mrs. Sprowl returned to the pantry, in order to replace the provisions she had so generously given away, and prepared to depart with the basket and pail; inviting the guests repeatedly to make themselves quite at home, and to take whatever they could find. "Wait!" said they. Each had a knee on the floor, and one hand full of bread and cheese. They looked up at her with broad, complacent, unctuous faces, smiling, yet resolute. And one, with his unoccupied hand, laid hold of the handle of the basket, while the other detained the pail. "You will tell us where is your husband," said they. "O, dear me, I don't know! I'm a poor lone woman, and where my husband is I can't consaive, I'm shore!" "You will tell us where is your husband," repeated the men; and one of them, getting upon his feet, stood before her at the door. "He's on the mountain somewhars. I don't know whar, and I don't keer," cried the widow, excited. There was something in the stolid, determined looks of the brothers she did not like. "He's a bad man, Mr. Stackridge is! I'm a secessionist myself. You are welcome to everything in the house--only let me go now." "You will not go," said the soldier at the door, "till you tell us. We come for dat." On entering, they had placed their muskets in the corner. The speaker took them, and handed one to his comrade. And now the widow observed that out of the muzzle of each protruded the butt-end of a small cowhide. Each soldier held his gun at his side, and laying hold of the said butt-end, drew out the long taper belly and dangling lash of the whip, like a black snake by the neck. The widow screamed. "It's all a mistake. Let me go! I ain't Mis' Stackridge" Nothing so natural as that the wife of the notorious Unionist should deny her identity at sight of the whips. The soldiers looked at each other, muttered something in German, smiled, and replaced their muskets in the corner. "You tell us where is your husband. Or else we whip you. Dat is our orders." This they said in low tones, with mild looks, and with a calmness which was frightful. The widow saw that she had to do with men who obeyed orders literally, and knew no mercy. "I hain't got no husband. I ain't Mis' Stackridge. I'm a poor lone widder, that jest come over here to borry a few things, and that's all." "Ve unterstan. You say shust now you are Mrs. Stackridge. Now you say not. Dat make no difruns. Ve know. You tell us where is your husband, or ve string you up." This speech was pronounced by both the foreigners, a sentence by each, alternately. At the conclusion one drew a strong cord from his pocket, while the other looked with satisfaction at certain hooks in the plastering overhead, designed originally for the support of a kitchen pole, but now destined for another use. "Don't you dast to tech me!" screamed the false Mrs. Stackridge. "I'm a secessionist myself, that hates the Union-shriekers wus'n you do, and I've got a son that's a capting, and a poor lone widder at that!" "Dat we don't know. What we know is, you tell what we say, or we whip you. Dat's Captain Shprowl's orders." "Capting Sprowl! That's my son! my own son! If he sent you, then it's all right!" "So we tink. All right." And the soldiers, seizing her, tied her thumbs as Lysander had taught them, passed the cords over the hook as they had passed the clothesline over the crossbeam the night before, and drew the shrieking woman's hands above her head, precisely as they had hauled up Toby's. They then turned her skirts up over her head, and fastened them. This also they had been instructed to do by Lysander. It was, you will say, shameful; for this woman was free and white. Had she been a slave, with a different complexion, although perhaps quite as white, would it have been any the less shameful? Answer, ye believers in the divine rights of slave-masters! "Now you vill tell?" said the phlegmatic Teutons, measuring out their whips. "Go for my son! My son is Capting Sprowl!" gasped the stifled and terror-stricken widow. "Dat trick won't do. You shpeak, or we shtrike." "It is true, it is true! I am Mrs. Sprowl, and my husband is dead, and my son is Capting Sprowl, and a poor lone widder, that if you strike her a single blow he'll have you took and hung!" "If he is your son, den by your own son's orders we whip you. He vill not hang us for dat. You vill not tell? Den we give you ten lash." Blow upon blow, shriek upon shriek, followed. The soldiers counted the strokes aloud, deliberately, conscientiously, as they gave them, "Vun, two, tree," &c, up to ten. There they stopped. But the screams did not stop. This punishment, which it was sport to inflict upon a faithful old negro, which it would have been such a good joke to have bestowed upon the wife of a stanch Unionist, was no sport, no joke, but altogether a tragic affair to thy mother, O Lysander! Then she, who had so often wished that she too owned slaves, that when she was angry she might have them strung up and flogged, knew by fearful experience what it was to be strung up and flogged. Then she, who sympathized with her son in his desire to see every man, woman, and child, that loved the old Union, served in this fashion, felt in her own writhing and bleeding flesh the stings of that inhuman vengeance. Terrible blunder, for which she had only herself to thank! Robbery of her neighbor's house--the dishonest "borrowing," not of these ill-gotten goods only, but also of her neighbor's name--had brought her, by what we call fatality, to this strait. Fatality is but another name for Providence. The soldiers waited for a lull in the shrieks, then put once more the question. "You tell now? Where is your husband? No? Den you git ten lash more. Always ten lash till you tell." A storm of incoherent denial, angry threats, sobs, and screams, was the response. One of the soldiers drew her skirts over her head again, and gave another pull at the cords that hauled up her thumbs, while the other stood off and measured out his whip. Just then the door opened, and Captain Sprowl looked in. "How are you getting on, boys?" The question was accompanied by an approving smile, which seemed to say, "I see you are getting on very well." "We whip her once. We give her ten lash. She not tell." "Very well. Give her ten more." The widow struggled and screamed. Had she recognized her son's voice? Muffled as she was, he did not recognize hers. Nor was it surprising that, in the unusual posture in which he found her, he did not know her from Mrs. Stackridge. He stood in the door and smiled while the soldier laid on. "Make it a dozen," he quietly remarked. "And smart ones, to wind up with!" So it happened that, thanks to her son's presence, the screeching victim got two "smart ones" additional. "Now uncover her face. Ease away on her thumbs a little. I'll question her mys--Good Lucifer!" exclaimed the captain, finding himself face to face with his own mother. Twenty-two lashes and the torture of the strung-up thumbs had proved too much even for the strong nerves of Widow Sprowl. She fell down in a swoon. Lysander, furious, whipped out his sword, and turned upon the soldiers. They quietly stepped back, and took their guns from the corner. He would certainly have killed one of them on the spot had he not seen by the glance of their eyes that the other would, at the same instant, as certainly have killed him. "You scoundrels! you have whipped my own mother!" "Captain," they calmly answered, "we opey orders." "Fools!"--and Lysander ground his teeth,--"you should have known!" "Captain," they replied, "if you not know, how should we know? We never see dis woman pefore. We come. We find her taking prowisions from de house. We say, 'She take dem to her husband in de mountains.' We say, 'You Mrs. Stackridge?' She say yes to everyting. We not know she lie. We not know she steal. We not say, 'You somepody else.' We opey orders. We take and we whip her. You come in and say, 'Whip more.' We whip more. Now you say to us, 'Scoundrels!' You say, 'Fools!' We say, 'Captain, it was your orders; we opey.'" Having by a joint effort at sententious English pronounced this speech, the brothers stood stolidly awaiting the result; while the captain, still gnashing his teeth, bent over the prostrate form of his mother. "Bring some water and throw on her! you idiots!" he yelled at them. "Would you see her die?" They looked at each other. "Water?" Yes, that was what was wanted. They remembered their practice of the previous evening. One found a wooden pail. The other emptied upon the floor the contents of the tin pail the widow had "borrowed." They went to the well. They brought water. "To throw on her?" Yes, that was what he said. And together they dashed a sudden drenching flood over the poor woman, as if the swoon were another fire to be extinguished. These fellows obeyed orders literally--a merit which Lysander now failed to appreciate. He swore at them terribly. But he did not countermand his last order. Accordingly they proceeded stoically to bring more water. Lysander had got his mothers head on his knee, and she had just opened her eyes to look and her mouth to gasp, when there came another double ice-cold wave, blinding, stifling, drowning her. Too much of water hadst thou, poor lone widow! Lysander let fall the maternal head, and bounded to his feet, roaring with wrath. The brothers, imperturbable, with the empty pails at their sides, stared at him with mute wonder. "Captain, dat was your orders. You say, 'Pring vasser and trow on.' We pring vasser and trow on. Dat is all." "But I didn't tell you to fetch pailfuls!" This sentence rushed out of Lysander's soul like a rocket, culminated in a loud, explosive oath, and was followed by a shower of fiery curses falling harmless on the heads of the unmoved Teutons. They waited patiently until the pyrotechnic rain ceased, then answered, speaking alternately, each a sentence, as if with one mind, but with two organs. "Captain, you hear. Last night vas de house afire. You say, 'Pring vasser.' We pring a little. Den you say to us, 'Tarn you! why in hell you shtop?' And you say, 'Von I tell you pring vasser, pring till I say shtop.' Vun time more to-day you say, 'Pring vasser,' and you never say shtop. You say, 'Trow on.' We trow on. Vat you say we do. You not say vat you mean, dat is mishtake for you." It is not to be supposed that Lysander listened meekly to the end of this speech. He had caught the sound of voices without that interested him more; and, looking, he saw Mrs. Stackridge returning, with her children. The Pepperill young-one had faithfully done her errand; and the farmer's wife, believing something important was meant by it, had hastened to accept the singular and urgent invitation. But, arrived at the poor man's shanty, she was astonished to find Mrs. Pepperill astonished to see her. They talked the matter over, questioned the child, and finally concluded that Daniel had said something quite different, which the child had misunderstood. "Well," said Mrs. Stackridge, after sitting a-while, "I reckon I may as well be going back, for I've left only old Aunt Deb to home, and she's scar't to death to be left alone these times; thinks the secesh soldiers'll kill her. But I tell her not to be afeared of 'em. I ain't!" So this woman, little knowing how much real cause she had to be afraid, returned home with her family. When near the house she met Gaff and Jake, negroes belonging to the farm, who had been in the field at work, running towards her, in great terror, declaring that they heard somebody killing Aunt Deb. "Nonsense!" said she; and in spite of their assurances and entreaties, she marched straight towards the door through which the captain saw her coming. "Clear out!" said Lysander to the soldiers. "Go to your quarters. I'll have your case attended to!" This was spoken very threateningly. Then, as soon as they were out of hearing, he said to Mrs. Stackridge, "I'm sorry to say a couple of my men have been plundering your house. Them Dutchmen you just saw go out. Worse, than that, my mother was going by, and she came in to save your stuff, and they, it seems, took her for you, and beat her. You see, they have beat her most to death," said Lysander. "Lordy massy!" said Mrs. Stackridge. "Do help me! do take off my clo'es! a poor lone widder!" faintly moaned Mrs. Sprowl. "When I got here," added the captain, "she had fainted, and they had used her basket to pack things in, as you see, and filled this pail, which they emptied afterwards, so as to bring water and fetch her to. Scoundrels! I'm glad they ain't native-born southerners!" "And where is Aunt Deb?" said Mrs. Stackridge, hastening to raise the widow up. "I dono'; I hain't seen her. O, dear, them villains!" groaned Mrs. Sprowl. "I was just comin' over to borry a few things, you know." "Going by; she wasn't coming here," said Lysander. "Going by," repeated the widow. "O, shall I ever git over it! O, dear me, I'm all cut to pieces! A poor forlorn widder, and my only son--O, dear!" "Her only son," cried Lysander in a loud voice, "couldn't get here in time to prevent the outrage. That's what she wants to say. I leave her in your care, Mrs. Stackridge. She was doing a neighborly thing for you when she came in to stop the pillaging, and I'm sure you'll do as much for her." And the captain retired, his appetite for woman-whipping cloyed for the present. "Where is Aunt Deb?" repeated Mrs. Stackridge. "Aunt Deb!" she called, "where are you? I want you this minute!" "Here I is!" answered a voice from heaven, or at least from that direction. It was the voice of the old negress, who had hid herself in the chambers, and now spoke through a stove-pipe hole from which she had observed all that was passing from the time when the widow entered with her empty basket. XXXV. _THE MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION._ Toby had been released. Mrs. Stackridge had been whipped by proxy, and had kept her husband's secret. Gad, the spy, was still unaccountably absent. These three sources of information were, therefore, for the time, considered closed; and it was determined to have recourse to the fourth, namely, Carl. Here it should, perhaps, be explained that the confederate government, informed of the position of armed resistance assumed by the little band of patriots, had immediately telegraphed orders to recapture the insurgents. Among the Union-loving mountaineers of East Tennessee the mutterings of a threatened rebellion against the new despotism had long been heard, and it was deemed expedient to suppress at once this outbreak. "Try the ringleaders by drum-head court-martial, and, if guilty, hang them on the spot," said a second despatch. These instructions were purposely made public, in order to strike terror among the Unionists. They were discussed by the soldiers, and reached the ears of Carl. "Hang them on the spot." That meant Stackridge and Penn, and he knew not how many more. "And I," said Carl, "have agreed to show the vay to the cave." He was sweating fearfully over the dilemma in which he had placed himself, when a sergeant and two men came to conduct him to head-quarters. "Now it begins," said Carl to himself, drawing a deep breath. The irons remained on his wrists. In this plight he was brought into the presence of the red-faced colonel. "I hate a damned Dutchman!" said Lysander, who happened to be at head-quarters. He had had experience, and his prejudice was natural. The colonel poised his cigar, and regarded Carl sternly. The boy's heart throbbed anxiously, and he was afraid that he looked pale. Nevertheless, he stood calmly erect on his sturdy young legs, and answered the officer's frown with an expression of placid and innocent wonder. "Your name is Carl," said the colonel. "I sushpect that is true," replied Carl, on his guard against making inadvertent admissions. "Carl what?" "Minnevich." "Minny-fish? That's a scaly name. And they say you are a scaly fellow. What have you got those bracelets on for?" "That is vat I should pe wery much glad to find out," said Carl, affectionately regarding his handcuffs. "You are the fellow that enlisted to save the schoolmaster's neck, ain't you?" "I suppose that is true too." "Suppose? Don't you know?" "I thought I knowed, for you told me so; but as they vas hunting for him aftervards to hang him, I vas conwinced I vas mishtaken." This quiet reply, delivered in the lad's quaint style, with perfect deliberation, and with a countenance shining with simplicity, was in effect a keen thrust at the perfidy of the confederate officers. The colonel's face became a shade redder, if possible, and he frowningly exclaimed,-- "And so you deserted!" "That," said Carl, "ish not quite so true." "What! you deny the fact?" "I peg your pardon, it ish not a fact. I vas took prisoner." "And do you maintain that you did not go willingly?" "I don't know just vat you mean by villingly. Ven vun of them fellows puts his muzzle to my head and says, 'You come mit us, and make no noise or I plow out your prains,' I vas prewailed upon to go. I vas more villing to go as I vas to have my prains spilt. If that is vat you mean by villing, I vas villing." "Why did they take you prisoner?" "Pecause. I vill tell you. Gad vas shleeping like thunder: you know vat I mean--shnoring. Nothing could make him vake up; so they let him shnore. But I vake up, and they say, I suppose, they must kill me or take me off, for if I vas left pehind I vould raise the alarm too soon." "Well, where did they take you?" Carl was silent a moment, then looking Colonel Derring full in the face, he said earnestly,-- "They make me shwear I vould not tell." "Minny-fish," said the colonel, "this won't do. The secret is out, and it is too late for you to try to keep it back. Toby betrayed it. Mrs. Stackridge has been arrested, and she has confessed that her husband and his friends are hid in a cave. We sent out a scout, who has come in and corroborated both their statements. Gad discovered the cave; but he has sprained his ankle. He describes the spot accurately, but he's too lame to climb the hills again. What we want is a guide to go in his place. Now, Minny-fish, here's a chance for you to earn a pardon, and prove your loyalty. You promised Captain Sprowl, did you not, that you would conduct him to the cave?" Carl, overwhelmed by the colonel's confident assertions, breathed a moment, then replied,-- "I pelieve I vas making him some promise." "Notwithstanding your oath that you would not tell?" said Lysander, eager to cross and corner him. "To show the vay, that is not to tell," replied Carl. "I shwore I vould not tell, and I shall not tell. But if you vill go mit me to the cave, I vill go mit you and take you. Then I keep my promise to you and my oath to them. You see, I did not shwear not to take you," he added, with a smile. With a smile on his face, but with profound perturbations of the soul. For he saw himself sinking deeper and deeper into this miry difficulty, and how he was to extricate himself without dragging his friends down, was still a terrible enigma. "I believe the boy is honest," said Derring. "Sergeant, have those irons taken off. Captain Sprowl, you will manage the affair, and take this boy as your guide. I advise you to trust him. But until he has thoroughly proved his honesty, keep a careful eye on him, and if you become convinced that he is deceiving you, shoot him down on the spot. I say, shoot him on the spot," repeated the colonel, impressively. "You both understand that. Do you, Minny-fish?" "I vas never shot," said Carl, "but I sushpect I know vat shooting is." And he smiled again, with trouble in his heart, that would have quite disconcerted a youth of less nerve and phlegm. "Well," said Captain Sprowl, "if you don't, you will know, if you undertake to play any of your Dutch tricks with me!" "O, sir!" said Carl, humbly, "if I knowed any trick I vouldn't ever think of playing it on you, you are so wery shmart!" "How do you know I am?" said Lysander, who felt flattered, and thought it would be interesting to hear the lad's reasons; for neither he, nor any one present, had perceived the craft and sarcasm concealed under that simple, earnest manner. "How do I know you are shmart? Pecause," replied Carl, "you have such a pig head. And such a pig nose. And such a pig mouth. That shows you are a pig man." This was said with an air of intense seriousness, which never changed amid the peals of laughter that followed. Nobody suspected Carl of an intentional joke; and the round-eyed innocent surprise with which he regarded the merriment added hugely to the humor of it. Everybody laughed except Lysander, who only grimaced a little to disguise his chagrin. This upstart officer was greatly disliked for his conceited ways, and it was not long before the "Dutch boy's compliments" became the joke of the camp, and wherever Lysander appeared some whisper was sure to be heard concerning either the "pig mouth," or "pig nose," of that truly "pig man." As for Carl, he had something far more serious to do than to laugh. How to circumvent the designs of these men? That was the question. In the first place, it is necessary to state that his conscience acquitted him entirely of all obligations to them or their cause. He was no secessionist. He had enlisted to save his benefactor and friend. He had said, "I will give you my services if you will give that man his life." They had immediately afterwards broken the contract by seeking to kill his friend, and he felt that he no longer owed them anything. But they held _him_ by force, against which he had no weapon but his own good wit. This, therefore, he determined to use, if possible, to their discomfiture, and the salvation of those to whom he owed everything. But how? He had saved Toby from torture and confession by promising what he never intended literally to perform. Once more in the guard-house, retained a prisoner until wanted as a guide, he reasoned with himself thus:-- "If I do not go, then they vill make Gad go, lame or no lame, and he vill not be half so lucky to show the wrong road as I can be;"--for Carl never suspected that what had been said with regard to Mrs. Stackridge's arrest and confession, and Gad's successful reconnoissance and return, was all a lie framed to induce him to undertake this very thing. "And if I did not make pelieve I vas villing to go, then they vould not give me my hands free, and some chances for myself. I think there vill be some chances. But Sprowl is to watch, and be ready to shoot me down?" He shook his head dubiously, and added, "That is vat I do not like quite so vell!" He remained in a deep study until dusk. Then Captain Sprowl appeared, and said to him,-- "Come! you are to go with me." Carl's heart gave a great bound; but he answered with an air of indifference,-- "To-night?" "Yes. At once. Stir!" "I have not quite finished my supper; but I can put some of it in my pockets, and be eating on the road." And he added to himself, "I am glad it is in the night, for that vill be a wery good excuse if I should be so misfortunate as not to find the cave!" "Here," said Lysander, imperiously, giving him a twist and push,--"march before me! And fast! Now, not a word unless you are spoken to; and don't you dodge unless you want a shot." Thus instructed, Carl led the way. He did not speak, and he did not dodge. One circumstance overjoyed him. He saw no signs of a military expedition on foot. Was Lysander going alone with him to the mountains? "I sushpect I can find some trick for him, shmart as he is!" thought Carl. They left the town behind them. They took to the fields; they entered the shadow of the mountains, the western sky above whose tops was yet silvery bright with the shining wake of the sunset. A few faint stars were visible, and just a glimmer of moonlight was becoming apparent in the still twilight gloom. "We are going to have a quiet little adwenture together!" chuckled Carl. One thing was singular, however. Lysander did not tamely follow his lead: on the contrary, he directed him where to go; and Carl saw, to his dismay, that they were proceeding in a very direct route towards the cave. "Never mind! Ven ve come to some conwenient place maybe something vill happen," he said consolingly to himself. Then suddenly consternation met him, as it were face to face. The enigma was solved. From the crest of a knoll over which Lysander drove him like a lamb, he saw, lying on the ground in a little glen before them, the dark forms of some forty men. One of these rose to his feet and advanced to meet Lysander. It was Silas Ropes. "All ready?" said Sprowl. "Ready and waiting," said Silas. "Well, push on," said the captain. "We'll go to the dead bodies in the ravine first. Where's Pepperill?" "Here," replied Ropes; and at a summons Dan appeared. Carl's heart sank within him. Toby in the guard-house had told him about the dead bodies, and he knew that they were not far from the cave. He was aware, too, that Pepperill knew far more than one of such shallow mental resources and feeble will, wearing that uniform, and now in the power of these men, ought to know. There in the little moonlit glen they met and exchanged glances--the sturdy, calm-faced boy, and the weak-kneed, trembling man. Pepperill had not recovered from the terror with which he had been inspired, when summoned to guide a reconnoitring party to the ravine. But he had not yet lisped a syllable of what he knew concerning the cave. Carl gave him a look, and turned his eyes away again indifferently. That look said, "Be wery careful, Dan, and leave a good deal to me." And Dan, man as he was, felt somehow encouraged and strengthened by the presence of this boy. "Now, Pepperill," said Sprowl, "can you move ahead and make no mistake?" "I kin try," answered Pepperill, dismally. "But it's a heap harder to find the way in the night so; durned if 'tain't!" "None o' that, now, Dan," said Ropes, "or you'll git sunthin' to put sperrit inter ye!" Dan made no reply, but shivered. The mountain air was chill, the prospect dreary. Close by, the woods, blackened by the recent fire, lay shadowy and spectral in the moon. Far above, the dim summits towards which their course lay whitened silently. There was no noise but the low murmur of these men, bent on bloody purposes. No wonder Dan's teeth chattered. As for Carl, he killed a mosquito on his cheek, and smiled triumphantly. "You got a shlap, you warmint!" he said, as if he had no other care on his mind than the insect's slaughter. "Who told you to speak?" said Lysander sharply. "Vas that shpeaking?" Carl scratched his cheek complacently. "I vas only making a little obserwation to the mosquito." "Well, keep your observations to yourself!" "That is vat I vill try to do." The order to march was given. Lysander proceeded a few paces in advance, accompanied by Ropes and the two guides. The troops followed in silence, with dull, irregular tramp, filing through obscure hollows, over barren ridges crowned by a few thistles and mulleins, and by the edges of thickets which the fires had not reached. At length they came to a tract of the burned woods. The word "halt!" was whispered. The sound of tramping feet was suddenly hushed, and the slender column of troops, winding like a dark serpent up the side of the mountain, became motionless. "All right so far, Pepperill?" "Wal, I hain't made nary mistake yet, cap'm." Pepperill recognized the woods in which, when flying to the cave with Virginia, Penn, and Cudjo, they had found themselves surrounded by fires. "How far is it now to your ravine?" "Nigh on to half a mile, I reckon." "Shall we go through these woods?" "It's the nighest to go through 'em. But I s'pose we can git around if we try." "The moon sets early. We'd better take the nearest way," said the captain. "Well, Dutchy,"--for the first time deigning to consult Carl,--"this route is taking us to the cave, too, ain't it?" "Wery certain," said Carl, "prowided you go far enough, and turn often enough, and never lose the vay." "That'll be your risk, Dutchy. Look out for the landmarks, so that when Pepperill stops you can keep on." "I vill look out, but if they have all been purnt up since I vas here, how wery wexing!" This wood had been but partially consumed when the flames were checked by the rain. Many trunks were still standing, naked, charred, stretching their black despairing arms to the moon. The shadows of these ghostly trees slanted along the silent field of desolation, or lay entangled with the dark logs and limbs of trees which had fallen, and from which, at short distances, they were scarcely distinguishable. Here and there smouldered a heap of rubbish, its pallid smoke rising noiselessly in the bluish light. There were heaps of ashes still hot; half-burned brands sparkled in the darkness; and now and then a stump or branch emitted a still bright flame. Through this scene of blackness and ruin, rendered gloomily picturesque by the moonlight, the men picked their way. Not a word was spoken; but occasionally a muttered curse told that some ill-protected foot had come in contact with live cinders, or that some unlucky leg had slumped down into one of those mines of fire, formed by roots of old dead stumps, eaten slowly away to ashes under ground. Carl had hoped that the woods would prove impassable, and that the party would be compelled to turn back. That would gain for him time and opportunity. But the men pushed on. "Vill nothing happen?" he said to himself, in despair at seeing how directly they were travelling towards the cave. The burned tract was not extensive, and he soon saw, glimmering through the blackened columns, the clear moonlight on the slopes above. Pepperill, not daring to assume the responsibility of misleading the party, knew no better than to go stumbling straight on. "I vish he would shtumple and preak his shtupid neck!" thought Carl. They emerged from the burned woods, and came out upon the ledges beyond; and now the lad saw plainly where they were. On the left, the deep and quiet gulf of shadow was the ravine. They had but to follow this up, he knew not just how far, to reach the cave. And still Pepperill advanced. Carl's heart contracted. He knew that the critical moment of the night, for him and for his fugitive friends, was now at hand. "Do you see any landmarks yet?" Sprowl whispered to him. "I can almost see some," answered Carl, peering earnestly over a moonlit bushy space. "Ve shall pe coming to them py and py." "Do you know this ravine?" "I remember some rawines. I shouldn't be wery much surprised if this vas vun of 'em." "Look here," said Lysander. Carl looked, and saw a pistol-barrel. "Understand?"--significantly. "Is it for me?"' And Carl extended his hand ingenuously. "For you?--yes." But instead of giving the weapon to the boy, he returned it to his pocket, with a smile the boy did not like. "Ah, yes! a goot joke!" And Carl smiled too, his good-humored face beaming in the moon. At the same time he said to himself, "He hates me pecause I am Hapgood's friend; and he vill be much pleased to have cause to shoot me." Just then Dan stopped. Lysander put up his hand as a signal. The troops halted. "It's somewhars down in hyar, cap'm," Pepperill whispered. "It's a horrid place!" muttered Sprowl. "It ar so, durned if 'tain't!" said Dan, discouragingly. Before them yawned the ravine, bristling with half-burned saplings, and but partially illumined by the moon. The babble of the brook flowing through its hidden depths was faintly audible. "See the bodies anywhere?" said Lysander. "Can't see ary thing by this light," replied Dan. "But we can go down and find 'em." Sprowl did not much fancy the idea of descending. "It will be a waste of time to stop here," he said to Silas. "The live traitors are of more consequence than the dead ones. Supposing we go to the cave first, and come back and find the bodies afterwards. Have you got your bearings yet, Carl?" "I am peginning," said Carl, staring about him, with his hands in his pockets. "I think I vill have 'em soon." Sprowl looked at him with suppressed rage. "How cussed provoking!" he muttered. "It is--wery prowoking!" said Carl, looking at the moon. "Aggrawating!" "Well, make up your mind quick! What will you do?" Then it seemed as if a bright idea occurred to Carl. "I vill tell you. You go down and find the podies, and I vill be looking. Ven you come up again, I shouldn't be surprised if I could see vair the cave is." "Ropes," said Sprowl, "take a couple of men, and go down in there with Pepperill. I think it's best to stay with this boy." This arrangement did not please Carl at all; but, as he could not reasonably complain of it, he said, stoically, "Yes, it vill be petter so." Ropes selected his two men, and left the rest concealed in the shadows of the thickets. "If I could go up on the rocks there, I suppose I could see something," said Carl. "Well, I'll go with you. I mean to give you a fair chance." Carl felt a secret hope. Once more alone with this villain, would not some interesting thing occur? "Wait, though!" said Sprowl; and he called a corporal to his side. "Come with us. Keep close to this boy. At the first sign of his giving us the slip, put your bayonet through him." "I will," said the corporal. This was discouraging again. But Carl looked up at the captain and smiled--his good-humored, placid smile. "You do right. But you vill see I shall not give you the shlip. Now come, and be wery still." In the mean time, Pepperill, with the three rebels, descended into the ravine. The spot where the dead man and horse had been was soon found. But now no dead man was to be seen. The horse had been removed from the rocks between which his back was wedged, and rolled down lower into the ravine. A broad, shallow hole had been dug there, as if to bury him. But the work had been interrupted. There was a shovel lying on the heap of earth. Near by was another spot where the soil had been recently stirred--a little mound: it was shaped like a grave. "They've buried the poor cuss hyar," said Dan. "We'll see." Ropes took the shovel. "They can't have put him in very deep, fur they've struck the rock in this yer t'other hole." He threw up a little dirt, then gave the shovel to one of the soldiers. The moon shone full upon the place. The man dug a few minutes, and came to something which was neither rock nor soil. He pulled it up. It was a man's arm. "You didn't guess fur from right this time, Dan! Scrape off a little more dirt, and we'll haul up the carcass. Needn't be partic'lar 'bout scrapin' very keerful, nuther. He's a mean shoat, whoever he is; one o' them cussed Union-shriekers. Wish they was all planted like he is! Hope we shall find five or six more. Ketch holt, Dan!" Dan caught hold. The body was dragged from the lonely resting-place to which it had been consigned. Parts of it, which had not been protected by the superincumbent bulk of the horse, were hideously burned. Ropes rolled it over on the back, and kicked it, to knock off the dirt. He turned up the face in the moonlight--a frightful face! One side was roasted; and what was left of the hair and beard was full of sand. "Damn him!" said Ropes, giving it a wipe with the spade. The eyes were open, and they too were full of sand. But the features were still recognizable. The men started back with horror. They knew their comrade. It was the spy who had been sent out to watch the fugitives. It was "the sleeper," whom nought could waken more. It was Gad. "Wal, if I ain't beat!" said Silas, with a ghastly look. "Fool! how did he come hyar?" This question has never been satisfactorily answered. The fatal leap of the terrified horse with his rider is known; but how came Gad on the horse? Those who knew the character of the man account for it in this way: He had been something of a horse-thief in his day; and it is supposed that, finding Stackridge's horse on the mountain, he fell once more into temptation. He was probably a little drunk at the time; and he was a man who would never walk if he could ride, especially when he was tipsy. So he mounted. But he had no sooner commenced the descent of the mountain, than the fire, which had been previously concealed from the animal by the clump of trees behind which he was hampered, burst upon his sight, and filled him with uncontrollable frenzy. Dan, who had witnessed the flight and plunge, could have contributed an item towards the solution of the mystery. But he opened not his mouth. "Them cussed traitors shall pay fur this!" said Ropes. This was the only consolatory thought that occurred to him. Having uttered it, he looked remorsefully at the spade with which he had rudely wiped the face of his dead friend. "I thought 'twas one o' them rotten scoundrels, or I--But never mind! Kiver him up agin, boys! We can't take him with us, and we've no time to lose." So they laid the corpse once more in the grave, and heaped the sand upon it. XXXVI. _CARL FINDS A GEOLOGICAL SPECIMEN._ In the mean time Carl ascended the moonlit slope, with Sprowl's pistol on one side of him, and the corporal's bayonet on the other. Between the two he felt that he had little chance. But he did not despair. He reasoned thus with himself:-- "These two men vill not think to take the cave alone. They must go back for reënforcements. That shall make a diwersion in my favor. If I show them some dark place, and make them think it is there, they vill not go wery near to examine." And he arrived at this conclusion: "I suppose I shall inwent a cave." They were advancing cautiously towards the summit of a bushy ridge. Suddenly Carl stopped. "Anything?" said Sprowl. Carl nodded, with a pleased and confident smile. "What?" "You shall see wery soon. Shtoop low." He himself crouched close to the ground. The men followed his example. "Come a little more on. Now you see that rock?" Lysander saw it. "Vell, it is not there." They crept forward a little farther. Then Carl stopped again, and said,-- "You see that tree?" "Which?" "All alone in the moonshine." Lysander perceived it. "Vell," said Carl, "it is not there." Again they advanced, and again he paused and pointed. "You see them little saplings?" Lysander distinguished them revealed against the sky. "Vell," said Carl, "it is not there neither." He was crawling on again, when Sprowl seized his collar. "What the devil do you mean?--if I see these things!" Carl turned on his side, smiled intelligently, and, beckoning the captain to bring his ear close, put his lips to it, covered them with his hand, with an air of secrecy, and whispered hoarsely,-- "Landmarks!" "Ah! well!" said Lysander, suffering him to proceed. Carl crept slowly, raising his head at every moment to observe. The bayonet came behind; the captain continued at his side. "The further I take these willains from the others, the petter," thought he. At length he came in view of the high ledge upon which Penn had discovered Cudjo at his idolatrous devotions, on the night of the fire. The moon was getting behind the mountain, and there were dark shadows beneath this ledge. Though he should travel a mile, he might not find a more suitable spot to locate his fictitious cave. He hesitated; considered well; then gently tapped Lysander's arm. "You see vair the rock comes down? And some pushes just under it? Vell, the cave is pehind the pushes, ven you find it!" Which was indeed true. Lysander crept a few paces nearer, stealthily, flat on his belly, with his head slightly elevated, like a dark reptile gliding over the moonlit ground. "Now is my time!" thought Carl. His heart beat violently. He raised himself on his knees, preparing to spring. Lysander was at least ten feet in advance of him, and he thought he would risk the pistol. "I run--he fires--he vill miss me--I shall get avay." But the corporal? Just then he felt a piercing pressure in his side. It was the corporal, nudging him with the bayonet to make him lie down. "I vas shust going a little nearer." The corporal seemed satisfied with the explanation; but, as the boy advanced on his hands and knees, he advanced close behind him,--holding the bayoneted gun ready for a thrust. So Carl succeeded only in getting a little nearer Lysander, without increasing at all the distance between him and the corporal. It was a state of affairs that required serious consideration. He lay dawn again, and pretended to be anxiously looking for the mouth of the cave, whilst watching and reflecting. Just then occurred a circumstance which seemed almost providentially designed to favor the boy's strategy. Upon the ledge appeared two human figures, male and female, touched by the moonlight, and defined against the sky. They remained but a moment on the summit, then began to descend in the shadow of the ledge. Their movements were slow, uncertain, mysterious. Below the base of the rock they stood once more in the moonlight, and after appearing to consult together for a few seconds, disappeared behind the bushes where Carl had placed his imaginary cave. If Sprowl had any doubts on the subject before, he was now entirely satisfied. He believed the forms to be those of Virginia and the schoolmaster; they had been out to enjoy solitude and sentiment in the moonlight; and now they were returning reluctantly to the cave. "Wouldn't Gus be edified if he was in my place!" Lysander little thought that _he_ was the one to be edified,--as he would certainly have been, to an amazing degree, had he known the truth. "But we'll spoil their fun in a few minutes!" he said to himself, as he crept back towards his former position. As for Carl, it was he who had been most astonished by the phenomenon. No sooner had he invented a cave, than two phantoms made their appearance, and walked into it! The illusion was so perfect, that he himself was almost deceived by it. Only for an instant, however. Continuing to gaze, he had another glimpse of the apparitions, when, having merely passed behind the bushes, they came out beyond them, in the direction of the real cave, and were lost once more in shadow. Lysander, engaged in making his retrograde movement, did not notice this very important circumstance; and the corporal was too intently occupied in watching Carl to observe anything else. The captain got behind the shelter of a cluster of thistles, and beckoned for the two to approach. "Corporal," said he, "hurry back and tell Ropes to bring up his men. I'll wait here." The corporal crawled off. Carl heard the order, saw the movement, and felt thrilled to the heart's core with joy. He was now alone with the captain. And he was no longer unarmed. In creeping towards the thistles, he had laid his hand on a wonderful little stone. Somehow, his fingers had closed upon it. It was about the size of an apple, slightly flattened, rough, and heavy. "I thought," he said afterwards, "if anything vas to happen, that stone might be waluable." And so it proved. Lysander, considering that the cave was found, had become less suspicious. "These Dutch are stupid, and that's all," he thought. "You vas going to shoot me," said Carl, with an honest laugh at the ludicrousness of the idea. "And so I would," said Sprowl, with an oath, "if you hadn't brought us to the cave." "That means," thought Carl, "he vill kill me yet if he can, ven he finds out." He observed, also, that Sprowl, lying on his left side, had his right hand free, and near the pocket where his pistol was. It was not yet too late for him to be shot if he attempted an escape without first attempting something else. The violent beating of his heart recommenced. He felt a strange tremor of excitement thrilling through every nerve. His hand still held the pebble, covering and concealing it as he leaned forward on the ground. He crept a little nearer Lysander. "The vay they go into the cave," he said, "is wery queer." "How so?" asked the captain. They were facing each other. Carl drew still a little nearer, and raised himself slightly on the hand that grasped the geological specimen. "I promised to take you in. I vill take you in on vun condition." "Condition?" repeated Lysander. "That is vat I said. Vun leetle condition. Let me whishper." Carl put up his left hand as if to cover the communication he was about to breathe into Lysander's ear. "The condition--IS THIS!" As he uttered the last words, he seized Lysander's wrist with his left hand, and at the same instant, with a stroke rapid as lightning, smote him on the temple with the stone. All this, being interpreted, meant, "I take you to the cave on condition that you go as my prisoner." Thus Carl designed to keep his promise. As he struck he sprang up, to be ready for any emergency. He had expected a struggle, an outcry. He never dreamed that he could strike a man dead with a single blow! Without a shriek, without even a moan, Lysander merely sunk back upon the ground, gasped, shuddered, and lay still. Carl was stupefied. He looked at the prostrate man. Then he cast his eye all around him on the moonlit mountain slope. No one was in sight. Was this murder he had committed? He knelt down, bending over the horribly motionless form. He gazed on the ghastly-pale face, and saw issuing from the nostrils a dark stream. It was blood. Was it not all a dream? He still held the stone in his hand. He looked at it, and mechanically placed it in his pocket. Nothing now seemed left for him but to escape to the cave; and yet he remained fixed with horror to the spot, regarding what he had done. XXXVII. _CARL KEEPS HIS ENGAGEMENT._ Of the two forms that had been seen on the ledge, the female was not Virginia, and the other was not Penn. A word of explanation is necessary. Filled with hatred for her husband,--filled with shame and disgust, too, on hearing how he had caused his own mother to be whipped (for the secret was out, thanks to Aunt Deb at the stove-pipe hole),--resolved in her soul never to forgive him, never even to see him again if she could help it, yet intolerably wretched in her loneliness,--Salina had that afternoon taken Toby into her counsel. "Toby, what are we to do?" "Dat's what I do'no' myself!" the sore old fellow confessed; even his superior wisdom, usually sufficient (in his own estimation) for the whole family, failing him now. "When it comes to lickin' white women and 'spec'able servants, ain't nobody safe. I's glad ol' massa and Miss Jinny's safe up dar in de cave; and I on'y wish we war safe up dar too." "Toby," said Salina, "we will go there. Can you find the way?" "Reckon I kin," said Toby, delighted at the proposal. They set out early. They succeeded in reaching the woods without exciting suspicion. They kept well to the south, in order to approach the cave on the same side of the ravine from which Toby had discovered it, or rather Penn near the entrance of it, before. He thought he would be more sure to find it by that route. At the same time he avoided the burned woods, and, without knowing it, the soldiers. But, the best they could do, the daylight was gone when they came to the ravine; and Toby could not find the place where he had previously crossed. He passed beyond it. Then they crossed at random in the easiest place. Once on the side where the cave was, Toby decided that they were above it; and, owing to the steepness of the banks, it was necessary to go around over the rocks, at a short distance from the ravine, in order to reach the shelf behind the thickets. It was in making this movement that they had been seen to descend the ledge and pass behind the bushes at its base. "Now," said Toby, "you jes' wait while I makes a reckonoyster!" Salina, weary, sat down in the shadow of a juniper-tree. Toby made his reconnoissance, discovered nothing, and returned. She, sitting still there, had been more successful. She pointed. "What dar?" whispered Toby, frightened. "There is somebody. Don't you see? By those shrub-like things." "Dey ain't nobody dar!"--with a shiver. "Yes there is. I saw a man jump up. He is bending over something now, trying to lift it. It must be Penn, or some of his friends. Go softly, and see." Toby, imaginative, superstitious, did not like to move. But Salina urged him; and something must be done. "I--I's mos' afeard to! But dar's somebody, shore!" He advanced, with eyes strained wide and cold chills creeping over him. What was the man doing there? What was he trying to lift and drag along the ground? It was the body of another man. "Who dar?" said Toby. "Be quiet. Come here!" was the answer. "What! Carl! Carl! dat you? What you doin' dar? massy sakes!" said Toby. "I've got a prisoner," said Carl. "Dead! O de debil!" said Toby. "I've knocked him on the head a little, but he is not dead," said Carl. "Be still, for there's forty more vithin hearing!" Toby, with mouth agape, and hands on knees, crouching, looked in the face of the lifeless man. That jaunty mustache, with the blood from the nostrils trickling into it, was unmistakable. "Dat Sprowl!" ejaculated the old negro, with horrified recoil. "He won't hurt you! Take holt! I pelief Ropes is coming, mit his men, now!" "Le' 'm drap, den. Wha' ye totin' on him fur?" Carl had quite recovered from his stupefaction. His wits were clear again. Why did he not leave the body? His reasons against such a course were too many to be enumerated on the spot to Toby. In the first place, he had promised to take the captain to the cave; and he felt a stubborn pride in keeping his engagement. Secondly, the man might die if he abandoned him. Moreover, the troops arriving, and finding him, would know at once what had happened; while, on the contrary, if both Carl and the captain should be missing, it would be supposed that they had gone to make observations in another quarter; they would be waited for, and thus much time would be gained. Carl had all these arguments in his brain. But instead of stopping to explain anything, he once more, and alone, lifted the head and shoulders of the limp man, and recommenced bearing him along. "Toby, who is that?" "Dat am Miss Salina." Carl asked no explanations. "Vimmen scream sometimes. Tell her she is not to scream. You get her handkersheaf. And do not say it is Shprowl." "Who--what is it?" Salina inquired. "Our Carl! don't ye know?" said Toby. "He's got one ob dem secesh he's knocked on de head." "Has he killed him?" "Part killed him, and part took him prisoner,--about six o' one and half a dozen o' tudder. He say you's specfully 'quested not to scream; and he wants your hank'cher." "What does he want of it?"--giving it. "Dat he best know hisself; but if my 'pinion am axed, I should say, to wipe de fellah's nose wiv." Having delivered this profound judgment, Toby carried the handkerchief to Carl, who spread it over the wounded man's face. "That prewents her seeing him, and prewents his seeing the vay to the cave." "Who eber knowed you's sech a powerful smart chil'?" said old Toby, amazed. A new perception of Carl's character had burst suddenly, with a wonderful light, upon his dazzled understanding. In the terror of their first encounter, in this strange place, he had comprehended nothing of the situation. He had not even remembered that he last saw Carl in the guard-house, with irons on his wrists. It was like a fragment of some dream to find him here, holding the lifeless Lysander in his arms. But now he remembered; now he comprehended. Carl had saved him from torture by engaging to bring this man to the cave; whom by some miracle of courage and valor, he had overcome and captured, and brought thus far over the lonely rocks. All was yet vague to the old negro's mind; but it was nevertheless strange, great, prodigious. And this lad, this Carl, whom Penn had brought, a sort of vagabond, a little hungry beggar, to Mr. Villars's house--that is to say, Toby's; whom the vain, tender, pompous, affectionate old servant had had the immense satisfaction of adopting into the family, patronizing, scolding, tyrannizing over, and tenderly loving; who had always been to him "Dat chil'!" "dat good-for-nuffin'!" "dat mis'ble Carl!"--the same now loomed before his imagination a hero. The simple spreading of the handkerchief over the face appeared to him a master-stroke of cool sagacity. He himself, with all that stupendous wisdom of his, would not have thought of that! He actually found himself on the point of saying "Massa Carl!" Ah, this foolish old negro is not the only person who, in these times of national trouble, has been thus astonished! Carl is not the only hero who has suddenly emerged, to thrilled and wondering eyes, from the disguises of common life. How many a beloved "good-for-nothing" has gone from our streets and firesides, to reappear far off in a vision of glory! The school-fellows know not their comrade; the mother knows not her own son. The stripling, whose outgoing and incoming were so familiar to us,--impulsive, fun-loving, a little vain, a little selfish, apt to be cross when the supper was not ready, apt to come late and make you cross when the supper was ready and waiting,--who ever guessed what nobleness was in him! His country called, and he rose up a patriot. The fatigue of marches, the hardships of camp and bivouac, the hard fare, the injustice that must be submitted to, all the terrible trials of the body's strength and the soul's patient endurance,--these he bore with the superb buoyancy of spirit which denotes the hero. Who was it that caught up the colors, and rushed forward with them into the thick of the battle, after the fifth man who attempted it had been shot down? Not that village loafer, who used to go about the streets dressed so shabbily? Yes, the same. He fell, covered with wounds and glory. The rusty, and seemingly useless instrument we saw hang so long idle on the walls of society, none dreamed to be a trumpet of sonorous note until the Soul came and blew a blast. And what has become of that white-gloved, perfumed, handsome cousin of yours, devoted to his pleasures, weary even of those,--to whom life, with all its luxuries, had become a bore? He fell in the trenches at Wagner. He had distinguished himself by his daring, his hardihood, his fiery love of liberty. When the nation's alarum beat, his manhood stood erect; he shook himself; all his past frivolities were no more than dust to the mane of this young lion. The war has proved useful if only in this, that it has developed the latent heroism in our young men, and taught us what is in humanity, in our fellows, in ourselves. Because it has called into action all this generosity and courage, if for no other cause, let us forgive its cruelty, though the chair of the beloved one be vacant, the bed unslept in, and the hand cold that penned the letters in that sacred drawer, which cannot even now be opened without grief. As Toby had never been conscious what stuff there was in Carl, so he had never known how much he really loved, admired, and relied upon him. He stood staring at him there in the moonlight as if he then for the first time perceived what a little prodigy he was. "Take holt, why don't you?" said Carl. And this time Toby obeyed: he secretly acknowledged the authority of a master. "Sartin, sah!" He had checked himself when on the point of saying "Massa Carl;" but the respectful "sah" slipped from his tongue before he was aware of it. Among the bushes, and in the shadows of the rocks, they bore the body in swiftness and silence. Salina followed. In the cave the usual fire was burning; by the light of which only Virginia and her father were to be seen. The sisters fell into each other's arms. Salina was softened: here, after all her sufferings, was refuge at last: here, in the warmth of a father's and a sister's affection, was the only comfort she could hope for now, in the world she had found so bitter. "Who is with you?" said the old man. "Toby? and Carl? What is the matter?" "I vants Mr. Hapgood, or Pomp, or Cudjo!" said Carl, laying down his burden. "They have gone to bury the man in the rawine," said Virginia. Carl opened great eyes. "The man in the rawine? That's vair Ropes and the soldiers have gone." "What soldiers?--Who is this?" "This is their waliant captain! I am wery sorry, ladies, but I have given him a leetle nose-pleed. Some vater, Toby! Your handkersheaf, ma'am, and wery much obliged." Salina stooped to take the handkerchief. A flash of the fire shone upon the uncovered face. The eyes opened; they looked up, and met hers looking down. "Lysander!" "Sal, is it you? Where am I, anyhow?" And the husband tried to raise himself. "Carl, what's this?" "Don't be wiolent!" said Carl, gently laying him down again, "and I vill tell you. I vas your prisoner, and I vas showing you the cave. Veil, this is the cave; but things is a little inwerted. You are my prisoner." "Is that so?" said the astonished Lysander. "Wery much so," replied Carl. "Didn't somebody knock me on the head?" "I shouldn't be wastly surprised if somepody _did_ knock you on the head." "Was it you?" "I rather sushpect it vas me." Lysander rubbed his bruised temple feebly, looking amazed. "But how came _she_ here?" "It vas she and Toby we saw going into the cave." "What's that?"--to Toby, bringing a gourd. "It is vater; it vill improve your wysiognomy. You can trink a little. You feel pretty sound in your witals, don't you? I vas careful not to hurt your witals," said Carl, kindly, raising Sprowl's head and holding the water for him to drink. Lysander, ungrateful, instead of drinking, started up with sudden fury, struck the gourd from him with one hand, and thrust the other into the pocket where his pistol was, at last accounts. "Vat is vanting?" Carl inquired, complacently. Lysander, fumbling in vain for his weapon, muttered, "Vengeance!" "Wery good," said Carl. "Ve vill discuss the question of wengeance, if you like."' And drawing the pistol from _his_ pocket, he coolly presented it at Sprowl's head. "Vat for you dodge? You think, maybe, the discussion vould not be greatly to your adwantage?" Lysander felt for his sword, found that gone also, and muttered again, "Villain!" "Did somepody say somepody is a willain?" remarked Carl. "I should not be wery much surprised if that vas so. Willains nowdays is cheap. I have known a great wariety since secesh times pegan. But as for your particular case, sir, I peg to give some adwice. There is some ladies present, and you must keep quiet. Do you remember how I vas kept quiet ven I vas _your_ prisoner? I had pracelets on. And do you remember I vas putting some supper in my pocket ven you took me to show you the cave? Veil, I make von great mishtake; instead of supper, vat I vas putting in my pocket vas them wery pracelets!" And Carl produced the handcuffs. At that moment Penn and Cudjo arrived; and Lysander, observing them, submitted to his fate with beautiful resignation. The irons were put on, and Carl mounted guard over him with the pistol. XXXVIII. _LOVE IN THE WILDERNESS._ Cudjo was highly exasperated to find strangers in the cave. He became quickly reconciled to the presence of Virginia's sister, but not to that of Lysander. To pacify him, Carl made him a present of the sword which he had removed from the captain's noble person on arriving. Cudjo received the weapon with unbounded delight, and proceeded to adjust the belt to his own Ethiopian waist. It mattered little with him that he got the scabbard on the wrong side of his body: a sword was a sword; and he wore it in awkward and ridiculous fashion, strutting up and down in the fire-lighted cave, to the envy and disgust of old Toby, the rage of Lysander, and the amusement of the rest. Penn meanwhile related to his friends his evening's adventures. He had gone down to the ravine with the negroes to bury the horse and his dead rider. He was keeping watch while they worked; the man was interred, and they were digging a pit for the animal, when they discovered the approach of the soldiers, and retired to a hiding-place close by. There they lay concealed, whilst Ropes and his men descended to the spot, exhumed the corpse with Cudjo's shovel, made their comments upon it, and put it back into the ground. During this operation it had required all Pomp's authority, and the restraint of his strong hand, to keep Cudjo from pouncing upon his old enemy and former overseer, Silas Ropes. "There were three of us," said Penn, "and only three of them, besides Pepperill; and no doubt a struggle would have resulted in our favor. But we did not want to be troubled with prisoners; and Pomp and I could not see that anything was to be gained by killing them. Besides, we knew they had a strong reserve within call. So we waited patiently until they finished their work, and climbed up out of the ravine; then we climbed up after them. We thought their main object must be to find the cave, and Pomp strongly suspected Pepperill of treachery. We found a large number of soldiers lying under some bushes, and crept near enough to hear what they were saying. They were going to take the cave by surprise, and an order had just come for them to move farther up the mountain. They set off with scarcely any noise, reminding me of the 'Forty Thieves,' as they filed away in the moonlight, and disappeared among the bushes and shadows. Pomp is on their trail now; he has his rifle with him, and it may be heard from if he sees them change their course and approach too near the cave." Penn had come in for his musket. It was the same that had fallen from the hands of the man Griffin at the moment when that unhappy rebel was in the act of charging bayonet at his breast. Assuring Virginia--who could not conceal her alarm at seeing him take it from its corner--that he was merely going out to reconnoitre, he left the cave. He was gone several hours. At length he and Pomp returned together. The moon had long since set, but it was beautiful starlight; and, themselves unseen, they had watched carefully the movements of the soldiers. "You would have laughed to have been in my place, Carl!" said Penn, laying his hand affectionately on the shoulder of his beloved pupil. "They besieged the ledge where your imaginary cave is for full two hours after I went out, apparently without daring to go very near it." "I suppose," replied Carl, "they vas vaiting for me and the captain. It vas really too pad now for us to make them lose so much waluable time! But they vill excuse Mishter Shprowl; his absence is unawoidable." And lifting his brows with a commiserating expression, he gave a comical side-glance from under them at the languishing Lysander. All laughed at the lad's humor except the captain himself--and Salina. After besieging the imaginary cave as Penn had described, several of the confederates, he said, at last ventured with extreme caution to approach it. "And found," added Carl, "they had been made the wictims of von leetle stratagem!" "I suppose so," said Penn; "for immediately an unusual stir took place amongst them." "In searching for the entrance," laughed Pomp, leaning on his rifle, "they came close under a juniper-tree I had climbed into, and I could hear them cursing the little Dutchman----" "I suppose that vas me," smiled the good-natured Carl. "And the 'pig-headed captain' who had gone off with him." "The pig-headed captain is this indiwidual"--indicating Sprowl. "But it is wery unjust to be cursing him, for it vas not his fault. It vas my legs and Toby's that conweyed him; and he had a handkersheaf over his face for a wail." "I suspected how it was, even before I met Penn and learned what had happened. I am sorry to see this fellow in this place,"--Pomp turned a frowning look at the corner where Lysander lay,--"but now that he is here, he must stay." Carl, upon whom the only noticeable effect produced by his exciting adventure was a lively disposition to talk, quite unusual with him, entered upon a full explanation of the circumstances which had led to Lysander's capture. His narrative was altogether so simple, so honest, so droll, that even the bitter Salina had to smile at it, while all the rest, the old clergyman included, joined in a hearty laugh of admiring approval at its conclusion. "I don't see but that you did the best that could be done," said Pomp. "At all events, the villains seem to have been completely baffled. The last I saw of them they were retreating through the burned woods, as if afraid to have daylight find them on the mountain." The daylight had now come; and Penn, who went out to take an observation, could discover no trace of the vanished rebels. The eastern sky was like a sheet of diaphanous silver, faintly crimsoned above the edges of the hills with streaks of the brightening dawn. All the valley below was inundated by a lake of level mist, whose subtle wave made islands of the hills, and shining inlets of the intervales. Above this sea of white silence rose the mountain ranges, inexpressibly calm and beautiful, fresh from their bath of starlight and dew, and empurpled with softest tints of the early morning. Penn heard a footstep, and felt a touch on his arm. Was it the beauty of the earth and sky that made him shiver with so sudden and sweet a thrill? or was it the lovely presence at his side, in whom was incarnated, for him, all the beauty, all the light, all the joy of the universe? It was Virginia, who leaned so gently on his arm, that not the slight pressure of her weight, but rather the impalpable shock of bliss her very nearness brought, made him aware of her approach. Toby followed, supporting her along the shelf of rock--a dark cloud in the wake of that rosy and perfumed dawn. "O, how delicious it is out here!" said the voice, which, if we were to describe it from the lover's point of view, could be likened only to the songs of birds, the musical utterance of purest flutes, or the blowing of wild winds through those grand harp-strings, the mountain pines; for there was more of poetry and passion compressed in the heart of this quiet young Quaker than we shall venture to give breath to in these pages. "It is--delicious!" he quiveringly answered, in his happy confusion blending _her_ with his perception of the daybreak. She inhaled deep draughts of the mountain air. "How I love it! The breath of trees, and grass, and flowers is in it,--those dear friends of mine, that I pine for, shut up here in prison!" "Do you?" said Penn, vaguely, half wishing that he was a flower, a blade of grass, or a tree, so that she might pine for him. "The air of the cave," she said, "is cold; it is odorless. The cave seems to me like the great, chill hearts of some of your profound philosophers! Some of those tremendous books father makes me read to him came out of such hearts, I am sure; great hollow caverns, full of mystery and darkness, and so cold and dull they make me shudder to touch them;--but don't you, for the world, tell him I said so,--for, to please him, I let him think I am ever so much edified by everything that he likes." "What sort of books _do_ you like?" "O, I like books with daylight in them! I want them to be living, upper-air, joyous books. There must be sunshine, and birds, and brooks,--human nature, life, suffering, aspiration, and----" "And love?" "Of course, there should be a little love in books, since there is sometimes a little, I believe, in real life." But she touched this subject with such airy lightness,--just hovering over it for an instant, and then away, like a butterfly not to be caught,--that Penn felt a jealous trouble. "How long," she added immediately, "do you imagine we shall have to stay here?" "It is impossible to say," replied Penn, turning with reluctance to the more practical topic. "One would think that the government cannot leave us much longer subject to this atrocious tyranny. An army may be already marching to our relief. But it may be weeks, it may be months, and I am not sure," he added seriously, "but it may be years, before Tennessee is relieved." "Why, that is terrible! Toby says that poor old man, Mr. Ellerton, who assisted you to escape, was caught and hung by some of the soldiers yesterday." "I have no doubt but it is true. Although he had returned to his home, he was known to be a Unionist, and probably he was suspected of having aided us; in which case not even his white hairs could save him." "But it is horrible! They have commenced woman-whipping. And Toby says a negro was hung six times a couple of days ago, and afterwards cut to pieces, for saying to another negro he met, 'Good news; Lincoln's army is coming!' What is going to become of us, if relief doesn't arrive soon? O, to look at the beautiful world we are driven from by these wicked, wicked men!" "And are you so very weary of the cave?" Penn gave her a look full of electric tenderness, which seemed to say, "Have not I been with you? and am I nothing to you?" She smiled, and her voice was tremulous as she answered,-- "I wish I could go out into the sunshine again! But I have not been unhappy. Indeed, I think I have been very happy." There was an indescribable pause; Virginia's eyes modestly veiled, her face suffused with a blissful light, as if her soul saw some soft and exquisite dream; while Penn's bosom swelled with the long undulations of hope and transport. Toby still lingered in the entrance of the cave. "Toby," said Penn, such a radiance flashing from his brow as the negro had never seen before, "my good Toby,"--and what ineffable human sympathy vibrated in his tones!--"I wish you would go in and tell our friends that the enemy has quite disappeared: will you?" "Yes, massa!" said Toby, a ray of that happiness penetrating even the old freedman's breast. For such is the beautiful law of our nature, that love cannot be concealed; it cannot be monopolized by one, nor yet by two; but when its divine glow is kindled in any soul, it beams forth from the eyes, it thrills in the tones of the voice, it breathes from all the invisible magnetic pores of being, and sheds sunshine and warmth on all. Toby went. Then an arm of manly strength, yet of all manly gentleness, stole about the waist of the girl, and drew her softly, close, closer; while something else, impalpable, ravishing, holy, drew her by a still more potent attraction; until, for the first time in her young and pure life, her mouth met another mouth with the soul's virgin kiss. Her lips had kissed many times before, but her soul never. How long it lasted, that sweet perturbation, that fervent experience of a touch, neither, I suppose, ever knew; for at such times a moment is an eternity. As a lightning flash in a dark night reveals, for a dazzling instant, a world concealed before, so the electric interchange of two hearts charged with love's lightning seems to open the very doors of infinity; and it is the glory of heaven that shines upon them. Not a word was spoken. Then Penn held Virginia before him, and looked deep into her eyes, and said, with a strange tremor of lip and voice,--using the gentle speech of the Friends, into which old familiar channel his thoughts flowed naturally in moments of strong feeling,-- "Wherever this dear face smiles upon me, there is my sunshine. I must be very selfish; for notwithstanding all the dangers and discomforts by which I see thee and thy father surrounded, the hours we have passed together here have been the happiest of my life. Yea, and suffering and privation would be never anything to me, if I could always have thee with me, Virginia!" How different, meanwhile, was the scene within the cave! How chafed the fiery Lysander! How spitefully Salina bit her lips ever at sight of him! And these two had once been lovers, and had seen rainbows span their future also! Is it love that unites such, or is it only the yearning for love? For love, the reality, fuses all qualities, and brings into harmony all clashing chords. Toby entered, the gleam of others' happiness still in his countenance. "De enemy hab dis'peared; all gone down in de frog." "The frog, Toby?" said Mr. Villars. "Yes, sar; right smart frog down 'ar in de volley!" "He means, a fog in the walley," said Carl. XXXIX. _A COUNCIL OF WAR._ Owing to the disturbances of the night the old clergyman had slept little. He now lay down on the couch, and soon sank into a profound slumber. When he awoke he heard the hum of voices. The cave was filled with armed men. "It is Mr. Stackridge and his friends," said Virginia. "They have come to hold a council of war; and they look upon you as their grand sachem." "I have brought them here," said Pomp, "at their request--all except Deslow." "Where is he?" "Deslow, I believe, has deserted!" said Stackridge. "Ah! What makes you think so?" "Well, I've watched him right close, and I've seen a good deal of what's been working in his mind. He's one o' them fools that believe Slavery is God; and he can't get over it. Pomp, here, saved our lives in the fire the other night; and Deslow couldn't stand it. To owe his life to a runaway slave--that was too dreadful!" said Stackridge with savage sarcasm. "He's a man that would rather be roasted alive, and see his country ruined, I suppose, than do anything that might damage in the least degree his divine institution! There's the difference 'twixt him and me. Sence slavery has made war agin' the Union, and turned us out of our homes, I say, by the Lord! let it go down to hell, as it desarves!" "You use strong language, neighbor!" "I do; and it's time, I reckon, when strong language, and strong actions too, are called fur. You hate a man that you've befriended, and that's turned traitor agin' ye, worse'n you hate an open inemy, don't ye? Wal, I've befriended slavery, and it's turned traitor agin' me, and all I hold most sacred in this world, and I'm jest getting my eyes open to it; and so I say, let it go down! I've no patience with such men as Deslow, and I'm glad, on the whole, he's gone. He don't belong with us anyhow. I say, any man that loves any kind of property, or any party, or institution, better than he loves the old Union"--Stackridge said this with tears of passion in his eyes,--"such a man belongs with the rebels, and the sooner we sift 'em out of our ranks the better." "When did he go?" "Some of us were out foraging again last night; Withers and Deslow with the rest. Tell what he said to you, Withers." The group of fugitives had gathered about the bed on which the old clergyman sat. Withers was scraping his long horny nails with a huge jackknife. "He says to me, says he, 'Withers, we've got inter a bad scrape.' 'How so?' says I; for I thought we war gittin' out of a right bad scrape when we got out of that temp'rary jail. 'The wust hain't happened yet,' says he. 'That's bad,' says I, 'fur it's allus good fur a feller to know the wust has happened.' And so I told him a little story. Says I, 'When I was a little boy 'bout that high, I was helping my daddy one day secure some hay. Wal, it looked like rain, and we put in right smart till the fust sprinkles begun to fall,--great drops, big as ox-eyes,--and they skeert me, for I war awful 'fraid of gittin' wet. So what did I do but run and git under some boards. My daddy war so busy he didn't see me, till bime-by he come that way, rolling up the hay-cocks to kill, and looked, and thar I war under the pile o' boards, curled up like a hedgehog to keep dry. 'Josh,' says he, 'what ye doin' thar? Why ain't ye to work?' ''Fraid o' gittin' wet!' says I. 'Pon that he didn't say a word, but jest come and took me by the collar, and led me to a little run close by, and jest casoused me in the water, head over heels, and then jest pulled me out agin. 'Now,' says he, 'ye can go to work, and you won't be the leastest mite afeard o' gittin' wet. Wal, 'twas about so. I didn't mind the rain, arter that. 'Wal, Deslow,' says I, 'that larnt me a lesson; and ever sence I've always thought 'twas a good thing fur us, when trouble comes, to have the wust happen, and know it's the wust, fur then we'se prepared fur't, and ain't no longer to be skeert by a little shower.' That's what I said to Deslow." And Withers continued scraping his nails. "Very good philosophy, indeed!" said Mr. Villars. "And what did he reply?" "He said, when the wust happened to us, we'd find we had no home, no property, and no country left; and fur his part he had been thinking we'd better go and give ourselves up, make peace with the authorities, and take the oath of allegiance. 'Lincoln won't send no army to relieve us yet a-while,' says he, 'and even if he does, you know, victory for the Federals means the death of our institootions! So I see where the shoe pinched with him; and I said, 'If that continners to be your ways of thinkin', I hain't the least objections to partin' comp'ny with ye, as the house dog said to the skunk; only,' says I, 'don't ye go to betrayin' us, if you conclude to go.' Soon arter that we separated, and that's the last any on us have seen of him." "They've begun to whip women, too," said Stackridge. "But, by right good luck, when this scamp here--" glowering upon Lysander--"sent to have my wife whipped, he got his own mother whipped in her place! He's a connection o' your family, I know, Mr. Villars; but I never spile a story for relation's sake." "Nor need you, friend Stackridge. Sorry I am for that deluded young man; but he reaps what he has sown, and he has only himself to blame." "'Twas a regular secesh operation, that of having his own mother strung up," said Captain Grudd. "They are working against their own interests and families without knowing it. When they think they are destroying the Union, they are destroying their own honor and influence; for so it 'ill be sure to turn out." "It was Liberty they intended to have beaten," said Penn; "but they will find that it is the back of their own mother, Slavery, that receives the rods." "Just what I meant to say; but it took the professor to put it into the right shape. By the way, neighbors, we owe the professor an apology. Some of us found fault with his views of slavery and secession; but we've all come around to 'em pretty generally, I believe, by this time. Here's my hand, professor, and let me say I think you was right enough in all but one thing--your plaguy non-resistance." "He has thought better of that," said Mr. Villars, pleasantly. "Yes, zhentlemen," said Carl, anxious to exonerate his friend, "he has been conwerted." "We have found that out, to his credit," said Stackridge. And, one after another, all took Penn cordially by the hand. "We are all brothers in one cause, OUR COUNTRY," said Penn. Nor did he stop when the hand of the last patriot was shaken; he took the hand of Pomp also. "We are all men in the sight of God!" His heart was full; there was a thrill of fervent emotion in his voice. His calm young face, his firm and finely-cut features, always noticeable for a certain massiveness and strength, were singularly illumined. He went on, the light of the cave-fire throwing its ruddy flash on the group. "We are all His children. He has brought us together here for a purpose. The work to be done is for all men, for humanity: it is God's work. To that we should be willing to give everything--even our lives; even our selfish prejudices, dearer to some than their lives. I believe that upon the success of our cause depends, not the prosperity of any class of men, or of any race of men, only, but of all men, and all races. For America marches in the van of human progress, and if she falters, if she ignobly turns back, woe is to the world! Perhaps you do not see this yet; but never mind. One thing we all see--a path straight before us, our duty to our country. We must put every other consideration aside, forget all minor differences, and unite in this the defence of the nation's life." An involuntary burst of applause testified how ardently the hearts of the patriots responded to these words. Some wrung Penn's hand again. Pomp meanwhile, erect, and proud as a prince, with his arms folded upon his massive and swelling chest, smiled with deep and quiet satisfaction at the scene. There was another who smiled, too, her face suffused with love and pride ineffable, as her eyes watched the young Quaker, and her soul drank in his words. "That's the sentiment!" said Stackridge. "And now, what is to be done? We have been disappointed in one thing. Our friends don't join us. One reason is, no doubt, they hain't got arms. But the main reason is, they look upon our cause as desperate. Desperate or not, it can't be helped, as I see. With or without help, we must fight it through, or go back, like that putty-head Deslow, and take the oath of allegiance to the bogus government. Mr. Villars, you're wise, and we want your opinion." "That, I fear, will be worth little to you!" answered the old man, bowing his head with true humility. "It seems to me that you are not to rely upon any open assistance from your friends. And sorry I am to add, I think you should not rely, either, upon any immediate aid from the government. The government has its hands full. The time is coming when you who have eyes will see the old flag once more floating on the breezes of East Tennessee. But it may be long first. And in the mean time it is your duty to look out for yourselves." "That is it," said Stackridge. "But how?" "It seems to me that your retreat cannot remain long concealed. Therefore, this is what I advise. Make your preparations to disperse at any moment. You may be compelled to hide for months in the mountains and woods, hunted continually, and never permitted to sleep in safety twice in the same place. That will be the fate of hundreds. There is but one thing better for you to do. It is this. Force your way over the mountains into Kentucky, join the national army, and hasten its advance." "And you?" said Captain Grudd. The old man smiled with beautiful serenity. "Perhaps I shall have my choice, after all. You remember what that was? To remain in the hands of our enemies. I ought never to have attempted to escape. I cannot help myself; I am only a burden to you. My daughters cannot continue to be with me here in this cave; and, if I am to be separated from them, I may as well be in a confederate prison as elsewhere. If the traitors seek my life, they are welcome to it." "O, father! what do you say!" exclaimed Virginia, in terror at his words. "I advise what I feel to be best. I will give myself up to the military authorities. You, and Salina, if she chooses, will, I am certain, be permitted to go to your friends in Ohio. But before I take this step, let all here who have strong arms to lend their country be already on their way over the mountains. Penn and Carl must go with them. Nor do I forget Pomp and Cudjo. They shall go too, and you will protect them." Penn turned suddenly pale. It was the soundness of the good old man's counsel that terrified him. Separation from Virginia! She to be left at the mercy of the confederates! This was the one thing in the world he had personally to dread. "It may be good advice," he said. "It is certainly a noble self-sacrifice, Mr. Villars proposes. But I do not believe there is one here who will consent to it. I say, let us keep together. If necessary, we can die together. We cannot separate, if by so doing we must leave him behind." He spoke with intense feeling, yet his words were but feebly echoed by the patriots. The truth was, they were already convinced that they ought to be making their way out of the state, and had said so among themselves; but, being unwilling to abandon the old minister, and knowing well that he could never think of undertaking the terrible journey they saw before them, hither they had come to hear what he had to suggest. "What do you think, Pomp?" Penn asked, in despair. "I think that what Mr. Villars advises these men to do is the best thing." Penn was stupefied. He saw that he stood alone, opposed to the general opinion. And something within himself said that he was selfish, that he was wrong. He did not venture to glance at Virginia, but bent his eyes downward with a stunned expression at the floor of the cave. "But as for himself, and us, I am not so sure. There are recesses in this cave that cannot easily be discovered. He shall remain, and we will stay and take care of him, if he will." These calm words of the negro sounded like a reprieve to Penn's soul. He caught eagerly at the suggestion. "Yes, if there must be a separation, Pomp is right. If many go, it will be believed that all are gone, and the rest can remain in safety." "You are all too generous towards me," said the old minister. "But I have nothing more to say. I am very patient. I am willing to accept whatever God sends, and to wait his own blessed time for it. When you, Penn, were sick in my house, and the ruffians were coming to kill you, and I could not determine what to do, the question was decided for me: Providence decided it by taking you, by what seemed a miracle, beyond the reach of all of us. So I believe this question, which troubles us now, will be decided for us soon. Something is to happen that will show us plainly what must be done." So it was: something was indeed to happen, sooner even than he supposed. XL. _THE WONDERS OF THE CAVE._ The other inmates of the cave had breakfasted whilst the old clergyman was asleep. Toby was now occupied in preparing his dish of coffee, and Mr. Villars invited the patriots to remain and take a cup with him. Penn noticed Cudjo's discontent at seeing Toby usurp his function. He remembered also a rare pleasure he had been promising himself whenever he should find Cudjo at leisure and circumstances favorable for his purpose. "Now is our time," he whispered Virginia. "Will Salina come too?" "What to do?" Salina asked. "To explore the cave," said Penn, courteously, yet trembling lest the invitation should be accepted. She excused herself: she was feeling extremely fatigued; much to Penn's relief--that is to say, regret, as he hypocritically gave her to understand. She smiled: though she had declined, Virginia was going, and she thought he looked consoled. "What does anybody care for me?" she said bitterly to herself. It was to save her the pain of a slight that Penn, always too honest to resort to dissimulation from selfish motives, had assumed towards her a regard he did not feel. But the little artifice failed. She saw she was not wanted, and was jealous--angry with him, with Virginia, with herself. For thus it is with the discontented and envious. They cannot endure to see others happy without them. They gladly make the most of a slight, pressing it like a thistle to the breast, and embracing it all the more fiercely as it pierces and wounds. But he who has humility and love in his heart says consolingly at such times, "If they can be happy without me, why, Heaven be thanked! If I am neglected, then I must draw upon the infinite resources within myself. And if I am unloved, whose fault is it but my own? I will cultivate that sweetness of soul, the grace, and goodness, and affection, which shall compel love!" Something like this Carl found occasion to say to himself; for if you think he saw the master he loved, and her who was dear to him as ever sister was to younger brother, depart with Cudjo and the torches, without longing to go with them and share their pleasure, you know not the heart of the boy. He was almost choking with tears as he saw the torches go out of sight. But just as he had arrived at this philosophical conclusion, O joy! what did he see? Penn returning! Yes, and hastening straight to him! "Carl, why don't you come too?" There was no mistaking the sincerity of Penn's frank, animated face. Again the tears came into Carl's eyes; but this time they were tears of gratitude. "Vould you really be pleased to have me?" "Certainly, Carl! Virginia and I both spoke of it, and wondered why we had not thought to ask you before." "Then I vill get my wery goot friend the captain to excuse me. I sushpect he vill be wexed to part from me; but I shall take care that the ties that bind us shall not be proken." In pursuance of this friendly design, Carl produced a good strong cord which he had found in the cave. This he attached to the handcuffs by a knot in the middle; then, carrying the two ends in opposite directions around one of the giant's stools, he fastened them securely on the side farthest from the prisoner. This done, he gave the pistol to Toby, and invested him with the important and highly gratifying office of guarding "dat Shprowl." "If you see him too much unhappy for my absence, and trying for some diwersion by making himself free," said Carl, instructing him in the use of the weapon, "you shall shust cock it _so_,--present it at his head or stomach, vichever is conwenient--_so_,--then pull the trigger as you please, till he is vunce more quiet. That is all. Now I shall say goot pie to him till I come pack." "Why don't you kill and eat him?" asked Withers, watching the boy's operations with humorous enjoyment. "Him?" said Carl, dryly. "Thank ye, sir; I am not fond of weal." As Pomp and the patriots remained in the cave, it was not anticipated that Lysander would give any trouble. With Carl at his side, Penn bore the torch above his head, and plunged into the darkness, which seemed to retreat before them only to reappear behind, surrounding and pursuing their little circle of light as it advanced. A gallery, tortuous, lofty, sculptured by the gnomes into grotesque and astonishing forms, led from the inhabited vestibule to the wonders beyond. They had gone but a few rods when they saw a faint glimmer before them, which increased to a mild yellowish radiance flickering on the walls. It was the light of Cudjo's torch. They found Cudjo and Virginia waiting for them at the entrance of a long and spacious hall, whose floor was heaped with fragments of rock, some of huge size, which had evidently fallen from the roof. "De cave whar us lives, des' like dis yer when me find um in de fust place," the negro was saying to Virginia. "Right smart stuns dar." "What did you do with them?" "Tuk all me could tote to make your little dressum-room wiv. Lef' de big 'uns fur cheers when me hab comp'ny, hiah yah! When Pomp come, him help me place 'em around scrumptious like. Pomp bery strong--lif' like you neber see!" Climbing over the stones, they reached, at the farther end of the hall, an abrupt termination of the floor. A black abyss yawned beyond. In its invisible depths the moan of waters could be heard. Virginia, who had been thrilled with wonder and fear, standing in the hall of the stones, and thinking of those crushing masses showered from the roof, now found it impossible not to yield to the terrors of her excited imagination. "I cannot go any farther!" she said, recoiling from the gulf, and drawing Penn back from it. "Come right 'long!" cried Cudjo; "no trouble, missis!" "See, he has piled stones in here and made some very good and safe stairs. Take my torch, Carl, and follow; Cudjo will go before with his. Now, one step at a time. I will not let thee fall." Thus assured, she ventured to make the descent. A strong arm was about her waist; a strong and supporting spirit was at her side; and from that moment she felt no fear. The limestone, out of which the cave was formed, lay in nearly horizontal strata; and, at the bottom of Cudjo's stairs, they came upon another level floor. It was smooth and free from rubbish. A gray vault glimmered above their heads in the torchlight. The walls showed strange and grotesque forms in bas-relief, similar to those of the first gallery: here a couchant lion, so distinctly outlined that it seemed as if it must have been chiselled by human art; an Indian sitting in a posture of woe, with his face buried in his hands; an Arctic hunter wrestling with a polar bear; the head of a turbaned Turk; and, most wonderful of all, the semblance of a vine (Penn named it "Jonah's gourd"), which spread its massive branches on the wall, and, climbing under the arched roof, hung its heavy fruit above their heads. Close by "Jonah's gourd" a little stream gushed from the side of the rock, and fell into a fathomless well. The torches were held over it, and the visitors looked down. Solid darkness was below. Carl took from his pocket a stone. "It is the same," he said, "that Mishter Sprowl pumped his head against. I thought I should find some use for it; and now let's see." He dropped it into the well. It sunk without a sound, the noise of its distant fall being lost in the solemn and profound murmur of the descending water. "What make de cave, anyhow?" asked Cudjo. "The wery question I vas going to ask," said Carl. "It will take but a few words to tell you all I know about it," said Penn. "Water containing carbonic acid gas has the quality of dissolving such rock as this part of the mountain is made of. It is limestone; and the water, working its way through it, dissolves it as it would sugar, only very slowly. Do you understand?" "O, yes, massa! de carbunkum asses tote it away!" Penn smiled, and continued his explanation, addressing himself to Carl. "So, little by little, the interior of the rock is worn, until these great cavities are formed." "But what comes o' de rock?" cried Cudjo; "dat's de question!" "What becomes of the sugar that dissolves in your coffee?" "Soaks up, I reckon; so ye can't see it widout it settles." "Just so with the limestone, Cudjo. It _soaks up_, as you say. And see!--I will show you where a little of it has settled. Notice this long white spear hanging from the roof." "Dat? Dat ar a stun icicle. Me broke de pint off oncet, but 'pears like it growed agin. Times de water draps from it right smart." "A good idea--a stone icicle! It grew as an icicle grows downward from the eaves. It was formed by the particles of lime in the water, which have collected there and hardened into what is called _stalactite_. These curious smooth white folds of stone under it, which look so much like a cushion, were formed by the water as it dropped. This is called _stalagmite_." "Heap o' dem 'ar sticktights furder 'long hyar," observed Cudjo, anxious to be showing the wonders. They came into a vast chamber, from the floor of which rose against the darkness columns resembling a grove of petrified forest trees. The flaming torches, raised aloft in the midst of them, revealed, supported by them, a wonderful gothic roof, with cornice, and frieze, and groined arches, like the interior of a cathedral. A very distinct fresco could also be seen, formed by mineral incrustations, on the ceiling and walls. On a cloudy background could be traced forms of men and beasts, of forests and flowers, armies, castles, and ships, not sculptured like the figures before described, but designed by the subtile pencil of some sprite, who, Virginia suggested, must have been the subterranean brother of the Frost. "How wonderful!" she said. "And is it not strange how Nature copies herself, reproducing silently here in the dark the very same forms we find in the world above! Here is a rose, perfect!" "With petals of pure white gypsum," said Penn. Whilst they were talking, Cudjo passed on. They followed a little distance, then halted. The light of his torch had gone out in the blackness, and the sound of his footsteps had died away. Carl remained with the other torch; and there they stood together, without speaking, in the midst of immense darkness ingulfing their little isle of light, and silence the most intense. Suddenly they heard a voice far off, singing; then two, then three voices; then a chorus filling the heart of the mountain with a strange spiritual melody. Virginia was enraptured, and Carl amazed. Penn, who had known what was coming, looked upon them with pride and delight. At length the music, growing faint and fainter, melted and was lost in the mysterious vaults through which it had seemed to wander and soar away. It was a minute after all was still before either spoke. "Certainly," Virginia exclaimed, "if I had not heard of a similar effect produced in the Mammoth Cave, I should never have believed that marvellous chorus was sung by a single voice!" "A single woice!" repeated Carl, incredulous. "There vas more as a dozen woices!" "Right, Carl!" laughed Penn. "The first was Cudjo's; and all the rest were those, of the nymph Echo and her companions." They continued their course through the halls of the echoes, and soon came to an arched passage, at the entrance of which Penn paused and placed the torch in a niche. A projection of the rock prevented the light from shining before them, yet their way was softly illumined from beyond, as by a dim phosphorescence. They advanced, and in a moment their eyes, grown accustomed to the obscurity, came upon a scene of surprising and magical beauty. "The Grotto of Undine," said Penn. It was, to all appearances, a nearly spherical concavity, some thirty yards in length, and perhaps twenty in perpendicular diameter. Carl's torch was concealed in the niche, and Cudjo's was nowhere visible; yet the whole interior was luminous with a dim and silvery halo. A narrow corridor ran round the sides, and resembled a dark ring swimming in nebulous light, midway between the upper and nether hemispheres of the wondrous hollow globe. Within this horizontal rim, floor there was none; and they stood upon its brink; and, looking up, they saw the marvellous vault all sparkling with stars and beaming with pale, pendent, taper, crystalline flames, noiseless and still; and, looking down, beheld beneath their feet, and shining with a yet more soft and dreamy lustre, the perfect counterpart of the vault above. Penn held Virginia upon the verge. A bewildering ecstasy captivated her reason as she gazed. They seemed to be really in the grotto of some nymph who had fled the instant she saw her privacy invaded, or veiled the immortal mystery and loveliness of her charms in some mesh of the glimmering nimbus that baffled and entangled the sight. Save one or two stifled cries of rapture from Virginia and Carl, not a syllable was uttered: perfect stillness prevailed, until Penn said, in a whisper,-- "Wouldst thou like to see the face of Undine? Bend forward. Do not fear: I hold thee!" By gentle compulsion he induced her to comply. She bent over the brink, and looked down, when, lo! out of the hazy effulgence beneath, emerged a face looking up at her--a face dimly seen, yet full of vague wonder and surprise--a face of unrivalled sweetness and beauty, Penn thought. What did Virginia think?--for it was the reflection of her own. "O, Penn! how it startled me!" "But isn't she a Grace? Isn't she loveliness itself?" "I hope you think so!" she whispered, with arch frankness, a sweet coquettish confidence ravishing to his soul. "I do!" And in the privacy of telling her so, his lips just brushed her ear. Did you ever, in whispering some secret trifle, some all-important, heavenly nothing, just brush the dearest little ear in the world with your lips? or, in listening to the syllables of divine nonsense, feel the warm breath and light touch of the magnetic thrilling mouth? Then you know something of what Penn and Virginia experienced for a brief moment in the Grotto of Undine. Just then a duplicate glow, like a double sunrise, one part above and the other below the horizon, appeared at the farther end of the grotto. It increased, until they saw come forth from behind an upright rock an upright torch; and at the same time, from behind a suspended rock beneath, an inverted torch. Immediately after two Cudjoes came in sight; one standing erect on the rock above, and the other standing upside down on--or rather under--the rock below. "Take your torch, Carl," said Penn, "and go around and meet him." The boy returned to the niche; and presently two Carls, with two torches, were seen moving around the rim of the corridor, one upright above, the other walking miraculously, head downwards, below. The two Carls had not reached the rock, when the two Cudjoes stooped, and took up each a stone and threw them. One fell _upward_ (so to speak), as the other fell downward: they met in the centre: there was a strange clash, which echoed through the hollow halls; and in a moment the entire nether hemisphere of the enchanted grotto was shattered into numberless flashing and undulating fragments. Virginia had already perceived that the appearance of a concave sphere was an illusion produced by the ceiling lighted by Cudjo's hidden torch, and mirrored in a floor of glassy water. Yet she was entirely unprepared for this astonishing result; and at sight of the Cudjo beneath instantaneously annihilated by the plashing of a stone, she started back with a scream. Fortunately, Penn still held her close, no doubt in a fit of abstraction, forgetting that his arms were no longer necessary to prevent her falling, as when she leaned to look at the shadowy Undine. "All those stalactites," said he, as the two torches were held towards the roof, "are of the most beautiful crystalline structure; and the spaces between are all studded with brilliant spars. The first time I was here, it was April; the mountain springs were full, and every one of these _stone icicles_ was dripping with water that percolated through the strata above. The effect was almost as surprising as what we saw before Cudjo cast the stone. The surface of the pool seemed all leaping and alive with perpetual showers of dancing pearls. But now the springs are low, or the water has found another channel. Yet this basin is always full." "Why, so it is! I had no idea the water was so near!" And Virginia, stooping, dipped her hand. The mirrored crystals were still coruscating and waving in the ripples, as they passed around the rim of rock, and followed Cudjo into a scarcely less beautiful chamber beyond. Here was no water; but in its place was a floor of alabaster, from which arose a great variety of pure white stalagmites, to meet each its twin stalactite pendent from above. In some cases they did actually meet and grow together in perfect pillars, reaching from floor to roof. "The stalagmites are very beautiful," said Virginia; "but the stalactites are still more beautiful." "I think," said Penn, "there is a moral truth symbolized by them. As the rock above gives forth its streaming life, it benefits and beautifies the rock below, while at the same time it adorns still more richly its own beautiful breast. So it always is with Charity: it blesses him that receives, but it blesses far more richly him that gives." "O, must we pass on?" said Virginia, casting longing eyes towards all those lovely forms. "We are to return the same way," replied Penn. "But now Cudjo seems to be in a hurry." "Dat's de last ob de sticktights," cried the black, standing at the end of the colonnade, and waving his torch above his head. "Now we's comin' to de run." "Come," said Penn, "and I will show thee what Hood must have meant by the 'dark arch of the black flowing river.'" A stupendous cavern of seemingly endless extent opened before them. Cudjo ran on ahead, shouting wildly under the hollow, reverberating dome, and waving his torch, which soon appeared far off, like a flaming star amid a night of darkness. Then there were two stars, which separated, and, standing one above the other, remained stationary. "Listen!" said Penn. And they heard the liquid murmur of flowing water. He took the torch from Carl, and advancing towards the right wall of the cavern, showed, flowing out of it, through a black, arched opening, a river of inky blackness. It rolled, with scarce a ripple, slow, and solemn, and still, out of that impenetrable mystery, and swept along between the wall on one side and a rocky bank on the other. By this bank they followed it, until they came to a natural bridge, formed by a limestone cliff, through which it had worn its channel, and under which it disappeared. On this bridge they found Cudjo perched above the water with his torch. They passed the bridge without crossing,--for the farther end abutted high upon the cavern wall,--and found the river again flowing out on the lower side. Few words were spoken. The vastness of the cave, the darkness, the mystery, the inky and solemn stream pursuing its noiseless course, impressed them all. Suddenly Virginia exclaimed,-- "Light ahead!" though Carl was with her, and Cudjo now walked behind. It was a gray glimmer, which rapidly grew to daylight as they advanced. "It is the chasm, or sink, where the roof of the cave has fallen in," said Penn. While he spoke, a muffled rustling of wings was heard above their heads. They looked up, and saw numbers of large black bats, startled by the torches, darting hither and thither under the dismal vault. Birds, too, flew out from their hiding-places as they advanced, and flapped and screamed in the awful gloom. To save the torches for their return, Cudjo now extinguished them. They walked in the brightening twilight along the bank of the stream, and found, to the surprise and delight of Virginia, some delicate ferns and pale green shrubs growing in the crevices of the rock. Vegetation increased as they proceeded, until they arrived at the sink, and saw before them steep banks covered with vines, thickets, and forest trees. The river, whose former course had evidently been stopped by the falling in of the forest, here made a curve to the right around the banks, and half disappeared in a channel it had hollowed for itself under the cliff. Here they left it, and climbed to the open day. "How strangely yellow the sunshine looks!" said Virginia. "It seems as though I had colored glasses on. And how sultry the air!" She looked up at the towering rocks that walled the chasm, and at the trees upon whose roots she stood, and whose tops waved in the summer breeze and sunshine, at the level of the mountain slope so far above. She could also see, on the summit of the cliffs, the charred skeletons of trees the late fire had destroyed. "It was here," said Penn, "that Stackridge and his friends escaped. This leaning tree with its low branches forms a sort of ladder to the limbs of that larger one; and by these it is easy to climb----" As he was speaking, all eyes were turned upwards; when suddenly Cudjo uttered a warning whistle, and dropped flat upon the ground. "A man!" said Carl, crouching at the foot of the tree. Penn did not fall or crouch, nor did Virginia scream, although, looking up through the scant leafage, they saw, standing on the cliff, and looking down straight at them, at the same time waving his hand exultantly, one whom they well knew--their enemy, Silas Ropes. XLI. _PROMETHEUS BOUND._ At the wave of the lieutenant's hand, a squad of soldiers rushed to the spot. In a minute their muskets were pointed downwards, and aimed. "Fly!" said Penn, thrusting Virginia from him. "Carl, take her away!" The boy drew her back down the rocks, following Cudjo, who was descending on all fours, like an ape. She turned her face in terror to look after Penn. There he stood, where she had left him, intrepid, his fine head uncovered, looking steadfastly up at the men on the cliff, and waving his hat, defiantly. At once she recognized his noble self-sacrifice. It was his object to attract their fire, and so shield her from the bullets as she fled. She struggled from Carl's grasp. "O, Penn," she cried, extending her hands beseechingly, and starting to return to him. "Fire!" shouted Silas Ropes. Crack! went a gun, immediately succeeded by an irregular volley, like a string of exploding fire-crackers. Penn, expecting death, saw first the rapid flashes, then the soldiers half concealed by the smoke of their own guns. The smoke cleared, and there he still stood, smiling--for Virginia was unhurt. "Your practice is very poor!" he shouted up at the soldiers; and, putting on his hat, he walked calmly away. The bullets had struck the trees and flattened on the stones all around him; but he was untouched. And before the rebels could reload their pieces, he was safe with his companions in the cavern. He found Cudjo hastily relighting his torch. Virginia was sitting on a stone where Carl had placed her; powerless with the reaction of fear; her countenance, white as that of a snow-image in the gloom, turned upon Penn as if she knew not whether it was really he, or his apparition. She did not rise to meet him. She could not speak. Her eyes were as the eyes of one that beholds a miracle of God's mercy. "Is no guns here?" cried Carl. "De men hab all urn's guns,"' said Cudjo, over his kindlings. "Me gwine fotch 'em!" And, his torch lighted, he darted away. In a minute he was out of sight and hearing; only the flame he bore could be seen dancing like an ignis fatuus in the darkness of the cavern. "O, if I had only that pistol, Carl!" said Penn. "I could manage to defend the chasm with it until they come. But wishes won't help us. Virginia, Deslow has turned traitor! He must have known his friends were going this morning to visit thy father, or else he could not so well have chosen his time for betraying them." He lighted his torch, and lifted Virginia to her feet. "Have no fear. Even if the rebels get possession here, the subterranean passages can be held by a dozen men against a hundred." "I am not afraid now; I am quite strong." "That is well. Carl, take the light and go with her." "And vat shall you do?" "I will stay and watch the movements of the soldiers." "Wery goot. But I have vun little obshection." "What is it?" "You know the vay petter, and you vill take her safer as I can. But my eyes is wery wigorous, and I vill engage to vatch the cusses myself." "Thou art right, my Carl!" said Penn, who indeed felt that it was for him, and for no other, to convey Virginia back to her father and safety. He crept upon the rocks, and took a last observation of the cliffs. Not a soldier was in sight. But that fact did not delight him much. "They fear a possible shot or two. No doubt they are making preparations, and when all is ready they will descend. I only hope they will delay long enough! Farewell, Carl!" "Goot pie, Penn! Goot pie, Wirginie!" cried Carl, with stout heart and cheery voice. And as he saw them depart,--Penn's arm supporting her,--listened for the last murmur of their voices, and watched for the last glimmer of the torch as it was swallowed by the darkness, and he was left alone, he continued to smile grimly; but his eyes were dim. "They are wery happy together! And I susphect the time vill come ven he vill marry her; and then they vill neither of 'em care much for me. Veil, I shall love 'em, and wish 'em happy all the same!" With which thought he smiled still more resolutely than before, and squeezed the tears from his eyes very tenderly, in order, probably, to keep those useful organs as "wigorous" as possible for the work before him. * * * * * Handcuffed and securely bound to the rock, that modern Prometheus, Captain Lysander Sprowl, like his mythical prototype, felt the vulture's beak in his vitals. Chagrin devoured his liver. An overflow of southern bile was the result, and he turned yellow to the whites of his eyes. Old Toby noticed the phenomenon. Poor old Toby, with that foolish head and large tropical heart of his, knew no better than to feel a movement of compassion. "Kin uh do any ting fur ye, sar?" The unfeigned sympathy of the question gave the wily Prometheus his cue. He uttered a feeble moan, and studied to look as much sicker than he was as possible. Pity at the sight made the old negro forget much which a white man would have been apt to remember--the disgrace this wretch had brought upon "the family;" and the recent cruel whipping, from which his own back was still sore. "Ye pooty sick, sar?" "Water!" gasped Lysander. The patriots had finished their coffee and taken their guns. Toby ran to them. "Some on ye be so good as keep an eye skinned on de prisoner, while I's gittin' him a drink!" He hastened with the gourd to a dark interior niche where a little trickling spring dripped, drop by drop, into a basin hollowed in the rocky floor. As he bore it, cool and brimming, to his captive-patient, Withers said,-- "I don't keer! it's a sight to make most white folks ashamed of their Christianity, to see that old nigger waiting on that rascal, 'fore his own back has done smarting!" "If, as I believe," said Mr. Villars, "men stand approved before God, not for their pride of intellect or of birth, but for the love that is in their hearts, who can doubt but there will be higher seats in heaven for many a poor black man than for their haughty masters?" "According to that," replied Withers, "maybe some besides the haughty masters will be a little astonished if they ever git into heaven--nigger-haters that won't set in a car, or a meeting-house, or to see a theatre-play, if there's a nigger allowed the same privilege! Now I never was any thing of an emancipationist; but by George! if there's anything I detest, it's this etarnal and unreasonable prejudice agin' niggers! How do you account for it, Mr. Villars?" "Prejudice," said the old man, "is always a mark of narrowness and ignorance. You might almost, I think, decide the question of a man's Christianity by his answer to this: 'What is your feeling towards the negro?' The larger his heart and mind, the more compassionate and generous will be his views. But where you find most bigotry and ignorance, there you will find the negro hated most violently. I think there are men in the free states whose sins of prejudice and blind passion against the unhappy race are greater than those of the slaveholders themselves." "Our interest is in our property--that's nat'ral; but what possesses them to want to see the nigger's face held tight to the grindstone, and never let up?" said Withers. "Their howl now is, 'Put down the rebellion! but don't tech slavery, and don't bring in the nigger!' As if, arter dogs had been killing my sheep, you should preach to me, 'Save your sheep, neighbor, but don't agitate the dog question! You mustn't tech the dogs!' I say, if the dogs begin the trouble, they must take the consequences, even if my dog's one." "They maintain," said Grudd, "that, no matter what slavery may have done, there is no power in the constitution to destroy it." "I am reminded of a story my daughter Virginia was reading to me not long ago,--how the great polar bear is sometimes killed. The hunter has a spear, near the pointed end of which is securely fastened a strong cross-piece. The bear, you know, is aggressive; he advances, meets the levelled shaft, seizes the cross-piece with his powerful arms, and with a growl of rage hugs the spear-head into his heart. Now, slavery is just such another great, stupid, ferocious monster. The constitution is the spear of Liberty. The cross-piece, if you like, is the republican policy which has been nailed to it, and which has given the bear a hold upon it. He is hugging it into his heart. He is destroying himself." The story was scarcely ended when Cudjo leaped into the circle, crying,-- "De sogers! de sogers!" "Where?" said Pomp, instinctively springing to his rifle. "In de sink! Dey fire onto we and de young lady!" "Any one hurt?" "No. Massa Hapgood cotch de bullets in him's hat!" for this was the impression the negro had brought away with him. "Hull passel sogers! Sile Ropes,--seed him fust ob all!" It was some moments before the patriots fully comprehended this alarming intelligence. But Pomp understood it instantly. "Gentlemen, will you fight? Your side of the house is attacked!" There was a moment's confusion. Then those who had not already taken their guns, sprang to them. They had brought lanterns, which were now burning. They plunged into the gallery, following Pomp. Cudjo ran for his sword, drew it from the scabbard, and ran yelling after them. The sudden tumult died in the depths of the cavern; and all was still again before those left behind had recovered from their astonishment. There was one whose astonishment was largely mixed with joy. A moment since he was lying like a man near the last gasp; but now he started up, singularly forgetful of his dying condition, until reminded of it by feeling the restraint of the rope and seeing Toby. Lysander sank back with a groan. "'Pears like you's a little more chirk," said Toby. "My head! my head!" said Lysander. "My skull is fractured. Can't you loose the rope a little? The strain on my wrists is--" ending the sentence with a faint moan. Had Toby forgotten the strain on _his_ wrists, and the anguish of the thumbs, when this same cruel Lysander had him strung up? "Bery sorry, 'deed, sar! But I can't unloosen de rope fur ye." And, full of pity as he was, the old negro resolutely remained faithful to his charge. Sprowl tried complaints, coaxing, promises, but in vain. "Well, then," said he, "I have only one request to make. Let me see my wife, and ask her forgiveness before I die." "Dat am bery reason'ble; I'll speak to her, sar." And, without losing sight of his prisoner, Toby went to Cudjo's pantry, now Virginia's dressing-room, into which Salina had retreated, and notified her of the dying request. Salina was in one of her most discontented moods. What had she fled to the mountain for? she angrily asked herself. After the first gush of grateful emotion on meeting her father and sister, she had begun quickly to see that she was not wanted there. Then she looked around despairingly on the dismal accommodations of the cave. She had not that sustaining affection, that nobleness of purpose, which enabled her father and sister to endure so cheerfully all the hardships of their present situation. The rude, coarse life up there, the inconveniences, the miseries, which provoked only smiles of patience from them, filled her with disgust and spleen. But there was one sorer sight to those irritated eyes than all else they saw--her captive husband. She could not forget that he _was_ her husband; and, whether she loved or hated him, she could not bear to witness his degradation. Yet she could not keep her eyes off of him; and so she had shut herself up. "He wishes to speak with me? To ask my forgiveness? Well! he shall have a chance!" She went and stood over the prisoner, looking down upon him coldly, but with compressed lips. "Well, what do you want of me?" Sprowl made a motion for Toby to retire. Humbly the old negro obeyed, feeling that he ought not to intrude upon the interview; yet keeping his eye still on the prisoner, and his hand on the pistol. "Sal,"--in a low voice, looking up at her, and showing his manacled hands,--"are you pleased to see me in this condition?" "I'd rather see you dead! If I were you, I'd kill myself!" "There's a knife on the table behind you. Give it to me, free my hands, and you won't have to repeat your advice." She merely glanced over her shoulder at the knife, then bent her scowling looks once more on him. "A captain in the confederate army! outwitted and taken prisoner by a boy! kept a prisoner by an old negro! This, then, is the military glory you bragged of in advance! And I was going to be so proud of being your wife! Well, I am proud!" There was gall in her words. They made Lysander writhe. "Bad luck will happen, you know. Once out of this scrape, you'll see what I'll do! Come, Sal, now be good to me." "Good to you! I've tried that, and what did I get for it?" "I own I've given you good cause to hate me. I'm sorry for it. The truth is, we never understood each other, Sal. You was always quick and sharp yourself; you'll confess that. You know how easy it is to irritate me; and I'm a devil when in a passion. But all that's past. Hate me, if you will--I deserve it. But you don't want to see me eternally disgraced, I know." She laughed disdainfully. "If you will disgrace yourself, how can I help it?" "The other end of the cave is attacked, and it is sure to be carried. I shall soon be in the hands of my own men. If I don't succeed in doing something for myself first, it'll be impossible for me to regain the position I've lost." "Well, do something for yourself! What hinders you?" "This cursed rope! I wouldn't mind the handcuffs if the rope was away. Just a touch with that knife--that's all, Sal." "Yes! and then what would you do?" "Run." "And lose no time in sending your men to attack this end of the cave, too! O, I know you!" "I swear to you, Sal! I never will take advantage of it in that way, if you will do me just this little favor. It will be worth my life to me; and it shall cost you nothing, nor your friends." "Hush! I know too well what your promises amount to. How can I depend even upon your oath? There's no truth or honor in you!" "Well?" said Lysander, despairingly. "Well, I am going to help you, for all that. Only it must not appear as if I did it. And you shall keep your oath,--or one of us shall die for it! Now be still!" She walked back past the block that served as a table, and, when between it and Toby, quietly took the knife from it, concealing it in her sleeve. "Don't come for me to hear any more dying requests," she said to the old negro, with a sneer. "Your prisoner will survive. Only give him a little coffee, if there is any. Here is some: I will wait upon him." And, carrying the coffee, she dropped the knife at Lysander's side. XLII. _PROMETHEUS UNBOUND._ Five minutes later Penn and Virginia arrived. Penn ran eagerly for his musket. At the same time, looking about the cave, he was surprised to see only the old clergyman sitting by the fire, and Prometheus reclining by his rock. "Where is Salina? Where is Toby?" "Toby has just left his charge to see what discovery Salina has made outside. She went out previously and thought she saw soldiers." At that moment Toby came running in. "Dar's some men way down by the ravine! O, sar! I's bery glad you's come, sar!" Having announced the discovery, and greeted Penn and Virginia, he went to look at his prisoner. He had been absent from him but a minute: he found him lying as he had left him, and did not reflect, simple old soul, how much may be secretly accomplished by a desperate villain in that brief space of time. Penn took Pomp's glass, climbed along the rocky shelf, peered over the thickets, and saw on the bank of the ravine, where Salina pointed them out to him, several men. They were some distance below Gad's Leap (as he named the place where the spy met his death), and seemed to be occupied in extinguishing a fire. He levelled the glass. The recent burning of the trees and undergrowth had cleared the field for its operation. His eye sparkled as he lowered it. "I recognize one of our friends in a new uniform!"--handing the glass to Salina. Returning to the cave, he added, in Virginia's ear,-- "Augustus Bythewood!" The bright young brow contracted: "Not coming here?" "I trust not. Yet his proximity means mischief. Pomp will be interested!" He took his torch and gun. There was no time for adieus. In a moment he was gone. There was one who had been waiting with anxious eyes and handcuffed hands to see him go. Meanwhile Mr. Villars had called Toby to him, and said, in a low voice,-- "Is all right with your prisoner?" "O, yes; he am bery quiet, 'pears like." "You must look out for him. He is crafty. I feel that all is not right. When you were out, I thought I heard something like the sawing or tearing of a cord. Look to him, Toby." "O, yes, sar, I shall!" And the confident old negro approached the rock. There lay the rope about the base of it, still firmly tied on the side opposite the prisoner. And there crouched he, in the same posture of durance as before, except that now he had his legs well under him. His handcuffed hands lay on the rope. "Right glad ter see ye convanescent, sar!" Toby was bending over, examining his captive with a grin of satisfaction; when the latter, in a weak voice, made a humble request. "I wish you would put on my cap." "Wiv all de pleasure in de wuld, sar." The cap had been thrown off purposely. Unsuspecting old Toby! The pistol was in his pocket. He stooped to pick up the cap and place it on Sprowl's head; when, like a jumping devil in a box when the cover is touched, up leaped Lysander on his legs, knocking him down with the handcuffs, and springing over him. Before the old man was fully aware of what had happened, and long before he had regained his feet, Lysander was in the thickets. In his hurry he thrust his wife remorselessly from the ledge before him, and flung her rudely down upon the sharp boughs and stones, as he sped by her. There Toby found her, when he came too late with his pistol. Her hands were cut; but she did not care for her hands. Ingratitude wounds more cruelly than sharp-edged rocks. Penn had judged correctly in two particulars. Deslow had turned traitor. And the personage in the new uniform down by the ravine was Lieutenant-Colonel Bythewood. Deslow had gone straight to head-quarters after quitting Withers the previous night, given himself up, taken the oath of allegiance to the confederacy, and engaged to join the army or provide a substitute. As if this were not enough, he had also been required to expose the secret retreat of his late companions. To this, we know not whether reluctantly, he had consented; and it was this act of treachery that had brought Silas Ropes to the sink, and Bythewood to the ravine. Advantage had been taken of the fog in the morning to march back again, up the mountain, the men who had marched down, baffled and inglorious, after the wild-goose chase Carl led them the night before. Bythewood commanded the expedition at his own request, being particularly interested in two persons it was designed to capture--Virginia and Pomp. It is supposed that he took a sinister interest in Penn also. But Bythewood was not anxious to deprive Ropes of his laurels; and perhaps he felt himself to be too fine a gentleman to mix in a vulgar fight. He accordingly sent Ropes forward to surprise the patriots at the sink, while he moved with a small force cautiously up towards Gad's Leap, with two objects in view. One was, to make some discovery, if possible, with regard to the missing Lysander; the other, to intercept the retreat of the fugitives, should they be driven from the cave through the opening unknown to Deslow, but which he believed to be in this direction. The firing on the right apprised Augustus that the attack had commenced. This was the signal for him to advance boldly up from the ravine, and establish himself on an elevation commanding a view of the slopes. Here he had been discovered very opportunely by Salina, who was seeking some pretext for calling Toby from his prisoner. In the shade of some bushes that had escaped the fire, he sat comfortably smoking his cigar on one end of a log, which was smoking on its own account at the other end. "Put out that fire, some of you," said Augustus. This was scarcely done, when suddenly a man came leaping down the slope, holding his hands together in a very singular manner. Bythewood started to his feet. "Deuce take me!" said he, "if it ain't Lysander! But what's the matter with his hands, sergeant?" "Looks to me as though he had bracelets on," replied the experienced sergeant. Some men were despatched to meet and bring the captain in. The sergeant found a key in his pocket to unlock the handcuffs. Then Lysander told the story of his capture, which, though modified to suit himself, excited Bythewood's derision. This stung the proud captain, who, to wash the stain from his honor, proposed to take a squad of men and surprise the cave. Fired by the prospect of seeing Virginia in his power, Augustus had but one important order to give: "Bring your prisoners to me here!" Instead of proceeding directly to the cave, Lysander used strategy. He knew that if his movements were observed, and their object suspected, Virginia would have ample time to escape with her father and old Toby into the interior caverns, where it might be extremely difficult to discover them. He accordingly started in the direction of the sink, as if with intent to reënforce the soldiers fighting there; then, dropping suddenly into a hollow, he made a short turn to the left, and advanced swiftly, under cover of rocks and bushes, towards the ledge that concealed the cave. * * * * * "How _could_ you let him go, Toby!" cried Virginia, filled with consternation at the prisoner's escape. For she saw all the mischievous consequences that were likely to follow in the track of that fatal error: Cudjo's secret, so long faithfully kept, now in evil hour betrayed; the cave attacked and captured, and the brave men fighting at the sink, believing their retreat secure, taken suddenly in the rear; and so disaster, if not death, resulting to her father, to Penn, to all. The anguish of her tones pierced the poor old negro's soul. "Dunno', missis, no more'n you do! 'Pears like he done gnawed off de rope wiv his teef!" For Lysander, having used the knife, had hidden it under the skins on which he sat. Then Salina spoke, and denounced herself. After all the pains she had taken to conceal her agency in Sprowl's escape,--inconsistent, impetuous, filled with rage against herself and him,--she exclaimed,-- "I did it! Here is the knife I gave him!" Virginia stood white and dumb, looking at her sister. Toby could only tear his old white wool and groan. "Salina," said her father, solemnly, "you have done a very treacherous and wicked thing! I pity you!" Severest reproaches could not have stung her as these words, and the terrified look of her sister, stung the proud and sensitive Salina. "I have done a damnable thing! I know it. Do you ask what made me? The devil made me. I knew it was the devil at the time; but I did it." "O, what shall we do, father?" said Virginia. "There is nothing you can do, my daughter, unless you can reach our friends and warn them." "O," she said, in despair, "there is not a lamp or a torch! All have been taken!" "And it is well! It would take you at least an hour to go and return; and that man--" Mr. Villars would never, if he could help it, speak Lysander's name--"will be here again before that time, if he is coming." "He is not coming," said Salina. "He swore to me that he would not take advantage of his escape to betray or injure any of you. He will keep his oath. If he does not----" She paused. There was a long, painful silence; the old man musing, Virginia wringing her hands, Toby keeping watch outside. "Listen!" said Salina. "I am a woman. But I will defend this place. I will stand there, and not a man shall enter till I am dead. As for you, Jinny, take _him_, and go. You can hide somewhere in the caves. Leave me and Toby. I will not ask you to forgive me; but perhaps some time you will think differently of me from what you do now." "Sister!" said Virginia, with emotion, "I do forgive you! God will forgive you too; for he knows better than we do how unhappy you have been, and that you could not, perhaps, have done differently from what you have done." Salina was touched. She threw her arms about Virginia's neck. "O, I have been a bad, selfish girl! I have made both you and father very unhappy; and you have been only too kind to me always! Now leave me alone--go! I hope I shall not trouble you much longer." She brushed back her hair from her large white forehead, and smiled a strange and vacant smile. Virginia saw that her wish was to die. "Sister," she said gently, "we will all stay together, if you stay. We must not give up this place! Our friends are lost--we are lost--if we give it up! Perhaps we can do something. Indeed, I think we can! If we only had arms! Women have used arms before now!" Toby entered. "Dey ain't comin' dis yer way, nohow! Dey's gwine off to de norf, hull passel on 'em." "Give me that pistol, Toby," said Salina. "You can use Cudjo's axe, if we are attacked. Place it where you can reach it, and then return to your lookout. Don't be deceived; but warn us at once if there is danger." "My children," said the old man, "come near to me! I would I could look upon you once; for I feel that a separation is near. Dear daughters!"--he took a hand of each,--"if I am to leave you, grieve not for me; but love one another. Love one another. To you, Salina, more especially, I say this; for though I know that deep down in your heart there is a fountain of affection, you are apt to repress your best feelings, and to cherish uncharitable thoughts. For your own good, O, do not do so any more! Believe in God. Be a child of God. Then no misfortune can happen to you. My children, there is no great misfortune, other than this--to lose our faith in God, and our love for one another. I do not fear bodily harm, for that is comparatively nothing. For many years I have been blind; yet have I been blest with sight; for night and day I have seen God. And as there is a more precious sight than that of the eyes, so there is a more precious life than this of the body. The life of the spirit is love and faith. Let me know that you have this, and I shall no longer fear for you. You will be happy, wherever you are. Why is it I feel such trust that Virginia will be provided for? Salina, let your heart be like hers, and I shall no longer fear for you!" "I wish it was! I wish it was!" said Salina, pouring out the anguish of her heart in those words. "But I cannot make it so. I cannot be good! I am--Salina! Is there fatality in a name?" "I know the infirmity of your natural disposition, my child. I know, too, what circumstances have done to embitter it. Our heavenly Father will take all that into account. Yet there is no one who has not within himself faults and temptations to contend with. Many have far greater than yours to combat, and yet they conquer gloriously. I cannot say more. My children, the hour has come which is to decide much for us all. Remember my legacy to you,--Have Faith and Love." They knelt before him. He laid his hands upon their heads, and in a brief and fervent prayer blessed them. Both were sobbing. Tears ran down his cheeks also; but his countenance was bright in its uplifted serenity, wearing a strange expression of grandeur and of joy. XLIII. _THE COMBAT._ Pomp, rifle in hand, bearing a torch, led the patriots on their rapid return through the caverns. "Lights down!" he said, as they approached the vicinity of the sink. "We shall see them; but they must not see us." They halted at the natural bridge; the torch was extinguished, and the patriots placed their lanterns under a rock. They then advanced as swiftly as possible in the obscurity, along the bank of the stream. In the hall of the bats they met Carl, who had seen their lights and come towards them. "Hurry! hurry!" he said. "They are coming down the trees like the devil's monkeys! a whole carawan proke loose!" Captain Grudd commanded the patriots; but Pomp commanded Captain Grudd. "Quick, and make no noise! We have every advantage; the darkness is on our side--those loose rocks will shelter us." They advanced until within a hundred yards of where the shaft of daylight came down. There they could distinguish, in the shining cleft under the brow of the cavern, and above the rocky embankment, the forms of their assailants. Some had already gained a footing. Others were descending the tree-trunks in a dark chain, each link the body of a rebel. "We must stop that!" said Pomp. The men were deployed forward rapidly, and a halt ordered, each choosing his position. "Ready! Aim!" At that moment, half a dozen men of the attacking party advanced, feeling their way over the rocks down which Penn and his companions had been seen to escape. The leader, shielding his eyes with his hand, peered into the gloom of the cavern. Coming from the light, he could see nothing distinctly. Suddenly he paused: had he heard the words of command whispered? or was he impressed by the awful mystery and silence? "Fire!" said Captain Grudd. Instantly a jagged line of flashes leaped across the breast of the darkness, accompanied by a detonation truly terrible. Each gun with its echoes, in those cavernous solitudes, thundered like a whole park of artillery: what, then, was the effect of the volley? The patriots were themselves appalled by it. The mountain trembled, and a gusty roar swept through its shuddering chambers, throbbing and pulsing long after the smoke of the discharge had cleared away. Pomp laughed quietly, while Withers exclaimed, "By the Etarnal! if I didn't fancy the hull ruf of the mountain had caved in!" "Load!" said Captain Grudd, sternly. The rebels advancing over the rocks had suddenly disappeared, having either fallen in the crevices or scrambled back up the bank while hidden from view by the smoke. The chain descending the tree had broken; those near the ground leaped down or slid, while those above seemed seized by a wild impulse to climb back with all haste to the summit of the wall. A few threw away their guns, which fell upon the heads of those below. At the same time those below might have been seen scampering to places of shelter behind rocks and trees. If ever panic were excusable, this surely was. Since the patriots were terrified by their own firing, we need not wonder at the alarm of the rebels. Some had seen the flashes sever the darkness, and their comrades fall; while all had felt the earthquake and the thundering. To those at the entrance it had seemed that these were the jaws and throat of a monster mountain-huge, which at their approach spat flame and bellowed. "Now is our time! Clear them out!" said Grudd. "Rush in and finish them with the bayonet!" said Stackridge. Six of the guns had bayonets, and his was one of them. "Not yet!" said Pomp. "They will fire on you from above. We must first attend to that. Shall I show you? Then do as I do!" Instinctively they accepted his lead. Loading his piece, he ran forward until, himself concealed under the brow of the cavern, he could see the rebels in the tree and on the cliff. "Once more! All together!" he said, taking aim. "Give the word, captain!" The men knelt among the loosely tumbled rocks, which served at once as a breastwork and as rests for their guns. The projecting roof of the cave was over them; through the obscure opening they pointed their pieces. Above them, in the full light, were the frightened confederates, some on the tree, some on the cliff, some leaping from the tree to the cliff; while their comrades in the sink lurked on the side opposite that where the patriots were. "Take the cusses on the top of the rocks!" said Stackridge. "The rest are harmless." "It's all them in the tree can do to take keer of themselves," added Withers. "Reg'lar secesh! All they ax is to be let alone." Grudd gave the word. Flame from a dozen muzzles shot upwards from the edge of the pit. When the smoke rolled away, the cliff was cleared. Not a rebel was to be seen, except those in the tree franticly scrambling to get out, and two others. One of these had fallen on the cliff: his head and one arm hung horribly over the brink. The other, in his too eager haste to escape from the tree, had slipped from the limb, and been saved from dashing to pieces on the rocks below only by a projection of the wall, to which he had caught, and where he now clung, a dozen feet from the top, and far above the river that rolled black and slow in its channel beneath the cliff. "Now with your bayonets!" said Pomp. "This way!" There were six bayonets before; now there were eight. "That Carl is worth his weight in gold!" said the enthusiastic Stackridge. While the patriots, preparing for their second volley, were getting positions among the rocks on the left, Carl had crept up the embankment in front, and brought away two muskets from two dead rebels. These were they who had fallen at the first fire. Both guns had bayonets. Pomp took one; Carl kept the other. Cudjo with his sword accompanied the charging party; Grudd and the rest remaining at their post, ready to pick off any rebel that should appear on the cliff. Swift and stealthy as a panther, Pomp crept around still farther to the left, under the projecting wall, raising his head cautiously now and then to look for the fugitives. "As I expected! They are over there, afraid to follow the stream into the cave, and hesitating whether to make a rush for the tree. All ready?" He looked around on his little force and smiled. Instead of eight bayonets, there were now nine. Penn had arrived. "All ready!" answered Stackridge. Pomp bounded upon the rocks and over them, with a yell which the rest took up as they followed, charging headlong after him. Cudjo, brandishing his sword, leaped and yelled with the foremost--a figure fantastically terrible. Penn, with the fiery Stackridge on one side, and his beloved Carl on the other, forgot that he had ever been a Quaker, hating strife. Not that he loved it now; but, remembering that these were the deadly foes of his country, and of those he loved, and feeling it a righteous duty to exterminate them, he went to the work, not like an apprentice, but a master,--without fear, self-possessed, impetuous, kindled with fierce excitement. The rebels in the sink, fifteen in number, had had time to rally from their panic; and they now seemed inclined to make resistance. They were behind a natural breastwork, similar to that which had sheltered the patriots on the other side. They levelled their guns hastily and fired. One of the patriots fell: it was Withers. "Give it to them!" shouted Pomp. "Every cussed scoundrel of 'em!" Stackridge cried. "Kill! kill! kill!" shrieked Cudjo. "Surrender! surrender!" thundered Penn. With such cries they charged over the rocks, straight at the faces and breasts of the confederates. Some turned to fly; but beyond them was the unknown darkness into which the river flowed: they recoiled aghast from that. A few stood their ground. The bayonet, which Penn had first made acquaintance with when it was thrust at his own breast, he shoved through the shoulder of a rebel whose clubbed musket was descending on Carl's head. Three inches of the blade come out of his back; and, bearing him downwards in his irresistible onset, Penn literally pinned him to the ground. Cudjo slashed another hideously across the face with the sword. Pomp took the first prisoner: it was Dan Pepperill. The rest soon followed Dan's example, cried quarter, and threw down their arms. "Quarter!" gasped the wretch Penn had pinned. "You spoke too late--I am sorry!" said Penn, with austere pity, as, placing his foot across the man's armpit to hold him while he pulled, he put forth his strength, and drew out the steel. A gush of blood followed, and, with a groan, the soldier swooned. "It is one of them wagabonds that gave you the tar and fedders!" said Carl. "And assisted at my hanging afterwards!" added Penn, remembering the ghastly face. Thus retribution followed these men. Gad and Griffin he had seen dead. Was it any satisfaction for him to feel that he was thus avenged? I think, not much. The devil of revenge had no place in his soul; and never for any personal wrong he had received would he have wished to see bloody violence done. The prisoners were disarmed, and ordered to remain where they were. "Bring the wounded to me," said Pomp, hastening back to the spot where Withers had fallen. Stackridge and another were lifting the fallen patriot and bearing him to the shelter of the cave. Pomp assisted, skilfully and tenderly. Then followed those who bore away the wounded prisoners and the guns that had been captured. Pepperill had been ordered to help. He and Carl carried the man whose face Cudjo had slashed. This was the only rebel who had fought obstinately: he had not given up until an arm was broken, and he was blinded by his own blood. Penn and Devitt brought up the rear with the swooning soldier. When half way over they were fired upon by the rebels rallying to the edge of the cliff. Grudd and his men responded sharply, covering their retreat. Penn felt a bullet graze his shoulder. It made but a slight flesh wound there; but, passing down, it entered the heart of the wounded man, whose swoon became the swoon of death. This was the only serious result of the confederate fire. "I am glad I did not kill him!" said Penn, as they laid the corpse beside the stream. Then out of the mask of blood which covered the face of the stout fellow who had fought so well, there issued a voice that spoke, in a strange tongue, these words:-- "_Was hat man mir gethan? Wo bin ich, mutter?_" But the words were not strange to Carl; neither was the voice strange. "Fritz! Fritz!" he answered, in the same language, "is it you?" "I am Fritz Minnevich; that is true. And you, I think, are my cousin Carl." They laid the wounded man near the stream, where Pomp was examining Withers's hurt. "O, Fritz!" said Carl, "how came you here?" "They said the Yankees were coming to take our farm. So Hans and I enlisted to fight. I got in here because I was ordered. We do as we are ordered. It was we who whipped the woman. We whipped her well. I hope my good looks will not be spoiled; for that would grieve our mother." Thus the soldier talked in his native tongue, while Carl, in sorrow and silence, washed the blood from his face. He remembered he was his father's brother's son; a good fellow, in his way; dull, but faithful; and he had not always treated him cruelly. Indeed, Carl thought not of his cruelty now at all, but only of the good times they had had together, in days when they were friends, and Frau Minnevich had not taught her boys to be as ill-natured as herself. "What for do you do this, Carl?" said Fritz. "There is no cause that you should be kind to me. I did you some ill turns. You did right to run away. But our father swears you shall have your share of the property if you ever come back for it, and the Yankees do not take it." "It is all lies they tell you about the Yankees!" said Carl. "O Pomp! this is my cousin--see what you can do for him." Pomp had been reluctantly convinced that he could do nothing for Withers: his wound was mortal. And Withers had said to him, in cheerful, feeble tones, "I feel I'm about to the eend of my tether. So don't waste yer time on me." So Pomp turned his attention to the Minnevich. But Penn and Stackridge remained with the dying patriot. "Wish ye had a Union flag to wrap me in when I'm dead, boys! That's what I've fit fur; that's what I meant to die fur, if 'twas so ordered. It's all right, boys! Jest look arter my family a little, won't ye? And don't give up old Tennessee!" These were his last words. Penn and Stackridge rejoined their comrades in the fight. "Shoot him! shoot him! shoot him!" cried Cudjo, in a frenzy of excitement, pointing at the rebel who had fallen from the tree upon the projection of the chasm wall. "Him dar! Dat Sile Ropes!" "Ropes?" said Penn, looking up through the opening. "That he!"--raising his gun. "But he can do no harm there; and he can't get out." "Don' ye see? Dey's got a rope to help him wif! Gib him a shot fust! O, gib him a shot!" The projection to which the lieutenant clung was a broken shelf less than half a yard in breadth. There he cowered in abject terror betwixt two dangers, that of falling if he attempted to move, and that of being picked off if he remained stationary and in sight. To avoid both, he got upon his hands and knees, and hid his face in the angle of the ledge, leaving the posterior part of his person prominent, no doubt thinking, like an ostrich, that if his head was in a hole, he was safe. The very ludicrousness of his situation saved him. The patriots reserved him to laugh at, and fired over him at the rebels on the cliff. At each shot, Silas could be seen to root his nose still more industriously into the rock. At length, however, as Cudjo had declared, a rope was brought and let down to him. "Take hold there!" shouted the rebels on the cliff. Ropes could feel the cord dangling on his back. "Tie it around your waist!" Silas, without daring to look up, put out his hand, which groped awkwardly and blindly for the rope as it swung to and fro all around it. Finally, he seized it, but ran imminent risk of falling as he drew it under his body. At length he seemed to have it secured; but in his hurry and trepidation he had fastened it considerably nearer his hips than his arms. The result, when the rebels above began to haul, can be imagined. Hips and heels were hoisted, while arms and head hung down, causing him to resemble very strikingly a frog hooked on for bait at the end of a fish-line. The affrighted face drawn out of its hole, looked down ridiculously hideous into the rocky and bristling gulf over which he swung. "Fire!" said Captain Grudd. The volley was aimed, not at Silas, but at those who were hauling him up. Cudjo shrieked with frantic joy, expecting to see his old enemy plunge head foremost among the stones on the bank of the stream. Such, no doubt, would have been the result, but for one sturdy and brave fellow at the rope. The rest, struck either with bullets or terror, fell back, loosing their hold. But this man clung fast, imperturbable. Alone, slowly, hand over hand, he hauled and hauled; grim, unterrified, faithful. But it was a tedious and laborious task for one, even the stoutest. The man had but a precarious foothold, and the rope rubbed hard on the edge of the cliff. Cudjo shrieked again, this time with despair at seeing his former overseer about to escape. "That's a plucky fellow!" said Stackridge, with stern admiration of the soldier's courage. "I like his grit; but he must stop that!" He reached for a loaded gun. He took Carl's. The boy turned pale, but said never a word, setting his lips firmly as he looked up at the cliff. Silas was swinging. The soldier was pulling in the rope, hitch by hitch, over the ledge. Stackridge took deliberate aim, and fired. For a moment no very surprising effect was perceptible, only the man stopped hauling. Then he went down on one knee, paying out several inches of the rope, and letting the suspended Silas dip accordingly. It became evident that he was hit; he still grasped the rope, but it began to glide through his hands. Silas set up a howl. "Hold me! hold me!"--at the same time extending all his fingers to grasp the rocks. The brave fellow made one last effort, and took a turn of the rope about his wrist. It did not slip through his hands any more. But soon _he_ began to slip--forward--forward--on both knees now--his head reeling like that of a drunken man, and at last pitching heavily over the cliff. Some of the cowards who had deserted their post sprang to save him; but too late: the man was gone. It was fortunate for Silas that he had been let down several feet thus gradually. He was near the ledge from which he had been lifted, and had just time to grasp it again and crawl upon it, when the man fell, turning a complete somerset over him, fearful to witness! revolving slowly in his swift descent through the air; still holding with tenacious grip the rope; plunging through the boughs like a mere log tumbled from the cliff, and striking the rocks below--dead. He had taken the rope with him; and Silas had been preserved from sharing his fate only by a lucky accident. The knot at his hips loosened itself as he clutched the ledge, and let the coil fly off as the man shot down. Not a gun was fired: rebels and patriots seemed struck dumb with horror at the brave fellow's fate. Then Carl whispered,-- "That vas my other cousin! That vas Hans!" "Cudjo! Cudjo! what are you about?" cried Penn. The black did not answer. Beside himself with excitement, he ran to the leaning tree and climbed it like an ape. The naked sword gleamed among the twigs. Reaching the trunk of the tall tree he ascended that as nimbly, never stopping until he had reached the upper limbs. There was one that branched towards the ledge where Silas clung. At a glance choosing that, Cudjo ran out upon it, until it bent beneath his weight. There he tried in vain to reach his ancient enemy with the sword; the distance was too great, even for his long arms. "Sile Ropes! ye ol' oberseer! g'e know Cudjo? Me Cudjo!" he yelled, slashing the end of the branch as if it had been his victim's flesh. "'Member de lickins? 'Member my gal ye got away? Now ye git yer pay!" While he was raving thus, one of the soldiers above, sheltering himself from the fire of the patriots by lying almost flat on the ground, levelled his gun at the half-crazed negro's breast, and pulled the trigger. A flash--a report--the sword fell, and went clattering down upon the rocks. Cudjo turned one wild look upward, clapping his hand to his breast. Then, with a terrible grimace, he cast his eyes down again at Ropes,--crept still farther out on the branch,--and leaped. Silas had his nose in the angle of the ledge again, and scarcely knew what had happened until he felt the negro alight on his back and fling his arms about him. "Cudjo shot! Cudjo die! But you go too, Sile Ropes!" As he gibbered forth these words, his long hands found the lieutenant's throat, and tightened upon it. A fearfully quiet moment ensued; then living and dying rolled together from the ledge, and dropped into the chasm. They struck the body of the dead Hans; that broke the fall; and Cudjo was beneath his victim. Ropes, stunned only, struggled to rise; but, held in that deadly embrace, he only succeeded in rolling himself down the embankment, Cudjo accompanying. The stream flowed beneath, black, with scarce a murmur. Silas neither saw nor heard it; but, continuing to struggle, and so continuing to roll, he reached the verge of the rocks, and fell with a splash into the current. Penn ran to the spot just in time to see the two bodies disappear together; the dying Cudjo and the drowning Silas sinking as one, and drifting away into the cavernous darkness of the subterranean river. XLIV. _HOW AUGUSTUS FINALLY PROPOSED._ After this there was a lull; and Penn, who had forgotten every thing else whilst the conflict was raging, remembered that he had seen Bythewood at the ravine, and hastened to inform Pomp of the circumstance. The death of Cudjo had plunged Pomp into a fit of stern, sad reverie. His surgical task performed, he stood leaning on his rifle, gazing abstractedly at the darkly gliding waves, when Penn's communication roused him. "Ha!" said he, with a slight start. "We must look to that! The danger here is over for the present, and two or three of us can be spared." "Shall I go, too?" said Carl. "It is time I vas seeing to my prisoner." "Come," said Pomp. And the three set out to return. Having but slight anticipations of trouble from the side of the ravine, they came suddenly, wholly unprepared, upon a scene which filled them with horror and amazement. The prisoner, as we know, had fled. We left him on his way back to the cave with a squad of men. Since which time, this is what had occurred. The assailants had approached so stealthily over the ledges, below which Toby was stationed, looking intently for them in another direction, that he had no suspicions of their coming until they suddenly dropped upon him as from the clouds. He had no time to run for his axe; and he had scarcely given the alarm when he was overpowered, knocked down, and rolled out of the way off the rocks. The assailants then, with Lysander at their head, rushed to the entrance of the cave. But there they encountered unexpected resistance: the two sisters--Salina with the pistol, Virginia with the axe. "Hello! Sal!" cried Lysander, recoiling into the arms of his men; "what the devil do you mean?" "I mean to kill you, or any man that sets foot in this place! That is what I mean!" There could be no doubt about it: her eyes, her attitude, her whole form, from head to foot, looked what she said. She was flushed; a smile of wild and reckless scorn curved her mouth, and her countenance gleamed with a wicked light. By her side was Virginia, with the uplifted axe, expressing no less determination by her posture and looks, though she did not speak, though there was no smile on her pale lips, and though her features were as white as death. "It's no use, gals!" said Sprowl. "Don't make fools of yourselves! You won't be hurt; but I'm bound to come in!"' "Do not attempt it! You have broken your oath to me. But I have made an oath I shall not break!" What that oath was Salina did not say; but Lysander's changing color betrayed that he guessed it pretty well. "I don't care a d--n for you! Virginia, drop that axe, and come out here with your father, and I pledge my sacred honor that neither of you shall receive the least harm." "Your sacred honor!" sneered Salina. But Virginia said nothing. She stood like a clothed statue; only the eyes through which the fire of the excited spirit shone were not those of a statue; and the advanced white arm, beautiful and bare, from which the loose sleeve fell as it reared the axe, was of God's sculpture, not man's. She seemed not to hear Lysander; for the promise of safety for herself was as nothing to her: she felt that she was there to defend, with her life, if needs were, the friends whom he had betrayed. Only a holy and great purpose like this could have nerved that gentle nature for such work, and made those tender sinews firm as steel. There was something slightly devilish in the aspect of Salina; but Virginia was all the angel; yet it was the angel roused to strife. "Call off your gals, Mr. Villars!" said Sprowl. "Lysander!" said the solemn voice of the old minister from within, "hear me! We are but three here, as you see: a blind and helpless old man and two girls. Why do you follow to persecute us? Go your way, and learn to be a man. The business you are engaged in is unworthy of a man. My daughters do right to defend this place, which you, false and ungrateful, have betrayed. Attempt nothing farther; for we are not afraid to die!" "Go in, boys!" shouted Lysander, himself shrinking aside to let the soldiers pass. Salina fired the pistol--not at the soldiers. "She has shot me!" said Lysander, staggering back. "Kill the fiend! kill her!" Instantly two bayonets darted at her breast. One of them was struck down by Virginia's axe, which half severed the soldier's wrist. But before the axe could rise and descend again, the other bayonet had done its work; and the soldiers rushed in. It was all over in a minute. The axe was seized and wrenched violently away. Toby lay senseless on the rocks without. Lysander was leaning dizzily, clutching at the ledge, a ghastly whiteness settling about the gay mustache, and a strange glassiness dimming his eyes. The soldiers had possession. Virginia was a prisoner, and her father; but not Salina. There was the body which had been hers, transfixed by the bayonet, and fallen upon the ground: that was palpable: but who shall capture the escaping soul? When Penn and his companions arrived, not a living person was there; but alone, stretched upon the cold stone floor, where the gray light from the entrance fell,--pulseless, pallid, with pale hands crossed peacefully on her breast, hiding the wound, and features faintly smiling in their stony calm,--lay the corpse of her that was Salina. The fair cup that had brimmed with the bitterness of life was shattered. The soul that drank thereat had fled away in haughtiness and scorn. Toby, groaning on the stones outside, felt somebody shaking him, and heard the voice of Carl asking how he was. "Dunno'; sort o' common," said the old negro, trying to rise. He knew nothing of what had happened, except that he had been fallen upon and beaten down: for the rest, it was useless to question him: not even Penn's agonies of doubt and fear could rouse his recollection. * * * * * Lieutenant-colonel Bythewood had committed the error of an officer green in his profession. The cave surprised, and the prisoners taken, the men retired in all haste, simply because they had received no orders to the contrary. Thus no advantage whatever was taken of the very important position which had been gained. Leaving the dead behind, and carrying off the wounded and the prisoners, the sergeant, upon whom the command devolved after his captain was disabled, lost no time in reporting to the lieutenant-colonel. Augustus stood up to receive the report and the prisoners,--extremely pale, but appearing preternaturally courteous and composed. He bowed very low to the old clergyman (who, he forgot, could not witness and appreciate that graceful act of homage), and expressed infinite regret that "his duty had rendered it necessary," and so forth. Then turning to Virginia, whose look was scarcely less stony than that of her dead sister in the cave, he bowed low to her also, but without speaking, and without raising his eyes to her face. "Have this old gentleman carried to his own house, and see that every attention is paid to him." "And my daughter?" said the blind old man, meekly. "She shall follow you. I will myself accompany her." "And my dead child up yonder?" "She shall be brought to you at the earliest possible moment." "And my faithful servant?" "He shall be cared for." "Thank you." And Mr. Villars bowed his white head upon his breast. "Take the captain immediately to the hospital! And you fellow with the hacked wrist, go with him." The number of men required to execute these orders (since both the old clergyman and the wounded captain had to be carried) left Augustus almost alone with Virginia. Having previously sent off all his available force to Ropes at the sink, in answer to a pressing call for reënforcements, he had now only the sergeant and two men at his beck. But perhaps this was as he wished it to be. He approached Virginia, and, bowing formally, still without speaking, offered her his arm. "Thank you. I can walk without assistance." Like marble still, but with the same wild fire in her eyes. "The only favor I ask of you is to be permitted to leave you." Bythewood made a motion to the sergeant, who removed his men farther off. "I wish to have a few words of conversation with you, Miss Villars. I beg you to be seated here in the shade." Virginia remained standing, regarding him with features pale and firm as when she held the axe. It was evident to her that here was another struggle before her, scarcely less to be dreaded than the first. Augustus looked at her, and smiled pallidly. "If eyes could kill, Miss Villars, I think yours would kill me!" "If polite cruelty can kill, YOU HAVE killed my sister!" "O, I beg your pardon, dear Miss Villars, but it was not I!" "I beg no pardon, but I say it WAS you! And now you will murder my father--perhaps me." "O, my excellent young lady, how you have misunderstood me! By Heaven, I swear!"--his voice shook with sincere emotion,--"if I have committed a fault, it has been for the love of you! Such faults surely may be pardoned. Virginia! will you accept my life as an atonement for all I have done amiss? You shall bear my name, possess my wealth, and, if you do not like the cause I am engaged in, I will throw up my commission to-morrow. I will take you to France--Italy--Switzerland--wherever you wish to go. Nor do I forget your father. Whatever you ask for him shall be granted. I have money--influence--position--every thing that can make you happy." There was a minute's pause, the intense glances of the girl piercing through and through that pale, polite mask to his soul. A selfish, chivalrous man; not a great villain, by any means; moved by a genuine, eager, unscrupulous passion for her--sincere at least in that; one who might be influenced to good, and made a most convenient and devoted husband: this she saw. "Well, what more?" "What more? Ah, you are thinking of your friends--I should say, of your friend! It is natural. I have no ill will against him. Whatever you ask for him shall be granted. At a word from me, the fighting up there ceases; and he and the rest shall be permitted to go wherever they choose, unharmed." "Well, and if I reject your generous offer?" Augustus smiled as he answered, with a hard, inexorable purpose in his tones,-- "Then, much as I love you, I can do nothing!" "Nothing for my father?" "Nothing!" "Nor for me?" "Not even for you!" "Why, then, God pity us all!" said Virginia, calmly. "Truly you may say, God pity you! For do you know what will happen? Your father will die in prison: you will never see him again. Your friends will be massacred to a man. I will be frank with you: to a man they will be given to the sword. They are but a dozen; we are fifty--a hundred--a thousand, if necessary. The sink has already been taken, and a force is on its way to occupy this end of the cave. If your friends hold out, they will be starved. If they fight, they will be bayoneted and shot. If they surrender, every living man of them shall be hung. There is no help for them. Lincoln's army, that has been coming so long, is a chimera; it will never come. The power is all in our hands; and not even God can help them. That sounds blasphemous, I know; but it is true. They are doomed. But I can save them--and you can save them." "And what is to become of me?" asked Virginia, calmly as before. "Your future is entirely in your own hands. On the one side, what I have promised. On the other----" Augustus thought he heard a crackling of sticks, and looked around. "On the other,"--Virginia took up the unfinished speech,--"the fate of a friendless, fatherless, Union-loving woman in this chivalrous south! I know how you treat such women. I know what awaits me on that side. And I accept it. My friends can die. My father can die; and I can. All this I accept; all the rest, you and your offers, I reject. I would not be your wife to save the world. Because I not only do not love you, but because I detest you. You have my answer." With swelling breast and set teeth Augustus kept his eyes upon her for full a minute, then replied, in a low voice shaken by passion,-- "I hoped your decision would be different. But it is spoken. I cannot hope to change it?" "Can you change these rocks under our feet with empty words?" she said, with a white smile. "All is over, then! Without cause you hate me, Miss Villars. Hitherto, in all that has happened to you and your friends, I have been blameless. If in the future I am not so, remember it is your own fault." Then the fire flashed into Virginia's cheeks, and indignation rang in her tones as she denounced the falsehood. "Hitherto, in the wrong that has happened to me and my friends, you have NOT been blameless! In the future you cannot do more to injure us than you have already done, or meant to do. Look at me, and listen while I prove what I say." Again there was a slight noise in the thicket behind them, and he would have been glad to make that an excuse for leaving her a moment; but her spirit held him. "I listen," he said, inwardly quaking at he knew not what. "Do you remember the night my father was arrested?" "I do." "And how you that day took a journey to be away from us in our trouble?" "I certainly took a short journey that day, but--" his eyes flickering with the uneasiness of guilt. "And do you remember a conversation you had with Lysander under a bridge?" His face suddenly flushed purple. "The villain has betrayed me!" he thought. Then he stammered, "I hope you have not been listening to any of that fellow's slanders!" "You talked with Lysander under the bridge. Your conversation was heard, every word of it, by a third person, who lay concealed under the planks, behind you." "A villanous spy!" articulated Augustus. "No spy--but the man you two were at that moment seeking to kill: Penn Hapgood, the Schoolmaster." It was a blow. Poor Bythewood, too luxurious and inert to be a great villain, was only a weak one; and, wounded in his most sensitive point, his pride, he writhed for a space with unutterable chagrin and rage. Then he recovered himself. He had heard the worst; and now there was nothing left for him but to cast down and trample with his feet (so to speak) the mask that had been torn from his face. "Very well! You think you know me, then!"--He seized her wrists.--"Now hear me! I am not to be spurned like a dog, even by the foot of the woman I love. You reject, despise, insult me. As for me, I say this: all shall be as I have pronounced. Your father, your lover,--not Fate itself shall intervene to save them! And as for you----" Again he heard a rustling by the ravine; this time so near that it startled him. He looked quickly around, and saw, slowly peering through the bushes, a dark human face. Had it been the terrible front of the Fate he had just defied, the soul of Augustus Bythewood could not have shrunk with a more sudden and appalling fear. It was the face of Pomp. XLV. _MASTER AND SLAVE CHANGE PLACES._ The sergeant and his men were several rods distant: the bush through which that menacing visage peered was within as many feet. Augustus reached for his revolver. "Make a single move--speak a single word--and you are food for the buzzards!" came a whisper from the bush that well might chill his blood. "You know this rifle--and you know me!" And in the negro's face shone a persuasive glitter of the old, untamable, torrid ferocity of his tribe--not pleasing to Augustus. "What do you want?" "Give your revolver to that girl--instantly!" "I have men within call!" "So have I." Through the bush, advancing noiselessly, came the straight steel barrel of a rifle that had never missed fire but once: that was when it had been aimed by Augustus at the head of Pomp. Now it was aimed by Pomp at the head of Augustus; and it was hardly to be expected that it would be so obliging as to remember that one fault, and, for the sake of fairness, repeat it, now that positions were reversed. Bythewood hesitated, in mortal fear. "Obey me! I shall not speak again!" And there was heard in the bush another slight noise, too short, quick, and clicking, to be the crackle of a twig. Neither was that pleasing to the mind of Augustus. He turned, and with trembling hand made Virginia a present of the revolver. "Do you know how to use it?" Pomp asked. She nodded, breathless. "And you will use it if necessary?" She nodded again, and held the weapon prepared. "Now,"--to Bythewood,--"send those men away." "What do you mean to do?" "I mean to spare their lives and yours, if you obey me. To kill you without much delay if you do not." "If you shoot,"--Bythewood was beginning to regain his dignity,--"they will rush to the spot before you can escape, and avenge me well!" A superb, masterful smile mounted to the ebon visage, and the answer came from the bush,-- "Look where the bowlder lies, up there by the ravine. You will see a twinkle of steel among the leaves. There are guns aimed at your men. You understand." Perhaps Augustus did not distinguish the guns; but he understood. At a signal, his men would be shot down. "I would prefer not to shed blood. So decide and that quickly!" said Pomp. "And if I comply?" "Comply readily with all I shall demand of you, and not a hair of your head shall be harmed. Now I count ten. At the word ten, I send a bullet through your heart if those men are still there." He commenced, like one telling the strokes of a tolling bell: "One----two----three----four----five----" "Sergeant," called Augustus, "take your men and report to Lieutenant Ropes at the sink." "A fine time to be taken up with a love affair!" growled the sergeant, as he obeyed. "Now what?" said Bythewood, under an air of bravado concealing the despair of his heart. "Come!" said Pomp, with savage impatience,--for he knew well that, if Bythewood had not yet learned of Ropes's death, messengers must be on the way to him, and therefore not a moment was to be lost. He opened the bushes. Augustus crept into them: Virginia followed. But then suddenly the negro seemed to change his plans, the spirit and firmness of the girl inspiring him with a fresh idea. "Miss Villars, we are going to the cave. Look down the ravine there;--you see this path is rough." "O, I can go anywhere, you know!" "But haste is necessary. You shall return the way you came. Take this man with you. If you are seen by his soldiers, they will think all is well. Make him go before. Shoot him if he turns his head. Dare you?" "I will!" said Virginia. "Keep near the ravine. My rifle will be there. If you have any difficulty, I will end it. Now march!"--thrusting Bythewood out of the thicket.--"Straight on!--Carry your pistol cocked, young lady!" Bitterly then did the noble Augustus repent him of having sent his guard away: "I ought to have died first!" But it was too late to recall them; and there was no way left him but to yield--or appear to yield--implicit obedience. What a situation for a son of the chivalrous south! He had reviled Lysander for having been made prisoner by a boy; and here was he, the haughty, the proud, the ambitious, overawed by a negro's threats, and carried away captive by a girl! However, he had a hope--a desperate one, indeed. He would watch for an opportunity, wheel suddenly upon Virginia, seize the pistol, and escape,--risking a shot from it, which he knew she was firmly determined to deliver in case of need (for had he not seen the soldier's gashed wrist?)--and risking also (what was more serious still) a shot from the rifle in the ravine. But when they came to the bowlder, there the resolution he had taken fell back leaden and dead upon his heart. He had, on reflection, concluded that the twinkle of guns in the leaves there was but a fiction of the wily African brain. As he passed, however, he perceived two guns peeping through. He knew not what exultant hearts were behind them,--what eager eyes beneath the boughs were watching him, led thus tamely into captivity; but he was impressed with a wholesome respect for them, and from that moment thought no more of escape. As Virginia approached the cave with her prisoner, the two guns, having followed them closely all the way, came up out of the ravine. They were accompanied by Penn and Carl. In the gladness of that sight Virginia almost forgot her dead sister and her captive father. Those two dear familiar faces beamed upon her with joy and triumph. But there was one who was not so glad. This Quaker schoolmaster, turned fighting man, was the last person Augustus (who was unpleasantly reminded of the conversation under the bridge) would have wished to see under such embarrassing circumstances. In the cave was Toby, wailing over the dead body of Salina. But at sight of the living sister he rose up and was comforted. Pomp had remained to cover the retreat. When all were safely arrived, he came bounding into the cave, jubilant. His bold and sagacious plans were thus far successful; and it only remained to carry them out with the same inexorable energy. "Sit here." Augustus took one of the giant's stools. "I have a few words to say to this man: in the mean while, one of you"--turning to Penn and Carl--"hasten to the sink, and ask Stackridge to send me as many men as he can spare. Bring a couple of the prisoners--we shall need them." "I'll go!" Carl cried with alacrity. "And," added Pomp, "if there are any wounded needing my assistance, have them brought here. I shall not, probably, be able to go to them." While he was giving these directions, with the air of one who felt that he had a momentous task before him, Bythewood sat on the rock, his head heavy and hot, his feet like clods of ice, and his heart collapsing with intolerable suspense. The gloom of the cave, and the strangeness of all things in it; the sight of the corpse near the entrance,--of Toby, at Virginia's suggestion, wiping up the pools of blood,--Virginia herself perfectly calm; Penn carefully untying and straightening the pieces of rope that had served to bind Lysander,--all this impressed him powerfully. "I suppose," said he, "I am to be treated as a prisoner of war." Pomp smiled. "Answer me a question. If you had caught me, would you have treated me as a prisoner of war?--Yes or no; we have no time for parley." "No," said Augustus, frankly. "Very well! I have caught you!" Fearfully significant words to the prisoner, who remembered all his injustice to this man, and the tortures he had prepared for him when he should be taken! But he had not been taken. On the contrary, he, the slave, could stand there, calm and smiling, before him, the master, and say, with peculiar and compressed emphasis, "_Very well! I have caught you!_" "You promised that not a hair of my head should be injured." "The hair of your head is not the flesh of your body. No, I will not injure _the hair_!"--Pomp waited for his prisoner to take in all the horrible suggestiveness of this equivocation; then resumed. "Is not that what you would have said to me if you had found me in your power after making me such a promise? The black man has no rights which the white man is bound to respect! The most solemn pledges made by one of your race to one of mine are to be heeded only so long as suits your convenience. Did you not promise your dying brother in your presence to give me my freedom? Answer,--yes or no." "Yes," faltered Augustus. "And did you give it me?" "No." And Augustus felt that out of his own mouth he was condemned. "Well, I shall keep my promise better than you kept yours. Comply with all I demand of you (this is what I said), and no part of you, neither flesh nor hair, shall be harmed." "What do you demand of me?" "This. Here are pen and ink. Write as I dictate." "What?" "An order to have the fighting on your side discontinued, and your forces withdrawn." Augustus hesitated to take the pen. "I have no words to waste. If you do not comply readily with what I require, it is no object for me that you should comply at all." Penn came and stood by Pomp, looking calm and determined as he. Virginia came also, and looked upon the prisoner, without a smile, without a frown, but strangely serious and still. These were the three against whom he had sinned in the days of his power and pride; and now his shame was bare before them. He took the quill, bit the feather-end of it in supreme perplexity of soul, then wrote. "Very well," said Pomp, reading the order. "But you have forgotten to sign it." Augustus signed. "Now write again. A letter to your colonel. Mr. Hapgood, please dictate the terms." Penn understood the whole scheme; he had consulted with Virginia, and he was prepared. "A safe conduct for Mr. Villars, his daughter and servants, beyond the confederate lines. This is all I have to insist upon." "I," said Pomp, "ask more. The man who betrayed us must be sent here." "If you mean Sprowl," said Bythewood, "his wife has no doubt saved the trouble." "Not Sprowl, but Deslow." Bythewood was terrified. Pomp had spoken with the positiveness of clear knowledge and unalterable determination. But how was it possible to comply with his demand? Deslow had been promised not only pardon, but protection from the very men he betrayed! Therefore he could not be given up to them without the most cowardly and shameful perfidy. "I have no influence whatever with the military authorities," the prisoner said, after taking ample time for consideration. "You forget what you boasted to Sprowl, under the bridge," said Penn. "You forget what you just now boasted to me," said Virginia. "Call it boasting," said Bythewood, doggedly. "Absolutely, I have not the power to effect what you require." "It is your misfortune, then," said Pomp. "To have boasted so, and now to fail to perform, will simply cost you your life. Will you write? or not?" The prisoner remained sullen, abject, silent, for some seconds. Then, with a deep breath which shook all his frame, and an expression of the most agonizing despair on his face, he took the pen. "I will write; but I assure you it will do no good." "So much the worse for you," was the grim response. Mechanically and briefly Bythewood drew up a paper, signed his name, and shoved it across the table. "Does that suit you?" Pomp did not offer to take it. "If it suits you, well. I shall not read it. It is not the letter that interests us; it is the result." Bythewood suddenly drew back the paper, pondered its contents a moment, and cast it into the fire. "I think I had better write another." "I think so too. I fear you have not done what you might to impress upon the colonel's mind the importance of these simple terms--a safe conduct for Mr. Villars and family, the troops withdrawn entirely from the mountains, and Deslow delivered here to-night. This is plain enough; and you see the rest of us ask nothing for ourselves. I advise you to write freely. Open your mind to your friend. And beware,"--Pomp perceived by a strange expression which had come into the prisoner's face that this counsel was necessary,--"beware that he does not misunderstand you, and send a force to rescue you from our hands. If such a thing is attempted, this cave will be found barricaded. With what, you wonder? With those stones? With your dead body, my friend!" After that hint, it was evident Augustus did not choose to write what had first entered his mind on learning that his address to the colonel was not to be examined. Penn handed him a fresh sheet, and he filled it--a long and confidential letter, of which we regret that no copy now exists. Before it was finished, Carl returned, accompanied by four of the patriots and two of the prisoners. One of these last was Pepperill. He was immediately paroled, and sent off to the sink with the order that had been previously written. The letter completed, it was folded, sealed, and despatched by the other prisoner to Colonel Derring's head-quarters. "Do you believe Deslow will be delivered up?" said Stackridge, in consultation with Penn in a corner of the cave; the farmer's gray eye gleaming with anticipated vengeance. "I believe the confederate authorities, as a general thing, are capable of any meanness. Their policy is fraud, their whole system is one of injustice and selfishness. If Derring, who is Bythewood's devoted friend, can find means to give up the traitor without too gross an exposure of his perfidy, he will do it. But I regret that Pomp insisted on that hard condition. He was determined, and it was useless to reason with him." "And he is right!" said Stackridge. "Deslow, if guilty, must pay for this day's work!" "There is no doubt of his guilt. Pepperill knew of it--he whispered it to Pomp at the sink." "Then Deslow dies the death! He was sworn to us! He was sworn to Pomp; and Pomp had saved his life! The blood of Withers, my best friend----" The farmer's voice was lost in a throe of rage and grief. "And the blood of Cudjo, whom Pomp loved!" said Penn. "I feel all you feel--all Pomp feels. But for me, I would leave vengeance with the Lord." "So would I," said Pomp, standing behind him, composed and grand. "And I would be the Lord's instrument, when called. I am called. Deslow comes to me, or I go to him." "Then the Lord have mercy on his soul!" XLVI. _THE TRAITOR._ The news of the disaster at the sink, and of the loss of prisoners, had reached Colonel Derring, and he was preparing to forward reënforcements, when Bythewood's letter arrived. Of the colonel's reflections on the receipt of that singular missive little is known. He was unwontedly cross and abstracted for an hour. At the end of that time he asked for the renegade Deslow. At the end of another hour Deslow had been found and brought to head-quarters. The colonel, having now quite recovered his equanimity of temper, received him with the most flattering attentions. "You have done an honorable and patriotic work, Mr. Deslow. Your friends are coming to terms. Bythewood is at this moment engaged in an amicable conference with them. Your example has had a most salutary effect. They all desire to give themselves up on similar terms. But they will not believe as yet that you have been pardoned and received into favor." The dark brow of the traitor brightened. "And they have no suspicions?" "None whatever. They do not imagine you had anything to do with the discovery of their retreat. Now, I've been thinking you might help along matters immensely, if you would go up and join Bythewood, and represent to your friends the folly of holding out any longer, and show them the advantage of following your example." Deslow felt strong misgivings about undertaking this delicate business. But persuasions, flatteries, and promises prevailed upon him at last. And at sundown he set out, accompanied by the man who had brought Bythewood's letter. In consequence of the messenger's long absence, it was beginning to be feared, by those who had sent him, that he had gone on a fruitless errand. Evening came. There was sadness on the faces of Penn and Virginia, as they sat by the corpse of Salina. Pomp was gloomy and silent. Bythewood, bound to Lysander's rock, sat waiting, with feelings we will not seek to penetrate, for the answer to his letter. In that letter he had mentioned, among other things, a certain pair of horses that were in his stable. Had he known that the colonel, during his hour of moroseness, had gone over to look at these horses, and that he was now driving them about the village, well satisfied with the munificent bribe, he would, no doubt, have felt easier in his mind. "You will not go to your father to-night," said Penn, having looked out into the gathering darkness, and returned to Virginia's side. "We have one night more together. May be it is the last." Carl was comforting his wounded cousin, who had been brought and placed on some skins on the floor. The patriots were holding a consultation. Suddenly the sentinel at the door announced an arrival; and to the amazement of all, the messenger entered, followed by Deslow. The traitor came in, smiling in most friendly fashion upon his late companions, even offering his hand to Pomp, who did not accept it. Then he saw in the faces that looked upon him a stern and terrible triumph. By the rock he beheld Bythewood bound. And his heart sank. The messenger brought a letter for Augustus. Pomp took it. "This interests us!" he said, breaking the seal. "Excuse me, sir!"--to Bythewood.--"I was once your servant; and I had forgotten that circumstances have slightly changed! As your hands are confined, I will read it for you." He read aloud. "Dear Gus: This is an awful bad scrape you have got into; but I suppose I must get you out of it. Villars shall have passports, and an escort, if he likes. I'll keep the soldiers from the mountains. The hardest thing to arrange is the Deslow affair. I don't care a curse for the fellow but I don't want the name of giving him up. So, if I succeed in sending him, keep mum. Probably _he_ never will come away to tell a tale." "Yours, etc., Derring." "P. S. Thank you for the horses." Then Pomp turned and looked upon the traitor, who had been himself betrayed. His ghastly face was of the color of grayish yellow parchment. His hat was in his hand, and his short, stiff hair stood erect with terror. If up to this moment there had been any doubt of his guilt in Pomp's mind, it vanished. The wretch had not the power to proclaim his innocence, or to plead for mercy. No explanations were needed: he understood all: with that vivid perception of truth which often comes with the approach of death, he knew that he was there to die. "Have you anything to confess?" Pomp said to him, with the solemnity of a priest preparing a sacrifice. "If so, speak, for your time is short." Deslow said nothing: indeed, his organs of speech were paralyzed. "Very well: then I will tell you, we know all. We trusted you. You have betrayed us. Withers is dead: you killed him. Cudjo is dead: his blood is upon your soul. For this you are now to die." There was another besides Deslow whom these calm and terrible words appalled. It was Bythewood, who feared lest, after all he had accomplished, his turn might come next. It was some time before the fear-stricken culprit could recover the power of speech. Then, in a sudden, hoarse, and scarcely articulate shriek, his voice burst forth:-- "Save me! save me!" He rushed to where the patriots stood. But they thrust him back sternly. "This is Pomp's business. Deal with him!" "Will no one save me? Will no one speak for my life?" These words were ejaculated with the ghastly accent and volubility of terror. "Your life is forfeited. Pomp saved it once; now he takes it. It is just," said Stackridge. "My God! my God! my God!" Thrice the doomed man uttered that sacred name with wild despair, and with intervals of strange and silent horror between. "Then I must die!" "_I_ will speak for you," said a voice of solemn compassion. And Penn stepped forward. "You? you? you will?" "Do not hope too much. Pomp is inexorable as he is just. But I will plead for you." "O, do! do! There is something in his face--I cannot bear it--but you can move him!" Pomp was leaning thoughtfully by one of the giant's stools. Penn drew near to him. Deslow crouched behind, his whole frame shaking visibly. "Pomp, if you love me, grant me this one favor. Leave this wretch to his God. What satisfaction can there be in taking the life of so degraded and abject a creature?" "There is satisfaction in justice," replied Pomp, quietly smiling. "O, but the satisfaction there is in mercy is infinitely sweeter! Forgiveness is a holy thing, Pomp! It brings the blessing of Heaven with it, and it is more effective than vengeance. This man has a wife; he has children; think of them!" These words, and many more to the same purpose, Penn poured forth with all the earnestness of his soul. He pleaded; he argued; he left no means untried to melt that adamantine will. In vain all. When he finished, Pomp took his hand in one of his, and laying the other kindly on his shoulder, said in his deepest, tenderest tones,-- "I have heard you because I love you. What you say is just. But another thing is just--that this man should die. Ask anything but this of me, and you will see how gladly I will grant all you desire." "I have done."--Penn turned sadly away.--"It is as I feared. Deslow, I will not flatter you. There is no hope." Then Deslow, regaining somewhat of his manhood, drew himself up, and prepared to meet his fate. "Soon?" he asked, more firmly than he had yet spoken. "Now," said Pomp. He lighted a lantern. "You must go with me. There are eyes here that would not look upon your death." He took his rifle. "Go before." And he conducted his victim into the recesses in the cave. They came to the well, into the unfathomable mystery of which Carl had dropped the stone. There Pomp stopped. "This is your grave. Would you take a look at it?" He held the lantern over the fearful place. The falling waters made in those unimaginable depths the noise of far-off thunders. Half dead with fear already, the wretch looked down into the hideous pit. "Must I die?" he uttered in a ghastly whisper. "You must! I will shoot you first in mercy to you; for I am not cruel. Have you prayers to make? I will wait." Deslow sank upon his knees. He tried to confess himself to God, to commit his soul with decency into His hands. But the words of his petition stuck in his throat: the dread of immediate death absorbed all feeling else. Pomp, who had retired a short distance, supposed he had made an end. "Are you ready?" he asked, placing his lantern on the rock, and poising his rifle. "I cannot pray!" said Deslow. "Send for a minister--for Mr. Villars!--I cannot die so." "It is too late," answered Pomp, sorrowful, yet stern. "Mr. Villars has been carried away by the soldiers you sent. If you cannot pray for yourself, then there is none to pray for you." Scarce had he spoken, when out of the darkness behind him came a voice, saying with solemn sweetness, as if an angel responded from the invisible profound,-- "I will pray for him!" He turned, and saw in the lantern's misty glimmer a spectral form advancing. It drew near. It was a female figure, shadowy, noiseless; the right hand raised with piteous entreaty; the countenance pale to whiteness,--its fresh and youthful beauty clothed with sadness and compassion as with a veil. It was Virginia. All the way through the dismal galleries of the cave, and down Cudjo's stairs, she had followed the executioner and his victim, in order to plead at the last moment for that mercy for which Penn had pleaded in vain. Struck with amazement, Pomp gazed at her for a moment as if she had been really a spirit. "How came you here?" She laid one hand upon his arm; with the other she pointed upwards; her eyes all the while shining upon him with a wondrous brilliancy, which was of the spirit indeed, and not of the flesh. "Heaven sent me to pray for him--and for you." "For me, Miss Villars?" "For you, Pomp!"--Her voice also had that strange melting quality which comes only from the soul. It was low, and full of love and sorrow. "For if you slay this man, then you will have more need of prayers than he." Pomp was shaken. The touch on his arm, the tones of that voice, the electric light of those inspired eyes, moved him with a power that penetrated to his inmost soul. Yet he retained his haughty firmness, and said coldly,-- "If there had been mercy for this man, Penn would have obtained it. The hardest thing I ever did was to deny him. What is there to be said which he did not say?" "O, he spoke earnestly and well!" replied Virginia. "I wondered how you could listen to him and not yield. But he is a man; and as a man he gave up all hope when reason failed, and he saw you so implacable. But I would never have given up. I would have clung to your knees, and pleaded with you so long as there was breath in me to ask or heart to feel. I would not have let you go till you had shown mercy to this poor man!"--(Deslow had crawled to her feet: there he knelt grovelling),--"and to yourself, Pomp! If he dies repenting, and you kill him unrelenting, I would rather be he than you. When we shut the gate of mercy on others we shut it on ourselves. For all that you have done for my father and friends, and for me, I am filled with gratitude and friendship. Your manly traits have inspired me with an admiration that was almost hero-worship. For this reason I would save you from a great crime. O, Pomp, if only for my sake, do not annihilate the noble and grand image of you which has built itself up in my heart, and leave only the memory of a strange horror and dread in its place!" Pomp had turned his eyes away from hers, knowing that if he continued to be fascinated by them, he must end by yielding. He drooped his head, leaning on his rifle, and looking down upon the wretch at their feet. A strong convulsion shook his whole frame, as she ceased speaking. There was silence for some seconds. Then he spoke, still without raising his eyes, in a deep, subdued voice. "This man is the hater of my race. He is of those who rob us of our labor, our lives, our wives, and children, and happiness. They enslave both body and soul. They damn us with ignorance and vice. To take from us the profits of our toil is little; but they take from us our manhood also. Yet here he came, and accepted life and safety at my hands. He made an oath, and I made an oath. His oath was never to betray my poor Cudjo's secret. The oath I made was to kill him as I would a dog if his should be broken. It has been broken. My poor Cudjo is dead. Withers is dead. Your sister is dead. I see it to be just that this traitor too should now die!" Again he poised his rifle. But Virginia threw herself upon the victim, covering with her own pure bosom his miserable, guilty breast. Pomp smiled. "Do not fear. For your sake I have pardoned him." "O, this is the noblest act of your life, Pomp!" she exclaimed, clasping his hand with joy and gratitude. He looked in her face. A great weight was taken from his soul. His countenance was bright and glad. "Do you think it was not a bitter cup for me? You have taken it from me, and I thank you. But Bythewood must not know I have relented. We have yet a work to do with him." Then those who had been left behind in the cave, listening for the death-signal, heard the report of a rifle ringing through the chambers of rock. Not long after Pomp and Virginia returned; and Deslow was not with them. Augustus heard--Augustus saw--nor knew he any reason why the fate of Deslow should not presently be his own. "Is justice done?" said Stackridge, with stern eyes fixed on Pomp. "Is justice done?" said Pomp, turning to Virginia. "Justice is done!" she answered, in a serious, firm voice. XLVII. _BREAD ON THE WATERS._ The next morning a singular procession set out from the cave. Stretchers had been framed of the trunks and boughs of saplings, and upon these the dead and wounded of yesterday were placed. They were borne by the prisoners of yesterday, who had been paroled for the purpose. Carl walked by the side of the litter that conveyed his cousin Fritz, talking cheerfully to him in their native tongue. Behind them was carried the dead body of Salina, followed by old Toby with uncovered head. With him went Pepperill, charged with the important business of seeing that all was done for the Villars family which had been stipulated, and of reporting to Pomp at the cave afterwards. Last of all came Virginia, leaning on Penn's arm. He was speaking to her earnestly, in low, quivering tones: she listened with downcast countenance, full of all tender and sad emotions; for they were about to part. Pepperill was intrusted with a second letter from Bythewood to the colonel, couched in these terms:-- "_Deslow was taken last night, and slaughtered in cold blood. The same will happen to me if all is not done as agreed. I am to be retained as a hostage until Pepperill's return. For Heaven's sake, help Mr. Villars and his family off with all convenient despatch, and oblige,_" &c. Virginia was going to try her fortune with her father; but Penn's lot was cast with his friends who remained at the cave. From these he could not honorably separate himself until all danger was over; and, much as he longed to accompany her, he knew well that, even if he should be permitted to do so, his presence would be productive of little good to either her or her father. Moreover, it had been wisely resolved not to demand too much of the military authorities. A safe conduct could be granted with good grace to a blind old minister and his daughter, but not to men who had been in arms against the confederate government. Nor was it thought best to trust or tempt too far these minions of the new slave despotism, whose recklessness of obligations which interest or revenge prompted them to evade, was so notorious. Penn would have attended Virginia to the base of the mountain, risking all things for the melancholy pleasure of prolonging these last moments. But this she would not permit. Hard as it was to utter the word of separation,--to see him return to those solitary and dangerous rocks, not knowing that he would ever be able to leave them, or that she would ever see him again in this world;--still, her love was greater than her selfishness, and she had strength even for that. "No farther now! O, you must go no farther!" And, resolutely pausing, she called to Carl,--for Carl's lot too lay with his. Toby and Pepperill also stopped. "Daniel," said Penn, with impressive solemnity, "into thy hands I commit this precious charge. Be faithful. Good Toby, I trust we shall meet again in God's good time. Farewell! farewell!" And the procession went its way; only Penn and Carl remained gazing after it long, with hearts too full for words. When it was out of sight, and they were turning silently to retrace their steps, they saw a man come out of the woods, and beckon to them. It was a negro--it was Barber Jim. Permitted to approach, he told his story. Since the escape of the arrested Unionists through his cellar, he had been an object of suspicion; and last night his house had been attacked by a mob. He had managed to escape, and was now hiding in the woods to save his life. "Deslow betrayed you with the rest," said Penn; "that explains it." "My wife--my two daughters: what will become of them?" said the wretched man. "And my property, that I have been all this while laying up for them!" "Do not despair, my friend. Your property is mostly real estate, and cannot be so easily appropriated to rebel uses, as the money deposited for me in the bank, from which I was never allowed to draw it! It will wait for you. A kind Providence will care for your family, I am sure. As for you, I do not see what else you can do but share our fortunes. There is one comfort for you,--we are all about as badly off as yourself." "You shall have your pick of some muskets," said Carl, gayly; "and you vill find us as jolly a set of wagabonds as ever you saw!" "Have you plenty of arms?" "Arms is more plenty as prowisions. Vat is vanted is wittles. Vat is vanted most is wegetables. Bears and vild turkeys inwite themselves to be shot, but potatoes keep wery shy, and ve suffers for sour krout." Barber Jim mused. "I will go with you. I am glad," he added, as if to himself, "that I paid Toby off as I did." What he meant by this last remark will be seen. * * * * * Mr. Villars had taken the precaution to invest his available funds in Ohio Railroad stock some time before. Arrived in Cincinnati, he would be able to reap the advantages of this timely forethought. But in the mean time the expenses of a long journey must be defrayed; and he found it impossible now to raise money on his house or household goods. All the ready cash he could command was barely sufficient to afford a decent burial to his daughter. He was discussing this serious difficulty with Virginia, whilst preparations for Salina's funeral and their own departure were going forward simultaneously, when Toby came trotting in, jubilant and breathless, and laid a little dirty bag in his lap. "I's fotched 'em! dar ye got 'em, massa!" And the old negro wiped the sweat from his shining face. "What, Toby! Money!" (for the little bag was heavy). "Where did you get it?" "Gold, sar! Gold, Miss Jinny! Needn't look 'spicious! I neber got 'em by no underground means!" (He meant to say _underhand_.) "I'll jes' 'splain 'bout dat. Ye see, Massa Villars, eber sence ye gib me my freedom, ye been payin' me right smart wages,--seben dollah a monf! Dunno' how much dat ar fur a year, but I reckon it ar a heap! An' you rec'lec' you says to me, you says, 'Hire it out to some honest man, Toby, and ye kin draw inference on it,' you says. So what does I do but go and pay it all to Barber Jim fast as eber you pays me. 'Pears like I neber knowed how much I was wuf, till tudder day he says to me, 'Toby,' he says, 'times is so mighty skeery I's afeard to keep yer money for ye any longer; hyar 'tis fur ye, all in gold.' So he gibs it to me in dis yer little bag, an' I takes it, an' goes an' buries it 'hind de cow shed, whar 'twould keep sweet, ye know, fur de family. An' hyar it ar, shore enough, massa, jes' de ting fur dis yer 'casion!" "So you got it by _underground means_, after all!" said Virginia, with mingled laughter and tears, opening the bag and pouring out the bright eagles. The old clergyman was silent for a space, overcome with emotion. "God bless you for a faithful servant, Toby! and Barber Jim for an honest man." "Dat's nuffin!" said Toby, snuffing and winking ludicrously. "Why shouldn't a cullud pusson hab de right to be honest, well as white folks? If you's gwine to tank anybody, ye better jes' tink and tank yersef! Who gib ol' Toby his freedom, an' den 'pose to pay him wages? Reckon if 't hadn't been fur dat, massa, I neber should hab de bressed chance to do dis yer little ting fur de family!" "We will thank only our heavenly Father, whose tender care we will never doubt, after this!" said the old minister, with deep and solemn joy. "Wust on't is, Jim hissef's got inter trouble now," said Toby. "He hab to put fur de woods; an' his family wants to git to de norf, whar dey tinks he'll mabby be gwine to meet 'em; but dey can't seem to manage it." "O, father, I have an idea! You will have a right to take your _servants_ with you; and Jim's wife and daughters might pass as servants." "I shall be rejoiced to help them in any way. Go and find them, Toby. Thus the bread we cast on the water sometimes returns to us _before_ many days!" XLVIII. _EMANCIPATION OF THE BONDMEN.--CONCLUSION._ A week had elapsed since Augustus became a captive; when, one cloudy afternoon, Dan Pepperill returned alone to the mountain cave. Pomp met him at the entrance. "All safe?" "I be durned if they ain't!" said Dan, exultant. "The ol' man, and the nigger, and the gal, and Jim's wife and darters inter the bargain! Went with 'em myself all the way, by stage and rail, till I seen 'em over the line inter ol' Kentuck'. Durned if I didn't wish I war gwine for good myself." "You shall go now if you will. I have been waiting only for you. Cudjo is dead. All the rest are gone. There is nothing to keep me here. Will you go back to the rebels, or make a push with us for the free states? Speak quick!" Pepperill only groaned. "Nine more have joined since Jim came. They make a strong party, all armed, and determined to fight their way through. They are already twenty miles away; but we will overtake them to-morrow. I am to guide them. I know every cave and defile. Will you come?" "Pomp, ye know I'd be plaguy glad ter; but 'tain't so ter be! I hain't no gre't fancy fur this secesh business, that ar' a fact. But I'm in fur't, and I reckon I sh'll haf' ter put it through;" and Dan heaved a deep sigh of regret. Without knowing it, he was a fatalist. Being too weak or inert to resist the hand of despotism laid upon him, he yielded to its weight and accepted it as destiny. The rebel ranks have been filled with such. Pomp smiled with mingled pity and derision. "Good by, then! I hope this war will do something for your class as well as for mine--you need it as much! Wait here, and you shall have company." He took a lantern, and entered the interior chamber of the cave. After the lapse of many minutes he returned, dragging, as from a dungeon, into the light of day, a wretch who could scarcely have expected ever to behold that blessed boon again,--he was so abject, so filled with joy and trembling. It was Deslow. Then turning to the corner where Augustus sat confined, the negro cut his bonds and lifted him to his feet. Poor Bythewood, rheumatic, stiff in the joints, and terribly wasted by anxiety and chagrin, presented a scarcely less piteous spectacle than Deslow; nor were his fallen spirits revived by the sight of this craven, whom he had supposed to be long since past the memory of the wrong he had done him, and the earthly passion for revenge. "My friends," said Pomp, leading them to the entrance, and showing them to each other in the gray glimmer of that cloudy afternoon, "our little accounts are now closed for the present, and my business with you ends. You are at liberty to depart. Deslow, do not hate too bitterly this man for betraying you into my hands. Remember that you set the example of treachery, and that the cause to which you are both sworn is itself founded on treachery. As for you, Mr. Bythewood, I trust that you will pardon the inconvenience I have found it necessary to subject you to. I have restrained you of your liberty for some days. You restrained me of mine for nearly as many years. I have no longer any ill will towards either of you. Go in peace. I emancipate you. I shall not hunt you with hounds, because I have been your master for a little while. I shall not put iron collars on your necks. I shall neither brand nor beat you. You are free! Does the word sound pleasant to your ears? Think then of those to whom it would sound just as sweet. Has the rule of a hard master seemed grievous to you? Remember those to whom it is no less grievous. If might makes right, then you have been as much my property as ever black man was yours. Is there no law, no justice, but the power of the strongest? You have had a few days' experience of that power, and can judge what a life's experience of it might be. Reflect upon it, my friends." He led them to the opening of the cave. Then he pointed to the clouds. "You cannot see the sun; but the sun is there. You do not see God, through the troubled affairs of this world; but God is over all. He governs, although you have left him quite out of your plans. Your plans are, no doubt, very great and mighty,--but see!"--passing over his knee the cord with which Bythewood had been bound. "This is the chain with which you bind my brothers and sisters. It is strong. You have drawn it very tight about them. But you thought to draw it tighter still, to hold them fast forever; and look, you have broken it!" So saying, he displayed with a smile the two fragments of the rope that had snapped like a mere string in his hands. "So tyranny is made to defeat itself!"--trampling the ends under his feet. "I have said it. Remember!" Uttering these last words, he walked backwards slowly, resumed his rifle and lantern, and disappeared in the dark recesses of the cave. The freed prisoners then, joining Pepperill, took their way slowly down the mountain, sadder if not wiser men. The reappearance of Bythewood was a signal for sending immediately two full companies to capture the cave. They succeeded; but they captured nothing else. Pomp, escaping through the sink, was already miles away on the trail of the refugees. * * * * * Thus ends the story of Cudjo's Cave. Other conclusion, to give it dramatic completeness, it ought, perhaps, to have; but the struggles, of which we have here witnessed the beginning, have not yet ended [Nov., 1863]; and one can scarcely be expected to describe events before they transpire. We may add, however, that Mr. Villars, Virginia, and Toby, arrived safely at their destination,--a small town on the borders of Ohio,--where they were cordially welcomed by relatives of the family. There, three weeks later, they were visited by two very suspicious looking characters,--one a bronzed and bearded young man, robust, rough, with an eye like an eagle's gleaming from under his old slouched hat, whom nobody, I am sure, would ever have taken for a Quaker schoolmaster; the other a stout, ruddy, blue-eyed, laughing, ragged lad of sixteen, who certainly did not pass for a rebel deserter. Strange to say, these pilgrims of the dusty roads and rocky wildernesses were welcomed (not to speak it profanely) like angels from heaven by the old man, his daughter, and Toby,--their brown hands shaken, their coarse, torn clothes embraced, and their sunburnt faces kissed, with a rapture amazing to strangers of the household. They were travelling (as the younger remarked in an accent which betrayed his Teutonic origin) to "Pennsylwany," the home of the elder; and they had come thus far out of their way to make this angels' visit. With these two Barber Jim had journeyed as far as Cincinnati, where he found his family comfortably provided for by persons to whose benevolence Mr. Villars had recommended them. The other refugees had also got safely over the mountains, after a march full of toils and dangers; and nearly all were now in the federal camps. A long history, full of deep and painful interest, might be written concerning the subsequent fortunes of these men, and of their families and neighbors left behind,--a history of hardships, of forced separations and ruined homes,--of starvation in woods and caves to which loyal citizens were driven by the rage of persecution,--and of terrible retribution. Stackridge, Grudd, and many of their brother refugees, had the joy of participating in those military movements of last summer, by which East Tennessee was relieved; of beholding the tremendous ruin which the blind pride of their foes had pulled down upon itself; and of witnessing the jubilee of a patriotic people released from a remorseless and unsparing tyranny. A word of Pomp. Have you read the newspaper stories of a certain negro scout, who, by his intrepidity, intelligence, and wonderful celerity of movement, has rendered such important services to the Army of the Cumberland? He is the man. Dan Pepperill fell in the battle of Stone River, fighting in a cause he never loved--the type of many such. Bythewood, after losing his influence at home, and trying various fortunes, became attached to the staff of the notorious Roger A. Pryor, in whose disgrace he shared, when that long-haired rebel chief was reduced to the ranks for cowardice. As for Carl, he is now a stalwart corporal in the --th Pennsylvania regiment. He serves under a dear friend of his, known as the "Fighting Quaker," and distinguished for that rare combination of military and moral qualities which constitutes the true hero. I regret that I cannot brighten these prosaic last pages with the halo of a wedding. But Penn had said, "Our country first!" and Virginia, heroic as he, had answered bravely, "Go!" Whether they will ever be happily united on earth, who can say? But this we know: the golden halo of the love that maketh one has crowned their united souls, and, with perfect patience and perfect trust, they wait. _L'ENVOY._ The foregoing pages are, as the writer sincerely believes, true to history and life in all important particulars. In order to give form and unity to the narrative, characters and incidents have been brought together within a much narrower compass, both of time and space, than they actually occupied: events have been described as occurring in the summer of 1861, many of which did not take place till some months later; and certain other liberties have been taken with facts. Two separate and distinct caves have been connected, in the story, by expanding both into one, which is for the most part imaginary, but which, I trust, will not be considered as a too improbable fiction in a region where caves and "sinks" abound. Lastly, is an apology needed for the scenes of violence here depicted?--Neither do I, O gentle reader, delight in them. But the book that would be a mirror of evil times, must show some repulsive features. And this book was written, not to please merely, but for a sterner purpose. For peaceful days, a peaceful and sunny literature: and may Heaven hasten the time when there shall be no more strife, and no more human bondage; when under the folds of the starry flag, from the lake chain to the gulf, and from sea to sea, freedom, and peace, and righteousness shall reign; when all men shall love each other, and the nations shall know God! 
8462	----	[ILLUSTRATION: "YOU'D LIKE YOUR PAPA TO COME BACK HOME FROM THE WAR?"] THE MAN IN GRAY _A ROMANCE OF NORTH AND SOUTH_ BY THOMAS DIXON AUTHOR OF "THE SOUTHERNER," "THE LEOPARD'S SPOTS," "THE BIRTH OF A NATION," "THE CLANSMAN," ETC. DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW MEMBERS OF THE KAPPA ALPHA FRATERNITY FOUNDED UNDER THE INSPIRATION OF ROBERT E. LEE 1868 TO THE READER Now that my story is done I see that it is the strangest fiction that I have ever written. Because it is true. It actually happened. Every character in it is historic. I have not changed even a name. Every event took place. Therefore it is incredible. Yet I have in my possession the proofs establishing each character and each event as set forth. They are true beyond question. THOMAS DIXON CURRITUCK LODGE _Munden, Va._ LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY ROBERT E. LEE _The Southern Commander._ MRS. LEE _His Wife._ CUSTIS _His older Son._ MARY _His Daughter._ MRS. MARSHALL _Lee's Sister._ UNCLE BEN _The Butler._ SAM _A Slave._ J.E.B. STUART _"The Flower of Cavaliers."_ FLORA COOKE _His Sweetheart._ PHIL SHERIDAN _His Schoolmate._ FRANCIS PRESTON BLAIR _Lincoln's Messenger._ SENATOR ROBERT TOOMBS _of Georgia._ JOHN BROWN _of Osawatomie._ JOHN E. COOK _His Spy._ VIRGINIA KENNEDY _Cook's Victim._ GERRIT SMITH _A Philanthropist._ GEORGE EVANS _A Labor Leader._ F. B. SANBORN _Brown's Organizer._ REV. THOMAS W. HIGGINSON _A Revolutionist._ WM. C. RIVES _Confederate Senator_ GEN. E. P. ALEXANDER _of Lee's Artillery._ JOHN DOYLE _A Poor White._ MAHALA DOYLE _His Wife._ EDMOND RUFFIN _A Virginia Planter._ THE MAN IN GRAY CHAPTER I The fireflies on the Virginia hills were blinking in the dark places beneath the trees and a katydid was singing in the rosebush beside the portico at Arlington. The stars began to twinkle in the serene sky. The lights of Washington flickered across the river. The Capitol building gleamed, argus-eyed on the hill. Congress was in session, still wrangling over the question of Slavery and its extension into the territories of the West. The laughter of youth and beauty sifted down from open windows. Preparations were being hurried for the ball in honor of the departing cadets--Custis Lee, his classmate, Jeb Stuart, and little Phil Sheridan of Ohio whom they had invited in from Washington. The fact that the whole family was going to West Point with the boys and Colonel Robert E. Lee, the new Superintendent, made no difference. One excuse for an old-fashioned dance in a Southern home was as good as another. The main thing was to bring friends and neighbors, sisters and cousins and aunts together for an evening of joy. A whippo'will cried his weird call from a rendezvous in the shadows of the lawn, as Sam entered the great hall and began to light the hundreds of wax tapers in the chandeliers. "Move dat furniture back now!" he cried to his assistants. "And mind yo' p's and q's. Doan yer break nuttin." His sable helpers quietly removed the slender mahogany and rosewood pieces to the adjoining rooms. They laughed at Sam's new-found note of dignity and authority. He was acting butler to-night in Uncle Ben's place. No servant was allowed to work when ill--no matter how light the tasks to which he was assigned. Sam was but twenty years old and he had been given the honor of superintending the arrangements for the dance. And, climax of all, he had been made leader of the music with the sole right to call the dances, although he played only the triangle in the orchestra. He was in high fettle. When the first carriage entered the grounds his keen ear caught the crunch of wheels on the gravel. He hurried to call the mistress and young misses to their places at the door. He also summoned the boys from their rooms upstairs. He had seen the flash of spotless white in the carriage. It meant beauty calling to youth on the hill. Sam knew. Phil came downstairs with Custis. The spacious sweep of the hall, its waxed floor clear of furniture, with hundreds of blinking candles flashing on its polished surface, caught his imagination. It _was_ a fairy world--this generous Southern home. In spite of its wide spaces, and its dignity, it was friendly. It caught his boy's heart. Mrs. Lee was just entering. Custis' eyes danced at the sight of his mother in full dress. He grasped Phil's arm and whispered: "Isn't my mother the most beautiful woman you ever saw?" He spoke the words half to himself. It was the instinctive worship of the true Southern boy, breathed in genuine reverence, with an awe that was the expression of a religion. "I was just thinking the same thing, Custis," was the sober reply. "I beg your pardon, Phil," he hastened to apologize. "I didn't mean to brag about my mother to you. It just slipped out. I couldn't help it. I was talking to myself." "You needn't apologize. I know how you feel. She's already made me think I'm one of you--" He paused and watched Mary Lee enter from the lawn leaning on Stuart's arm. Stuart's boyish banter was still ringing in her ears as she smiled at him indulgently. She hurried to her mother with an easy, graceful step and took her place beside her. She was fine, exquisite, bewitching. She had never come out in Society. She had been born in it. She had her sweethearts before thirteen and not one had left a shadow on her quiet, beautiful face. She demanded, by her right of birth as a Southern girl, years of devotion. And the Southern boy of the old regime was willing to serve. Phil stood with Stuart and watched Custis kiss a dozen pretty girls as they arrived and call each one cousin. "Is it a joke?" he asked Stuart curiously. "What?" "This cousin business." "Not much. You don't think I'd let him be such a pig if I could help him, do you?" "Are they all kin?" "Yes--" Stuart laughed. "Some of it gets pretty thin in the second and third cousin lines. But it's thick enough for him to get a kiss from every one--confound him!" The hall was crowding rapidly. The rustle of silk, the flash of pearls and diamonds, the hum of soft drawling voices filled the perfumed air. Phil's eyes were dazzled with the bevies of the younger set, from sixteen to eighteen, dressed in soft tulle and organdy; slow of speech; their voices low, musical, delicious. He was introduced to so many his head began to swim. To save his soul he couldn't pick out one more entrancing than another. The moment they spied his West Point uniform he was fair game. They made eyes at him. They languished and pretended to be smitten at first sight. Twice he caught himself about to believe one of them. They seemed so sincere, so dreadfully in earnest. And then he caught the faintest twinkle in the corner of a dark eye and blushed to think himself such a fool. But the sensation of being lionized was delightful. He was in a whirl of foolish joy when he suddenly realized that Stuart had deserted him, slipped through the crowd and found his way to Mary Lee. He threw a quick glance at the pair and one of the four beauties hovering around him began to whisper: "Jeb Stuart's just crazy about Mary--" "Did you ever see anything like it!" "He couldn't stop even to say how-d'y-do." "And she's utterly indifferent--" Sam's voice suddenly rang out with unusual unction and deliberation. He was imitating Uncle Ben's most eloquent methods. "Congress-man and Mrs. Rog-er A. Pry-or!" Mrs. Lee hastened to greet the young editor who had taken high rank in Congress from the day of his entrance. Mrs. Pryor was evidently as proud of her young Congressman as he was of her regal beauty. Colonel Lee joined the group and led the lawmaker into the library for a chat on politics. The first notes of a violin swept the crowd. The hum of conversation and the ripple of laughter softened into silence. The dusky orchestra is in place on the little platform. Sam, in all his glory, rises and faces the eager youth. He was dressed in his young master's last year's suit, immaculate blue broadcloth and brass buttons, ruffled shirt and black-braided watch guard hanging from his neck. His eyes sparkled with pride and his rich, sonorous voice rang over the crowd like the deep notes of a flute: "Choose yo' pardners fur de fust cowtillun!" Again the quick rustle of silk and tulle, the low hum of excited, young voices and the couples are in place. A boy cries to the leader: "We're all ready, Sam." The young caller of the set knew his business better. He lifted his hand in a gesture of reverence and silence, as he glanced toward the library door. "Jes' a minute la-dees, an' gem-mens," he softly drawled. "Marse Robert E. Lee and Missis will lead dis set!" The Colonel briskly entered from the library with his wife on his arm. A ripple of applause swept the room as they took their places with the gay youngsters. Sam lifted his hand; the music began--sweet and low, vibrating with the sensuous touch of the negro slave whose soul was free in its joyous melody. At the first note of his triangle, loud above the music rang Sam's voice: "Honors to yo' pardners!" With graceful courtesies and stately bows the dance began. And over all a glad negro called the numbers: "Forward Fours!" The caller's eyes rolled and his body swayed with the rhythm of the dance as he watched each set with growing pride. They danced a quadrille, a mazurka, another quadrille, a schottische, the lancers, another quadrille, and another and another. They paused for supper at midnight and then danced them over again. While the fine young forms swayed to exquisite rhythm and the music floated over all, the earnest young Congressman bent close to his host in a corner of the library. "I sincerely hope, Colonel Lee, that you can see your way clear to make a reply to this book of Mrs. Stowe which Ruffin has sent you." "I can't see it yet, Mr. Pryor--" "Ruffin is a terrible old fire-eater, I know," the Congressman admitted. "But _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ is the most serious blow the South has received from the Abolitionists. And what makes it so difficult is that its appeal is not to reason. It is to sentiment. To the elemental emotions of the mob. No matter whether its picture is true or false, the result will be the same unless the minds who read it can be cured of its poison. It has become a sensation. Every Northern Congressman has read it. A half million copies have been printed and the presses can't keep up with the demands. This book is storing powder in the souls of the masses who don't know how to think, because they've never been trained to think. This explosive emotion is the preparation for fanaticism. We only wait the coming of the fanatic--the madman who may lift a torch and hurl it into this magazine. The South is asleep. And when we don't sleep, we dance. There's no use fooling ourselves. We're dancing on the crust of a volcano." Pryor rose. "I've a number with Mrs. Pryor. I wish you'd think it over, Colonel. This message is my big reason for missing a night session to be here." Lee nodded and strolled out on the lawn before the white pillars of the portico to consider the annoying request. He hated controversy. Yet he was not the type of man to run from danger. The breed of men from which he sprang had always faced the enemy when the challenge came. In the carriage of his body there was a quiet pride--a feeling not of vanity, but of instinctive power. It was born in him through generations of men who had done the creative thinking of a nation in the building. His face might have been described as a little too regular--a little too handsome perhaps for true greatness, but for the look of deep thought in his piercing eyes. And the finely chiseled lines of character, positive, clean-cut, vigorous. He had backbone. And yet he was not a bitter partisan. He used his brain. He reasoned. He looked at the world through kindly, conservative eyes. He feared God, only. He believed in his wife, his children, his blood. And he loved Virginia, counting it the highest honor to be--not seem to be--an old-fashioned Virginia gentleman. He believed in democracy guided by true leaders. This reservation was not a compromise. It was a cardinal principle. He could conceive of no democracy worth creating or preserving which did not produce the superman to lead, shape, inspire and direct its life. The man called of God to this work was fulfilling a divine mission. He must be of the very necessity of his calling a nobleman. Without vanity he lived daily in the consciousness of his own call to this exalted ideal. It made his face, in repose, grave. His gravity came from the sense of duty and the consciousness of problems to be met and solved as his fathers before him had met and solved great issues. His conservatism had its roots in historic achievements and the chill that crept into his heart as he thought of this book came, not from the fear of the possible clash of forces in the future, but from the dread of changes which might mean the loss of priceless things in a nation's life. He believed in every fiber of his being that, in spite of slavery, the old South in her ideals, her love of home, her worship of God, her patriotism, her joy of living and her passion for beauty stood for things that are eternal. And great changes _were_ sweeping over the Republic. He felt this to-day as never before. The Washington on whose lights he stood gazing was rapidly approaching the end of the era in which the Nation had evolved a soul. His people had breathed that soul into the Republic. To this hour the mob had never ruled America. Its spirit had never dominated a crisis. The nation had been shaped from its birth through the heart and brain of its leaders. But he recalled with a pang that the race of Supermen was passing. Calhoun had died two years ago. Henry Clay had died within the past two months. Daniel Webster lay on his death bed at Mansfield. And there were none in sight to take their places. We had begun the process of leveling. We had begun to degrade power, to scatter talent, to pull down our leaders to the level of the mob, in the name of democracy. He faced this fact with grave misgivings. He believed that the first requirement of human society, if it shall live, is the discovery of men fit to command--to lead. With the passing of Clay, Calhoun and Webster the Washington on which he gazed, the Washington of 1852, had ceased to be a forum of great thought, of high thinking and simple living. It had become the scene of luxury and extravagance. The two important establishments of the city were Gautier's, the restaurateur and caterer--the French genius who prepared the feasts for jeweled youth; and Gait, the jeweler who sold the precious stones to adorn the visions of beauty at these banquets. The two political parties had fallen to the lowest depths of groveling to vote getting by nominating the smallest men ever named for Presidential honors. The Democrats had passed all their real leaders and named as standard-bearer an obscure little politician of New Hampshire, Mr. Franklin Pierce. His sole recommendation for the exalted office was that he would carry one or two doubtful Northern states and with the solid South could thus be elected. The Whig convention in Baltimore had cast but thirty-two votes for Daniel Webster and had nominated a military figurehead, General Winfield Scott. The Nation was without a leader. And the low rumble of the crowd--the growl of the primal beast--could be heard in the distance with increasing distinctness. The watcher turned from the White City across the Potomac and slowly walked into his rose garden. Even in September the riot of color was beyond description. In the splendor of the full Southern moon could be seen all shades from deep blood red to pale pink. All sizes from the tiniest four-leaf wild flowers to the gorgeous white and yellow masses that reared their forms like waves of the surf. He breathed the perfume and smiled again. A mocking bird, dropping from the bough of a holly, was singing the glory of a second blooming. The scene of entrancing beauty drove the thought of strife from his heart. He turned back toward the house and its joys of youth. Sam's sonorous voice was ringing in deliberation the grand call of the evening's festivities: "Choose-yo-pardners-fer-de-ol-Virginy-Reel!" And then the stir, the rush, the commotion for place in the final dance. The reel reaches the whole length of the hall with every foot of space crowded. There are thirty couples in line when the musicians pause, tune their instruments and with a sudden burst play "The Gray Eagle." The Virginia Reel stirs the blood of these Southern boys and girls. Its swift, graceful action and the inspiration of the old music seem part of the heart beat of the youth and beauty that sway to its cadences. The master of Arlington smiled at the memory of the young Congressman's eloquence. Surely it was only a flight of rhetoric. CHAPTER II Phil had finally reached the boys' room after the dance, his head in a whirl of excitement. Sleep was the last thing he wished. His imagination was on fire. He had heard of Southern hospitality. He had never dreamed of such waste of good things, such joy in living, such genuine pleasure in the meeting of friends and kinfolks. Custis had insisted on every boy staying all night. A lot of them had stayed. The wide rooms bulged with them. There were cots and pallets everywhere. He had seen the housemaids and the menservants carrying them in after the dance. Their own room contained four beds and as many pallets, and they were all full. He tried to sleep and couldn't. He dozed an hour, waked at dawn and began day-dreaming. There was no sense of weariness. His mind was too alert. The great house, in which he was made to feel as much at home as in the quiet cottage of his mother in Ohio, fascinated him with its endless menservants, housemaids, serving boys, cooks, coachmen and hostlers. He thought of the contrast with the quiet efficiency and simplicity of his mother's house. He could see her seated at the little table in the center of the room, a snow-white cap on her head. The work of the house had been done without a servant. It had been done so simply and quietly, he had never been conscious of the fact that it was work at all. It had seemed a ministry of love for her children. Their help had been given with equal joy, unconscious of toil, her kitchen floor was always spotless, with every pot and pan and shining dish in its place as if by magic. He wondered how Custis' mother could bear the strain of all these people. He wondered how she could manage the army of black servants who hung on her word as the deliverance of an oracle. He could hear the hum of the life of the place already awake with the rising sun. Down in the ravine behind the house he caught the ring of a hammer on an anvil and closer in the sweep of a carpenter's plane over a board. A colt was calling to his mother at the stables and he could hear the chatter and cries of the stable boys busy with the morning feed. He rose, stepped gingerly beside the sleepers on the floor and stood by an open window. His mind was stirring with a curious desire to see the ghost that haunted this house, its spacious grounds and fields. He, too, had read _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, and wondered. The ghost must be here hiding in some dark corner of cabin or field--the ghost of deathless longing for freedom--the ghost of cruelty--the ghost of the bloodhound, the lash and the auction block. Somehow he couldn't realize that such things could be, now that he was a guest in a Southern home and saw the bright side of their life. Never had he seen anything brighter than the smiles of those negro musicians as they proudly touched their instruments: the violin, the banjo, the flute, the triangle and castanets, and watched the dancers swing through each number. There could be no mistake about the ring of joy in Sam's voice. It throbbed with unction. It pulsed with pride. Its joy was contagious. He caught himself glancing at his rolling eyes and swaying body. Once he muttered aloud: "Just look at that fool nigger!" But somewhere in this paradise of flowers and song birds, of music and dance, of rustling silk, of youth and beauty, the Ghost of Slavery crouched. In a quiet way he would watch for it to walk. He had to summon all his pride of Section and training in the catch words of the North to keep from falling under the charm of the beautiful life he felt enfolding him. He no longer wondered why every Northern man who moved South forgot the philosophy of the Snows and became a child of the Sun. He felt the subtle charm of it stealing into his heart and threw off the spell with an effort. A sparrow chirped under the window. A redbird flashed from a rosebush and a mocking bird from a huge magnolia began to softly sing his morning love song to his mate. He heard a yawn, turned and saw Custis rubbing his eyes. "For heaven's sake, Phil, why don't you sleep?" "Tried and can't." "Don't like your bed?" "Too much excited." "One of those girls hooked you?" "No. I couldn't make up my mind. So many beauties they rattled me." "All right," Custis said briskly. "Let's get up and look around the old plantation." "Good," Phil cried. Custis called Jeb Stuart in vain. He refused to answer or to budge. Phil found his shoes at the door neatly blacked and the moment he began to stir a grinning black boy was at his heels to take his slightest order. "I don't want _any_thing!" he said at last to his dusky tormentor. "Nuttin tall, sah?" "Nuttin tall!" Phil smiled at the eager, rolling eyes. "Get out--you make me laugh--" The boy ducked. "Yassah--des call me if ye wants me--I'se right outside de do'." The two cadets ate breakfast alone. The house was yet asleep--except the children. Their voices could be heard on the lawn at play. They had been put to bed early, at eleven o'clock. They were up with the birds as usual. The sun was an hour high, shining the glory of a perfect September morning. The boys strolled on the lawn. The children were everywhere, playing in groups. Little black and white boys mixed indiscriminately. Robbie Lee was playing rooster fight with Sid, his boon companion. The little black boy born nearest his birthday was dedicated to be his friend, companion and body servant for life. Phil paused to see the rooster fight. The boys folded their arms and flew at each other sideways, using their elbows as a rooster uses his spurs. Robbie was pressing Sid against the fence of the rose garden. Sid's return blows lacked strength. Robbie stamped his foot angrily. "Come on now--no foolin'--fight! There's no fun in a fight, if you don't fight!" Sid bucked up and flew at his enemy. Robbie saw the two older boys watching and gave a star performance. As Sid lunged at him with uplifted arms, and drew back to strike a stunning blow, Robbie suddenly stooped, hurled his elbow under Sid's arm, lifted him clear of the ground and he fell sprawling. Robbie stood in triumph over the prostrate figure. Phil laughed. "You got him that time, Robbie!" Robbie squared himself, raised his spurs and waited for Sid to rise. Sid was in no hurry. He had enough. He hadn't cried. But he was close to it. "Ye needn't put up dem spurs at me no mo'." "Come on again!" Robbie challenged. "Na, sah. I'se done dead. Ye stick dat spur clean froo me. Hit mighty nigh come out on de odder side!" "Got enough?" The game was suddenly ended by a barefoot white boy approaching Robbie. Johnny Doyle carried a dozen teal ducks, six in each hand. They were so heavy for his hands that their heads dragged the ground. Robbie rushed to meet his friend. "Oh, John, where'd you get the ducks?" "Me and daddy killed 'em this mornin' at sun-up on the river." "Why, the duck season isn't on yet, is it?" Custis asked the boy. "No, sir, but daddy saw a big raft of teal swingin' into the bend of the river yesterday and we got up before daylight and got a mess." "You brought 'em to me, John?" Robbie asked eagerly. "Jes the same, Robbie. Dad sent 'em to Colonel Lee." "That's fine of your daddy, John," Custis said, placing his hand on the little bare sunburnt head. "Yessir, my daddy says Colonel Lee's the greatest man in this county and he's mighty proud to be his neighbor." "Tell him my father will thank him personally before we leave and say for all that he has given us a treat." Custis handed the ducks to Sid. "Take them to the kitchen and tell Aunt Hannah to have them for dinner, sure." Sid started for the kitchen and Robbie called after him: "Hurry back, Sid--" "Yassah--right away, sah!" Robbie seized John's hand. "You'll stay all day?" "I can't." "We're goin' fishin'--" "Honest?" "Sure. Uncle Ben's sick. But after dinner he's promised to take us. He's not too sick to fish." "I can't stay," the barefoot boy sighed. "Come on. There's three bird's nests in the orchard. The second layin'. It ain't no harm to break up the second nest. Birds've no business layin' twice in one season. We _ought_ to break 'em up." "I'm afraid I can't." His tone grew weaker and Robbie pressed him. "Come on. We'll get the bird's eggs and chase the calves and colts till the dinner bell rings, ride the horses home from the fields, and go fishin' after dinner and stay till dark." "No--" "Come on!" John glanced up the road toward the big gate beyond which his mother was waiting his return. The temptation was more than his boy's soul could resist. He shook his head--paused--and grinned. "Come on, Sid, John's goin' with us," Robbie called to his young henchman as he approached. "All right," John consented, finally throwing every scruple to the winds. "Ma'll whip me shore, but, by granny, it'll be worth it!" The aristocrat slipped his arm around his chum and led him to the orchard in triumph. Custis laughed. "He'd rather play with that little, poor white rascal than any boy in the country." "Don't blame him," Phil replied. "He may be dirty and ragged but he's a real boy after a real boy's heart. And the handsomest little beggar I ever saw--who is he?" "The boy of a poor white family, the Doyles. They live just outside our gate on a ten-acre farm. His mother's trying to make him go to school. His father laughs and lets him go hunting and fishing." They were strolling past the first neat row of houses in the servants' quarters. Phil thought of them as the slave quarters. Yet he had not heard the word slave spoken since his arrival. These black people were "servants" and some of them were the friends and confidants of their master and his household. Phil paused in front of a cottage. The yard flamed with autumn flowers. Through the open door and windows came the hum of spinning wheels and the low, sweet singing of the dark spinners, spinning wool for the winter clothing of the estate. From the next door came the click and crash of the looms weaving the warm cloth. "You make your own cloth?" the Westerner asked in surprise. "Of course, for the servants. It takes six spinners and three weavers working steadily all year to keep up with it, too." "Isn't it expensive?" "Maybe. We never thought of it. We just make it. Always have in our family for a hundred years." They passed the blacksmith's shop and saw him shoeing a blooded colt. Phil touched the horse's nostrils with a gentle hand and the colt nudged him. "It's funny how a horse knows a horseman instinctively--isn't it, Phil?" "Yes. He knows I'm going to join the cavalry." They moved down the long row of whitewashed cottages, each with its yard of flowers and each with a huge pile of wood in the rear--wood enough to keep a sparkling fire through the winter. Chubby-faced babies were playing in the sanded walks and smiling young mothers watched them from the doors. Phil started to put a question, stammered and was silent. "What is it?" Custis asked. "You'll pardon my asking it, old boy, but are these black folks married?" The Southern boy laughed heartily. "I should say so. A negro wedding is one of the joys of a plantation boy's life." "But isn't it awful when they're separated?" "They're not separated." "Never?" "Not on this plantation. Nor on any estate whose master and mistress are our friends. It's not done in our set." "You keep them when they're old, lazy and worthless?" "If they're married, yes. It's a luxury we never deny ourselves, this softening of the rigor of the slave regime. It's not business. But it's the custom of the country. To separate a husband and wife is an unheard-of thing among our people." The thing that impressed the Westerner in those white rows of little homes was the order and quiet of it all. Every yard was swept clean. There was nowhere a trace of filth or disease-breeding refuse. And birds were singing in the bushes beside these slave cottages as sweetly as they sang for the master and mistress in the pillared mansion on the hill. They passed the stables and paused to watch a dozen colts playing in the inclosure. Beyond the stable under the shadows of great oaks was the dog kennel. A pack of fox hounds rushed to the gate with loud welcome to their young master. He stooped to stroke each head and call each dog's name. A wagging tail responded briskly to every greeting. In another division of the kennel romped a dozen bird-dogs, pointers and setters. The puppies were nearly grown and eager for the fields. They climbed over Custis in yelping puppy joy that refused all rebuffs. Phil looked in vain for the bloodhounds. He was afraid to ask about them lest he offend his host. Custis had never seen a bloodhound and could not guess the question back of his schoolmate's silence. Sam entered the inclosure with breakfast for the dogs. Phil couldn't keep his eyes off the sunlit, ebony face. His smile was contagious. His voice was music. The Westerner couldn't resist the temptation to draw him out. "You were certainly dressed up last night, Sam!" "Yer lak dat suit I had on, sah?" "It was a great combination." "Yassah, dat's me, sah," the negro laughed. "I'se a great combination--yassah!" He paused and threw his head back as if to recall the words. Then in a voice rich and vibrant with care-free joy he burst into song: "Yassah!" "When I goes out ter promenade I dress so fine and gay I'm bleeged to take my dog along Ter keep de gals away." Again his laughter rang in peals of sonorous fun. They joined in his laugh. A stable boy climbed the fence and called: "Don't ye want yer hosses, Marse Custis?" He was jealous of Sam's popularity. Custis glanced at Phil. "Sure. Let's ride." "All right, Ned--saddle them." The boy leaped to the ground and in five minutes led two horses to the gate. As they galloped past the house for the long stretch of white roadway that led across the river to the city, Phil smiled as he saw Jeb Stuart emerge from the rose garden with Mary Lee. Custis ignored the unimportant incident. CHAPTER III Stuart led Mary to a seat beneath an oak, brushed the dust away with his cap and asked her to honor him. He bowed low over her hand and dared to kiss it. She passed the gallant act as a matter of course and sat down beside him with quiet humor. She knew the symptoms. A born flirt, as every true Southern girl has always been, she eyed his embarrassment with surprise. She knew that he was going to speak under the resistless impulse of youth and romance, and that no hearts would be broken on either side no matter what the outcome. She watched him indulgently. She had to like him. He was the kind of boy a girl couldn't help liking. He was vital, magnetic and exceptionally good looking. He sang and danced and flirted, but beneath the fun and foolishness slumbered a fine spirit, tender, reverent, deeply religious. It was this undercurrent of strength that drew the girl. He was always humming a song, his heart bubbling over with joy. He had never uttered an oath or touched a drop of liquor amid all the gaiety of the times in which he lived. "Miss Mary," he began slowly. "Now Jeb," she interrupted. "You don't _have_ to, you know--" Stuart threw his head back, laughed, and sang a stanza from "Annie Laurie" in a low, tender voice. He paused and faced his fair tormentor. "Miss Mary, I've got to!" "You don't have to make love to me just because you're my brother's classmate--" "You know I'm not!" he protested. "You're about to begin." "But not for that reason, Miss Mary--" He held her gaze so seriously that she blushed before she could recover her poise. He saw his advantage and pressed it. "I'm telling you that I love you because you're the most adorable girl I've ever known." His boyish, conventional words broke the spell. "I appreciate the tribute which you so gallantly pay me, Sir Knight. But I happen to know that the moonlight, the music of a dance, the song of birds this morning and the beauty of the landscape move you, as they should. You're young. You're too good looking. You're fine and unspoiled and I like you, Jeb. But you don't know yet what love means." "I do, Miss Mary, I do." "You don't and neither do I. You're in love with love. And so am I. It's the morning of life and why shouldn't we be like this?" "There's no hope?" he asked dolefully. "Of course, there's hope. There's something fine in you, and you'll find yourself in the world when you ride forth to play your part. And I'll follow you with tender pride." "But not with love," he sighed. "Maybe--who knows?" she smiled. "Is that all the hope you can give me?" "Isn't it enough?" He gazed into her serious eyes a moment and laughed with boyish enthusiasm. "Yes, it is, Miss Mary! You're glorious. You're wonderful. You make me ashamed of my foolishness. You inspire me to do things. And I'm going to do them for your sake." "For your own sake, because God has put the spark in your soul. Your declaration of love has made me very happy. We're too young yet to take it seriously. We must both live our life in its morning before we settle down to the final things. They'll come too soon." "I'm going to love you always, Miss Mary," he protested. "I want you to. But you'll probably marry another girl." "Never!" "And I know you'll be her loyal knight, her devoted slave. It's a way our Southern boys have. And it's beautiful." Stuart studied the finely chiseled face with a new reverence. "Miss Mary, you've let me down so gently. I don't feel hurt at all." A sweet silence fell between them. A breeze blew the ringlets of the girl's hair across the pink of her cheek. A breeze from the garden laden with the mingled perfume of roses. A flock of wild ducks swung across the lawn high in the clear sky and dipped toward the river. Across the fields came a song of slaves at work in the cornfield, harvesting the first crop of peas planted between the rows. Stuart caught her hand, pressed it tenderly and kissed it. "You're an angel, Miss Mary. And I'm going to worship you, if you won't let me love you." The girl returned his earnest look with a smile and slowly answered: "All right, Beauty Stuart, we'll see--" CHAPTER IV The dinner at night was informal. Colonel Lee had invited three personal friends from Washington. He hoped in the touch of the minds of these leaders to find some relief from the uneasiness with which the reading of Mrs. Stowe's book had shadowed his imagination. The man about whom he was curious was Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois, the most brilliant figure in the Senate. In the best sense he represented the national ideal. A Northern man, he had always viewed the opinions and principles of the South with broad sympathy. The new Senator from Georgia, on the other hand, had made a sensation in the house as the radical leader of the South. Lee wondered if he were as dangerous a man as the conservative members of the Whig party thought. Toombs had voted the Whig ticket, but his speeches on the rights of the South on the Slavery issues had set him in a class by himself. Mr. and Mrs. Pryor had spent the night of the dance at Arlington and had consented to stay for dinner. Douglas had captured the young Virginia congressman. And Mrs. Douglas had become an intimate friend of Mrs. Pryor. When Douglas entered the library and pressed Lee's hand, the master of Arlington studied him with keen interest. He was easily the most impressive figure in American politics. The death of Calhoun and Clay and the sudden passing of Webster had left but one giant on the floor of the Senate. They called him the "Little Giant." He was still a giant. He had sensed the approaching storm of crowd madness and had sought the age-old method of compromise as the safety valve of the nation. He had not read history in vain. He knew that all statesmanship is the record of compromise--that compromise is another name for reason. The Declaration of Independence was a compromise between the radicalism of Thomas Jefferson and the conservatism of the colonies. In the original draft of the Declaration, Jefferson had written a paragraph arraigning slavery which had been omitted: "He (the King of Great Britain) has waged cruel war against human nature itself, violating its most sacred rights of life and liberty in the persons of a distant people who never offended him; capturing and carrying them into slavery in another hemisphere, or to incur miserable death in their transportation thither. This piratical warfare, the opprobrium of infidel powers, is the warfare of the _Christian_ King of Great Britain. Determined to keep open a market where men should be bought and sold, he prostituted his negative for suppressing every legislative attempt to prohibit or restrain this execrable commerce. And that this assemblage of horrors might want no fact of distinguished dye, he is now exciting these very people to rise in arms among us, and to purchase that liberty of which he has deprived them, by murdering the people on whom he also obtruded them; thus paying off former crimes committed against the liberties of one people with crimes which he urges them to commit against the lives of another." This indictment of Slavery and the Slave trade was stricken from the Declaration of Independence in deference to the opposition of both Northern and Southern slave owners who held that the struggling young colonies must have labor at all hazards. Lee knew that the Constitution also was a compromise of conflicting interests. But for the spirit of compromise--of reason--this instrument of human progress could never have been created. The word "Slave" or "Slavery" does not occur within it, and yet three of its most important provisions established the institution of chattel slavery as the basis of industrial life. The statesmen who wrote the Constitution did not wish these clauses embodied in it. Yet the Union could not have been established without them. Our leaders reasoned, and reasoned wisely, that Slavery must perish in the progress of human society, and, therefore, they accepted the compromise. There has never been a statesman in the history of the world who has not used this method of constructive progress. There will never be a statesman who succeeds who can use any other method in dealing with masses of his fellow men. Douglas was the coming constructive statesman of the republic and all eyes were being focused on him. His life at the moment was the fevered center of the nation's thought. That his ambitions were boundless no one who knew the man doubted. That his patriotism was as genuine and as great all knew at last. Lee studied every feature of his fine face. No eye could miss him in an assemblage of people, no matter how great the numbers. His compact figure was erect, aggressive, dominant. A personage, whose sense of power came from within, not without. He was master of himself and of others. He looked the lion and he was one. The lines of his face were handsome in the big sense, strong, regular, masculine. He drew young men as a magnet. His vitality inspired them. His stature was small in height, measured by inches, but of such dignity, power and magnetism that he suggested Napoleon. He smiled into Colonel Lee's face and his smile lighted the room. Every man and woman present was warmed by it. Douglas had scarcely greeted Mrs. Lee and passed into an earnest conversation with the young Congressman when Robert Toombs of Georgia entered. Toombs had become within two years the successor of John C. Calhoun. He had the genius of Calhoun, eloquence as passionate, as resistless; and he had all of Calhoun's weaknesses. He called a spade a spade. He loathed compromise. Three years before he had swept the floor and galleries of the House with a burst of impassioned eloquence that had made him a national figure. Lifting his magnificent head he had cried: "I do not hesitate to avow before this House and the Country, and in the presence of the living God, that if by your legislation you seek to drive us from the Territory of California and New Mexico, purchased by the blood of Southern white people, and to abolish Slavery in the District of Columbia, thereby attempting to fix a national degradation upon half the States of this Confederacy, _I am for disunion_. The Territories are the common property of the United States. You are their common agents; it is your duty while they are in the Territorial state to remove all impediments to their free enjoyment by both sections--the slave holder and the non-slave holder!" He was the man of iron will, of passionate convictions. He might lead a revolution. He could not compromise. His rapidly growing power was an ominous thing in the history of the South. Lee studied his face with increasing fascination. In this gathering no man or woman thought of wealth as the source of power or end of life. No one spoke of it. Office, rank, position, talent, beauty, charm, personality--these things alone could count. These men and women _lived_. They did not merely exist. They were making the history of the world and yet they refused to rush through life. Their souls demanded hours of repose, of thought, of joy and they took them. Toombs' pocket was stuffed with a paper-backed edition of a French play. It was his habit to read them in the original with keen enjoyment in moments of leisure. The hum of social life filled the room and strife was forgotten. Douglas and Toombs were boys again and Lee was their companion. Mary Lee managed to avoid Stuart and took her seat beside Phil Sheridan--not to tease her admirer but to give to her Western guest the warmest welcome of the old South. She knew the dinner would be a revelation to Phil and she would enjoy his appreciation. The long table groaned under the luxuries of the season. Course succeeded course, cooked with a delicate skill unknown to the world of to-day. The oysters, fresh, fat, luscious, were followed by diamond-back terrapin stew as a soup. Phil tasted it and whispered to his fair young hostess. "Miss Mary, what is this I'm eating?" "Don't you like it?" "I never expected to taste it on earth. I've only dreamed about it on high." "It's only terrapin stew. We serve it as a soup." "The angels made it." "No, Aunt Hannah." "I won't take it back. Angels only could brew this soup." The terrapin was followed by old Virginia ham and turnip greens. And then came the turkey with chestnut stuffing and jellies. The long table, flashing with old china and silver, held the staples of ham and turkey as ornaments as well as dainties for the palate. The real delicacies were served later, the ducks which Doyle had sent the Colonel, and plate after plate of little, brown, juicy birds called sora, so tender and toothsome they could be eaten bones and all. When Phil wound up with cakes and custards, apples, pears and nuts from the orchard and fields, his mind was swimming in a dream of luxury. And over it all the spirit of true hospitality brooded. A sense of home and reality as intimate, as genuine as if he sat beside his mother's chair in the little cottage in Ohio. "Lord save me," he breathed. "If I stay here long I'll have but one hope, to own a plantation and a home like this--" Toombs sat on Lee's right and Douglas on his left. Mr. and Mrs. Pryor occupied the places of honor beside Mrs. Lee. The Colonel's keen eye studied Douglas with untiring patience. To his rising star, the man who loved the Union, was drawn as by a magnet. Toombs, the Whig, belonged to his own Party, the aristocracy of brains and the inheritors of the right to leadership. He was studying Toombs with growing misgivings. He dreaded the radicalism within the heart of the Southern Whig. His eye rested on Sam, serving the food as assistant butler in Ben's absence. In the kink of his hair, the bulge of his smiling lips, the spread of his nostrils, the whites of his rolling eyes, he saw the Slave. He saw the mystery, the brooding horror, the baffling uncertainty, the insoluble problem of such a man within a democracy of self-governing freemen. He stood bowing and smiling over his guests, in shape a man. And yet in racial development a million years behind the wit and intelligence of the two leaders at his side. Over this dusky figure, from the dawn of American history our fathers had wrangled and compromised. More than once he had threatened to divide or destroy the Union. Reason and the compromises of great minds had saved us. In Sam he saw this grinning skeleton at his feast. He could depend on the genius of Douglas when the supreme crisis came. He felt the quality of his mind tonight. But could Douglas control the mob impulse of the North where such appeals as _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had gripped the souls of millions and reason no longer ruled life? There was the rub. There was no question of the genius of Douglas. The question was could any leadership count if the mob, not the man, became our real ruler? The task of Douglas was to hold the fanatic of the North while he soothed the passions of the radical of the South. Henry Clay had succeeded. But _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had not been written in his day. Toombs was becoming a firebrand. His eloquence was doing in the South what Mrs. Stowe's novel was doing in the North--preparing the soil for revolution--planting gunpowder under the foundations of society. Could these forces yet be controlled or were they already beyond control? CHAPTER V After dinner, Jeb Stuart succeeded in separating Mary from Phil and began again his adoration. The men adjourned to the library to discuss the Presidential Campaign and weigh the chances of General Scott against Franklin Pierce. The comment of Toombs was grim in its sarcasm and early let him out of the discussion. "It doesn't matter in the least, gentlemen, who is elected in November," he observed. "There's nothing before the country as yet. Not even an honest-to-God man." Lee shook his head gravely. Toombs parried his protest. "I know, Colonel Lee, you're fond of the old General. You fought with him in Mexico. But--" he dropped his voice to a friendly whisper--"all the same, you know that what I say is true." He took a cigar from the mantel, lighted it and waved to the group. "I'll take a little stroll and smoke." Custis took Phil to the cottage of the foreman to see a night school in session. "You mean the overseer's place?" Phil asked eagerly, as visions of Simon Legree flashed through his mind. "No--I mean Uncle Ike's cottage. He's the foreman of the farm. We have no white overseer." Phil was shocked. He had supposed every Southern plantation had a white overseer as slave driver with a blacksnake whip in his hand. A negro foreman was incredible. As a matter of fact there were more negro foremen than white overseers in the South. In Uncle Ike's cottage by the light of many candles the school for boys was in session. Custis' brother "Rooney," was the teacher. He had six pupils besides Sam. Not one of them knew his lesson to-night and Rooney was furious. As Phil and Custis entered, he was just finishing a wrathful lecture. His pupils were standing in a row grinning their apologies. "I've told you boys for the last three weeks that I won't stand this. You don't have to go to school to me if you don't want to. But if you join my school you've got to study. Do you hear me?" "Yassah!" came the answer in solid chorus. "Well, you'll do more than hear me to-night. You're going to heed what I say. I'm going to thrash the whole school." Sam broke into a loud laugh. And a wail of woe came from every dusky figure. "Dar now!" "Hear dat, folks--?" "I been a tellin' ye chillun--" "I lubs my spellin' book--but, oh, dat hickory switch!" "Oh, Lordy--" "Gib us anudder chance, Marse Rooney!" "Not another chance," was the stern answer. "Lay off your coats." They began to peel their coats. Big, strapping, husky fellows nudging one another and grinning at their fourteen-year-old schoolmaster. It was no use to protest. They knew they deserved it. A whipping was one of the minor misfortunes of life. Its application was universal. No other method of discipline had yet been dreamed by the advanced thinkers and rulers of the world. "Spare the rod and spoil the child" was accepted as the Word of God and only a fool could doubt it. The rod was the emblem of authority for child, pupil, apprentice and soldier. The negro slave as a workman got less of it than any other class. It was the rule of a Southern master never to use the rod on a slave except for crime if it could be avoided. To flog one for laziness was the exception, not the rule. The old Virginia gentleman prided himself particularly on the tenderness and care with which he guarded the life of his servants. If the weather was cold and his men exposed, he waited to see that they had dry clothes and a warm drink before they went to bed. He never failed to remember that his white skin could endure more than their sunburned dark ones. The young school-teacher had no scruples on applying the rod. He selected his switches with care, and tested their strength and flexibility while he gave the bunch a piece of his mind. "What do you think I'm coming down here every night for, anyhow?" he stormed. "Lordy, Marse Rooney," Sam pleaded, "doan we all pay you fur our schoolin'?" "Yes, you do when I can manage to choke it out of you. One dozen eggs a month or one pullet every two months. And I don't even ask you where you got the eggs or the pullet." "Marse Rooney!" protested Sam. "Yer know we gets 'em outen our own yards er buys 'em from de servants." "I hope you do. Though my mother says she don't know how we eat so many chickens and eggs at the house. Anyhow I'm not here because I'm going to get rich on the tuition you pay me. I'm not here for my health. I'm here from a sense of duty to you boys--" "Yassah, we know dat, sah!" "Give us annuder chance an' we sho' study dem lessons--" "I gave you another chance the last time. I'll try a little hickory tea this time." He began at the end of the line and belabored each one faithfully. They shouted in mockery and roared with laughter, scampered over the room and dodged behind chairs and tables. Phil fairly split his sides laughing. When the fun was over, they drew close to their teacher and promised faithfully to have every word of the next lesson. They nudged each other and whispered their jokes about the beating. "Must er bin er flea bitin' me!" "I felt sumfin. Don't 'zactly know what it wuz. Mebbe a chigger!" "Must er been a flea. Hit bit me, too!" Sam tried to redeem himself for failing on his lessons in arithmetic. He had long ago learned to read and write and had asked for a course in history. The young teacher had given him a copy of _Gulliver's Travels_. "Look a here, Marse Rooney, I been a readin' dat book yer gimme--" "Well, that's good." "Yer say dat book's history?" "Well, it's what we call fiction, but I think fiction's the very best history we can read. It may not have happened just that way but it's true all the same." "Well, ef hit nebber happened, I dunno 'bout dat," Sam objected. "I been suspicionin' fer a long time dat some o' dem things that Gulliver say nebber happen nohow." "You read it," the teacher ordered. "Yassah, I sho gwine ter read it, happen er no happen. Glory be ter God. Just 'cause yer tells me, sah!" CHAPTER VI The next morning found Phil walking again between the white, clean rows of the quarter houses. He was always finding something to interest him. Every yard had its gorgeous red autumn flowers. Some of them had roses in bloom. The walks from the gate to the door were edged with white-washed bricks or conch shells. The conch shells were souvenirs of summer outings at the seashore. In the corner of the back yard there was the tall pole on which were hung five or six dried gourds with tiny holes cut in the sides for the martins. And every gourd had its black family. The martins were the guardians of the servants' chicken yards. The hawks were numerous and the woods close to the quarters. Few chickens were lost by hawks. The martins circled the skies in battalions, watching, chattering, guarding, basking in the southern sun. At noon the assembly bell rang at the end of the Broadway of the quarters. From every cottage, from field and stable, blacksmith shop, carpenter's shop, the house of the spinners, the weavers, the dairy, the negroes poured toward the shed beside the bell tower. "What is it?" Phil asked of Custis. "Saturday noon. All work stops." "My Lord, it's been raining nearly all morning. The field hands haven't worked a lick all day. Do they stop, too?" "It's the unwritten law of the South. We would no more think of working on Saturday afternoon than on Sunday." "What are they gathering under that shed for?" Phil inquired. Custis led him to the shed where Ike, the foreman, stood with Mrs. Lee beside a long table on which were piled the provisions for the week to follow. The negroes laughed and chattered like a flock of blackbirds picking grain in a wheat field. To each head of a family was given six pounds of meat for each person. A father, mother and two children received twenty-four pounds. Their bread was never rationed. The barrel in each cottage was filled from the grist mill, a bag full at a time. They had their own garden and flocks of chickens. Sugar, coffee and molasses were given on the first of each month. "Come right back here now all ob you!" Ike shouted, "des ez quick ez yer put yo vittles away. De Missis gwine gib ye yo' winter close now, case she gwine ter Wes' Pint next week." The provisions were swept from the long table. Out of the storehouse came huge piles of clothing and blankets. Each package was marked with the owner's name. To each pair, man and wife, or two children, was given a new wool blanket. This was, of course, added to the stock each house had already. A woolen blanket was good for ten years' wear. Many a servant's house had a dozen blankets for each bed. Besides the blankets, to every woman with a baby was given a quilted comfort. To each man, woman and child were allotted two complete woolen suits for the winter, a new pair of shoes and three pairs of stockings. In the spring two suits of cotton would be given for summer. The thrifty ones had their cedar chests piled with clothes. Many had not worn the suits given out a year ago. The heads of large families trudged away with six or seven blankets, a comfort, and twenty suits of clothes. It sometimes took the father, mother and two of the children to carry the load. But the most amazing thing which Phil saw was the sudden transformation of the shed into a market for the sale of slave produce to the mistress of Arlington. Mrs. Lee had watched the distribution of clothes, blankets, quilts, shoes and stockings for the winter and then became the purchaser of all sorts of little luxuries which the slave had made in his leisure hours on Saturday afternoons and at night. The little boys and girls sold her dried wild fruits. The women had made fine jellies. They all had chickens and eggs to sell to the big house. Some had become experts in making peanut brittle and fudge. They not only sold their wares here, but they also sold them in the market in Washington. The old men were expert basket and broom makers. The slaves made so much extra money on their chickens, peanuts, popcorn, fudge, brittle, molasses cakes, baskets, brooms, mats and taking in sewing, that they were able to buy many personal luxuries. Phil observed one dusky belle already arrayed in a silk dress for the Saturday afternoon outing with her beau. A few of them had their Sunday dresses made by fashionable mantua makers in Washington. In addition to the regular distribution of clothing, the household supplied to the servants in rapid succession everything worn by master, mistress, son or daughter. Knowing that their clothes were being watched and guarded by longing eyes, they never wore them very long. Mary Lee was distributing a dozen dresses now to the girls. They had been made within the past year. Phil observed Sam arrayed in a swallowtail coat of immaculate cut stroll by with his best girl. She was dressed in silk with full hoop-skirts, ruffles, ribbons and flowers. Sid annoyed Sam by calling loudly: "Doan yer stay too late ter dat party. Ef ye do I'll hatter sing fur ye-- "Run, nigger, run, de patterole ketch you. Nigger run, de nigger flew, De nigger loss his best ole shoe! Run, nigger, run. Run, nigger, run. Run, nigger, run." Sam waved his arm in a long laugh. "Dey won't git me, chile. I'se er conjur man, I is!" Phil had supposed the patrol of the mysterious mounted police of the South--the men who rode at night--were to the slave always a tragic terror. It seemed a thing for joke and ribald song. After lunch, the negroes entered on the afternoon's fun or work. The industrious ones plied their trades to earn money for luxuries. The boys who loved to fish and hunt rabbits hurried to the river and the fields. There was always a hound at their service for a rabbit hunt on Saturday afternoons. Some were pitching horse shoes. Two groups began to play marbles. The marketing done for the house, the mistress of Arlington, with medicine case in hand, started on her round of healing for body and mind. Mary offered to go with her but the mother saw Stuart hovering about and quietly answered: "No. You can comfort poor Jeb. He looks disconsolate." Into every cottage she moved, a quiet, ministering angel. Every hope and fear of ailing young or old found in her an ear to hear, a heart to pity and an arm to save. If she found a case of serious illness, a doctor was called and a nurse set to watch by the bedside. Every delicacy and luxury the big house held was at the command of the sufferer and that without stint. In all these clean flower-set cottages there was not a single crippled servant maimed in the service of his master. No black man or woman was allowed to do dangerous work. All dangerous tasks were done by hired white laborers. They were hired by the day under contract through their boss. Even ditches on the farm if they ran through swamp lands infested by malaria, were dug by white hired labor. The master would not permit his slave to take such risks. But the most important ministry of the mistress of Arlington was in the medicine for the soul which she brought to the life and character of each servant for whose training she had accepted responsibility. To her even the master proudly and loyally yielded authority. Her sway over the servants was absolute in its spiritual power. Into their souls in hours of trial she poured the healing and inspiration of a beautiful spirit. The mistress of Arlington was delicate and frail in body. But out of her physical suffering the spirit rose to greater heights with each day's duty and service. This mysterious power caught the warm imagination of the negroes. They were "servants" to others. They were her _slaves_ and they rejoiced in the bond that bound them. They knew that her body had no rest from morning until far into the hours of the night if one of her own needed care. The master could shift his responsibility to a trained foreman. No forewoman could take her place. To the whole scheme of life she gave strength and beauty. The beat of her heart made its wheels go round. The young Westerner studied her with growing admiration and pity. She was the mistress of an historic house. She was the manager of an estate. She was the counselor of every man, woman and child in happiness or in sorrow. She was an accomplished doctor. She was a trained nurse. She taught the hearts of men and women with a wisdom more profound and searching than any preacher or philosopher from his rostrum. She had mastered the art of dressmaking and the tailor's trade. She was an expert housekeeper. She lived at the beck and call of all. She was idolized by her husband. Her life was a supreme act of worship--a devotion to husband, children, friends, the poor, the slave that made her a high-priestess of humanity. The thing that struck Phil with terrific force was that this beautiful delicate woman was the slave of slaves. As a rule, they died young. He began to wonder how a people of the intelligence of these proud white Southerners could endure such a thing as Slavery. Its waste, its extravagance, its burdens were beyond belief. He laughed when he thought of his mother crying over _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. Yet a new edition of a hundred thousand copies had just come from the press. Early Sunday morning Custis asked him to go down to the quarters to see Uncle Ben, the butler, who had not yet resumed his duties. He had sent an urgent message to his young master asking him to be kind enough to call on Sunday. The message was so formal and reserved Custis knew it was of more than usual importance. They found the old man superintending a special breakfast of fried fish for two little boys, neatly served at a table with spotless cloth. Robbie and his friend, John Doyle, were eating the fish they had caught with Uncle Ben the day before. They were as happy as kings and talked of fish and fishing with the unction of veteran sportsmen. The greeting to Custis was profound in its courtesy and reverence. He was the first born of the great house. He was, therefore, the prospective head of the estate. Jeffersonian Democrats had long ago abolished the old English law of primogeniture. But the idea was in the blood of the Virginia planter. The servants caught it as quickly as they caught the other English traits of love of home, family, kin, the cult of leisure, the habit of Church, the love of country. It was not an accident that the decisions of the courts of the Old South were quoted by English barristers and accepted by English judges as law. The Common Law of England was the law of Southern Seaboard States. It always had been and it is to-day. "How is you dis mornin', Marse Custis?" Ben asked with a stately bow. "Fine, Uncle Ben. I hope you're better?" "Des tolerble, sah, des tolerble--" he paused and bowed to Phil. "An' dis is you' school-mate at Wes' Pint, dey tells me about?" "Yes, Uncle," Phil answered. "I'se glad ter welcome yer ter Arlington, sah. And I'se powerful sorry I ain't able ter be in de big house ter see dat yer git ebry thing ter make yer happy, sah. Dese here young niggers lak Sam do pooty well. But dey ain't got much sense, sah. And dey ain't got no unction'tall. Dey do de best dey kin an' dat ain't much." "Oh, I'm having a fine time, Uncle Ben," Phil assured him. "Praise de Lord, sah." "Sam told me you wanted to see me, Uncle Ben," Custis said. "'Bout sumfin mos' particular, sah--" "At your service." The old man waved to his wife to look after the boys' breakfast. "Pile dem fish up on der plates, Hannah. Fill 'em up--fill'em up!" "We're mos' full now!" Robbie shouted. "No we ain't," John protested. "I jis begun." Ben led the young master and his friend out the back door, past the long pile of cord wood, past the chicken yard to a strong box which he had built on tall legs under a mulberry tree. It was constructed of oak and the neatly turned gable roof was covered with old tin carefully painted with three coats of red. A heavy hasp, staple and padlock held the solid door. Ben fumbled in his pocket, drew forth his keys and opened it. The box was his fireproof and ratproof safe in which the old man kept his valuables. His money, his trinkets, his hammer and nails, augur and bits, screwdriver and monkeywrench. From the top shelf he drew a tin can. A heavy piece of linen tied with a string served as a cover. He carefully untied the string in silence. He shook the can. The boys saw that it was filled with salt of the coarse kind used to preserve meats. Ben felt carefully in the salt, drew forth a shriveled piece of dark gristle, and held it up before his young master. "Yer know what dat is, Marse Custis?" Custis shook his head. From the old man's tones of deep emotion he knew the matter was serious. He thought at once of the Hoodoo. But he could make out no meaning to this bit of preserved flesh. "Never saw anything like it." "Nasah. I spec yer didn't." Ben pushed the gray hair back from his left ear. He wore his hair drawn low over the tips of his ears. It was a fad of his, which he never allowed to lapse. "See anything funny 'bout de top o' dat year, sah?" Custis looked carefully. "It looks shorter--" "Hit's er lot shorter. De top ob hit's clean gone, sah. Dat's why I allus combs my ha'r down close over my years--" He paused and held up the piece of dried flesh. "An' dat's hit, sah." "A piece of your ear?" "Hit sho is. Ye see, sah, a long time ergo when I wuz young an' strong ez er bull, one er dese here uppish niggers come ter our house drivin' a carriage frum Westover on de James, an' 'gin ter brag 'bout his folks bein' de bes' blood er ole Virginia. An' man I tells him sumfin. I tells dat fool nigger dat de folks at Westover wuz des fair ter midlin. Dat _our_ folks wuz, an' allus wuz, de very fust fambly o' Virginy! I tells him, dat Marse Robert's father was General Light Horse Harry Lee dat help General Washington wid de Revolution. Dat he wuz de Govenor o' ole Virginy. Dat he speak de piece at de funeral o' George Washington, dat we all knows by heart, now-- "'Fust in war, fust in peace and fust in de hearts o' his countrymen.' "I tells him dat Marse Robert's mother wuz a Carter. I tells him dat he could count more dan one hundred gemmen his kin. Dat his folks allus had been de very fust fambly in Virginy. I tells him dat he marry my Missis, de gran' daughter o' ole Gineral Washington his-salf--an' en--" He paused. "An' den, what ye reckon dat fool nigger say ter me?" "Couldn't guess." "He say General Washington nebber had no children. And den man, man, when he insult me lak dat, I jump on him lak a wil' cat. We fought an' we fit. We fit an' we fought. I got him down an' bit one o' his years clean off smooth wid his head. In de las' clinch he git hol' er my lef year a'fo' I could shake him, he bit de top of hit off, sah. I got him by the froat an' choke hit outen his mouf. And dar hit is, sah." He held up the dried piece of his ear reverently. "And what do you want me to do with it, Uncle Ben?" Custis asked seriously. "Nuttin right now, sah. But I ain't got long ter live--" "Oh, you'll be well in a few days, Uncle Ben." "I mought an' den agin I moughtent. I been lyin' awake at night worryin' 'bout dat year o' mine. Ye see hit wouldn't do tall fur me ter go walkin' dem golden streets up dar in Heben wid one o' my years lopped off lake a shoat er a calf dat's been branded. Some o' dem niggers standin' on dat gol' sidewalk would laugh at me. An' dat would hurt my feelin's. Some smart Aleck would be sho ter holler, 'Dar come ole Ben. But he ain't got but one year!' Dat wouldn't do, tall, sah." Phil bit his lips to keep from laughing. He saw the thing was no joke for the old man. It was a grim tragedy. "What I wants ter axe, Marse Custis, is dat you promise me faithful, ez my young master, dat when I die you come to me, get dis year o' mine outen dis salt box an' stick hit back right whar it b'long 'fore dey nail me up in de coffin. I des can't 'ford ter walk down dem golden streets, 'fore all dat company, wid a piece er my year missin'. Will ye promise me, sah?" Custis grasped the outstretched hand and clasped it. "I promise you, Uncle Ben, faithfully." "Den hit's all right, sah. When a Lee make a promise, hit's des ez good ez done. I know dat case I know who I'se er talkin' to." He placed the piece of gristle back into the tin can, covered it with salt, tied the linen cover over it carefully, put it back on the shelf, locked the heavy oak door and handed Custis the key. "I got annudder key. You keep dat one, please, sah." Custis and Phil left the old man more cheerful than he had been for days. CHAPTER VII As the sun was sinking across the gray waters of the river, reflecting in its silver surface a riot of purple and scarlet, the master of Arlington sat in thoughtful silence holding the fateful Book of the Slave in his hand. He had promised his friend, Edmund Ruffin, to give him an answer early next week as to a public statement. He was puzzled as to his duty. To his ready protest that he was not a politician his friend had instantly replied that his word would have ten times the weight for that reason. So deep was his brooding he did not notice the two boys in a heated argument at the corner of the house. Robbie Lee had drawn his barefoot friend, John, thus far. He had balked and refused to go farther. "Come on, John," Robbie pleaded. "I'm skeered." "Scared of what?" "Colonel Lee." "Didn't you come to see him?" "I thought I did." "Well, didn't ye?" "Yes." "Come on, then!" "No--" "What you scared of him for?" "He's a great man." "But he's my Papa." "He don't want to be bothered with little boys." "Yes, he does, too. He hears everything I've got to say to him." "Ain't you skeered of him?" "No!" Robbie seized John's hand again and before he could draw back dragged him to his father's side. Lee turned the friendliest smile on John's flushed face and won his confidence before a word was spoken. "Well, Robbie, what's your handsome little friend's name?" "John Doyle, Papa." "Your father lives on the farm just outside our gate, doesn't he?" "Yessir," the boy answered eagerly. His embarrassment had gone. But it was hard to begin his story. It had seemed easy at first, the need was so great. Now it seemed that he had no right to make the request he had in his heart. He hung his head and dug his big toe in the gravel. Robbie hastened to his rescue. "John wants to tell you something, Papa," he began tenderly. "All right," Lee cheerfully answered as he drew one boy within each arm and hugged them both. "What can I do for you, Johnnie?" "I dunno, sir. I hope you can do somethin'." "I will, if I can. I like to do things for boys. I was a little boy once myself and I know exactly how it feels. What is it?" Again the child hesitated. Lee studied the lines of his finely molded face and neck and throat. A handsomer boy of ten he had never seen. He pressed his arm closer and held him a moment until he looked up with a tear glistening in his blue eyes. "Tell me, sonny--" "My Ma's been cryin' all day, sir, and I want to do somethin' to help her--" He paused and his voice failed. "What has she been crying about?" "We've lost our home, sir, and my daddy's drunk." "You've lost your home?" "Yessir. The sheriff come this mornin'. And he's goin' to put us out. Ma's most crazy. I ain't been a very good boy here lately--" "No?" "No, sir. I've been runnin' away and goin' fishin' and hurtin' my Ma's feelin's and now I wish I hadn't done it. I heard her sayin' this mornin' while she wuz cryin', that you wuz the only man she knowed on earth who could help us. She was afeared to come to see you. And I slipped out to tell ye. I thought if I could get you to come to see us, maybe you could tell Ma what to do and that would make up for my hurtin' her so when I run away from my lessons this week." The Colonel gently pressed the boys away and rose with quick decision. "I'll ride right up, sonny, and see your mother." "Will you, Colonel Lee?" the child asked with pathetic eagerness. "Just as soon as I can have my horse saddled." Lee turned abruptly into the house and left the boy dazed. He threw his arms around Robbie, hugged him in a flash and was gone. Up the dusty way to the gate the little bare feet flew to tell glad tidings to a lonely woman. She stood beside the window looking out on the wreck of her life in a stupor of wordless pain. She saw her boy leap the fence as a hound and rushed from the house in alarm to meet him. He was breathless, but he managed to gasp his message. "Ma--Ma--Colonel Lee's comin' to see you!" "To see me?" "Yes'm. I told him we'd lost our home and he said he'd come right up. And he's comin', too--" The mother looked into the child's flushed face, saw the love light in his eyes and caught him to her heart. "Oh, boy, boy, you're such a fine young one--my baby--as smart as a whip. You'll beat 'em all some day and make your poor old mother proud and happy." "I'm going to try now, Ma--you see if I don't." "I know you will, my son." "I'll never run away again. You see if I do." The boy stopped suddenly at the sight of Colonel Lee swiftly approaching. "Run and wash your face," the mother whispered, "and tell your brothers to put on clean shirts. I want them to see the Colonel, too." The boy darted into the house. The woman looked about the yard to see if there were any evidences of carelessness. She had tried to keep it clean. The row of flowers that flamed in the beds beside the door was the finest in the county. She knew that. She was an expert in the culture of the prolific tall cosmos that blooms so beautifully in the Indian summers of Old Virginia. A cur dog barked. "Get under the house, sir!" she commanded. The dog continued to look down the road at the coming horseman. "Get under the house, I say--" she repeated and the dog slowly obeyed. She advanced to meet her visitor. He hitched his horse to a swinging limb outside the gate and hurried in. No introduction was necessary. The Colonel had known her husband for years and he had often lifted his hat to his wife in passing. He extended his hand and grasped hers in quick sympathy. "I'm sorry to learn of your great misfortune from your fine boy, Mrs. Doyle." The woman's eyes filled with tears in spite of her firm resolution to be dignified. "He _is_ a fine--boy--isn't he, Colonel?" "One of the handsomest little chaps I ever saw. You should be proud of him." "I am, sir." She drew her figure a bit higher instinctively. The movement was not lost on the keen observer of character. He had never noticed before the distinction of her personality. In a simple calico dress, and forty years of age, she presented a peculiarly winsome appearance. Her features were regular, and well rounded, the coloring of cheeks and neck and hands the deep pink of perfect health. Her eyes were a bright glowing brown. They were large, soulful eyes that spoke the love of a mother. She might scold her husband if provoked. But those eyes could never scold a child. They could only love him into obedience and helpfulness. They were shining mother eyes. Lee studied her in a quick glance before speaking. He knew instinctively that he could trust her word. "Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Doyle?" "Oh, I hope so, sir. My man's gone all to pieces to-day. He's good-hearted and kind if I do have to say it myself. But when the sheriff come to put us out, he just flopped and quit. And then he got drunk. I don't blame him much. If I hadn't been a woman and the mother of three fine boys and two as pretty little gals as the Lord ever give to a woman, I reckon I'd a got drunk, too." She stopped, overcome with emotion and Lee hastened to ask: "How did it happen, Mrs. Doyle?" "Well, sir, you see, we hadn't quite paid for the place. You know it's hard with a big family of children on a little farm o' ten acres. It's hard to make a livin' let alone save money to pay for the land. But we wuz doin' it. We didn't have but two more payments to make when my man signed a note for his brother. His brother got sick and couldn't pay and they come down on us and we're turned out o' house and home. The sheriff's give us till Wednesday to get out and we've nowhere to go--" A sob caught her voice. "Don't say that, Madame. No neighbor of mine will ever be without a home so long as I have a house with a roof on it." "Thank you, Colonel Lee," she interrupted, "but you know I can't let my man be a renter and see my husband and my sons workin' other people's land like nigger slaves. I got pride. I jus' can't do it. I'd rather starve." "I understand, Madame," Lee answered. The two older boys came awkwardly out into the yard. One of them was fourteen years old and the other sixteen. The mother beckoned and they came to her with embarrassed step. Her face lighted with pride in their stalwart figures and well-shaped, regular features. "Here's my oldest boy, William, Colonel Lee." The Colonel took the outstretched hand with cordial grasp. "I'm glad to know you, young man." "And glad to see you, sir," he stammered, blushing. "My next boy Drury, sir. He ain't but fourteen but he's a grown man." Drury flushed red but failed to make a sound. When they had moved away and leaned against the fence watching the scene out of the corner of an eye, the mother turned to the Colonel and asked: "Do you blame me if I'm proud of my boys, Colonel?" "I do not, Madame." "The Lord made me a mother. All I know is to raise fine children and love 'em. My little gals is putty as dolls." John suddenly appeared beside her and pulled her skirt. "What's the matter?" she whispered. "Pa's waked up. I told him Colonel Lee's here and he's washed his face and walks straight. Shall I fetch him out, too?" "Yes, run tell him to come quick." The boy darted back into the house. "Johnnie's father wants to see you, Colonel Lee," the woman apologized. "I'll be glad to talk to him, Madame." "He'll be all right now. Your comin' to see us'll sober him. He'll be awful proud of the honor, sir." Doyle emerged from the house and walked quickly toward the Colonel. His head was high. He smiled a welcome to his guest and his step was straight, light and springing, as if he were not quite sure he could rest his full weight on one foot and tried to get them both down at the same time. Lee's face was a mask of quiet dignity. The tragedy in the woman's heart made the more pathetic the comedy of the half-drunken husband. Besides, he was philosopher enough to know that more than half the drunkenness of the world was the pitiful effort to smother a heartache. The man's smile was a peculiarly winning one. His face was covered with a full growth of blond beard cut moderately long. He never shaved. His wife trimmed his beard in the manner most becoming to the shape of his head, the poise of his neck and evenly formed shoulders. He wore his hair full long and it curled about his neck in a deep blond wave. He might have posed for the model of Hoffman's famous picture of Christ. His eyes, a clear blue, were the finest feature of his personality. In spite of his lack of education, in spite of his shabby clothes, in spite of the smell of liquor he was a personality. His clean, high forehead, his aquiline nose, his straight eyebrows, his fair skin, his tall figure spoke the heritage of the great Nordic race of men. The race whose leaders achieved the civilization of Rome, conquered Europe and finally dominated civilization. The difference between this man and the leader who wore the uniform of a Colonel was not in racial stock. It was purely an accident of the conditions of birth and training. Behind Lee lay two hundred years of wealth and culture. The poorer man was his kinsman of the centuries. The world had not been kind to him. He had lost the way of material success. Perhaps some kink in his mind, a sense of comedy, a touch of the old wanderlust of the ages. Lee wondered what had kept him poor as he looked at the figure approaching. It was straight and fine in spite of the liquor. Doyle's brain was just clear enough to realize that he had been highly honored in a call from the foremost citizen of Virginia. His politeness was extreme. And it was true. It was instinctive. It leaped from centuries of racial inheritance. "We're proud of the honor you've done us, Colonel Lee," he announced. He grasped the extended hand with a cordial, dignified greeting. "I only hope I can be of some service to you and your family, Mr. Doyle." "I'm sure you can, sir. Won't you come in, Colonel?" "Thank you, it's so pleasant outside, we'll just sit down by the well, if you don't mind." "Yessir. All right, sir." Lee moved slowly toward the platform of the well with its old oaken bucket and tall sweep. His wife threw a warning at her husband under her breath. "Don't you say nothin' foolish now--" "I won't." "Your tongue's too long when it gets to waggin'." "I'll mind, Ma," he smiled. The woman called softly to her distinguished guest: "You'll excuse me, Colonel, while I look after the supper. I'll be back in a minute." "Certainly, Madame." He could not have bowed with graver courtesy to the wife of Stephen A. Douglas. "Have a seat here on the well, Colonel," Doyle invited. Lee took his seat on the weather-beaten oak boards. Doyle turned his foot on a rounded stone and set down a little ungracefully in spite of his effort to be fully himself. He saw at once his misstep and hastened to apologize. "I'm sorry, Colonel, you've caught me with the smell of liquor, sir--" He paused and looked over his garden in an embarrassed way. "I know what has happened to you, Mr. Doyle, and you have my deepest sympathy." "Thank you, sir." "I might have done the same thing if I'd been in your position. Though, of course, liquor won't help things for you." Doyle smiled around the corners of his blue eyes. "No, sir, except while it's a swimmin' in the veins. Then for a little while you're great and rich and you don't care which a way the wind blows." "The farm is lost beyond hope?" "Yessir, clean gone--world without end." "You had a lawyer?" "The best in the county, old Jim Randolph. I didn't have no money to pay him. He said we'd both always voted the Whig ticket and he'd waive his retainer. I didn't know what he was wavin', but anyhow he tuck my case. And I will say he put up a nasty fight for me. He made one of the greatest speeches I ever heared in my life. Hit wuz mighty nigh worth losin' the farm ter hear him tell how I'd been abused and how fine a feller I wuz. An' when he los' the case, he cussed the Judge, he cussed the jury, he cussed the lawyers. He swore they was all fools and didn't know the first principles er law nohow. I sho enjoyed the fight, ef I did lose it. I couldn't pay him nothin' yet. But I did manage to get him a gallon of the best apple brandy I ever tasted." "What do you think of doing?" "I ain't had time ter think, sir. I don't think fast nohow and the first thing I had to do when I come home and tole the ole 'oman and she bust out cryin'--wuz ter get drunk. Somehow I couldn't stand it." "You've never learned a trade?" "No sir--nothin' 'cept farmin'. I said to myself--what's the use? These damned nigger slaves have learned all the trades. They say in the old days, they wuz just servants in the house and stables, and field hands. Now they've learnt _all_ the trades. They're mechanics, blacksmiths, carpenters, wagon makers and everything. What chance has a poor white man got agin 'em? They don't have to worry about nothin'. They have everything they need before they lift their hands to do anything. They got plenty to eat for themselves and their families, no matter how many children they have. All they can eat, all they can wear, a warm house and a big fire in the winter. I have to fight and scratch to keep a roof over my head, wood in my fireplace, clothes on my back and somethin' to eat on my table. How can I beat the slave at a trade? Tain't no use to try. Ef you want to build a house, your own carpenters can do it. And if you haven't enough slave carpenters of your own, your neighbors have. They can hire 'em to you cheaper than I can work and live. They're goin' to _live_ anyhow. That's settled because they're slaves. They're worth twelve hundred dollars apiece. Their life is precious. Mine don't count. I got to look after that myself and I got to look after my wife and children, too. Hit ain't right, Colonel, this Slavery business. You know that as well as I do. I've heard you say it, too--" "I agree with you, Mr. Doyle. But if we set them all free to-morrow, and you had to compete with their labor, you couldn't live down to their standard of wages, could you?" "No, I couldn't. They would kill me at that game, too. That's why I hate a free nigger worse than a slave--" He paused and his face knotted with fury. "Damn 'em all--why are they here anyhow?" "Come, come, my friend," Lee protested. "It doesn't help to swear about it. They _are_ here. Not by any wish of mine or of yours. We inherited this curse from the past. We have clung to old delusions while our smart Yankee friends have shifted the responsibilities on others." "What _can_ I do, Colonel?" Doyle asked desperately. "I don't know how to do anything but farm. I can't go into the fields and work with slaves as a field hand. And I couldn't get such work to do if I'd do it. I'll die before I'll come down to it. I might rent a little farm alongside of a free nigger. But he can beat me at that game. He can live on less and work longer hours than I do. He'll underbid me as a cropper. He can live and pay the owner four-fifths of the crop. I'd starve. What am I goin' to do?" "Had you thought of moving West into one of the new Territories just opening?" "Yessir. I'd thought of it. But how am I goin' to get there with a wife and five children?" Lee rose and looked about the place thoughtfully. "How much could you realize from the sale of your things?" Doyle scratched his head doubtfully. "I ain't got no idee, sir. I'm afraid not much. Ye see it's just home stuff. The old 'oman's awful smart. She raises enough chickens and turkeys and ducks and guineas to eat, and she sells a few eggs and young chickens and turkeys when they brings anything in the market. I got six sheep, a cow, a calf, a mule, a couple o' pigs in the pen. But they won't bring much money. Ye see I never felt so poor ez long ez I had a _home_ where I can live independent like. That house ain't much, sir. But you ain't no idea how deep down in my heart it's got." He paused and looked at it. The Colonel followed his gaze. It was a small frame structure standing in a yard filled with trees. A one-story affair with a sharp, gabled attic. Two dormer windows projected from the high roof and a solid brick chimney at each end gave it dignity. A narrow porch came straight out from the front door. On either side of the porch were built wooden benches and behind them on a lattice grew a luxuriant rambler rose. It was still blooming richly in the warm September sun. "Ye see, sir," Doyle went on, "what we've got that's worth havin' can't be sold. I love the smell o' them roses. I wake up in the night and the breeze brings it in the window and it puts me to sleep like an old song my mother used to sing when I was a little shaver--" He stopped short. "I didn't mean to snivel, sir." "I understand, my friend. No apologies are necessary." "And that big scuppernong grape vine out there in the garden--I couldn't sell that. I planted it fifteen years ago. Folks told us we was too fur north here fur it to grow good. But I knowed better. You can see its covered a place as big ez the house. And you can smell them ripe grapes a hundred yards before ye get to the gate. I make a little wine outen 'em. We have 'em to eat a whole month. That garden keeps us goin' winter and summer. You see them five rows of flat turnips and the ruttabaggers beside 'em? I've cabbage enough banked under them pine tops to make a fifty-gallon barrel o' kraut and give us cabbage with our bacon all winter. We've got turnip greens, onions and collards. I've got corn and wheat in my crib and bacon enough to last me till next year. I raise the finest watermelons and mushmelons in the county and it ain't much trouble to live here. I never knowed how well off I wuz till the Sheriff come and told me I had to go." "You're in the prime of life. You can go to a new country and begin over again. Why not?" "If I could get there. I reckon I could." He stopped short as his wife appeared by his side. She had heard Colonel Lee's last question. "Of course, you can begin over again. Haven't we got three of the finest boys the Lord ever give a mother? They ain't got no chance here nohow. My baby boy's one o' the smartest youngsters in the county. Ef old Andy Jackson wuz a poor boy an' got ter be President, he might do the same thing ef we give him a chance--" "Yes, I reckon we could, ef we had a chance," Doyle agreed doubtfully. "But it would be a hard pull to leave my ole Virginy home. You know that would pull you, Colonel--now wouldn't it?" "Yes, it would," was the earnest answer. "You see I wuz born in this country an' me daddy before me. I like it here. I like the feel of the air in the fall. There's a flock o' ducks now circlin' over that bend o' the river. The geese are comin'. I heard 'em honk high up in the sky last night. I like my oysters and terrapin. I like to shoot ducks and geese, rabbits and quail. I like the smell o' the water. I like the smell o' these fields. I like the way the sun shines and the winds blow down here. It's in my blood." "But you'll go if you can get away," his wife interrupted cheerfully. Two little girls timidly drew near. Their faces were washed clean and their shining blonde hair gleamed in circles of golden light as the rays of the setting sun caught it. Lee smiled, took them both in his arms and kissed them. A tear softened his eyes as he placed them on the ground. "You're darling little dolls. No wonder your mother loves you." "Run back in the house now, honeys," the mother said. The children slowly obeyed, glancing back at the great man who had kissed them. They wondered why their daddy hadn't kissed them oftener. "What do you think we ought to do, Colonel Lee?" the woman asked eagerly. "I can tell you what I would do, Madame, in your place--" "What?" The husband and wife spoke the word in chorus. "I'd go West and begin again." "But how'm I goin' to get away, sir?" the man asked blankly. "Sell your things for the best price you can get and I'll loan you the balance of the money you'll need." "Will you, sir?" the woman gasped. "I ain't got no security for ye, Colonel--" Doyle protested. "You are my friend and neighbor, Mr. Doyle. You're in distress. You don't need security. I'll take your note, sir, without endorsement." "Glory to God!" the mother cried with face uplifted in a prayer of thanksgiving. Doyle couldn't speak for a moment. He looked out over the roadway and got control of his feelings before trying. There was a lump in his throat which made his speech thick when at last he managed to grasp Lee's hand. "I dunno how to thank you, sir." "It will be all right, Mr. Doyle. Look after the sale of your things and I'll find out the best way for you to get there and let you know." He mounted his horse and rode away into the fading sunset as they watched him through dimmed eyes. CHAPTER VIII Lee had promised Edmund Ruffin his answer early in the week. Ruffin had just ridden up the hill and dismounted. Mrs. Marshall, the Colonel's sister, on a visit from Baltimore, fled at his approach. "Excuse me, Mary," she cried to Mrs. Lee. "I just can't stand these ranting fire-eating politicians. They make me ill. I'll go to my room." She hurried up the stairway and left the frail mistress of the house to meet her formidable guest. Ruffin was the product of the fierce Abolition Crusade. Hot-tempered, impulsive, intemperate in his emotions and their expression, he was the perfect counterpart of the men who were working night and day in the North to create a condition of mob feeling out of which a civil conflict might grow. _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had set him on fire with new hatreds. His vocabulary of profanity had been enlarged by the addition of every name in the novel. He had been compelled to invent new expressions to fit these characters. He damned them individually and collectively. He cursed each trait of each character, good and bad. He cursed the good points with equal unction and equal emphasis. In fact the good traits in Mrs. Stowe's people seemed to carry him to greater heights of wrath and profanity than the bad ones. He dissected each part of each character's anatomy, damned each part, put the parts together and damned the collection. And then he damned the whole story, characters, plot and scenes to the lowest pit and cursed the devil for not building a lower one to which he might consign it. And in a final burst of passion he always ended by damning himself for his utter inability to express _anything_ which he really felt. With all his ugly language, which he reserved for conversation with men, he was the soul of consideration for a woman. Mrs. Lee had no fear of any rude expression from his lips. She didn't like him because she felt in his personality the touch of mob insanity which the Slavery question had kindled. She dreaded this appeal to blind instinct and belief. With a woman's intuition she felt the tragic possibility of such leadership North and South. She saw his leonine head and shaggy hair silhouetted against the red glow of the west with a shiver at its symbolism, but met him with the cordial greeting which every Southern woman gave instinctively to the friend of her husband. "Come in, Mr. Ruffin," she welcomed. He bowed over her hand and spoke in the soft drawl of the Southern planter. "Thank you, Madame. I'm greatly honored in having you greet me at the door." "Colonel Lee is expecting you." The planter drew himself up with a touch of pride and importance. "Yes'm. I sent him word I would be here at three. I was detained in Washington. But I succeeded in convincing the editor of _The Daily Globe_ that my mission was one of grave importance. I not only desire to wish Colonel Lee God-speed on his journey to West Point and congratulate him on the honor conferred on Virginia by his appointment to the command of our Cadets--but--" He paused, smiled and glanced toward the portico, as if he were holding back an important secret. Mrs. Lee hastened to put him at his ease. "You can trust my discretion in any little surprise you may have for the Colonel." Ruffin bowed. "I'm sure I can, Madame. I'm sure I can." He dropped his voice. "You know perhaps that I sent him a few days ago a scurrilous attack on the South by a Yankee woman--a new novel?" "He received it." "Has he read it?" "Carefully. He has read it twice." "Good!" The planter breathed deeply, squared his shoulders and paced the floor with a single quick turn. He stopped before Mrs. Lee and spoke in sharp emphasis. "I'm going to spring a little surprise on the public, Madame! A sensation that will startle the country, and God knows we need a little shaking just now--" He paused and whispered. "I'm so sure of what the Colonel will say that I've brought a reporter from the Washington _Daily Globe_ with me--" Mrs. Lee lifted her hand in dismay. "He is here?" "He is seated on the lawn just outside, Madame," Ruffin hastened to reassure her. "I thought at the last moment I'd better have him wait until I received Colonel Lee's consent to the interview." "I'm glad you did." "Oh, it will be all right, I assure you!" "He might not wish to see a reporter--" "So I told the young man." "I'm afraid--" "I'll pave the way, Madame. I'll pave the way. Colonel Lee and I are life-long friends. Will you kindly announce me?" "The Colonel has just ridden up to the stables to give some orders about his horses. He'll be here in a moment." Lee stepped briskly into the room and extended his hand. "It's you, Ruffin. My apologies. I was called out to see a neighbor. I should have been here to receive you." "No apologies, Colonel, Mrs. Lee has been most gracious." The mistress of the house smiled. "Make yourself at home, Mr. Ruffin. I shall hope to see you at dinner." Ruffin stood respectfully until Mrs. Lee had disappeared. "Pray be seated," Lee invited. Ruffin seated himself on the couch and watched his host keenly. Lee took a cigar from the mantel and offered it. "A cigar, Ruffin?" "Thanks." "Now make yourself entirely at home, my good friend." The planter lighted the cigar, blew a long cloud of smoke and settled in his seat. "I'm glad to learn from Mrs. Lee that you have read the book I sent you--the Abolitionist firebrand." "Yes." Lee quietly walked to the mantel and got the volume. "I have it here." He turned the leaves thoughtfully. Ruffin laughed. "And, what do you think of it?" The Colonel was silent a moment. "Well, for those who like that kind of book--it's the kind of book they will like." "Exactly!" Ruffin cried, slapping his knee with a blow that bruised it. "And you're the man in all the South to tell the fool who likes that sort of book just how big a fool he is!" Lee opened the volume again and turned the pages slowly. "Ruffin, I don't read many novels--" He paused as if in deep study. "But this one I have read twice." "I'm glad you did, sir," the planter snapped. "And I must confess it stunned me." "Stunned you?" "Yes." "How?" "When I finished reading it, I felt like the overgrown boy who stubbed his toe. It hurt too bad to laugh. And I'm too big to cry." "You amaze me, sir." "That's the way I feel, my friend." He paused, walked to the window, and gazed out at the first lights that began to flicker in the windows of the Capitol across the river. "That book," he went on evenly, "is an appeal to the heart of the world against Slavery. It is purely an appeal to sentiment, to the emotions, to passion, if you will--the passions of the mob and the men who lead mobs. And it's terrible. As terrible as an army with banners. I heard the throb of drums through its pages. It will work the South into a frenzy. It will make millions of Abolitionists in the North who could not be reached by the coarser methods of abuse. It will prepare the soil for a revolution. If the right man appears at the right moment with a lighted torch--" "That's just why, sir, as the foremost citizen of Virginia, you must answer this slander. I have brought a reporter from the _Globe_ with me for that purpose. Shall I call him," "A reporter from a daily paper with a circulation of fifteen thousand?" "Your word, Colonel Lee, will be heard at this moment to the ends of the earth, sir!" "In a newspaper interview?" "Yes, sir." "Nonsense." "It's your character that will count." "Such an answer would be a straw pitched against a hurricane. I am told that this book has already reached a circulation of half a million copies and it has only begun. That means already three million readers. To answer this book my pen should be better trained than my sword--" "It is, sir, if you'll only use it." "The South has only trained swords. And not so many of them as we think. We have no writers. We have no literature. We have no champions in the forum of the world's thought. We are being arraigned at the judgment bar of mankind and we are dumb. It's appalling." "That's why you must speak for us. Speak in our defense. Speak with a tongue of flame--" "I am not trained for speech, Ruffin. And the pen is mightier than the sword. I've never realized it before. The South will soon have the civilized world arraigned against her. The North with a thousand pens is stirring the faiths, the prejudices and the sentiments of the millions. This appeal is made in the face of History, Reason and Law. But its force will be as the gravitation of the earth, beyond the power of resistance, unless we can check it in time." "When it comes to resistance," Ruffin snapped, "that's another question. The Yankees are a race of damned cowards and poltroons, sir. They won't fight." Lee shook his head gravely. "I've been in the service more than a quarter of a century, my friend. I've seen a lot of Yankees under fire. I've seen a lot of them die. And I know better. Your idea of a Yankee is about as correct as the Northern notion of Southern fighters. A notion they're beginning to exploit in cartoons which show an effeminate lady killer with an umbrella stuck in the end of his musket and a negro mixing mint juleps for him." "We've got to denounce those slanders. I'm a man of cool judgment and I never lose my temper--" He leaped to his feet purple with rage. "But, by God, sir, we can't sit quietly under the assault of these narrow-minded bigots. You must give the lie to this infamous book!" "How can I, my friend?" "Doesn't she make heroes of law breakers?" "Surely." "Is there no reverence for law left in this country?" "In Courts of Justice, yes. But not in the courts of passion, prejudice, beliefs, sentiment. The writers of sentiment sing the praises of law breakers--" "But there can be no question of the right or wrong of this book. It is an infamous slander. I deny and impeach it!" "I'm afraid that's all we can do, Ruffin--deny and impeach it. When we come down to brass tacks we can't answer it. From their standpoint the North is right. From our standpoint we are right, because our rights are clear under the Constitution. Slavery is not a Southern institution; it is a national inheritance. It is a national calamity. It was written into the Constitution by all the States, North and South. And if the North is ignorant of our rights under the laws of our fathers, we have failed to enlighten them--" "We won't be dictated to, sir, by a lot of fanatics and hypocrites." "Exactly, we stand on our dignity. We deny and we are ready to fight. But we will not argue. As an abstract proposition in ethics or economics, Slavery does not admit of argument. It is a curse. It's on us and we can't throw it off at once. My quarrel with the North is that they do not give us their sympathy and their help in our dilemma. Instead they rave and denounce and insult us. They are even more responsible than we for the existence of Slavery, since their ships, not ours, brought the negro to our shores. Slavery is an outgrown economic folly, a bar to progress, a political and social curse to the white race. It must die of its own weakness, South, as it died of its own weakness, North. It is now in the process of dying. The South has freed over three hundred thousand slaves by the voluntary act of the master. If these appeals of the mob leader to the spirit of the mob can be stopped, a solution will be found." "It will never be found in the ravings of Abolitionists." "Nor in the hot tempers of our Southern partisans, Ruffin. Look in the mirror, my good friend. Chattel Slavery is doomed because of the superior efficiency of the wage system. Morals have nothing to do with it. The Captain of Industry abolished Chattel Slavery in the North, not the preacher or the agitator. He established the wage system in its place because it is a mightier weapon in his hand. It is subject to but one law. The iron law of supply and demand. Labor is a commodity to be bought and sold to the highest bidder. And the highest bidder is at liberty to bid lower than the price of bread, clothes, fuel and shelter, if he chooses. This system is now moving Southward like a glacier from the frozen heart of the Northern mountains, eating all in its path. It is creeping over Maryland, Kentucky, Missouri. It will slowly engulf Virginia, North Carolina and Tennessee and the end is sure. Its propelling force is not moral. It is soulless. It is purely economic. The wage earner, driven by hunger and cold, by the fear of the loss of life itself--is more efficient in his toil than the care-free negro slave of the South, who is assured of bread, of clothes, of fuel and shelter, with or without work. Slavery does not admit of argument, my friend. To argue about it is to destroy it." "I disagree with you, sir!" Ruffin thundered. "I know you do. But you can't answer this book." "It can be answered, sir." Lee paced the floor, his arms folded behind his back, paused and watched Ruffin's flushed face. He shook his head again. "The book is unanswerable, because it is an appeal to emotion based on a study of Slavery in the abstract. If no allowance be made for the tender and humane character of the Southern people or the modification of statutory law by the growth of public sentiment, its imaginary scenes are within the bounds of the probable. The story is crude, but it is told with singular power without a trace of bitterness. The blind ferocity of Garrison, who sees in every slaveholder a fiend, nowhere appears in its pages. On the other hand, Mrs. Stowe has painted one slaveholder as gentle and generous. Simon Legree, her villain, is a Yankee who has moved South and taken advantage of the power of a master to work evil. Such men have come South. Such things might be done. It is precisely this possibility that makes Slavery indefensible. You know this. And I know it." "You astound me, Colonel." "Yes, I'm afraid I do. I'd like to speak a message to the South about this book. I've a great deal more to say to my own people than to our critics." Ruffin rose, thrust his hands in his pockets, walked to the window, turned suddenly and faced his host. "But look here, Colonel Lee, I'm damned if I can agree with you, sir! Suppose Slavery _is_ wrong--an economic fallacy and a social evil--I don't say it is, mind you. Just suppose for the sake of argument that it is. We don't propose to be lectured on this subject by our inferiors in the North. The children of the men who stole these slaves from Africa and sold them to us at a profit!" Lee laughed softly. "The sins of an inferior cannot excuse the mistakes of a superior. The man of superior culture and breeding should lead the world in progress. What has come over us in the South, Ruffin? Your father and mine never defended Slavery. They knew it was to them, their children and this land, a curse. It was a blessing only to the savage who was being taught the rudiments of civilization at a tremendous cost to his teacher. The first Abolition Societies were organized in the South. Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Randolph, all the great leaders of the old South, the men whose genius created this republic--all denounced Slavery. They told us that it is a poison, breeding pride and tyranny of character, that it corrupts the mind of the child, that it degrades labor, wears out our land, destroys invention, and saps our ideal of liberty. And yet we have begun to defend it." "Because we are being hounded, traduced and insulted by the North, yes--" "Yes, but also because we must have more land." "We've as much right in the West as the North." "That's not the real reason we demand the right of entry. We are exhausting the soil of the South by our slipshod farming on great plantations where we use old-fashioned tools and slave labor. We refuse to study history. Ancient empires tried this system and died. The Carthagenians developed it to perfection and fell before the Romans. The Romans borrowed it from Carthage. It destroyed the small farms and drove out the individual land owners. It destroyed respect for trades and crafts. It strangled the development of industrial art. And when the test came Roman civilization passed. You hot-heads under the goading of Abolition crusaders now blindly propose to build the whole structure of Southern Society on this system." "We've no choice, sir." "Then we must find one. Slowly but surely the clouds gather for the storm. We catch only the first rumblings now but it's coming." Ruffin flared. "Now listen to me, Colonel. I'm a man of cool judgment and I never lose my temper, sir--" He choked with passion, recovered and rushed on. "If they ever dare attack us, we won't need _writers_. We'll draw our swords and thrash them! The South is growing rich and powerful." Lee lifted his hand in a quick gesture of protest. "A popular delusion, my friend. Under Slave labor the South is growing poorer daily. While the Northern States, under the wage system, ten times more efficient, are draining the blood and treasure of Europe and growing richer by leaps and bounds. Norfolk, Richmond and Charleston should have been the great cities of the Eastern Seaboard. They are as yet unimportant towns in the world commerce. Boston, Philadelphia and New York have become the centers of our business life, of our trade, our culture, our national power. While slavery is scratching the surface of our soil with old-fashioned plows, while we quit work at twelve o'clock every Saturday, spend our Sundays at church, and set two negroes to help one do nothing Monday morning, the North is sweeping onward in the science of agriculture. While they invent machines which double their crops, cut their labor down a hundred per cent, we are fighting for new lands in the West to exhaust by our primitive methods. The treasures of the earth yet lie in our mines untouched by pick or spade. Our forests stand unbroken--vast reaches of wilderness. The slave is slow and wasteful. Wage labor, quick, efficient. Our chief industry is the breeding of a race of feverish politicians." "You know, Colonel Lee, as well as I do that Slavery in the South has been a blessing to the negro." Lee moved his head in quick assent. "I admit that Slavery took the negro from the jungle, from a slavery the most cruel known to human history, that it has taught him the use of tools, the science of agriculture, the worship of God, the first lessons in the alphabet of humanity. But unless we can now close this school, my friend, somebody is going to try to divide this Union some day--" Ruffin struck his hands together savagely. "The quicker the better, I say! If the children of the men who created this republic are denied equal rights under its laws and in its Territories, then I say, to your tents, oh, Israel!" "And do you know what that may mean?" "A Southern and a Northern Nation. Let them come!" "The States have been knit together slowly, but inevitably by steam and electricity. I can conceive of no greater tragedy than an attempt to-day to divide them." "I can conceive of no greater blessing!" Ruffin fairly shouted. "So William Lloyd Garrison, the leader of Abolition, is saying in his paper _The Liberator_. And, Ruffin, unless we can lock up some hot-heads in the South and such fanatics as Garrison in the North, the mob, not the statesman, is going to determine the laws and the policy of this country. Somebody will try to divide the Union. And then comes the deluge! When I think of it, the words of Thomas Jefferson ring through my soul like an alarm bell in the night. 'I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just and that His justice cannot sleep forever. Nothing is more certainly written in the book of fate than these black people shall be free--'" Ruffin lifted his hand in a commanding gesture. "Don't omit his next sentence, sir--'nor is it less certain, that the two races, equally free, cannot live under the same government--'" "Exactly," Lee answered solemnly. "And that is the only reason why I have ever allowed myself to own a slave for a moment--the insoluble problem of what to do with him when freed. The one excuse for Slavery which the South can plead without fear before the judgment bar of God is the blacker problem which their emancipation will create. Unless it can be brought about in a miracle of patience, wisdom and prayer." He paused and smiled at Ruffin's forlorn expression. "Will you call your reporter now to take my views?" "No, sir," the planter growled. "I've changed my mind." The Colonel laughed softly. "I thought you might." Ruffin gazed in silence through the window at the blinking lights in Washington, turned and looked moodily at his calm host. He spoke in a slow, dreamy monotone, his eyes on space seeing nothing: "Colonel Lee, this country is hell bent and hell bound. I can see no hope for it." Lee lifted his head with firm faith. "Ruffin, this country is in God's hands--and He will do what's right--" "That's just what I'm afraid, sir!" Ruffin mused. "Oh, no--I--don't mean that exactly. I mean that we must anticipate--" "The wisdom of God?" "That we must prepare to meet our enemies, sir." "I agree with you. And I'm going to do it. I've been doing a lot of thinking and _soul_ searching since you gave me this troublesome book to read--" He stopped short, rose and drew the old-fashioned bell cord. Ben appeared in full blue cloth and brass buttons, on duty again as butler. "Yassah--" "I'm glad to see you, Ben. You're feeling yourself again?" "Yassah. Praise God, I'se back at my place once mo', sah." The master lifted his hand in warning. "Take care of yourself now. No more risks. You're not as young as you once were." "Thankee, sah." "Ask Mrs. Lee to bring me the document on my desk. Find Sam and fetch him here." Ben bowed. "Yassah. Right away, sah." Lee turned to his guest genially. "I'm going to ask you to witness what I'm about to do, Ruffin. And you mustn't take offense. We differ about Slavery and politics in the abstract, but whatever our differences on the surface, you are an old Virginia planter and I trust we shall always be friends." The two men clasped hands and Ruffin spoke with deep emotion. "I am honored in your friendship, Colonel Lee. However I may differ with you about the Union, we agree on one thing, that the old Dominion is the noblest state on which the sun has ever shown!" Lee closed his eyes as if in prayer. "On that we are one. Old Virginia, the mother of Presidents and of states, as I leave her soil I humbly pray that God's blessings may ever rest upon her!" "So say I, sir," Ruffin responded heartily. "And I'll try to do the cussin' for her while you do the praying." Mrs. Lee entered and handed to her husband a folded document, as Ben came from the kitchen with Sam, who bowed and grinned to every one in the room. Lee spoke in low tones to his wife. "Ask the young people to come in for a moment, my dear." Mrs. Lee crossed quickly to the library door and called: "Come in, children, Colonel Lee wishes to see you all." Mary, Stuart, Custis, Phil, Robbie and Sid pressed into the hall in curious, expectant mood. Mrs. Marshall knew that Ruffin was still there, but her curiosity got the better of her aversion. She followed the children, only to run squarely into Ruffin. He was about to speak in his politest manner when she stiffened and passed him. Ruffin's eye twinkled. He knew that she saw him. She hated him for his political views. She also knew that he hated her husband, Judge Marshall, with equal cordiality. His pride was too great to feel the slightest hurt at her attempt to ignore him. She was a fanatic on the subject of the Union. All right, he was a fanatic on the idea of an independent South. They were even. Let it be so. With a toss of his head, he turned toward Lee who had seated himself at the table behind the couch. The children were chatting and laughing as they entered. A sudden hush fell on them as they caught the serious look on the Colonel's face. He was writing rapidly. He stopped and fixed a seal on the paper which he held in his hand. He read it carefully, lifted his eyes to the group that had drawn near and said: "Children, my good friend, Mr. Ruffin, has called to-day to bid us God-speed on our journey North. And he has asked me to answer _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. I've called you to witness the only answer I know how to make at this moment." He paused and turned toward Sam. "Come here, Sam." The young negro rolled his eyes in excited wonder about the room and laughed softly at nothing as he approached the table. "Yassah, Marse Robert." "How old are you, Sam?" "Des twenty, sah." "I had meant to wait until you were twenty-one for this, but I have decided to act to-day. You will arrange to leave here and go with us as far as New York." The negro bowed gratefully. "Yassah, thankee sah, I sho did want ter go norf wid you, sah, but I hated to axe ye." Lee handed Sam the document. "You will go with me a free man, my boy. You are the only slave I yet hold in my own right. I have just given you your deed of emancipation. From this hour you are your own master. May God bless you and keep you in health and strength and give you long life and much happiness." Sam stared at the paper and then at the kindly eyes of his old master. A sob caught his voice as he stammered: "May God bless you, Marse Robert--" Ben lifted his hands in benediction and his voice rang in the solemn cadence of the prophet and seer: "And let the glory of His face shine upon him forever!" Mrs. Marshall stooped and kissed her brother. "You're a true son of Virginia, Robert, in this beautiful answer you make to-day to all our enemies." She rose and faced Ruffin with square antagonism. Lee turned to the old butler. "And Ben, tell all our servants of the estate that, under the will of Mrs. Lee's father I will in due time set them free. I would do so to-day if the will had not fixed the date." Ben bowed gravely. "I'se proud to be your servant, Marse Robert and Missis, and when my freedom comes frum yo' hands, I'll be prouder still to serve you always." With head erect Ben proudly led the dazed young freedman from the hall to the kitchen where his reception was one of mixed wonder and pity. There fell a moment's awkward silence, broken at last by Stuart's clear, boyish voice. He saw Ruffin's embarrassment. He knew the man's fiery temper and wondered at his restraint. "Well, Mr. Ruffin," Stuart began, "we may not see as clearly as Colonel Lee to-day, but he's my commander, sir, and I'll say he's right." Ruffin faced Lee with a look of uncompromising antagonism and fairly shot his words. "And for the millions of the South, I say he's wrong. There's a time for all things. And this is not the time for such an act. From the appearance of this book you can rest assured the emancipation of slaves in the South will cease. We will never be bullied into freeing our slaves by slander and insult. Colonel Lee's example will not be followed. The fanatics of the North have begun to spit on our faces. There's but one answer to an insult--and that's a blow!" Lee stepped close to the planter, laid one hand gently on his shoulder, searched his angry eyes for a moment and slowly said: "And thrice is he armed, my friend, who hath his quarrel just. I set my house in order before the first blow falls." Ruffin smiled and threw off the ugly strain. "I'm sorry, sir," he said with friendly indifference, "that my mission has been a failure." "And I'm sorry we can't agree." "I won't be able to stay to dinner, Mrs. Lee, and I bid you all good evening." With a wave of his hand in a gesture behind which lurked the tingling of taut nerves, he turned and left. The beat of his horse's hoof echoed down the road with a sharp, angry crack. CHAPTER IX On Sunday the whole plantation went to Church. The negroes sat in the gallery and listened with rapt attention to the service. They joined its ritual and its songs with their white folks in equal sincerity and more profound emotion. At the crossroads the stream of carriages, carts and buggies and horseback riders parted. To the right, the way led to the Episcopal Church, the old English establishment of the State, long since separated from secular authority, yet still bearing the seal of county aristocracy. Colonel Lee was a devout member of this church. Mrs. Lee was the inspiration of its charities and the soul of its activities. A few of the negroes of the estate attended it with the master and mistress of Arlington. By far the larger number turned to the left at the cross roads and found their way to the Antioch Baptist Church. The simplicity of its service, the fervor of its singing, and above all the emotional call of its revivals which swept the country each summer appealed to the warm-hearted Africans. They took to the Baptist and Methodist churches as ducks to water. The master made no objection to the exercise of their right to worship God as their consciences called. He encouraged their own preachers to hold weekly prayer meetings and exhort his people in the assembling places of the servants. Nor did he object to the dance which Sam, who was an Episcopalian, invariably organized on the nights following prayer and exhortation. This last Sunday was one of tender farewells to friends and neighbors. They crowded about the Colonel after the services. They wished him health and happiness and success in his new work. The last greeting he got from an old bent neighbor of ninety years. It brought a cloud to his brow. All day and into the night the thought persisted and its shadow chilled the hours of his departure. James Nelson was his name, of the ancient family of the Nelsons of Yorktown. He held Lee's hand a long time and blinked at him with a pair of keen, piercing eyes--keen from a spiritual light that burned within. He spoke in painful deliberation as if he were translating a message. "I am glad you are going to West Point, Colonel Lee. You will have time for thinking. You will have time to study the art of war as great minds must study it alone if they lead armies to victory. Generals are not developed in the saddle on our plains fighting savages. Our country is going to need a leader of supreme genius. I saw him in a vision, the night I read in the _Richmond Enquirer_ that you had been called to West Point. I shall not see you again. I am walking now into the sunset. Soon the shadows will enfold me and I shall sleep the long sleep. I am content. I have lived. I have loved. I have succeeded and failed. I have swept the gamut of human passion and human emotion. I have no right to more. Yet I envy you the glory of manhood in the crisis that is coming. May the God of our fathers keep you and teach you and bless you is my prayer." Lee was too deeply moved for words to reply. He pressed his old friend's hand, held it in silence and turned away. The young people rode horseback. Never in his life had Phil seen anything to equal the easy grace with which these Southern girls sat their horses. Their mothers before them had been born in the saddle. Their ease, their grace was not an acquirement of the teacher. It was bred in the bone. When a boy challenged a girl for a race, the challenge was instantly accepted. Their saddles were made of the finest leather which the best saddle makers of England and America could find. Their girths were set with double silver buckles. A saddle never turned. When the long procession reached the gates of Arlington, it seemed to Phil that half the congregation were going to stop for dinner. A large part of them did. Every friend and neighbor who pressed Colonel Lee's hand, or the hand of his wife, had been invited. When they reached the Hall and Library to talk, their conversation covered a wide range of interest. The one topic tabooed was scandal. It might be whispered behind closed doors. It was never the subject of conversation in an assembly of friends and neighbors in the home. They talked of the rich harvest. They discussed the changes in the fortunes of their mutual friends. They had begun to demand better roads. They discussed the affairs of the County, the Church, the State. The ladies chatted of fashions, of course. But they also discussed the latest novels of George Eliot with keen interest and true insight into their significance in the development of English literature. They knew their Dickens, Thackeray and Scott almost by heart--especially Scott. They expressed their opinions of the daring work of the new author with enthusiasm. Some approved; others had doubts. They did not yet know that George Eliot was a woman. The chief topic of conversation among the men was politics, State and National. The problems of the British Empire came in for a share of the discussion. These men not only read Burke and Hume, Dickens and Scott, they read the newspapers of England and they kept up with the program of English political parties as their fathers had. And they quoted their opinions as authority for a younger generation. On the shelves of the library could be seen the classics in sober bindings and sprinkled with them a few French authors of distinction. Over all brooded the spirit of a sincere hospitality, gentle, cordial, simple, generous. They did not merely possess homes, they loved their homes. The two largest words in the tongue which they spoke were Duty and Honor. They were not in a hurry. The race for wealth had never interested them. They took time to play, to rest, to worship God, to chat with their neighbors, to enjoy a sunset. They came of a race of world-conquering men and they felt no necessity for hurrying or apologizing for their birthright. It was precisely this attitude of mind which made the savage attack of the Abolitionists so far-reaching in its possible results. CHAPTER X The morning of the departure dawned with an overcast sky, the prophecy of winter in the gray clouds that hung over the surface of the river. A chill mist, damp and penetrating, crept up the heights from the water's edge and veiled the city from view. Something in the raw air bruised afresh the thought of goodbye to the Southland. The threat of cold in Virginia meant the piling of ice and snow in the North. Not a sparrow chirped in the hedges. Only a crow, passing high in the dull sky, called his defiance of wind and weather. The Colonel made his final round of inspection to see that his people were provided against the winter. Behind each servant's cottage, a huge pile of wood was stacked. The roofs were in perfect order. The chimneys were pouring columns of smoke. It hung low at first but rolled away at the touch of the breeze from the North. With Mrs. Lee he visited the aged and the sick. The thing that brought the smile to each withered mouth was the assurance of their love and care always. Among the servants Sam held the center of interest. The wonderful, doubtful, yet fascinating thing had come to him. He had been set free. In each heart was the wish and with it fear of the future. The younger ones laughed and frankly envied him. The older ones wagged their heads doubtfully. Old Ben expressed the best feelings of the wiser as he took Sam's hand for a fatherly word. He had finished the packing in an old cowhide trunk which Custis had given him. "We's all gwine ter watch ye, boy, wid good wishes in our hearts and a whole lot er misgivin's a playin' roun' in our min'." "Don't yer worry 'bout me, Uncle Ben. I'se all right." He paused and whispered. "Ye didn't know dat Marse Robert done gimme five hundred dollars in gol'--did ye?" "Five hundred dollars in gol'!" Ben gasped. Sam drew the shining yellow eagles from the bag in his pocket and jingled them before the old man's eyes. "Dar it is." Ben touched it reverently. "Praise God fer de good folks He give us." "I'se er proud nigger, I is. I'se sorry fur dem dat b'longs to po' folks." Ben looked at him benignly. "Don't you be too proud, boy. You'se powerful young and foolish. Yer des barely got sense enough ter git outen a shower er rain. Dat money ain't gwine ter las yer always." "No, but man, des watch my smoke when I git up North. Yer hear frum me, yer will." "I hopes I hear de right news." Sam replaced his coin with a touch of authority in possession. "Don't yer worry 'bout me no mo'. I'se a free man now an' I gwine ter come into de Kingdom." The last important task done by the Colonel before taking the train for New York was the delivery to his lawyers of instructions for the removal of the Doyles and the placing in his hands sufficient funds for their journey. He spent a day in Washington investigating the chances of the new settler securing a quarter section of land in Miami County, Kansas, the survey of which had been completed. He selected this County on the Missouri border to please Mrs. Doyle. She wished to live as near the line of old Virginia's climate as possible and in a country with trees. Doyle promised to lose no time in disposing of his goods. The father, mother, three sons and two little girls were at Arlington to bid the Colonel and his family goodbye. They were not a demonstrative people but their affection for their neighbor and friend could not be mistaken. The mother's eyes followed him with no attempt to hide her tears. She wiped them away with her handkerchief. And went right on crying and wiping them again. The boys were too shy to press forward in the crowd and grasp the Colonel's hand. On arrival in New York the party stopped at the new Hotel Astor on Broadway. Colonel Lee had promised to spend a day at Fort Hamilton, his old command. But it was inconvenient to make the trip until the following morning. Besides, he had important business to do for Sam. He had sent two of the servants, whom he had emancipated, to Liberia, and he planned the same journey for Sam. He engaged a reservation for him on a steamer sailing for Africa, and returned to the hotel at nine o'clock ready to leave for Fort Hamilton. He was compelled to wait for Sam's return from the boarding house for colored people on Water Street where he had been sent by the proprietor of the Astor. Not even negro servants were quartered in a first-class hotel in New York or any other Northern city. Sam arrived at half-past nine, and the Colonel strolled down Broadway with him to the little park at Bowling Green. He found a seat and bade Sam sit down beside him. The boy watched the expression on his old master's face with dread. He had a pretty clear idea what this interview was to be about and he had made up his mind on the answer. His uncle, who had been freed five years before, had written him a glowing letter about Liberia. He dreaded the subject. "You know, of course, Sam," the Colonel began, "that your life is now in your own hands and that I can only advise you as a friend." "An' I sho's glad ter have ye he'p me, Marse Robert." "I'm going to give you the best advice I can. I'm going to advise you to do exactly what I would do if I were in your place." "Yassah." "If I were you, Sam, I wouldn't stay in this country. I'd go back to the land of my black fathers, to its tropic suns and rich soil. You can never be a full-grown man here. The North won't have you as such. The hotel wouldn't let you sleep under its roof, in spite of my protest that you were my body-servant. In the South the old shadow of your birth will be with you. If you wish to lift up your head and be a man it can't be here. No matter what comes in the future. If every black man, woman and child were set free to-morrow, there are not enough negroes to live alone. The white man will never make you his equal in the world he is building. I've secured your passage to Liberia and I will pay for it without touching the money which I gave you. What do you think of it?" Sam scratched his head and looked away embarrassed. He spoke timidly at first, but with growing assurance. "I'se powerful 'fraid dat Liberia's a long way frum home, Marse Robert." "It is. But if you wish to be a full-grown man, it's your chance to-day. It will be the one chance of your people in the future as well. Can you make up your mind to face the loneliness and build your home under your own vine and fig tree? There you can look every man in the face, conscious that you're as good as he is and that the world is yours." "I'se feared I ain't got de spunk, Marse Robert." "The gold in your pocket will build you a house on public lands. You know how to farm. Africa has a great future. You've seen our life. We've taught you to work, to laugh, to play, to worship God, to love your home and your people. You're only twenty years old. I envy you the wealth of youth. I've reached the hilltop of life. Your way is still upward for a quarter of a century. It's the morning of life, boy, and a new world calls you. Will you hear it and go?" "I'se skeered, Marse Robert," Sam persisted, shaking his head gravely. Lee saw the hopelessness of his task and changed his point of appeal. "What do you think of doing?" "Who, me?" "Who else? I can't think for you any longer." "Oh, I'll be all right, sah. I foun' er lot er good colored friends in de bordin' house las' night. Wid dat five hundred dollars, I be livin' in clover here, sah, sho. I done talk wid a feller 'bout goin' in business." "What line of business?" "He gwine ter sho me ter-day, sah." "You don't think you might change your mind about Liberia?" "Na sah. I don't like my uncle dat's ober dar, nohow." "Then I can't help you any more, Sam?" "Na sah, Marse Robert. Y'u been de bes' master any nigger eber had in dis worl' an' I ain't nebber gwine ter fergit dat. When I feels dem five hundred dollars in my pocket I des swells up lak I gwine ter bust. I'se dat proud o' myse'f an' my ole marster dat gimme a start. Lordee, sah, hit's des gwine ter be fun fer me ter git long an' I mak' my fortune right here. Ye see ef I don't--" Lee smiled indulgently. "Watch out you don't lose the little one I gave you." "Yassah, I got hit all sewed up in my close." The old master saw that further argument would be useless. He rose wondering if his act of emancipation were not an act of cowardice--the shirking of responsibility for the boy's life. His mouth closed firmly. That was just the point about the institution of Slavery. No such responsibility should be placed on any man's shoulders. Sam insisted on ministering to the wants of the family until he saw them safely on the boat for West Point. He waved each member a long goodbye. And then hurried to his new chum at the boarding house on Water Street. This dusky friend had won Sam's confidence by his genial ways on the first night of their acquaintance. He had learned that Sam had just been freed. That this was his first trip to New York though he spoke with careless ease of his knowledge of Washington. But the most important fact revealed was that he had lately come into money through the generosity of his former master. The sable New Yorker evinced no curiosity about the amount. After four days of joy he waked from a sickening stupor. He found himself lying in a filthy alley at dawn, bareheaded, his coat torn up the back, every dollar gone and his friend nowhere to be found. Colonel Lee had given him the address of three clergymen and told him to call on them for help if he had any trouble. He looked everywhere for these cards. They couldn't be found. He had been so cocksure of himself he had lost them. He couldn't make up his mind to stoop to blacking boots and cleaning spittoons. He had always lived with aristocrats. He felt himself one to his finger tips. There was but one thing he could do that seemed to be needed up here. He could handle tobacco. He could stem the leaf. He had learned that at Arlington in helping Ben superintend the curing of the weed for the servants' use. He made the rounds of the factories only to find that the larger part of this work was done in tenement homes. He spent a day finding one of these workshops. They offered to take him in as a boarder and give him sixty cents a day. He could have a pallet beside the six children in the other room and a place to put his trunk. Sixty cents a day would pay his room rent and give him barely enough food to keep body and soul together. He hurried back to his boarding house, threw the little trunk on his back and trudged to the tobacco tenement. When he arrived no one stopped work. The mother waved her hand to the rear. He placed his trunk in a dark corner, came out and settled to the task of stemming tobacco. He did his work with a skill and ease that fascinated the children. He took time to show them how to grip the leaf to best advantage and rip the stem with a quick movement that left scarcely a trace of the weed clinging to it. He worked with a swinging movement of his body and began to sing in soft, low tones. The wizened eyes brightened, and when he stopped one of them whispered: "More, black man. Sing some more!" He sang one more song and choked. His eye caught the look of mortal weariness in the tired face of the little girl of six and his voice wouldn't work. "Goddermighty!" he muttered, "dese here babies ought not ter be wukkin lak dis!" When lunch time came the six children begged Sam to live in the place and take his meals with them. Their mother joined in the plea and offered to board him for thirty cents a day. This would leave him a few cents to spend outside. He couldn't yet figure on clothes. It didn't seem right to have to pay for such things. Anyhow he had enough to last him awhile. He decided to accept the offer and live as a boarder with the family. The lunch was discouraging. A piece of cold bread and a glass of water from the hydrant. Sam volunteered to bring the water. The hydrant was the only water supply for the six hundred people whose houses touched the alley. It stood in the center. The only drainage was a sink in front of it. All the water used had to be carried up the stairs and the slops carried down. The tired people did little carrying downstairs. Pans and pails full of dishwater were emptied out the windows with no care for the passer below. Scarcely a day passed without a fight from this cause. A fight in the quarter was always a pleasure to the settlement. Sam munched his bread and sipped his water. He watched the children eat their pieces ravenously. He couldn't finish his. He handed it to the smallest one of the children who was staring at him with eyes that chilled his heart. He knew the child was still hungry. Such a lunch as a piece of bread and a tin cup of water must be an accident, of course. He had heard of jailers putting prisoners on bread and water to punish them. He had never known human beings living at home to have such food. They would have a good dinner steaming hot. He was sure of that. A sudden commotion broke out in the alley below. Yells, catcalls, oaths and the sound of crashing bricks, coal, pieces of furniture, and the splash of much water came from the court. The mother rushed to the window and hurled a stone. There was a pile of them in the corner of the room. Sam tried to look out. "What's de matter, ma'm? Is dey er fight?" "No--nothin' but a rent collector." The woman smiled. It was the first pleasant thought that had entered her mind since Sam had come. The dinner was as rude a surprise as the lunch. He watched the woman fumble over lighting the fire in the stove until he could stand it no longer. "Lemme start de fire fer ye, ma'm," he offered at last. "I wish you would," she sighed. "I married when I wuz seventeen and I never had made a fire before. I don't believe I'll ever learn." The negro was not long in observing that she knew no more about cooking than she did about lighting a fire. The only cooking utensils in the place were a pot and a frying pan. The frying pan was in constant use. For dinner she fried a piece of tough beef without seasoning. She didn't know how to make bread. She bought the soggy stuff at the grocer's. There was no bread for dinner at all. They had boiled potatoes, boiled in plain water without even a grain of salt or pepper. The coffee was so black and heavy and bitter he couldn't drink it. The father had a cup of beer with his coffee. A cup of beer was provided for Sam. The girl of twelve had rushed the growler to the corner saloon. The negro had never tasted beer before and he couldn't drink it. The stuff was horrible. It reminded him of a dose of quinine his mistress had once made him take when he had a chill. He worked harder than usual next day to forget the fear that haunted him. At night he was ill. He had caught cold and had a fever. He dropped on his pallet without dinner and didn't get up for three weeks. He owed his landlady so much money now, he felt in honor bound to board with her and give her all his earnings. He felt himself sinking into an abyss and he didn't have the strength to fight his way out. The thing that hurt him more than bad food and air when he got to his work again was the look of death in the faces of the children. Their eyes haunted him in the dark as they slept on the same floor. He would get out of there when he was strong again. But these children would never go except to be hauled in the dead wagon to the Potter's Field. And he heard the rattle of this black wagon daily. In a mood of desperation he walked down Water Street past the boarding house. In front of the place he met a boarder who had spoken to him the last day of his stay. He seized Sam by the coat, led him aside and whispered: "Has ye heard 'bout de old man, name John Brown, dat come ter lead de niggers ter de promise' lan'?" "No, but I'se waitin' fur somebody ter lead me." "Come right on wid me, man. I'se a-goin' to a meetin' to-night an' jine de ban'. Will ye jine us?" "I jine anything dat'll lead me to de promise' lan'." "Come on. Hit's over in Brooklyn but a nigger's gwine ter meet me at de ferry and take me dar." Sam felt in his pocket for the money for the ferry. Luckily he had twenty cents. It was worth while to gamble that much on a trip to the promised land. An emissary of the prophet met them on the Brooklyn side and led them to a vacant store with closed wooden shutters. No light could be seen from the street. The guide rapped a signal and the door opened. Inside were about thirty negroes gathered before a platform. Chairs filled the long space. A white man was talking to the closely packed group of blacks. Sam pressed forward and watched him. He was old until he began to talk. And then there was something strange and electric in his tones that made him young. His voice was vaulting and metallic and throbbed with an indomitable will. There was contagion in the fierceness of his tones. It caught his hearers and called them in a spell. His shoulders were stooped. His manner grim and impressive. There was a quick, wiry movement to his body that gave the idea that he was crouching to spring. It was uncanny. It persisted as his speech lengthened. He was talking in cold tones of the injustice being done the black man in the South. Of the crimes against God and humanity which the Southern whites were daily committing. The one feature of the strange speaker that fascinated Sam was the glitter of his shifting eyes. He never held them still. He did not try to bore a man through with them. They were restless, as if moved by hidden forces within. The flash of light from their depths seemed a signal from an unknown world. Sam watched him with open mouth. He was finishing his talk now in a desultory way more gripping in its deadly calm than the most passionate appeal. "We are enrolling volunteers," he quietly announced. "Volunteers in the United States League of Gileadites. If you sign your names to the roll to-night understand clearly what you are doing. I have written for each member _Words of Advice_ which he must memorize as the guide to his action." He drew a sheet of paper from his pocket and read: "No jury can be found in the Northern States, that would convict a man for defending his rights to the last extremity. This is well understood by Southern Congressmen, who insist that the right of trial by jury should not be granted to the fugitive slave. Colored people have more fast friends among the whites than they suppose. Just think of the money expended by individuals in your behalf in the past twenty years! Think of the number who have been mobbed and imprisoned on your account. Have any of you seen the branded hand? Do you remember the names of Lovejoy and Torrey? Should any of your number be arrested, you must collect together as quickly as possible so as to outnumber your adversaries who are taking an active part against you. Let no able-bodied man appear on the ground unequipped or with his weapons exposed to view; let that be understood beforehand. Your plans must be known only to yourself, and with the understanding that all traitors must die, wherever caught and proven to be guilty. "'Whosoever is fearful or afraid, let him return and depart early from Mount Gilead' (Judges VII Chapter, 3rd verse; Deuteronomy XX Chapter, 8th verse). Give all cowards an opportunity to show it on condition of holding their peace. Do not delay one moment after you're ready: you will lose all your resolution if you do. Let the first blow be the signal for all to engage; and when engaged do not do your work by halves; but make clean work with your enemies--" It was the slow way in which he spoke the last words that gave them meaning. Sam could hear in his tones the crash of steel into human flesh and the grating of the blade on the bone. It made him shiver. Every negro present joined the League. When the last man had signed, John Brown led in a long prayer to Almighty God to bless the holy work on which these noble men had entered. At the close of his prayer he announced that on the following night at the People's Hall on the Bowery in New York, the Honorable Gerrit Smith, the noblest friend of the colored men in the North, would preside over a mass meeting in behalf of the downtrodden. He asked them all to come and bring their friends. The ceremony of signing over, Sam turned to the guide with a genial smile. "I done jine de League." "That's right. I knew you would." "I'se a full member now, ain't I?" "Of course." "When do we eat?" Sam asked eagerly. "Eat?" "Sho." "We ain't organizin' de Gileadites to eat, man." "Ain't we?" "No, sah. We'se organizin'--ter kill white men dat come atter runaway slaves." "But ain't dey got nuttin ter eat fer dem dat's here?" "You come ter de big meetin' ter-morrow night an' hear sumfin dat's good fer yo' soul." "I'll be dar," Sam promised. But he hoped to find something at the meeting that was good for his stomach as well as his soul. CHAPTER XI The negroes in New York and Brooklyn were not the only people in the North falling under the influence of the strange man who answered to the name of John Brown. There was something magnetic about him that drew all sorts and conditions of men. The statesmen who still used reason as the guiding principle of life had no use for him. Henry Wilson, the new Senator from Massachusetts, met him and was repelled by the something that drew others. Governor Andrew was puzzled by his strange personality. The secret of his power lay in a mystic appeal to the Puritan conscience. He had been from childhood afflicted with this conscience in its most malignant form. He knew instinctively its process of action. The Puritan had settled New England and fixed the principles both of economic and political life. The civilization he set up was compact and commercial. He organized it in towns and townships. The Meeting House was the center, the source of all power and authority. No dwelling could be built further than two miles from a church and attendance on worship was made compulsory by law. The South, against whose life Brown was organizing his militant crusade, was agricultural, scattered, individual. Individualism was a passion with the Southerner, liberty his battle cry. He scorned the "authority" of the church and worshipped God according to the dictates of his own conscience. The Court House, not the Meeting House, was his forum, and he rode there through miles of virgin forests to dispute with his neighbor. The mental processes of the Puritan, therefore, were distinctly different from that of the Southerner. The Puritan mind was given to hours of grim repression which he called "Conviction of Sin." Resistance became the prime law of life. The world was a thing of evil. A morass of Sin to be attacked, to be reformed, to be "abolished." The Southerner perceived the evils of Slavery long before the Puritan, but he made a poor Abolitionist. The Puritan was born an Abolitionist. He should not only resist and attack the world; he should _hate_ it. He early learned to love the pleasure of hating. He hated himself if no more promising victim loomed on the horizon. He early became the foremost Persecutor and Vice-Crusader of the new world. He made witch-hunting one of the sports of New England. When not busy with some form of the witch hunt, the Puritan found an outlet for his repressed instincts in the ferocity with which he fought the Indians or worked to achieve the conquest of Nature and lay up worldly goods for himself and his children. Prosperity, therefore, became the second principle of his religion, next to vice crusading. When he succeeded in business, he praised God for his tender mercies. His goods and chattels became the visible evidence of His love. The only holiday he established or permitted was the day on which he publicly thanked God for the goods which He had delivered. Through him the New England Puritan Thanksgiving Day became a national festival and through him a religious reverence for worldly success has become a national ideal. The inner life of the Puritan was soul-fear. Driven by fear and repression he attacked his rock-ribbed country, its thin soil, its savage enemies and his own fellow competitors with fury. And he succeeded. The odds against him sharpened his powers, made keen his mind, toughened his muscles. The Southern planter, on the other hand, represented the sharpest contrast to this mental and physical attitude toward life. He came of the stock of the English Squire. And if he came from Scotland he found this English ideal already established and accepted it as his own. The joy of living, not the horror of life, was the mainspring of his action and the secret of his character. The Puritan hated play. The Southerner loved to play. He dreamed of a life rich and full of spiritual and physical leisure. He enjoyed his religion. He did not agonize over it. His character was genial. He hated fear and drove it from his soul. He loved a fiddle and a banjo. He was brave. He was loyal to his friends. He loved his home and his kin. He despised trade. He disliked hard work. To this hour in the country's life his ideal had dominated the nation. The Puritan Abolitionists now challenged this ideal for a fight to the finish. Slavery was protected by the Constitution. All right, they burn the Constitution and denounce it as a Covenant with Death, an agreement with Hell. They begin a propaganda to incite servile insurrection in the South. They denounce the Southern Slave owner as a fiend. Even the greatest writers of the North caught the contagion of this mania. Longfellow, Lowell, Whittier and Emerson used their pens to blacken the name of the Southern people. From platform, pulpit and forum, through pamphlet, magazine, weekly and daily newspapers the stream of abuse poured forth in ever-increasing volume. That the proud Southerner would resent the injustice of this wholesale indictment was inevitable. Their habit of mind, their born instinct of leadership, their love of independence, their hatred of dictation, their sense of historic achievement in the building of the republic would resent it. Their critics had not only been Slave holders themselves as long as it paid commercially, but their skippers were now sailing the seas in violation of Southern laws prohibiting the slave trade. Our early Slave traders were nearly all Puritans. When one of their ships came into port, the minister met her at the wharf, knelt in prayer and thanked Almighty God for one more cargo of heathen saved from hell. Brown's whole plan of attack was based on the certainty of resentment from the South. He set out to provoke his opponents. This purpose was now the inspiration of every act of his life. A group of six typical Northern minds had fallen completely under his power: Dr. Samuel G. Howe, Rev. Theodore Parker, Rev. Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Frank B. Sanborn, George L. Stearns and the Rev. Hon. Gerrit Smith. Gerrit Smith was many times a millionaire, one of the great land owners of the country, a former partner in business with John Jacob Astor, the elder, and at this time a philanthropist by profession. He had built a church at Peterboro, New York, and had preached a number of years. In his growing zeal as an Abolitionist he had entered politics and had just been elected to Congress from his district. He was a man of gentle, humane impulses and looked out upon the world with the kindliest fatherly eyes. It was one of the curious freaks of fate that he should fall under the influence of Brown. The stern old Puritan was his antithesis in every line of face and mental make-up. Smith was the preacher, the theorist, and the dreamer. Brown had become the man of Action. And by Action he meant exactly what the modern Social anarchist means by _direct action_. The plan he had developed was to come to "close quarters" with Slavery. He had organized the Band of Gileadites to kill every officer of the law who attempted to enforce the provisions of the Constitution of the United States relating to Slavery. His eyes were now fixed on the Territory of Kansas. There could be no doubt about the abnormality of the mind of the man who had constituted himself the Chosen Instrument of Almighty God to destroy chattel Slavery in the South. He was pacing the floor of the parlor of the New Astor House awaiting the arrival of his friend, Congressman Gerrit Smith, for a conference before the meeting scheduled for eight o'clock. It was a characteristic of Brown that he couldn't sit still. He paced the floor. The way he walked marked him with distinction, if not eccentricity. He walked always with a quick, springing step. He didn't swing his foot. It worked on springs. And the spring in it had a furtive action not unlike the movement of a leopard. His muscles, in spite of his fifty-four years, were strong and sinewy. He was five feet ten inches in height. His head was remarkable for its small size. The brain space was limited and the hair grew low on his forehead, as if a hark back to the primitive man out of which humanity grew. His chin protruded into an aggressive threat. His mouth was not only stern, it was as inexorable as an oath. His hair was turning gray and he wore it trimmed close to his small skull. His nose was an aggressive Roman type. The expression of his face was shrewd and serious, with a touch always of cunning. A visitor at his house at North Elba whispered one day to one of his sons: "Your father looks like an eagle." The boy hesitated and replied in deep seriousness: "Yes, or some other carnivorous bird." The thing above all others that gave him the look of a bird of prey was his bluish-gray eye. An eye that was never still and always shone with a glitter. The only time this strange light was not noticeable was during the moments when he drew the lids down half-way. He was in the habit of holding his eyes half shut in times of deep thinking. At these moments if he raised his head, his eyes glowed two pin points of light. No matter what the impression he made, either of attraction or repulsion, his personality was a serious proposition. No man looked once only. And no man ever attempted undue familiarity or ridicule. His life to this time had been a series of tragic failures in everything he had undertaken. A study of his intense Puritan face revealed at once his fundamental character. A soul at war with the world. A soul at war with himself. He was the incarnation of repressed emotions and desires. He had married twice and his fierce passions had made him the father of twenty children before fifty years of age. His first wife had given birth to seven in ten years and died a raving maniac during the birth of her last. Two of his children had already shown the signs of unbalanced mentality. The grip of his mind on the individuals who allowed themselves to be drawn within the circle of his influence became absolute. He was a man of earnest and constant prayer to his God. The God he worshipped was one whose face was not yet revealed to the crowd that hung on his strangely halting words. He spoke in mystic symbols. His mysticism was always the source of his power over the religious leaders who had gathered about him. They had not stopped to analyze the meaning of this appeal. They looked once into his shining blue-gray eyes and became his followers. He never stopped to reason. He spoke with authority. He claimed a divine commission for action and they did not pause to examine his credentials. He had failed at every enterprise he had undertaken. And then he suddenly discovered his power over the Puritan imagination. To Brown's mind, from the day of his devotion to the fixed idea of destroying Slavery in the South, "Action" had but one meaning--bloodshed. He knew that revolutionary ideas are matters of belief. He asserted beliefs. The elect believed. The damned refused to believe. Long before Smith had entered the room Brown had dropped into a seat by the window, his eyes two pin points. His abstraction was so deep, his absorption in his dreams so complete that when Smith spoke, he leaped to his feet and put himself in an attitude of defense. He gazed at his friend a moment and rubbed his eyes in a dazed way before he could come back to earth. In a moment he had clasped hands with the philanthropist. Smith looked into his eyes and his will was one with the man of Action. He had not yet grasped the full meaning of the Action. He was to awake later to its tremendous import--primitive, barbaric, animal, linking man through hundreds of thousands of years to the beast who was his jungle father. Smith did not know that he was to preside at the meeting until Brown told him. He consented without a moment's hesitation. CHAPTER XII On their way to the hall on the Bowery Gerrit Smith and John Brown passed through dimly lighted streets along which were drifting scores of boys and girls, ragged, friendless, homeless, shelterless in the chill night. The strange old man's eyes were fixed on space. He saw nothing, heard nothing of the city's roaring life or the call of its fathomless misery. He saw nothing even when they passed a house with a red light before which little girls of twelve were selling flowers. Neither of the men, living for a single fixed idea, caught the accent of evil in the child's voice as she stepped squarely in front of them and said: "What's ye hurry?" When they turned aside she piped again: "Won't ye come in?" They merely passed on. The infinite pathos of the scene had made no impression. That this child's presence on the streets was enough to damn the whole system of society to the lowest hell never dawned on the philanthropist or the man of Action. The crowd in the hall was not large. The place was about half full and it seated barely five hundred. The masses of the North as yet took no stock in the Abolition Crusade. They felt the terrific pressure of the problem of life at home too keenly to go into hysterics over the evils of Negro Slavery in the South. William Lloyd Garrison had been preaching his denunciations for twenty-one years and its fruits were small. The masses of the people were indifferent. But a man was pushing his way to the platform of the little hall to-night who was destined to do a deed that would accomplish what all the books and all the magazines and all the newspapers of the Crusaders had tried in vain to do. Small as the crowd was, there was something sinister in its composition. Half of them were foreigners. It was the first wave of the flood of degradation for our racial stock in the North--the racial stock of John Adams and John Hancock. A few workingmen were scattered among them. Fifty or sixty negroes occupied the front rows. Sam had secured a seat on the aisle. Gerrit Smith rose without ceremony and introduced Brown. There were no women present. He used the formal address to the American voter: "Fellow Citizens: "I have the honor to present to you to-night a man chosen of God to lead our people out of the darkness of sin, my fellow worker in the Kingdom, the friend of the downtrodden and the oppressed, John Brown." Faint applause greeted the old man as he moved briskly to the little table with his quick, springing step. He fixed the people with his brilliant eyes and they were silent. He was slow of speech, awkward in gesture, and without skill in the building of ideas to hold the imagination of the typical crowd. It was not a typical crowd of American freemen. It was something new under the sun in our history. It was the beginning of the coming mob mind destined to use Direct Action in defiance of the Laws on which the Republic had been built. There was no mistaking the message Brown bore. He proclaimed that the negro is the blood brother of the white man. The color of his skin was an accident. This white man with a black skin was now being beaten and ground into the dust by the infamy of his masters. Their crimes cried to God for vengeance. All the negro needed was freedom to transform him into a white man--your equal and mine. At present, our brothers and sisters are groaning in chains on Southern plantations. His vaulting metallic tones throbbed with a strange, cold passion as he called for Action. The vibrant call for bloodshed in this cry melted the crowd into a new personality. The mildest spirit among them was merged into the mob mind of the speaker. And every man within the sound of his voice was a murderer. The final leap of the speaker's soul into an expression of supreme hate for the Southern white man found its instant echo in the mob which he had created. They demanded no facts. They asked no reasons. They accepted his statements as the oracle of God. They were opinions, beliefs, dogmas, the cries of propaganda only--precisely the food needed for developing the mob mind to its full strength. Envy, jealousy, hatred ruled supreme. Liberty was a catchword. Blood lust was the motive power driving each heart beat. Brown suddenly stopped. His speech had reached no climax. It had rambled into repetition. Its power consisted in the repetition of a fixed thought. He knew the power of this repeated hammering on the mind. An idea can be repeated until it is believed, true or false. He had pounded his message into his hearers until they were incapable of resistance. It was unnecessary for him to continue. He stopped so suddenly, they waited in silence for him to go on after he had taken his seat. A faint applause again swept the front of the house. There was something uncanny about the man that hushed applause. They knew that he was indifferent to it. Hidden fires burned within him that lighted the way of life. He needed no torches held on high. He asked no honors. He expected no applause and he got little. What he did demand was submission to his will and obedience as followers. Gerrit Smith rose with this thought gripping his gentle spirit. His words came automatically as if driven by another's mind. "Our friend and leader has dedicated his life to the service of suffering humanity. It is our duty to follow. The first step is to sacrifice our money in his cause." The ushers passed the baskets and Sam's heart warmed as he heard the coin rattle. His eyes bulged when he saw that one of them had a pile of bills in it that covered the coin. He heard the great and good man say that it was for the poor brother in black. He saw visions of a warm room, of clean food and plenty of it. He was glad he'd come, although he didn't like the look in John Brown's eyes while he spoke. Their fierce light seemed to bore through him and hurt. Now that he was seated and his eyes half closed, uplifted toward the ceiling, he wasn't so formidable. He rather liked him sitting down. The ushers poured the money on the table and counted it. Sam had not seen so much money together since he piled his five hundred dollars in gold in a stack and looked at it. He watched the count with fascination. There must be a thousand at least. He was shocked when the head usher leaned over the edge of the platform, and whispered to Smith the total. "Eighty-five dollars." Sam glanced sadly at the two rows of negroes in front. There wouldn't be much for each. He took courage in the thought, however, that some of them were well-to-do and wouldn't ask their share. He was sure of this because he had seen three or four put something in the baskets. Gerrit Smith announced the amount of the collection with some embarrassment and heartily added: "My check for a hundred and fifteen dollars makes the sum an even two hundred." That was something worth while. Smith and Brown held a conference about the announcement of another meeting as Sam whispered to the head usher: "Could ye des gimme mine now an' lemme go?" "Yours?" "Yassah." "Your share of the collection?" The usher eyed him in scorn. "To be sho," Sam answered confidently. "Yer tuk it up fer de po' black man. I'se black, an' God knows I'se po'." "You're a poor fool!" "What ye take hit up fer den?" "To support John Brown, not to feed lazy, good-for-nothing, free negroes." Sam turned from the man in disgust. He was about to rise and shamble back to his miserable pallet when a sudden craning of necks and moving of feet drew his eye toward the door. He saw a man stalking down the aisle. He carried on his left arm a little bundle of filthy rags. He mounted the platform and spoke to the Chairman: "Mr. Smith, may I say just a word to this meeting?" The Philanthropist Congressman recognized him instantly as the most eloquent orator in the labor movement in America. He had met him at a Reform Convention. He rose at once. "Certainly." "Fellow Citizens, Mr. George Evans, the leading advocate of Organized Labor in America, wishes to speak to you. Will you hear him?" "Yes! Yes! Yes!" came from all parts of the house. The man began in quivering tones that held Sam and gripped the unwilling mind of the crowd: "My friends: Just a few words. I have in my arms the still breathing skeleton of a little girl. I found her in a street behind this building within the sound of the voice of your speaker." He paused and waved to John Brown. "She was fighting with a stray cat for a crust of bread in a garbage pail. I hold her on high." With both hands he lifted the dazed thing above his head. "Look at her. This bundle of rags God made in the form of a woman to be the mother of the race. She has been thrown into your streets to starve. Her father is a workingman whom I know. For six months, out of work, he fought with death and hell, and hell won. He is now in prison. Her mother, unable to support herself and child, sought oblivion in drink. She's in the gutter to-night. Her brother has joined a gang on the East Side. Her sister is a girl of the streets. "You talk to me of Negro Slavery in the South? Behold the child of the White Wage Slave of the North! Why are you crying over the poor negro? In the South the master owns the slave. Here the master owns the job. Down there the master feeds, clothes and houses his man with care. Black children laugh and play. Here the master who owns the job buys labor in the open market. He can get it from a man for 75 cents a day. From a woman for 30 cents a day. When he has bought the last ounce of strength they can give, the master of the wage slave kicks him out to freeze or starve or sink into crime. "You tell me of the white master's lust down South? I tell you of the white master's lust for the daughters of our own race. "I see a foreman of a factory sitting in this crowd. I've known him for ten years. I've talked with a score of his victims. He has the power to employ or discharge girls of all ages ranging from twelve to twenty-five. Do you think a girl can pass his bead eyes and not pay for the job the price he sees fit to demand? "If you think so, you don't know the man. I do!" He paused and the stillness of death followed. Necks were craned to find the figure of the foreman crouching in the crowd. The speaker was not after the individual. His soul was aflame with the cause of millions. "I see also a man in the crowd who owns a row of tenements so filthy, so dark, so reeking with disease that no Southern master would allow a beast to live in them. This hypocrite has given to John Brown to-night a contribution of money for the downtrodden black man. He coined this money out of the blood of white men and women who pay the rent for the dirty holes in which they die." A moment of silence that was pain as he paused and a hundred eyes swept the room in search of the man. Again the speaker stood without a sign. He merely paused to let his message sink in the hearts of his hearers. "My eyes have found another man in this crowd who is an employer of wage slaves. He is here to denounce Chattel Slavery in the South as the sum of all villainies while he practices a system of wage slavery more cruel without a thought morally wrong. "I say this in justice to the man because I know him. He hasn't intelligence enough to realize what he is doing. If he had he would begin by abolishing slavery in his own household. This reformer isn't a bad man at heart. He is simply an honest fool. These same fools in England have given millions to abolish black slavery in the Colonies and leave their own slaves in the Spittalfield slums to breed a race of paupers and criminals. Why don't a Buxton or a Wilberforce complain of the White Slavery at home? Because it is indispensable to their civilization. They lose nothing in freeing negroes in distant Colonies. They would lose their fortunes if they dared free their own white brethren. "The master of the wage slave employs his victim only when he needs him. The Southern master supports his man whether he needs him or not. And cares for him when ill. The Abolitionist proposes to free the black slave from the whip. Noble work. But to what end if he deprives him of food? He escapes the lash and lands in a felon's cell or climbs the steps of a gallows. "Your inspired leader, the speaker of this evening, has found his most enthusiastic support in New England. "No doubt. "In Lowell, Massachusetts, able-bodied men in the cotton mills are receiving 80 cents a day for ten hours' work. Women are receiving 32 cents a day for the same. At no period of the history of this republic has it been possible for a human being to live in a city and reproduce his kind on such wages. What is the result? The racial stock that made the Commonwealth of Massachusetts a civilized state is perishing. It is being replaced from the slums of Europe. The standard of life is dragged lower with each generation. "The negro, you tell me, must work for others or be flogged. The poor white man at your door must work for others or be starved. The negro is subject to a single master. He learns to know him, if not to like him. There is something human in the touch of their lives. The poor white man here is the slave of many masters. The negro may lead the life of a farm horse. Your wage slave is a horse that hasn't even a stable. He roams the street in the snows of winter. He is ridden by anybody who wishes a ride. He is cared for by nobody. Our rich will do anything for the poor except to get off their backs. The negro has a master in sickness and health. The wage slave is honored with the privilege of slavery only so long as he can work ten hours a day. He is a pauper when he can toil no more. "Your Abolitionist has fixed his eye on Chattel Slavery in the South. It involves but three million five-hundred thousand negroes. The system of wage slavery involves the lives of twenty-five million white men and women. "Slavery was not abolished in the North on moral grounds, but because, as a system of labor it was old-fashioned, sentimental, extravagant, inefficient. It was abolished by the masters of men, not by the men. "The North abolished slavery for economy in production. There was no sentiment in it. Wage slavery has proven itself ten times more cruel, more merciless, more efficient. The Captain of Industry has seen the vision of an empire of wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. He has seen that the master who cares for the aged, the infirm, the sick, the lame, the halt is a fool who must lag behind in the march of the Juggernaut. Only a fool stops to build a shelter for his slave when he can kick him out in the cold and find hundreds of fresh men to take his place. "Two years ago the Chief of Police of the City of New York took the census of the poor who were compelled to live in cellars. He found that eighteen thousand five hundred and eighty-six white wage slaves lived in these pest holes under the earth. One-thirteenth of the population of the city lives thus underground to-day. Hundreds of these cellars are near the river. They are not waterproof. Their floors are mud. When the tides rise the water floods these noisome holes. The bedding and furniture float. Fierce wharf rats, rising from their dens, dispute with men, women and children the right to the shelves above the water line. "There are cellars devoted entirely to lodging where working men and women can find a bed of straw for two cents a night--the bare dirt for one cent. Black and white men, women and children, are mixed in one dirty mass. These rooms are without light, without air, filled with the damp vapors of mildewed wood and clothing. They swarm with every species of vermin that infest the animal and human body. The scenes of depravity that nightly occur in these lairs of beasts are beyond words. "These are the homes provided by the master who has established 'Free' Labor as the economic weapon with which he has set out to conquer the world. "And he is conquering with it. The superior, merciless power of this system as an economic weapon is bound to do in America what it has done throughout the world. The days of Chattel Slavery are numbered. The Abolitionist is wasting his breath, or worse. He is raising a feud that may drench this nation in blood in a senseless war over an issue that is settled before it's raised. "Long ago the economist discovered that there was no vice under the system of Chattel Slavery that could not be more freely gratified under the new system of wage slavery. "You weep because the negro slave must serve one master. He has no power to choose a new one. Do not forget that the power to _choose_ a new master carries with it power to discharge the wage slave and hire a new one. This power to discharge is the most merciless and cruel tyranny ever developed in the struggle of man from savagery to civilization. This awful right places in the hand of the master the power of life and death. He can deprive his wage slave of fuel, food, clothes, shelter. Life is the only right worth having if its exercise is put into question. A starving man has no liberty. The word can have no meaning. He must live first or he cannot be a man. "The wage slave is producing more than the chattel slaves ever produced, man for man, and is receiving less than the negro slave of the South is getting for his labor to-day. "Your system of wage slavery is the cunning trick by which the cruel master finds that he can deny to the worker all rights he ever had as a slave. "If you doubt its power, look at this bundle of rags in my hands and remember that there are five thousand half-starved children homeless and abandoned in the streets of this city to-night. "Find for me one ragged, freezing, starving, black baby in the South and I will buy a musket to equip an army for its invasion--" He paused a moment, turned and gazed at the men on the platform and then faced the crowd in a final burst of triumphant scorn. "Fools, liars, hypocrites, clean your own filthy house before you weep over the woes of negroes who are singing while they toil--" A man on an end seat of the middle aisle suddenly sprang to his feet and yelled: "Put him out!" Before Gerrit Smith could reach Evans with a gift of five dollars for the sick child which he still held in his arms the crowd had become a mob. They hustled the labor leader into the street and told him to go back to hell where he came from. Through it all John Brown sat on the platform with his blue-gray eyes fixed in space. He had seen, heard or realized nothing that had passed. His mind was brooding over the plains of Kansas. CHAPTER XIII It was October, 1854, before John Brown's three sons, Owen, Frederick and Salmon, left Ohio for their long journey to Kansas. In April, 1855, they crossed the Missouri river and entered the Territory. John Brown decided to move his family once more to North Elba before going West. It was June before his people reached this negro settlement in Northern New York. He placed his wife and children in an unplastered, four-roomed house. Through its rough weatherboarding the winds and snows of winter would howl. It had been hurriedly thrown together by his son-in-law, Henry Thompson. Brown had never stayed on one of his little farms long enough to bring order out of chaos. His restless spirit left him no peace. He was now in Boston, now in Springfield, Massachusetts, now in New York, again in Ohio, or Illinois. He was giving up the work in Ohio to follow his sons into Kansas. He had planned to move there two years before and abandoned the idea. He had at last fully determined to go. On October the sixth, his party reached the family settlement at Osawatomie. With characteristic queerness the old man did not enter with his sons, Oliver, Jason and John, Jr., and their caravan. He stopped alone on the roadside two miles away until next day. The party on arrival had plenty of guns, swords and ammunition but their treasury held but sixty cents. The family settlement were living in tents around which the chill autumn winds were howling. The poor crops they had raised had not been harvested. The men were ill and discouraged. There was little meat, except game and that was difficult to kill. Their only bread was made from corn meal ground at a hand-turned mill two miles away. Brown's sons, who had preceded him, had lost all vigor. The old man was not slow to see the way out. The situation called for Action. He determined to get it. He immediately plunged into Free Soil Politics without pausing to build his first shanty against the coming rains and snows of a terrible winter. CHAPTER XIV The race for the lands of the new Territories of Kansas and Nebraska was on to the finish. Nebraska was far North. Kansas only interested the Southerner. The frontiersmen were crossing the boundary lines years before Congress formally opened them for settlement. After a brief stop in West Tennessee the Doyles had succeeded in reaching Miami County, just beyond the Missouri border, in 1853. They had settled on a fertile quarter section on the Pottawattomie Creek in a small group of people of Southern feeling. The sun of a new world had begun to shine at last for the humble but ambitious woman who had borne five strong children to be the athletic sons and daughters of a free country. Her soul rose in a triumphant song that made her little home the holy of holies of a new religion. Her husband was the lord of a domain of fertile land. His fields were green with wheat. She loved to look over its acres of velvet carpet. In June her man and three stalwart boys, now twenty, eighteen and fourteen years of age, would swing the reaper into that field and harvest the waving gold without the aid of a hired laborer. She and her little girls would help and sing while they toiled. There was no debt on their books. They had horses, cows, sheep, pigs, chickens, ducks, turkeys. Their crib was bulging with corn. The bins in their barn were filled with grain. Their house was still the humble cottage of the prairie pioneer, but her men had made it snug and warm against the winds and snows of winter. Their farm had plenty of timber on the Pottawattomie Creek which flowed through the center of the tract. They had wood for their fires and logs with which to construct their stable and outhouses. The house they built four-square with sharp gables patterned after the home they had lost. There were no dormers in the attic, but two windows peeped out of the gable beside the stone chimney and gave light and air to the boys' room in the loft. A shed extension in the rear was large enough for both kitchen and dining room. The home stood close beside the creek, and the murmur of its waters made music for a busy mother's heart. There was no porch over the front door. But her boys had built a lattice work that held a labyrinth of morning glories in the summer. She had found the gorgeous wild flowers blooming on the prairies and made a hedge of them for the walks. They were sending their shoots up through the soil now to meet the sun of spring. The warm rays had already begun to clothe the prairie world with beauty and fragrance. The mother never tired of taking her girls on the hill beyond the creek and watching the men at work on the wide sweeping plains that melted into the skyline miles beyond. Something in its vast silence, in its message of the infinite, soothed her spirit. All her life in the East she had been fighting against losing odds. These wide breathing plains had stricken the shackles from her soul. She was free. Sometimes she felt like shouting it into the sky. Sometimes she knelt among the trees and thanked God for His mercy in giving her the new lease of life. The new lease on life had depth and meaning because she lived and breathed in her children. Her man had a man's chance at last. Her boys had a chance. The one thing that gave her joy day and night was the consciousness of living among the men and women of her own race. There was not a negro in the county, bond or free, and she fervently prayed that there never would be. Now that they were free from the sickening dread of such competition in life, she had no hatred of the race. As a free white woman, the mother of free white men and women, all she asked was freedom from the touch of an inferior. She had always felt instinctively that this physical contact was poison. She breathed deeply for the first time. There was just one cloud on the horizon which threatened her peace and future. Her husband, after the fashion of his kind, in the old world and the new, had always held political opinions and had dared to express them without fear or favor. In Virginia his vote was sought by the leaders of the county. He had been poor but he had influence because he dared to think for himself. He was a Southern born white man, and he held the convictions of his birthright. He had never stopped to analyze these faiths. He believed in them as he believed in God. They were things not to be questioned. Doyle had not hesitated to express his opinions in Kansas as in Virginia. The few Southern settlers on the Pottawattomie Creek were sympathetic and no trouble had come. But the keen ears of the woman had caught ominous rumors on the plains. The father and mother sat on a rude board settee which John had built. The boy had nailed it against a black jack close beside the bend of the creek where the ripple of the hurrying waters makes music when the stream is low and swells into a roar when gorged by the rains. The woman's face was troubled as she listened to the waters. She studied the strong lines of her husband's neck, shoulders and head, with a touch of pride and fear. His tongue was long in a political argument. He had a fatal gift of speech. He could say witty, bitter things if stung by an opponent. She spoke with deep seriousness: "I wish you wouldn't talk so much, John--" "And why not?" "You'll get in trouble." "Well, I've been in trouble most of my life. There's no use livin' at all, if you live in fear. I ain't never knowed what it is to be afraid. And I'm too old to learn." "They say, the Northern men that's passin' into the Territory have got guns and swords. And they say they're goin' to use 'em. They outnumber the Southerners five to one." "What are they goin' to do with their guns and swords? Cut a man's tongue out because he dares to say who he's goin' to vote for next election?" "You don't have to talk so loud anyhow," his wife persisted. "Ole woman, I'm free, white, and twenty-one. I've been a-votin' and watchin' the elections in this country for twenty odd years. Ef I've got to tiptoe around, ashamed of my raisin', and ashamed of my principles, I don't want to live. I wouldn't be fit ter live." "I want ye to live." "You wouldn't want to live with a coward." "A brave man can hold his tongue, John." "I ain't never learnt the habit, Honey." "Won't you begin?" "Ye can't learn a old dog new tricks--can they, Jack?" He stroked his dog's friendly nose suddenly thrust against his knee. "You know, Honey," he went on laughingly, "we brought this yellow pup from Old Virginia. He's the best rabbit and squirrel dog in the county. I've taught him to stalk prairie chickens out here. I'd be ashamed to look my dog in the face ef I wuz ter tuck my tail between my legs and run every time a fool blows off his mouth about the South--" He stopped and laughed, his white teeth gleaming through his fine beard. "Don't you worry, Honey. Those fields are too purty this spring for worrying. We're goin' to send Colonel Lee our last payment this fall and we'll not owe a cent to any man on earth." CHAPTER XV John Brown plunged into politics in Kansas under the impression that his will could dominate the rank and file of the Northern party. He quickly faced the fact that the frontiersmen had opinions of their own. And they were not in the habit of taking orders from a master. His hopes were raised to their highest at the Free State Convention which met at Lawrence on Monday, the twenty-fifth of June, 1855. This Convention spoke in tones that stirred Brown's admiration. It meant Action. They elected him a vice president of the body. He had expected to be made president. However, his leadership was recognized. All he needed was the opportunity to take the Action on which his mind had long been fixed. The moment blood began to flow, there would be but one leader. Of that, he felt sure. He could bide his time. The Convention urged the people to unite on the one issue of making Kansas a Free Soil State. They called on every member of the Shawnee Legislature who held Free Soil views to resign from that body, although it had been recognized by the National Government as the duly authorized law-making assembly of the Territory. They denounced this Legislature as the creature of settlers from Missouri who had crowded over the border before the Northerners could reach their destination. They urged all people to refuse to obey every law passed by the body. The final resolution was one inspired by Brown himself. It was a bold declaration that if their opponents wished to fight, the Northerners were READY! The challenge was unmistakable. Brown felt that Action was imminent. Only a set of poltroons would fail to accept the gauge of battle thus flung in their faces. To his amazement the challenge was not received by the rank and file of the Free Soil Party with enthusiasm. Most of these Northerners had moved to Kansas as bona fide settlers. They came to build homes for the women they had left behind. They came to rush their shacks into shape to receive their loved ones. They had been furnished arms and ammunition by enthusiastic friends and politicians in the older States. And they had eagerly accepted the gifts. There were droves of Indians still roaming the plains. There were dangers to be faced. The Southern ruffians of whom they had heard so much had not materialized. Although the Radical wing of the Northern Party had made Lawrence its Capital and through their paper, the _Herald of Freedom_, issued challenge after challenge to their enemies. The Northern settlers began to divide into groups whose purposes were irreconcilable. Six different conventions met in Lawrence on or before the fifteenth of August. Each one of these conventions was divided in councils. In each the cleavage between the Moderates and Radicals became wider. Out of the six conventions of Northerners at Lawrence, out of resolution and counter resolution, finally emerged the accepted plan of a general convention at Big Springs. The gathering was remarkable for the surprise it gave to the Radicals of whom Brown was the leader. The Convention adopted the first platform of the Free State party and nominated ex-Governor Reeder as its candidate for delegate to Congress. For the first time the hard-headed frontiersmen who came to Kansas for honest purposes spoke in plain language. The first resolution settled the Slavery issue. It declared that Slavery was a curse and that Kansas should be free of this curse. But that as a matter of common sense they would consent to any reasonable adjustment in regard to the few slaves that had already been brought into the Territory. Brown and his followers demanded that Slavery should be denounced as a crime, not a curse, as the sum of all villainies and the Southern master as a vicious and willful criminal. The mild expression of the platform on this issue wrought the old man's anger to white heat. The offer to compromise with the slave holder already in Kansas he repudiated with scorn. But a more bitter draught was still in store for him. The platform provided that Kansas should be a Free White State. And in no uncertain words made plain that the accent should be on the word WHITE. The document demanded the most stringent laws excluding ALL NEGROES, BOND AND FREE, forever from the Territory. The old man did not hear this resolution when read. So deep was his brooding anger, the words made no impression. Their full import did not dawn on him until John Brown, Jr., leaned close and whispered: "Did you hear that?" The father stirred from his reverie and turned a dazed look on his son. "Hear what?" "The infamous resolution demanding that Kansas be made a white man's country and no negro, bond or free, shall ever be allowed to enter it?" The hard mouth twitched with scorn. And his jaws came together with a snap. "It doesn't matter what they add to their first maudlin plank on the Slavery issue." "Will you sit here and see this vile thing done?" A look of weariness came over the stern face with its deep-cut lines. "It's a waste of words to talk to politicians." John, Jr. was grasping at the next resolution which was one surpassing belief. He rubbed his ears to see if he were really hearing correctly. This resolution denounced the charge that they were Radicals at all. It denounced the attempt of any man to interfere by violence with slaves or Slavery where protected by the supreme law of the land. It repudiated as stale and ridiculous the charge of Abolitionism against them. And declared that such an accusation is without a shadow of truth to support it. Charles Stearns, the representative of the New England Society, leaped to his feet and denounced the platform in withering tones. He fairly shrieked his final sentence: "All honest anti-slavery men, here and elsewhere, will spit on your platform!" He paused and faced the leaders who had drafted it. "And all pro-slavery men must forever despise the base sycophants who originated it!" John Brown, Jr., applauded. The crowd laughed. Old John Brown had paid no further heed to the proceedings of the Convention. His eyelids were drawn half down. Only pin points of glittering light remained. The resolutions were adopted by an overwhelming majority. In the East, Horace Greeley in the _Tribune_ reluctantly accepted the platform: "Why free blacks should be excluded it is difficult to understand; but if Slavery can be kept out by compromise of that sort, we shall not complain. An error of this character may be corrected; but let Slavery obtain a foothold there and it is not so easily removed." Brown's hopes were to be still further dashed by the persistence with which the leaders of this Convention followed up the program of establishing a white man's country on the free plains of the West. When the Convention met at Topeka on the twenty-third of October, to form a Constitution, the determination to exclude all negroes from Kansas was again sustained. The majority were finally badgered into submitting the issue to a separate vote of the people. On the fifteenth of December, the Northern settlers voted on it and the question _was_ settled. Negroes were excluded by a three-fourths majority. Three-fourths of the Free State settlers were in favor of a white man's country and the heaviest vote against the admission of negroes was polled in Lawrence and Topeka, where the Radicals had from the first made the most noise. The Northern men who had come to Kansas merely to oppose the extension of Slavery were in a hopeless minority in their own party. The American voters still had too much common sense to be led into a position to provoke civil war. John Brown spent long hours in prayer after the final vote on the negro issue had been counted. He denounced the leaders in politics in Kansas as trimmers, time servers, sycophants and liars. He walked beneath the star-sown skies through the night. He wrestled with his God for a vision. There must be a way to Action. He rose from prayer at dawn after a sleepless night and called for his sons, Owen, Oliver, Frederick and Salmon, to get ready for a journey. He had received a first hint of the will of God. He believed it might lead to the way. He organized a surveyor's party and disguised himself as a United States Surveyor. He had brought to Kansas a complete outfit for surveying land. He instructed Owen and Frederick to act as chain carriers, Salmon as axeman and Oliver as marker. He reached the little Southern settlement on the Pottawattomie Creek the fifteenth of May. He planted his compass on the bank of the creek near the Doyles' house and proceeded to run a base line. The father and three boys were in the fields at work beyond the hill. He raised his compass and followed the chainman to the Doyles' door. The mother and little girl trudged behind, delighted with the diversion of the party, so rare on the lonely prairies. Little could they dream the grim deed that was shaping in the soul of the Surveyor. When they reached the house she turned to the old man with Southern courtesy: "Won't you come in, sir, and rest a few minutes?" The strange, blue-gray eyes glanced restlessly toward the hill and he signaled his sons: "Rest awhile, boys." Frederick and Oliver sat down on a pile of logs. Salmon and Owen, at a nod from their father, wandered carelessly toward the stable and outhouses. Owen found the dog Doyle had brought from Virginia and took pains to make friends with him. Brown's keen, restless eyes carefully inspected the door, its fastenings and the strength of its hinges. The iron of the hinges was flimsy. The fastening was the old-fashioned wooden shutters hung outside and closed with a single slide. He noted with a quick glance that there was no cross bar of heavy wood nor any sockets in which such a bar could be dropped. The windows were small. There was no glass. Solid wooden shutters hung outside and closed with a single hook and eye for fastenings. The sun was setting before the surveying party stopped work. They had run a line close to the house of every Southern settler on the Pottawattomie Creek, noting carefully every path leading to each house. They had carefully mapped the settlement and taken a census of every male inhabitant and every dog attached to each house. They also made an inventory of the horses, saddles and bridles. Having completed their strange errand, they packed their instruments and rode toward Osawatomie. CHAPTER XVI With the opening of the Territory of Kansas the first Regiment of United States Cavalry, commanded by Colonel E.V. Sumner, had been transferred to Fort Leavenworth. The life of the barracks was young Lieutenant J.E.B. Stuart. Colonel Lee had been transferred from West Point to the command of the Second United States Cavalry on the Mexican Border at the same time that Stuart's regiment was moved to Kansas. The rollicking song-loving, banjo-playing Virginian had early distinguished himself as an Indian fighter. He had been dangerously wounded, but recovered with remarkable rapidity. His perfect health and his clean habits stood him in good stead on the day an Indian's bullet crashed through his breast. He was a favorite with officers and men. As a cadet he had given promise of the coming soldier. At the Academy he was noted for his strict attendance to every military duty, and his erect, soldierly bearing. He was particularly noted for an almost thankful acceptance of a challenge to fight any cadet who might feel himself aggrieved. The boys called him a "Bible Class Man." He was never known to swear or drink. They also called him "Beauty Stuart," in good natured boyish teasing. He was the best-looking cadet of his class, as he was the best-looking young officer of his regiment. His hair was a reddish brown. His eyes a deep steel blue, his voice clear and ringing. In his voice the soul of the man spoke to his fellows. He was always singing--always eager for a frolic of innocent fun. Above all, he was always eager for a frolic with a pretty girl. He played both the banjo and the guitar and little he cared for the gathering political feud which old John Brown and his sons had begun to foment on the frontier. As a Southerner the struggle did not interest him. It was a foregone conclusion that the country would be settled by Northern immigrants. They were pouring into the Territory in endless streams. A colony from New Haven, Connecticut, one hundred strong, had just settled sixty miles above Lawrence on the Kansas River. They knew how to plow and plant their fields and they had modern machinery with which to do it. The few Southerners who came to Kansas were poorly equipped. Lawrence was crowded with immigrants from every section of the North. The fields were white with their tents. A company from Ohio, one from Connecticut, and one from New Hampshire were camping just outside the town. Daily their exploring committees went forth to look at localities. Daily new companies poured in. Stuart let them pour and asked no questions about their politics. He was keen on one thing only--the pretty girls that might be among them. When exploring parties came to Fort Leavenworth, the young Lieutenant inspected them with an eye single to a possible dance for the regiment. The number of pretty girls was not sufficient to cause excitement among the officers as yet. The daughters of the East were not anxious to explore Kansas at this moment. The Indians were still troublesome at times. A rumor spread through the barracks that the prettiest girl in Kansas had just arrived at Fort Riley, sixty-eight miles beyond Topeka. Colonel Phillip St. George Cooke of Virginia commanded the Fort and his daughter Flora had ventured all the way from Harper's Ferry to the plains to see her beloved daddy. The news thrilled Stuart. He found an excuse to carry a message from Colonel Sumner to Colonel Cooke. He expected nothing serious, of course. Every daughter of Virginia knew how to flirt. She would know that he understood this from the start. It would be nip and tuck between the Virginia boy and the Virginia girl. He had always had such easy sailing in his flirtations he hoped Miss Flora would prove a worthy antagonist. As a matter of course, Colonel Cooke asked the gallant young Virginian to stay as his guest. "What'll Colonel Sumner say, sir?" Stuart laughed. "Leave Sumner to me." "You'll guarantee immunity?" "Guaranteed." "Thank you, Colonel Cooke, I'll stay." Stuart could hardly wait until the hour of lunch to meet the daughter. He was impatient to ask where she was. The Colonel guessed his anxiety and hastened to relieve it, or increase it. "You haven't met my daughter, Lieutenant?" he asked casually. "I haven't that honor, Colonel, but this gives me the happy opportunity." He said it with such boyish fun in his ringing voice that Cooke laughed in spite of his desire to maintain the strictest dignity. He half suspected that the young officer might meet his match in more ways than one. "She'll be in at noon," the Commander remarked. "Off riding with one of the boys." "Of course," Stuart sighed. He began to scent a battle and his spirits rose. He went to his room, took his banjo out of its old leather strapped case and tuned it carefully. He made up his mind to give the young buck out riding with her the fight of his life while there. He heard the ring of the girl's laughter as she bade her escort goodbye at the door. He started to go down at once and begin the struggle. Something in the ring of her young voice stopped him. There was a joyous strength in it that was disconcerting. A girl who laughed like that had poise. She was an individual. He liked, too, the tones of her voice before he had seen her. This struck him as odd. Never in his life before had he liked a girl before meeting her just for a tone quality in her voice. This one haunted him the whole time he was changing his uniform. He decided to shave again. He had shaved the night before very late. He didn't like the suggestion of red stubble on his face. It might put him at a disadvantage. He resented the name of Beauty Stuart and yet down in his man soul he knew that he was vain. He began to wonder if she were blonde or brunette, short or tall, petite or full, blue eyes or brown? She must be pretty. Her father was a man of delicate and finely marked features--the type of Scotch-Irish gentlemen who had made the mountains of Virginia famous for pretty women and brainy men. He heard her softly playing a piano and wondered how on earth they had ever moved a piano to this far outpost of civilization. The cost was enormous. But the motive of her father in making such a sacrifice to please her was more important. His love for her must be unusual. It piqued his interest and roused again his impulse for a battle royal with another elusive daughter of his native state. He made up his mind not to wait for the call to lunch. He would walk boldly into the reception room and introduce himself. She knew he was there, of course. At the first sound of his footstep, her hand paused on the keys and she turned to greet him, rising quickly, and easily. The vision which greeted Stuart stunned him for a moment. A perfect blonde with laughing blue eyes, exactly the color of his own, slim and graceful, a smile that was sunlight, and a step that was grace incarnate. And yet her beauty was not the thing that stunned him. He had discounted her good looks from a study of her father's delicate face. It was the glow of a charming personality that disarmed him at the first glance. She extended a slender hand with a smile. "I'm so glad to meet you, Lieutenant Stuart." He took it awkwardly, and blushed. He mumbled when he spoke and was conscious that his voice was thick. "And I'm so glad to see you, Miss Flora." They had each uttered the most banal greeting. Yet the way in which the words were spoken was significant. Never in his life had he heard a voice so gentle, so tender, so appealing in its sincerity. All desire to flirt, to match wit against a charming girl vanished. He felt a resistless impulse to protect her from any fool who would dare try to start a flirtation. She was too straightforward, too earnest, too sincere. She seemed a part of his own inmost thought and life. It was easy to see that while she was the pet of her father, she was unspoiled. Stuart caught himself at last staring at her in a dazed, foolish way. He pulled himself together and wondered how long he had held her hand. "Won't you play for me, Miss Flora?" he asked at last. "If you'll sing," she laughed. "How do you know I sing?" "How do you know I play?" "I heard you." "I heard you, too." "Upstairs?" "Just before you came down." "I had no idea I was so loud." "Your voice rings. It has carrying power." He started to say: "I hope you like it," and something inside whispered: "Behave." She took the seat at the piano and touched the keys with an easy, graceful movement. She looked up and smiled. Her eyes blinded him. They were so bright and friendly. "What will you sing?" "_Annie Laurie_," he answered promptly. Stuart sang with deep tenderness and passion. He outdid himself. And he knew it. He never knew before that he could sing so well. On the last stanza the girl softly joined a low, sweet voice with his. As the final note died away in Stuart's voice, hers lingered a caress. The man's heart leaped at its tenderness. "Why didn't you join me at first?" he asked. "Nobody axed me, sir!" she said. "Well, I ask you now--come on--we'll do it together!" "All right," was the jolly answer. They sang it in duet to the soft accompaniment which she played. Never had he heard such singing by a slip of a girl. Her voice was rich, full of feeling and caressing tenderness. He felt his soul dissolving in its liquid depths. Throughout the lunch he caught himself staring at her in moments of long silence. He had for the first time in his life lost his capacity for silly gaiety. He roused himself with an effort, and wondered what on earth had come over him. He was too deeply interested in studying the girl to attempt to analyze his own feelings. It never occurred to him to try. He was too busy watching the tender light in her eyes. He wondered if she could be engaged to the fellow she went riding with? He resented the idea. Of course not. And when he remembered the care-free ring to her laughter when she said goodbye, he was reassured. No girl could laugh a goodbye like that to a man she loved. The tone was too poised and impersonal. He asked her to ride with him that afternoon. "On one condition," she smiled. "What?" "That you bring your banjo and play for me when I ask you." "How'd you know I had a banjo?" "Caught the final twang as you tuned it on my arrival." "I'll bring it if you like." "Please." He hurried to his room, placed the banjo in its case and threw it over his shoulder. She had promised to be ready in ten minutes and have the horses at the door. She was ready in eight minutes, and leaped into the saddle before he could reach her side. For the life of him he couldn't keep his eye off her exquisite figure. She rode without effort. She had been born in the saddle. She led him along the military road to the juncture of the Smoky Hill and Republican rivers. A lover at the Fort had built a seat against a huge rock that crowned the hill overlooking the fork of the rivers. Stuart hitched the horses and found the seat. For two hours he played his banjo and they sang old songs together. "I love a banjo--don't you?" she asked enthusiastically. "It's my favorite music. There's no sorrow in a banjo. You can make it laugh. You can make it shout. You can make it growl and howl and snarl and fight. But you can't make a banjo cry. There are no tears in it. The joy of living is all a banjo knows. Why should we try to know anything else anyhow?" "We shouldn't," she answered soberly. "The other things will come without invitation sometime." For an hour they talked of the deep things of life. He told of his high ambitions of service for his country in the dark days that might come in the future. Of the kind of soldier the nation would need, and the ideal he had set for his soul of truth and honor, of high thinking and clean living in the temptations that come to a soldier's daily life. And she applauded his ideals. She told him they were big and fine and she was proud of him as a true son of Old Virginia. The sun was sinking behind the dim smoky hills toward the West when she rose. "We must be going!" "I had no idea it was so late," he apologized. It was not until he reached his room at eleven o'clock after three hours more of her in the reception room that he faced the issue squarely. He stood before the mirror and studied his flushed face. A look of deep seriousness had crept into his jolly blue eyes. "You're a goner, this time, young man!" he whispered. "You're in love." He paused and repeated it softly. "_In love_--the big thing this time. Sweeping all life before it. Blotting out all that's passed and gripping all that lies beyond--Glory to God!" For hours he lay awake. The world was made anew. The beauty of the new thought filled his soul with gratitude. He dared not tell her yet. The stake was too big. He was playing for all that life held worth having. He couldn't rush a girl of that kind. A blunder would be fatal. He had a reputation as a flirt. She had heard it, no doubt. He must put his house in order. His word must ring true. She must believe him. He made up his mind to return to Fort Leavenworth next day and manage somehow to get transferred to Fort Riley for two weeks. CHAPTER XVII The Surveyor of the lands of Pottawattomie Creek was shaping the organization of a band of followers. To this little group, composed as yet of his own sons in the main, he talked of his work, his great duty, his mission with mystic elation. A single idea was slowly fixing itself in his mind as the purpose of life. It was fast becoming an obsession. He slept but little. The night before he had slept but two hours. When the camp supper had been prepared, he stood with bare head in the midst of his followers and thanked God. The meal was eaten to-night in a grim silence which Brown did not break once. The supper over, he rose and again returned thanks to the Bountiful Giver. And then he left the camp without a word. Alone he tramped the prairie beneath the starlit sky of a beautiful May night. Hour after hour he paused and prayed. Always the one refrain came from his stern lips: "Give me, oh, Lord God, the Vision!" And he would wait with eyes set on the stars for its revelation. He crouched at last against the trunk of a tree in a little ravine near the camp. It was past three o'clock. William Walker, who was acting his second in command, was still waiting his orders for the following day. He saw Brown enter the ravine at one o'clock. Impatient of his endless wandering, tired and sleepy, he decided to follow his Chief and ask his orders. He found him in a sitting posture, leaning against a blackjack, his rifle across his knees. Walker called softly and received no response. He approached and laid his hand on his shoulder. Instantly he leaped to his feet, his rifle at his follower's breast, his finger on the trigger. "My God!" Walker yelled. His speech was too late to stop the pressure of the finger. Walker pushed the muzzle up and the ball grazed his shoulder. The leader gripped his follower's arm, stared at him a moment and merely grunted: "Oh!" When the day dawned a new man was found to act as second in command. Walker had deserted his queer chieftain. The old man entered the camp at dawn, the light of determination in his eyes and a new set to his jaw. His first plan of the Pottawattomie was right. The turn toward Lawrence had been a waste of time. He selected six men to accompany him on his mission, his four sons who had made up the Surveyor's party, his son-in-law, Henry Thompson, and Theodore Weiner. Owen, Salmon, Oliver and Frederick Brown knew every foot of the ground. They had carried the chain, set the markers and flags and kept the records. He called his men in line and issued his first command: "To the house of James Townsley." Townsley belonged to the Pottawattomie Rifles of which organization his son, John Jr., was the Captain. Arrived at the house, Brown drew Townsley aside and spoke in a vague, impersonal manner. "I hear there is trouble expected on the Pottawattomie." "Is there?" "We hear it." "What are you going to do?" "March to their rescue. Will you help us?" "How?" "Harness your team of grays and take our party to Pottawattomie." "All right." The old man found a grindstone and ordered the ugly cutlasses which he had brought from Ohio to be sharpened. He stood over the stone and watched it turned until each edge was as keen as a butcher's blade. It began to dawn on the two younger sons before the grinding of the swords was finished what their father had determined. Frederick asked Oliver tremblingly: "What do you think of this thing?" "It looks black to me." "It looks hellish to me." "I'm not going." "Nor am I." They promptly reported the decision to their father. His eyes flamed. "It's too late to retreat now!" "We're not going," was the sullen answer in chorus. The father gripped the two with his hard hands and held them as in a vise. "You will not put me to shame now before these men. You will go with me--do you hear?" His tones rang with the quiver of steel and the boys' wills weakened. Frederick said finally: "We'll go with you then, but we'll take no part in what you do." "Agreed," was the stern answer. He turned to Oliver and said: "Give me your revolver. I may need it." "It's mine," the boy replied. "I'll not give it up." The old man looked the stalwart figure over in a quick glance of appraisement. Brown had been a man of iron strength in his day but his shoulders were stooped and he knew he was no match for the fierce strength of youth. Yet his hesitation was only for an instant. With the sudden spring of a panther he leaped on the boy and attempted to take the pistol by force. The son resisted with fury. Frederick, alarmed lest the pistol should be discharged in the struggle, managed to slip it from his brother's belt. The match was not equal. Youth was master in the appeal to brute strength. At North Elba the father had once thrown thirty lumbermen in a day, one after the other, in a wrestling match. He summoned the last ounce of strength now to subdue his rebellious son. Frederick watched the contest with painful anxiety. His own mind was not strong. He had already given evidences of insanity that had distressed his brother. If Oliver should kill his father or the old man should kill the brother! He couldn't face the hideous possibility. Yet he couldn't stop them. Fortunately there were no other witnesses to the fight. Townsley was busy at the stable with the team. Weiner and Thompson had gone into the house to complete their packing of provisions for the journey. In tones of blind anguish Frederick followed the two desperate struggling men. "Don't do this, Father!" The old man made no answer save to swing his agile son's frame to one side in another futile effort to throw him to the ground. Not a word escaped his lips. His eyes flashed and glittered with the uncertain glare of a maniac in the moments when the iron muscles of the son pinned his arms and held his wiry body rigid. Again Frederick's low pleading could be heard. This time to his brother: "Can't you stop it, Oliver?" "How can I?" "For God's sake stop it--stop it!" "I can't stop it. Don't ye see he's got me and I've got to hold him." The consciousness of failing strength drove the father to fury. His breath was coming now in shorter gasps. He knew his chances of success were fading. He yielded for a moment, and ceased to struggle. A cunning look crept into his eyes. The boy relaxed his vigilance. The old man felt the boy's grip ease. With a sudden thrust of his body he summoned the last ounce of strength, and threw his son to the ground. The boy laughed a devilish cry of the strong with the weak as he fell. Before he touched the ground he had deftly turned the father's body beneath his and the full weight of his two hundred pounds fairly crushed the breath from the older man. A groan of rage and despair was wrung from his stern lips. But no word escaped him. Frederick rushed to the prostrate figures, seized Oliver by the shoulders and tore his grip loose. "This is foolish!" he stormed. No sooner had Brown risen than he plunged again at his son. The boy had been playing with him to this time. The half of his strength was yet in reserve. A little angry grunt came from his lips, and his father was a child in his hands. With sure, quick movement he pinioned both arms and jammed him against the wheel of the wagon. He held him there for an instant helpless to resist or move. The last cry of despairing command came from Brown's soul. "Let go of me, sir!" The boy merely growled a bulldog's answer. "Not till you agree to behave yourself." Another desperate contraction of muscles and the order came more feebly. "Will you let go of me, sir?" "Will you behave yourself?" "Yes," came the sullen answer. The boy relaxed his grip and stood ready for action. "All right, then." "You can keep your pistol." "I intend to." "But you are not to use it, sir, without my orders." "I am not going to use it at all, except in self-defense." "You will not be called upon to defend yourself. I am going on a divine mission. God has shown me the way in a Vision. I wish no man's help who must be driven." "You'll not get any help, sir. I wouldn't have gone on that survey with you if I'd known what was in your mind." Brown searched his son's eyes keenly. "You will not betray me to my enemies?" "I can't do that. You're my father." He turned to Frederick. "Nor you?" The tears were streaming down the boy's face. He was hysterical from the strain of the fight. "You heard me, sir," the father stormed. "What did you say?" Frederick stammered. Oliver explained. "He asked if you were going to betray his plans to those people on the Pottawattomie." A far-away expression came into his eyes. "No--no--not that." "Then you'll both follow and keep out of my way until we have finished the work and then come back with me?" "Yes," Oliver answered. "Yes," Frederick echoed vaguely. Townsley and Weiner were coming with the pair of grays to be hitched to the wagon. Weiner led his own pony already saddled. When they reached the wagon all signs of rebellion had passed. "Are you ready?" Townsley asked. "Ready." Brown's metallic voice rang. The horses were hitched to the wagon, the provisions and equipment loaded. Brown turned to his loyal followers: "Arm yourselves." Owen, Salmon, Henry Thompson, Theodore Weiner and John Brown each buckled a loaded revolver about his waist, and seized a rifle and cutlass. Weiner mounted his pony as an outpost rider and the others climbed into the wagon. Oliver and Frederick agreed to follow on foot. The expedition moved toward the Southern settlement on Pottawattomie Creek. Brown crouched low in the wagon as it moved slowly forward and a look of cunning marked his grim face. He was the Witch Hunter now. The chase was on. And the game was human. As the sun was setting behind the Western horizon in a glow of orange and purple glory the strange expedition drove down to the edge of the timber between two deep ravines and camped a mile above Dutch Henry's Crossing of the Pottawattomie. The scene was one of serene beauty. The month of May--Saturday, the twenty-third. Nature was smiling in the joy of her happiest hour. Peace on earth, plenty, good will and happiness breathed from every bud and leaf and song of bird. The broad prairies of the Territory were fertile and sunny. They stretched away in unbroken, sublime loveliness until the land kissed the infinite of the skies. Unless one had the feeling for this suggestion of an inland sea the view might be depressing and the eye of the traveler weary. The spot which John Brown picked for his camp was striking in its beauty and picturesque appeal. Winding streams, swelling hills, and steep ravines broke the monotony of the plains. The streams were bordered by the rich foliage of noble trees. The streams were called "Creeks." In reality, they were beautiful rivers in the month of May--the Marais des Cygnes and the Pottawattomie. They united near Osawatomie to form the Osage River, the largest tributary to the Missouri below its mountain sources. Each river had its many tributaries winding gracefully along wood-fringed banks. Beyond these ribbons of beautiful foliage stretched the gorgeous carpet of the grass-matted, flower-strewn prairies. The wild flowers were in full bloom, pushing their red, white, yellow, blue and pink heads above the grass. The wind was blowing a steady life-giving gale. The fields of flowers bowed and swayed and rose again at its touch. Their perfume filled the air. The perfume of the near-by fields was mingled with the odor of thousands of miles of prairie gardens to the south and west. A peculiar clearness in the atmosphere gave the widest range to vision. Brown climbed the hill alone while his men were unpacking. From the hilltop, even in the falling twilight, he could see clearly for thirty or forty miles. He swept the horizon for signs of the approach of a party which might interfere with his plan. He knelt again and prayed to his God, as the twilight deepened into darkness. The stars came out one by one and blinked down at his bent figure still in prayer, his eyes uplifted in an uncanny glare. As he slowly moved back to his camp he met Townsley. Frederick and Oliver had reached camp and Townsley had caught a note of the sinister in their whispered talk. He didn't like the looks of it. Brown had told him there was trouble brewing on the Pottawattomie. He had supposed, as a matter of course, that it was the long-threatened attack of enemies on Weiner's store. Weiner, a big, quarrelsome Austrian, had been in more than one fist fight with his neighbors. Brown studied Townsley and decided to give him but a hint of his true purpose. He didn't like this sign of weakness on the eve of great events. Townsley took the hint with a grain of salt, but what he heard was enough to bring alarm. The thing Brown had hinted was incredible. But as Townsley looked at the leader he realized that he was not an ordinary man. There was something extraordinary about him. He either commanded the absolute obedience of men who came near him or he sent them from him with a repulsion as strong as the attraction to those who liked him. He felt the smothering power of this spell over his own mind now and tried to break it. "Mr. Brown," Townsley began haltingly, "I've brought you here now. You are snug in camp. I'd like to take my team back home." "To-night?" "To-night." "It won't do." "Why not?" "I won't allow this party to separate until the work to which God has called me is done." "I've done my share." "No. It will not do for you to go yet." "I'm going--" "You're not!" Brown faced the man and held him in a silent look of his blue-gray eyes. Townsley quailed before it. "Whatever happens, you brought me here. You are equally responsible with me." Townsley surrendered. The threat was unmistakable. He saw that he was trapped. Whether he liked it or not, he had packed his camp outfit, harnessed his horses and driven over the trail on a hunting expedition. He knew now that they were stalking human game. It sent the chills down his spine. But there was no help for it. He had to stick. Brown spent the night alone reconnoitering the settlement of the Pottawattomie, marking the place of his game and making sure that no alarm could be given. All was still. There was nowhere the rustle of a leaf along a roadway that approached the unsuspecting quarry. Saturday dawned clear and serene. His plans required that he lie concealed the entire day. He could stalk his prey with sure success on the second night. The first he had to use in reconnoitering. When breakfast had been eaten and Brown had finished his morning prayers, he ordered his men to lie low in the tall grass and give no sign of life until the shadows of night should again fall. They were not allowed to kindle another fire. The fires of the breakfast had been extinguished at daylight. The wind rose with the sun and the tall wild flowers swayed gracefully over the dusty figures of the men. They lay in a close group with Brown in the center leading the low-pitched conversation which at times became a debate. As the winds whispered through the moving masses of flowers, the old man would sometimes stop his talk suddenly and an ominous silence held the group. He had the strange power of thus imposing his will on the men about him. They watched the queer light in his restless eyes as he listened to the voices within. Suddenly he awaked from his reverie and began an endless denunciation of both parties in Kansas. Northern and Southern factions had become equally vile. The Southerners were always criminals. Their crime was now fully shared by the time servers, trimmers and liars in the Free State party. His eyelids suddenly closed halfway and his eyes shone two points of light as his metallic voice rang without restraint: "They're all crying peace, peace!" He paused and hissed his words through the grass. "There shall be no peace!" CHAPTER XVIII Brown lay flat on his belly the last hour of the day catching moments of fitful sleep. At sunset he lifted his small head above the grass and scanned the horizon. There might be the curling smoke of a camp in sight. A relief party might be on his trail. He breathed a sigh of satisfaction. All was well. The sun was fast sinking beneath the hills, the prey was in sight and no hand could be lifted to help. The moment the shadows closed over the ravine he rose, stretched his cramped body and turned to Thompson. "Build your fire for supper." Thompson nodded. "And give our men all they can eat." "Yes, sir." "They'll need their strength to-night." "I understand." The supper ready, Brown gathered his band around the camp fire and offered thanks to his God. The meal was eaten in silence. The tension of an imperious mind had gripped the souls of his men. They moved as if stalking game at close quarters. And they were doing this exactly. The last pot and pan had been cleaned and packed. The fire was extinguished. Brown issued his first order of the deed. "Lie down flat in the grass now." The men dropped one by one. Brown was the last. "When I give the word, see that your arms are in trim and march single file fifty yards apart and beat the brush as you go. If you come on a cabin in our path not marked in our survey, it is important. Do not pass it. Report to me immediately." There was no response. He had expected none. The order was final. The first move in the man hunt was carefully planned. The instinct to kill is the elemental force, beneath our culture, which makes the hunter. The strongest personalities of our world-conquering race of Nordic freemen are always hunters. If they do not practice the chase the fact is due to an accident of position in life. The opportunity has not been given. Beneath the skin of the man of the College, the Council Table, the Forum, the Sacred Altar, of Home, and the Church slumbers this elemental beast. Culture at best is but a few hundred years old and it has probably skipped several generations in its growth. The Archaic instinct in man to kill reaches back millions of years into the past. The only power on earth to restrain that force is Law. The rules of life, embodied in law are the painful results of experience in killing and the dire effects which follow, both to the individual and the race. Law is a force only so long as reverence for law is made the first principle of man's social training. The moment he lifts his individual will against the embodied experience of humanity, he is once more the elemental beast of the prehistoric jungle--the Hunter. And when the game is human and the hunter is a man of prayer, we have the supreme form of the beast, the ancient Witch Hunter. It is a fact that the pleasure of killing is universal in man. Our savage ancestors for millions of years had to kill to live. We have long ago outgrown this necessity in the development of civilization. But the instinct remains. We are human as we restrain this instinct and bring it under the dominion of Law. We still hunt the most delicate and beautiful animals, stalk and kill them, driven by the passionate secret pleasure of the act of murder. With bated breath and glittering eyes we press our advantage until the broken wing ceases to flutter and the splintered bone to crawl. This imperious atavism the best of us cannot or will not control in the pursuit of animals. When man has lifted his arm in defiance of Tradition and Law, this impulse is the dominant force which sweeps all else as chaff before it. John Brown was the apostle of the sternest faith ever developed in the agonies of our history. To him life had always been a horror. There was no hesitation, no halting, no quiver of maudlin pity, when he slowly rose from his grass-covered lair in the darkness and called his men at ten o'clock: "Ready!" Single file, moving silently and swiftly they crept through the night, only the sharpened swords clanking occasionally broke the silence. Their tread was soft as the claws of panthers. The leader's spirit gripped mind and body of his followers. They moved northward from the camp in the ravine and crossed the Mosquito Creek just above the home of the Doyles. Once over the creek, the hunters again spread out single file fifty yards apart. They had gone but two hundred yards when the signal to halt was whispered along the line. Owen Brown reported to his father: "There's a cabin just ahead." "We haven't charted it in our survey?" "No." "It will not do to pass it," said Brown. "They might give the alarm." "Surround it and do your duty," was the stern command. Owen called three men, cautiously approached the door and knocked. Something moved inside and a gun was suddenly rammed through a chink in the walls. The muzzle line could be seen in the flash of a star's light. The four men broke and scattered in the brush. They reported to the leader. "We want no fight with this fool. No gun play if we can avoid it. We'll take our chances and let him alone. He'll think we're a bunch of sneak thieves. I don't see how we missed this man's place. It can't be five hundred yards from the Doyles'. Back to your places and swing round his cabin." Owen quickly gave the order and the hunters passed on. The first one of the marked prey had shown teeth and claws and the hunters slipped on under the cover of the darkness to easier game. The Doyles were not armed. At least the chances were the old shotgun was not loaded, as it was used only for hunting. The hunters crouched low and circled the Doyle house, crawling through the timber and the brush. A hundred yards from the stable, a dog barked. Owen had carefully marked this dog on the day of the survey. He was merely a faithful yellow cur which Doyle had brought from Virginia. He looked about seven years old. If crossed he might put up a nasty fight. If approached with friendly word by a voice he had once heard, the rest would be easy. The signal was given to halt. The hunters paused and stood still in their tracks. Owen had taken pains to be friendly with this dog on the day of the survey. He had called him a number of times and had given him a piece of bread from his pocket. He was sure he could manage him. In a low tone he whistled and called the dog by name. He had carefully recalled it. "Jack!" He listened intently and heard the soft step of a paw rustling the leaves. The plan was working. The dog pushed his way into an open space in the brush and stopped. The hunter called softly: "Jack, old boy!" The dog wagged his tail. The man could see the movement of kindly greeting in the starlight, and ventured close. He bent low and called again: "Come on, boy!" The dog answered with a whine, wagged his tail, came close and thrust his nose against the man's arm in a welcome greeting. With his left hand the man stroked the warm, furry head, while his right slowly slipped the ugly sharpened cutlass from its scabbard. Still stroking the dog's head and softly murmuring words of endearment, he straightened his body: "Bully old dog! Fine old doggie--" The dog's eyes followed the rising form with confidence, wagging his tail in protest against his going. The hand gripped the brass hilt of the cutlass, the polished steel whizzed through the air and crashed into the yellow mass of flesh and bones. His aim was bad in the dark. He missed the dog's head and the sword split the body lengthwise. To the man's amazement a piercing howl of agony rang through the woods. He dropped his sword and gripped the quivering throat and held it in a vise of steel until the writhing body was still at last. Inside the darkened cabin, the mother stirred from an uneasy sleep. She shook her husband and listened intently. The only sound that came from without was the chirp of crickets and the distant call of a coyote from the hill across the creek. She held her breath and listened again. The man by her side slept soundly. She couldn't understand why her heart persisted in pounding. There wasn't the rustle of a leaf outside. The wind had died down with the falling night. It couldn't be more than eleven o'clock. Her husband's breathing was deep and regular. His perfect rest and the sense of strength in his warm body restored her poise. She felt the slender forms of her little girls in the trundle bed and tried to go back to sleep. It was useless. In spite of every effort her eyes refused to close. Again she was sure she had heard the dog's cry in the night. She believed that it was an ugly dream. The dawn of a beautiful Sunday morning would find all well in the little home and her faithful dog again wagging his tail at the door asking for breakfast. She listened to the beating of her foolish heart. Wide awake, she began to murmur a prayer of thanks to God for all His goodness and mercy in the new home He had given. As Owen's hands slowly relaxed from the throat of the lifeless body he seized a handful of leaves and wiped the blood from the blade and replaced it in the scabbard. He rose quickly and gave the signal to advance. Again crouching low, moving with the soft tread of beasts of prey, the hunters closed in on the settler's home. The keen ears of the mother, still wide awake, caught the crunch of feet on the gravel of the walk. With a heart pounding again in alarm she raised her head and listened. From the other side of the house came the rustle of leaves stirred by another swiftly approaching footstep. It was so still she could hear her own heart beat again. There could be no mistake about it this time. She gripped her husband's arm: "John!" He moaned drowsily. "John--John--" "What's matter?" he murmured without lifting his head from the pillow. "Get up quick!" "What for?" he groaned. "There's somebody around the house." "Na." "I tell you--yes!" "Hit's the dawgs." "I heard a man's step on the path, I tell you." "Yer dreamin', ole woman--" "I'm not, I tell ye." "Go back to sleep." The man settled again and breathed deeply. The woman remained on her elbow, listening with every nerve strained in agony. Again she heard a step on the gravel. This time another footfall joined the first. She gripped her husband's shoulders and shook him violently. "John, John!" she whispered. He had half roused himself this time, shocked into consciousness by her trembling grip on his shoulders. But above all by the tremor in her whispered call. "What is it, Mahala?" "For God's sake, get up quick and call the boys down outen the loft." "No!" he growled. "I tell you, there's somebody outside--" They were both sitting on the edge of the bed now, speaking in whispers. "You're dreamin', ole 'oman," he persisted. "I heard 'em. There's more'n one. I heard some on the other side of the house. I heard two in front. Call the boys down--" "Don't wake the boys up fer nothin--" "Is yer gun loaded?" "No." "Oh, my God." "I ain't got no powder. I don't kill game in the springtime." They both listened. All was still. They could hear the breathing of the little girls in the trundle bed. The crunch of feet suddenly came to the doorstep. The woman's hand gripped her husband's arm in terror. He heard it now. "That's funny," he mused. "Call the boys!" the mother pleaded. "_Wait_ till we find out what it is--" A firm knock on the door echoed through the darkened room. "God save us!" the woman breathed. Doyle rose and quietly walked to the door. "What is it?" he called in friendly tones. "We're lost in the woods," a voice answered. His wife had followed and gripped his arm. "Don't open that door." "Wait, Mother--" "We're trying to find the way to Mr. Wilkinson's--can you tell us?" "Sure I can." He moved to open the door. Again his wife held him. "Don't do it!" Doyle brushed her aside. "Don't be foolish, Mahala," he protested indignantly. "I'm a poor sort o' man if I can't tell a lost traveler the way out of the woods." "They're lyin'!" "We'll see." He raised the latch and six men crashed their way through the door. John Brown led the assault. He held a dim lantern in his hand which he lifted above his head, as he surveyed the room. He kept his own face in shadow. With a smothered cry, the mother backed against the trundle bed instinctively covering the sleeping figures of the girls. Brown pointed a cocked revolver at Doyle's breast and said in cold tones: "Call those three boys down." Doyle hesitated. Brown's eye glanced down the barrel of his revolver: "Quick!" The man saw he had no chance. He mounted the ladder, the revolver following him. The mother's terror-stricken eyes saw that each man was armed with two revolvers, a bowie knife and cutlass. "Don't you scare 'em," Brown warned. "I won't." "Tell 'em to come down and show us the way to Wilkinson's." "Boys!" the father called. There was no answer at first, and the father wondered if they had heard and gotten weapons of some kind. He hoped not. It would be a useless horror to try to defend themselves before a mother's eyes, and those little girls screaming beside her. He hastened to call a second time and reassure their fears. "Boys!" William, the older one, answered drowsily: "Yessir--" "Come down, all of you. Some travelers are here who've lost the way. They want you to help them get to Mr. Wilkinson's." "All right, sir." The boys hastily slipped on their trousers and shoes. "Tell 'em to hurry," Brown ordered. "Jest slip on yer shoes and britches," Doyle called. The Surveyor held the lantern behind his body until the three sons had come down the ladder and he saw that they were unarmed. He stepped to the fireplace, took the shotgun from the rack and handed it to Weiner. The boys, startled at the group of stern armed men, instinctively moved toward their father, dazed by the assault. Brown faced the group. "You four men are my prisoners." The mother left the trundle bed and faced the leader. "Who are you?" Brown dropped his lantern, fixed her with his eyes. "I am the leader of the Northern Army." "What are you doing here to-night?" "I have come on a divine mission." "Who sent you?" "The Lord of Hosts in a Vision--" "What are you going to do?" "The will of God." "What are you going to do?" she fairly screamed in his face. "That is not for your ears, woman," was the stern answer. "I have important business with Southern settlers on the Pottawattomie to-night." The woman's intuition saw in a flash the hideous tragedy. With a cry of anguish she threw her arms around her husband's neck, sobbing. "Oh, John, John, my man, I told ye not to talk--but ye would tell folks what ye believed. Why couldn't ye be still? Oh, my God, my God, it's come to this!" The man soothed her with tender touch. "Hush, Mother, hush. You mustn't take on." "I can't help it--I just can't. God have mercy on my poor lost soul--" She paused and looked at her boys. With a scream she threw herself first on one and then on the other. "Oh, my big fine boy! I can't let you go! Where is God to-night? Is He dead? Has He forgotten me?" The father drew her away and shook her sternly. "Hush, Mother, hush! Yer can't show the white feather like this!" "I can't help it. I can't give up my boys!" She paused and looked at Doyle. "And I can't give you up, my man--I just can't!" "Don't, don't--" the husband commanded. "We've got to be men now." She fought hard to control her tears. The little girls began to sob. She rushed to the trundle bed and soothed them. "Keep still, babies. They won't hurt you. Keep still!" The children choked into silence and she leaped toward Brown and tried to seize his hand. He repulsed her and she went on frantically. "Please, for God's sake, man, have mercy on a wife and mother, if you ain't got no pity in your heart for my men! Surely you have women home. Their hearts can break like mine. My man's only been talkin' as politicians talk. It was nothing. Surely it's no crime." Brown drew a notebook from his pocket and held it up. "I have the record in this book of your husband's words against the men of our party, Madame. He stands convicted of murder in his heart. His sons are not of age. Their opinions are his." For a moment the mother forgot her pleading and shrieked her defiance into the stern face before her. "And who made you a judge o' life and death for my man and my sons? I bore these boys of the pains of my body. God gave them to me. They are mine, not yours!" Brown brushed her aside. "That's enough from you. Those men are my prisoners. Bring them on!" He moved toward the door and the guards with drawn swords closed in on the group. The mother leaped forward and barred the way to the door. She faced Brown with blanched face. Her breath came in short gasps. She fought desperately for control of her voice, failed to make a sound, staggered to the old man, grasped blindly his body and sank to her knees at his feet. At last she managed to gasp: "Just one of my boys--then--my baby boy! He's a big boy--but look at his smooth face--he ain't but fourteen years old. Hit don't seem but yistiday that he wuz just a laughin' baby in my arms! And I've always been that proud of him. He's smart. He's always been smart--and God forgive me--I've loved him better'n all the others--hit--wuzn't--right-- fer--a--mother--to--love one of her--children--more--than--the--others-- but I couldn't help it! If ye'll just spare him--hit's all I'll ask ye now"--her voice sank into a sob as her face touched the floor. The dark figure above her did not move and she lifted her head with desperate courage. "I'll be all alone here--a broken-hearted woman with two little gals and nobody to help me--or work fer me--ef you'll just spare my baby boy--" She sprang to her feet and threw her arms around the youngest boy's neck. "Oh, my baby, my baby, I can't let ye go--I can't--I can't!" She lifted her tear-streaming eyes to the dark face again. "Please, please, for the love of God--you--say--you--believe--in--God--leave me this one!" Brown moved his head in a moment's uncertainty. He turned to Owen. "Leave him and come on with the others." With a desperate cry, the mother closed her eyes and clung to the boy. She dared not lift them in prayer for the others as they passed out into the night. The armed men had seized her husband and her two older sons, William and Drury, and hustled them through the door. The mother drew the boy back on the trundle bed and held him in her arms. The little girls crouched close and began to sob. "Hush--don't make a noise. They won't hurt you. I want to hear what they do--maybe--" The mother stopped short, fascinated by the horror of the tragedy she knew would take place outside her door. The darkness gave no token of its progress. A cricket was chirping in the chimney just awakened by the noise. She held her breath and listened. Not a sound. The silence was unbearable. She sprang to her feet in a moment's fierce rebellion against the crime of such an infamous attack. A roused lioness, she leaped to the mantel to seize the shotgun. John followed and caught her. "The gun's gone, Ma," he cried. "Yes, yes, I forgot," she gasped. "They took it, the damned fiends!" "Ma, Ma, be still!" the boy pleaded. He was horror-stricken at the oath from her lips. In all his life he had never heard her use a vulgar word. "Yes, of course," she faltered. "I mustn't try to do anything. They might come back and kill you--my baby boy!" She pressed him again to her heart and held him. She strained her ears for the first signal of the deed the darkness shrouded. The huntsmen dragged the father and two sons but a hundred and fifty yards from the door and halted beside the road. Brown faced the father in the dim starlight. "You are a Southern white man?" "I am, sir." "You are pro-Slavery?" "I hate the sight and sound of a slave." "But you believe in the institution?" "I hate it, I tell you." Brown paused as if his brain had received a shock. The answer had been utterly unexpected. The man was in earnest. He meant what he said. And he was conscious of the solemnity of the trial on which his life hung. Brown came back to his cross examination, determined to convict him on the grounds he had fixed beforehand. "What do you mean when you say that you hate the institution of Slavery?" "Exactly what I say." "You do not believe in owning slaves?" "I do not." "Did you ever own one?" "No!" "And you never expect to own one?" "Never." "Why did you rush into this Territory among the first to cross the border?" "I come West to get away from niggers, and bring my children up in a white man's country." Quick as a flash came the crucial question from lips that had never smiled. It was the triumphant scream of an eagle poised to strike. He had him at last. "Then you don't believe the negro to be your brother and your equal--do you?" The poor white man's body suddenly stiffened and his chin rose: "No, by God, I don't believe that!" John Brown lifted his hand in a quick signal and Owen stepped stealthily behind Doyle. The sharpened cutlass whistled through the air and crashed into Doyle's skull. His helpless hands were lifted instinctively as he staggered. The swift descending blade split the right hand open and severed the left from the body before he crumpled in a heap on the ground. The assassin placed his knee on the prostrate figure and plunged his knife three times in the breast,--once through the heart and once through each lung. He had learned the art in butchering cattle. Fifty yards away the mangled bodies of William and Drury Doyle lay on the ground with the dim figure of the assassin bending low to make sure that no sign of life remained. John Brown raised the wick of his lantern and walked coolly up to the body of the elder Doyle. He flashed the lantern on the distorted features. A look of religious ecstasy swept the stern face of the Puritan and his eyes glittered with an unearthly glare. He uttered a sound that was half a laugh and half a religious shout, snatched his pistol from his belt, placed the muzzle within an inch of the dead skull and fired. The brains of the corpse splashed the muzzle of the revolver. The trembling mother inside the cabin uttered a low cry of horror and crumpled in the arms of her son. The boy dragged her to the bed and rushed to the kitchen for a cup of water. He dashed it in her face and cried for joy when she breathed again. He didn't mind the moans and sobs. The thought that she, too, might be dead had stopped his very heartbeat. He soothed her at last and sat holding her hand in the dark. The girls nestled against her side. The mother gave no sign that she was conscious of their presence. Her spirit was outside the cabin now, hovering in the darkness mourning her dead. Through the dread hours of the night she sat motionless, listening, dreaming. No sounds came from the darkness. The coyote had ceased to call. The cricket in the chimney slept at last. CHAPTER XIX The dark figures secured the horses, bridles and saddles and moved to the next appointed crime. The stolen horses were put in charge of the two sons, who had refused to take part in the events of the night. They were ordered to follow the huntsmen carefully. Again they crept through the night and approached the home of Wilkinson, the member of the Legislature from the County. Brown had carefully surveyed his place and felt sure of a successful attack unless the house should be alarmed by a surly dog which no member of his surveying party had been able to approach. When they arrived within two hundred yards of the gate, it was one o'clock. Brown carefully watched the house for ten minutes to see that no light gleamed through a window or a chink. The wife had been sick with the measles when the survey was made. There was no sign of a light. Salmon and Owen Brown were sent by the men on a protest to Brown. Salmon was spokesman. "We've got something to say to you, Father, before we take out Wilkinson--" "Well?" the old man growled. "You gave every man strict orders to fire no guns or revolver unless necessary--didn't you?" "I did." "You fired the only shot heard to-night." "I'll not do it again. I didn't intend to. I don't know why I did it. Stick to my order." "See that _you_ stick to it," the boy persisted. "I will. Use only your knives and cutlasses. The cutlass first always." The men began to move slowly forward. Brown called softly. "Just a minute. This dog of Wilkinson's is sure to bark. Don't stop to try to kill him. Rush the house double quick and pay no attention to his barking--" "If he bites?" Owen asked. "Take a chance, don't try to kill him--Wilkinson might wake. Now, all together--rush the house!" They rushed the house at two hundred yards. They had taken but ten steps when the dog barked so furiously Brown called a halt. They waited. Then, minutes later the dog raged, approaching the house and retreating. His wild cry of alarm rang with sinister echo through the woods. The faithful brute was calling his master and mistress to arms. Still the man inside slept. The Territory of Kansas to this time had been as free from crime as any state on its border. The lawmaker had never felt a moment's uneasiness. Footsteps approached the door. The sick woman saw the shadow of a man pass the window. The starlight sharply silhouetted his face against the black background. Some one knocked on the door. The woman asked: "Who's that?" No one answered. "Henry, Henry!" she called tensely. "Well?" the husband answered. "There's somebody knocking at the door." Wilkinson half raised in bed. "Who is that?" A voice replied: "We've lost the road. We want you to tell us the way to Dutch Henry's." Wilkinson began to call the directions. "We can't understand--" "You can't miss the way." "Come out and show us!" The request was given in tones so sharp there could be no mistake. It was a command not a plea. "I'll have to go and tell them," he said to his wife. "For God's sake, don't open that door," she whispered. "It's best." She seized and held him. "You shall not go!" Wilkinson sought to temporize. "I'm not dressed," he called. "I can tell you the way as well without going outdoors." The men stepped back from the door and held a consultation. John Brown at once returned and began his catechism: "You are Wilkinson, the Member of the Legislature?" "I am, sir." "You are opposed to the Free Soil Party?" "I am." The answers were sharp to the point of curtness and his daring roused the wrath of Brown to instant action. "You're my prisoner, sir." He waited an instant for an answer and, getting none, asked: "Do you surrender?" "Gentlemen, I do." "Open the door!" "In just a minute." "Open it--" "When I've made a light." "We've got a light. Open that door or we'll smash it!" Again the sick woman caught his arm. "Don't do it!" "It's better not to resist," he answered, opening the door. Brown held the lantern in his face. "Put on your clothes." Wilkinson began to dress. The men covered him with drawn revolvers. The sick woman sank limply on the edge of the bed. "Are there any more men in this house?" Brown asked sharply. "No." "Have you any arms?" "Only a quail gun." "Search the place." The guard searched the rooms, ransacking drawers and chests. They took everything of value they could find, including the shotgun and powder flask. The sick woman at length recovered her power of speech and turned to Brown. "If you've arrested my husband for anything, he's a law-abiding man. You can let him stay here with me until morning." "No!" Brown growled. "I'm sick and helpless. I can't stay here by myself." "Let me stay with my wife, gentlemen," Wilkinson pleaded, "until I can get some one to wait on her and I'll remain on parole until you return or I'll meet you anywhere you say." Brown looked at the woman and at the little children trembling by her side and curtly answered: "You have neighbors." "So I have," Wilkinson agreed, "but they are not here and I cannot go for them unless you allow me." "It matters not," Brown snapped. "Get ready, sir." Wilkinson took up his boots to pull them on when Brown signaled his men to drag him out. Without further words they seized him and hurried into the darkness. They dragged him a few yards from the house into a clump of dead brush. Weiner was the chosen headsman. He swung his big savage figure before Wilkinson and his cutlass flashed in the starlight. The woman inside the darkened house heard the crash of the blade against the skull and the dying groan from the lips of the father of her babies. When the body crumpled, Weiner knelt, plunged his knife into the throat, turned it and severed the jugular vein. Standing over the body John Brown spoke to one of his men. "The horses, saddles and bridles from the stable--quick!" The huntsman hurried to the stable and took Wilkinson's horse. It was two o'clock before they reached the home of James Harris on the other side of the Pottawattomie. Harris lived on the highway and kept a rude frontier boarding place where travelers stopped for the night. With him lived Dutch Henry Sherman and his brother, William. Brown had no difficulty in entering this humble one-room house. It was never locked. The latch string was outside. Without knocking Brown lifted the latch and sprang into the room with his son, Owen, and another armed huntsman. He surveyed the room. In one bed lay Harris, his wife and child. In two other beds were three men, William Sherman, John Whitman and a stranger who had stopped for the night and had given no name. "You are our prisoners," Brown announced. "It is useless for you to resist." The old man stood by one bed with drawn saber and Owen stood by the other while Weiner searched the room. He found two rifles and a bowie knife which he passed through the door to the guard outside. Brown ordered the stranger out first. He kept him but a few minutes and brought him back. He next ordered Harris to follow him. Brown confronted his prisoner in the yard. A swordsman stood close by his side to catch his nod. "Where is Dutch Henry Sherman?" "On the plains hunting for lost cattle." "You are telling me the truth?" Brown asked, boring him through with his terrible eyes. "The truth, sir!" He studied Harris by the light of his lantern. "Have you ever helped a Southern settler to enter the Territory of Kansas?" "No." "Did you take any hand in the troubles at Lawrence?" "I've never been to Lawrence." "Have you ever done the Free State Party any harm?" "No. I don't take no part in politics." "Have you ever intended to do that party any harm?" "I don't know nothin' about politics or parties." "What are you doing living here among these Southern settlers?" "Because I can get better wages." "Any horses, bridles, or saddles?" "I've one horse." "Saddle him and bring him here." A swordsman walked by his side while he caught and saddled his horse and delivered him to his captors. Brown went back into the house and brought out William Sherman. Harris was ordered back to bed, and a new guard was placed inside until the ceremony with Sherman should be ended. It was brief. Brown had no questions to ask this man. He was the brother of Henry Sherman, the most hated member of the settlement. Brown called Thompson and Weiner and spoke in tones of quick command. "Take him down to the Pottawattomie Creek. I want this man's blood to mingle with its waters and flow to the sea!" The doomed man did not hear the sentence of his judge. The two huntsmen caught his arms and rushed him to the banks of the creek. He stood for a moment trembling and dazed. Not a word had passed his lips. Not one had passed his guards. They loosed their grip on his arms, stepped back and two cutlasses whistled through the air in a single stroke. The double blow was so swiftly and evenly delivered that the body stood erect until the second stroke of the sharpened blades had cut off one hand and split open the breast. When the body fell at the feet of the huntsmen they seized the quivering limbs and hurled them into the creek. They reported at once to their Captain. He stood in front of the house with his restless gaze sweeping the highway for any possible, belated traveler. The one hope uppermost in his mind was that Dutch Henry Sherman might return with his lost cattle in time. He raised his lantern and looked at his watch. The men who had butchered William Sherman stood with red swords for orders. Brown had not yet uttered a word. He knew that the work on the bank of the Pottawattomie was done. The attitude of his swordsmen was sufficient. He asked but one question. "You threw him into the water?" "Yes." "Good." He closed his silver watch with a snap. "It's nearly four o'clock. We have no more time for work to-night. Back to camp." The men turned to repeat his orders. "Wait!" His order rang like vibrant metal. The men stopped. "We'll mount the horses we have taken, and march single file. I'll ride the horse taken here. Bring him to the door." With quick springing step Brown entered the house where the husband and wife and the two lodgers were still shivering under the eye of the guard with drawn sword. The leader's voice rang with a note of triumph. "You people whose lives have been spared will stay in this house until sunrise. And the less you say about what's happened to-night the longer you'll live." He turned to his guard. "Come on." Brown had just mounted his horse to lead the procession back to the camp in the ravine, when the first peal of thunder in a spring shower crashed overhead. He glanced up and saw that the sky was being rapidly overcast by swiftly moving clouds. A few stars still glimmered directly above. The storm without was an incident of slight importance. The rain would give him a chance to test the men inside. He ordered his followers to take refuge in the long shed under which Harris stabled the horses and vehicles of travelers. He stationed a sentinel at the door of the house. His orders were clear. "Cut down in his tracks without a word, the man who dares to come out." The swordsman threw a saddle blanket around his shoulders and took his place at the doorway. The storm broke in fury. In five minutes the heavens were a sea of flame. The thunder rolled over the ravine, the hills, the plains in deafening peals. Flash after flash, roar after roar, an endless throb of earth and air from the titanic bombardment from the skies. The flaming sky was sublime--a changing, flashing, trembling splendor. Townsley was the only coward in the group of stolid figures standing under the shed. He watched by the lightning the expression of Brown's face with awe. There was something terrible in the joy that flamed in his eyes. Never had he seen such a look on human face. He forgot the storm and forgot his fears of cyclones and lightning strokes in the fascination with which he watched the seamed, weather-beaten features of the man who had just committed the foulest deed in the annals of American frontier life. There was in his shifting eyes no shadow of doubt, of fear, of uncertainty. There was only the look of satisfaction, of supreme triumph. The coward caught the spark of red that flashed from his soul. For a moment he regretted that he had not joined the bloody work with his own hand. He was ashamed of his pity for the stark masses of flesh that still lay on the deluged earth. In spite of the contagion of Brown's mind which he felt pulling him with resistless power, his own weaker intellect kept playing pranks with his memory. He recalled the position of the bodies which they had left in the darkness. He had seen them by the light of the lantern which Brown had flashed each time before leaving. He remembered with a shiver that the two Doyle boys had died with their big soft blue eyes wide open, staring upward at the starlit skies. He wondered if the rain had beaten their eyelids down. A blinding flash filled the sky and lighted every nook and corner of the woods and fields. He shook at its glare and put his hand over his eyes. For a moment he could see nothing but the wide staring gaze upward of those stalwart young bodies. He shivered and turned away from the leader. The next moment found him again watching the look of victory on the terrible face. As the lightning played about Brown's form he wondered at the impression of age he gave with his face turned away and his figure motionless. He was barely fifty-seven and yet he looked seventy-five, until he moved. The moment his wiry body moved there was something uncanny in the impression he gave of a wild animal caught in human form. Brown had tired waiting for the shower to pass and had begun to pace back and forth with his swinging, springy step. When he passed, Townsley instinctively drew aside. He knew that he was a coward and yet he couldn't feel the consciousness of cowardice in giving this man room. It was common sense. The storm passed as swiftly as it came. Without a word the leader gave the signal. His men mounted the stolen horses. With Townsley's grays and Weiner's pony the huntsmen returned to the camp in the ravine, a procession of cavalry. The eastern sky was whitening with the first touch of the coming sun when they dismounted. The leader ordered the fire built and a hearty breakfast cooked for each man. As was his custom he wandered from the camp alone, his arms gripped behind his stooped back. He climbed the hill, stood on its crest and watched the prairie. The storm had passed from west to east. On the eastern horizon a low fringe of clouds was still slowly moving. They lay in long ribbons of dazzling light. The sun's rays flashed through them every color of the rainbow. Now they were a deep purple, growing brighter with each moment, until every flower in the waving fields was touched with its glory. The purple melted into orange; the waving fields were set with dazzling buttercups; the buttercups became poppies. And then the mounting sun kissed the clouds again. They blushed scarlet, and the fields were red. The grim face gave no sign that he saw the glory and beauty of a wonderful Sabbath morning. His figure was rigid. His eyes set. A sweet odor seemed to come from the scarlet rays of the sun. The man lifted his head in surprise to find the direction from which the perfume came. He looked at the ground and saw that he was standing in a bed of ripening wild strawberries. He turned from the sunrise, stooped and ate the fruit. He was ravenously hungry. His hunger satisfied, he walked deliberately back to camp as the white light of day flooded the clean fields and woods. He called his men about the fire and searched for marks of the night's work. As the full rim of the sun crept over the eastern hills and its first rays quivered on the surface of the water, the huntsmen knelt by the bank of the Pottawattomie and washed the stains from their swords, hands and clothes. Breakfast finished, the leader divided among his headsmen the goods stolen from his victims and called his men to Sunday prayers. With folded hands and head erect in the attitude of victory he read from memory a passage from the old Hebrew prophet, singing in triumph over the enemies of the Lord. From the scripture recitation, given in tones so cold and impersonal that they made Townsley shiver, his voice drifted into prayer: "We thank thee, oh, Lord, God of Hosts, for the glorious victory Thou hast given us this night over Thy enemies. We have heard Thy voice. We have obeyed Thy commands. The wicked have been laid low. And Thy glory shines throughout the world on this beautiful Sabbath morning. Make strong, oh, God, the arms of Thy children for the work that is yet before them. Thou art a jealous God. Thou dost rejoice always in blood offerings on Thy altars. We have this night brought to Thee and laid before Thy face the five offerings which the sins of man have demanded. May this blood seem good in Thy sight, oh, God, as it is glorious in the eyes of Thy servant whom Thou hast anointed to do Thy will. May it be as seed sown in good ground. May it bring forth a harvest whose red glory shall cover the earth, even as the rays of the sun have baptized our skies this morning. We wait the coming of Thy Kingdom, oh, Lord, God of Hosts. Speed the day we humbly pray. Amen." Townsley's eyes had gradually opened at the tones of weird, religious ecstasy with which the last sentences of the prayer were spoken. He was staring at Brown's face. It was radiant with a strange joy. He had not smiled; but he was happy for a moment. His happiness was so unusual, so sharply in contrast with his habitual mood, the sight of it chilled Townsley's soul. CHAPTER XX Stuart succeeded in securing from Colonel Sumner a leave of absence of two weeks to visit Fort Riley. The Colonel suspected the truth and teased the gallant youngster until he confessed. He handed Stuart the order with a hearty laugh. "It's all right, my boy. I've been young myself. Good luck." Stuart's laughter rang clear and hearty. "Thank you, Colonel. You had me scared." He had just turned to leave the room when a messenger handed Sumner a telegram. Stuart paused to hear the message. "Bad news, Lieutenant." "What, sir?" "An attack has been made on the Southern settlement on the Pottawattomie." "A drunken fight--" "No. Wilkinson, the member of the Legislature from Miami County, was taken from his house in the night and murdered." "The story's a fake," Stuart ventured. "The man who sent this message doesn't make such mistakes." He paused and studied the telegram. "No. This means the beginning of a blood feud. The time's ripe for it." "We'll have better news to-morrow," Stuart hoped. "We'll have worse. I've been looking for something like this since the day I heard old Brown harangue a mob at Lawrence." He stopped short. "You'll have to give me back that order, my boy." Stuart's face fell. "Colonel, I've just got to see that girl, if it's only for a day--" He slowly handed the order back to the Commandant. Sumner watched the red blood mount to Stuart's face with a look of sympathy. "Is it as bad as that, boy?" "It couldn't be worse, sir," Stuart admitted in low tones. "I'm a goner." "All right. You've no time to lose, I'll give you three days--" "Thank you!" "This regiment will be on the march before a week has passed or I miss my guess." "I'll be here, sir!" was the quick response. Stuart grasped the leave of absence and hurried out before another messenger could arrive. He reached Fort Riley the following day and had but twenty-four hours in which to crowd the most important event of his life. He paced the floor in Colonel Cooke's reception room awaiting Flora's appearance with eager impatience. What on earth could be keeping her? He asked himself the question fifty times and looked at his watch a dozen times before he heard the rustle of organdy on the stairs. A vision of radiant youth! She had taken time to make her beauty still more radiant with the daintiest touches to her blonde hair. The simple dress she wore was a poem. The young cavalier was stunned anew. There was no doubt about the welcome in her smile and voice. It thrilled him to his fingertips. He held her hand until she drew it away with a little self-conscious laugh that was confusing to Stuart's plan of direct action. There was a touch of the Southern girl's conscious poise and coquetry in the laugh. There was something aloof in it that meant trouble. He felt it with positive terror. He didn't have time to fence for position. He was in no mood for a flirtation. He had come to speak the deep things. She led him to a seat with an air of dignity and reserve that alarmed him still more. He had taken too much for granted perhaps. There might be another man. Conceited fool! He hadn't thought it possible. Her manner had been so frank, so utterly sincere. She sat by his side smiling at him in the bewitching way so many pretty girls had done before, when they merely wished to play with love. He spoke in commonplaces and studied her with increasing panic. Her tactics baffled him. Until at last he believed he had solved the riddle! She had suddenly waked to the fact, as he had, that she had met her fate. She was drawing back for a moment in fright at the seriousness of surrender. "Yes, that's it!" he murmured half aloud. "What did you say?" she asked archly. And his heart sank again. She asked the question with a tone of teasing that made him blush in spite of himself. With sudden resolution he decided to make the plunge. He seized her hand and spoke with a queer hitch of awkwardness in his voice. "Miss Flora, I've just twenty-four hours to be here. Every one of them is precious. I want to make them count. Don't you know that I love you?" The little mouth twitched with a smile. "I've heard that you're very fickle, Mr. Jeb Stuart. Isn't this all very, very sudden, to be so serious?" She was still smiling and her eyes were twinkling, but her hand was not trembling. She was complete mistress of her emotions. Stuart felt his heart pounding. He couldn't keep his hand from trembling, nor his voice from quivering slightly. "I know I've been a little quick on the trigger, Miss Flora. But it came to me in a flash, the moment I saw you. I've had a good time with pretty girls--yes. But I never felt that way when I met one of the others. And now I'm stammering and trembling and I don't know how to talk to you. I can't rattle on like I've done so many times. You--you've got me, dear honey girl, for life, if you want me--please--be good to me." She laughed a joyous, girlish peal that disconcerted him completely. "My daddy's been warning me against you, sir!" Stuart suddenly caught a note in her laughter that gave him courage. She was not laughing at him but with him. "He did not," he protested solemnly. "Colonel Cooke was just as nice to me as he could be--" "Certainly. He's an Old Virginia gentleman. Behind your back he told me confidentially what he thought of you." "All right. I dare you to cross your heart and tell me what he said." "Dare me?" "Dee double dare you." "He said that you're a sad product of Sir Walter Scott's novels, a singing, rollicking, flirting, lazy young cavalier." "Didn't say lazy." "No." "I thought not." "I added that for good measure." "I thought so." "And he warned me that there might be a streak of the old Stuart purple blood in your veins that might make you silly for life--" "Didn't say silly." "No, I added that, too." Stuart again seized the hand she had deftly withdrawn. He pressed it tenderly and sought the depths of her blue eyes. "Ah, honey girl," he cried passionately, "don't tease me any more, please! I've got to leave you in a few hours. My regiment is going to march. It may be a serious business. You're a brave soldier's daughter and you're going to be a soldier's bride." The girl's lips quivered for the first time and her voice trembled the slightest bit as she fought for self-control. "I'll never marry a soldier." "You will!" "My daddy's never at home. I promised my mother never to look at a soldier." "You're looking at me, dear heart!" She turned quickly. "I won't--" Stuart drew her suddenly into his arms and kissed her. "I love you, Flora! And you're mine." She looked into his eyes, smiled, slipped both arms around his neck and kissed him. "And I love you, my foolish, singing, laughing boy!" "Always?" "Always." "And you'll marry me?" "You couldn't get away from me if you tried." She drew him down and kissed him again. "The shadow will always be in my heart, dear soldier man. The shadow of the day I shall lose you! But it's life. I'll face it with a smile." Through the long, sweet hours of the day and deep into the night they held each other's hand, and talked and laughed and dreamed and planned. What mattered the shadow that was slowly moving across the sunlit earth? It _was_ the morning of life! CHAPTER XXI The eight men engaged in the remarkable enterprise on the Pottawattomie, led by their indomitable Captain, mounted their stolen horses and boldly rode to the camp of the military company commanded by John Brown, Jr. The father planned to make his stand behind these guns if pursued by formidable foes. Brown reached the camp of the Rifles near Ottawa Jones' farm at midnight. The fires still burned brightly. To his surprise he found that the news of the murders had traveled faster than the stolen horses. The camp was demoralized. John Brown, Jr., had been forced to resign as Captain and H. H. Williams had been elected in his stead. The reception which the County was giving his inspired deed stunned the leader. He had expected a reign of terror. But the terror had seized his own people. He was compelled to lie and deny his guilt except to his own flesh and blood. Even before his sons he was arraigned with fierce condemnation. On the outer edge of the panic-stricken camp his sons, Jason and John, Jr., faced him with trembling and horror in their voices. Jason had denounced the first hint of the plan when the surveyor's scheme was broached. John, Jr. had refused to move a step on the expedition. The two sons confronted their father with determined questions. He shifted and evaded the issue. Jason squared himself and demanded: "Did you kill those men?" "I did not," was the sharp answer. The son held his shifting eye by the glare of the camp fire. "Did you have _anything_ to do with the killing of those men?" To his own he would not lie longer. It wasn't necessary. His reply was quick and unequivocal. "I did not do it. But I approved it." "It was the work of a beast." "You cannot speak to me like that, sir!" the old man growled. "And why not?" "I am your father, sir!" "That's why I tell you to your face that you have disgraced every child who bears your name--now--and for all time. What right had you to put this curse upon me? The devils in hell would blush to do what you have done!" The father lifted his hand as if to ward a blow and bored his son through with a steady stare. "God is my judge--not you, sir!" John Brown, Jr., sided with his brother in the attack but with less violence. His feebler mind was already trembling on the verge of collapse. "It cuts me to the quick," the old man finally answered, "that my own people should not understand that I had to make an example of these men--" Jason finally shrieked into his ears: "Who gave you the authority of Almighty God to sit in judgment upon your fellow man, condemn him without trial and slay without mercy?" The father threw up both hands in a gesture of disgust and walked from the scene. He spent the night without sleep, wandering through the woods and fields. Three days later while Brown and his huntsmen were still hiding in the timber, the people of his own settlement at Osawatomie held a public meeting which was attended by the entire male population. They unanimously adopted resolutions condemning in the bitterest terms the deed. When the old man heard of these resolutions he ground his teeth in rage. He had thought to sweep the Territory with a Holy War in a Sacred Cause. He expected the men who hated Slavery to applaud his Blood Offering to the God of Freedom. Instead they had hastened to array themselves with his foes. Something had gone wrong in the execution of his divine vision. His mind was stunned for the moment. But he was wrestling again with God in prayer, while the avengers were riding to demand an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. When the true history of man is written it will be the record of mind not the story of the physical acts which follow the mental process. The dangers of society are psychological, not physical. The crucial moments of human history are not found in the hours in which armies charge. They are found in the still small voices that whisper in the silence of the night to a lone watcher by the fireside. They are found in the words of will that follow hours of silent thought behind locked doors or under the stars. The story of man's progress, his relapses to barbarism, his victories, his failures, his years of savage cruelties, his eras of happiness and sorrow, must be written at last in terms of mental states. John Brown's mind had conceived and executed the series of murders that shocked even a Western frontier. His mind enacted the tragedy days before the actual happening. And it was the state of mind created by the deed that upset all his calculations. The reaction was overwhelming. He was correct in his faith that a blood feud once raised, all appeal to reason and common sense, all appeal to law, order, tradition, religion would be vain babble. But he had failed to gauge the moral sense of his own party. They had not yet accepted the theory which he held with such passionate conviction. Brown's moral code was summed up in one passage from the Bible which he quoted and brooded over daily: "WITHOUT THE SHEDDING OF BLOOD THERE IS NO REMISSION OF SINS." But he had made a mistake in the spot chosen for rousing the Blood Feud. Men had instantly seen red. They sprang to their arms. They leaped as tigers leap on their prey. But his own people were the prey. He had miscalculated the conditions of frontier life, though he had not yet realized it. His stubborn, restless mind clung to the idea that the stark horror of the crimes which he had committed in the name of Liberty would call at last all men who stood for Freedom. He held his armed band in camp under the sternest discipline to await this call of the blood. The Southern avengers who swarmed across the Missouri border into the region of Osawatomie accepted Brown's standards of justice and mercy without question. A few men of education among them were the only restraining influence. Through these exciting days the old man would show himself at daylight in different places removed from his camp in the woods. While squadrons of avengers were scouring the ravines, the river bottoms and the tangled underbrush, he was lying quietly on his arms. Sometimes his pursuers camped within hearing and got their water from the same spring. With all his indomitable courage he was unable to rally sufficient men to afford protection to his people. He was a fugitive from justice with a price on his head. Yet, armed and surrounded by a small band of faithful followers, he led a charmed life. His deed on the Pottawattomie made murder the chief sport of the unhappy Territory. The life of the frontier was reduced to anarchy. Outrages became so common it was impossible to record them. Murder was a daily incident. Many of them passed in secret. Many were not revealed for days and weeks after they had been committed--then, only by the discovery of the moldering remains of the dead. Two men were found hanging on a tree near Westport. They were ill-fated Free State partisans who had fallen by the hand of the avengers. The troops buried them in a grave so shallow that the prairie wolves had half devoured them before they were again found and re-buried. The Free Soil men organized guerrilla bands for retaliation. John E. Cook, a daring young adventurer, the brother-in-law of Governor Willard of Indiana, early distinguished himself in this work. He put himself at the head of a group of twenty young "Cavalry Scouts" who ranged the country, asking no quarter and giving none. A squadron of avengers invaded Brown's settlement at Osawatomie, sacked and partly destroyed it, and killed his son, Frederick, whose mind had been in a state of collapse since the night of the murders on the Pottawattomie. John Brown rallied a group of sympathizers and fought a pitched battle with the invaders but was defeated with bloody losses and compelled to retreat. He was followed by Deputy United States Marshal, Henry C. Pate. Brown turned and boldly attacked Pate's camp and another battle ensued. The Deputy Marshal, wishing to avoid useless bloodshed, sent out a flag of truce and asked an interview with the guerrilla commander. Brown answered promptly, advanced and sent for Pate. Pate, trusting the flag of truce, approached the old man. "I am addressing the Captain in command?" Pate asked. "You are, sir." "Then let me announce that I am a Deputy United States Marshal." "And why are you fighting us?" "I have no desire for bloodshed, sir. I am acting under the orders of the Marshal of the Territory." "And what does the Marshal demand?" "The arrest of the men for whom I have warrants." Pate had never seen John Brown and had no idea that he was talking to the old man himself. "I have a proposition to make," he went on. "I'll have no proposals from you, sir," Brown announced shortly. "I demand your surrender." "I am an officer of the law. I cannot surrender to armed outlaws." Brown's metallic voice quivered. "I demand your immediate and unconditional surrender!" "I have the right to retire under a flag of truce and consider your proposition with my men--" Pate started to go and Brown stood in front of him. "You're not going." "You will violate a flag of truce?" Brown signaled his men to advance and surround Pate. "You're not going, sir," he repeated. "I claim my rights under a flag of truce accepted by you for this parley. An Indian respects that flag." Brown pointed to his men who were standing within the sound of their voices. "Order those men to surrender." Pate folded his arms and remained silent. Brown placed his revolver at the Deputy Marshal's breast and shouted. "Tell your men to lay down their arms!" Pate refused to speak. There was a moment's deadly silence and the Marshal's posse, to save the life of their Captain, threw down their guns and the whole party were made prisoners. The United States Cavalry at Fort Leavenworth were ordered to the scene to rescue the Deputy Marshal and his men. CHAPTER XXII The bugles at Fort Leavenworth sounded Boots and Saddles for the march on Brown and his guerrillas. The barracks were early astir with the excitement. Stern work might be ahead. Outlaws who would dare violate a flag of truce, to take a United States Marshal and his posse would have no more respect for cavalry. The men and officers were tired of disorder. They were eager for a stand up and knock down fight. They expected it and they were ready for it. Stuart's bride was crying. In spite of her young husband's gay banter, she persisted in being serious. "There's no danger, honey girl!" he laughed. She touched the big cavalry pistol in its holster, her lips still trembling. "No--you're just galloping off on a picnic." "That's all it will be--" "Then you can take me with you." Stuart's brow clouded. "Well, no, not just that kind of a picnic." "There may be a nasty fight and you know it." "Nonsense." "It may, too." "Don't be silly, little bride," he pleaded. "You're a soldier's wife now. The bullet hasn't been molded that's going to get me. I feel it. I know it." She threw her arms around his neck and held him in a long silence. Only a sob broke the stillness. He let her cry. His arms merely tightened their tender hold, as he caressed her fair head and kissed it. "There, there, now. That's enough. It's hard, this first parting. It's hard for me. You mustn't make it harder." "We've just begun to live, dearest," she faltered. "I can't let you go. I can't stand it for an hour and you'll be gone for days and days--" She paused and sobbed. "Why did I marry a soldier-man?" "You had to, honey. It was fate. God willed it." He spoke with deep reverence. She lifted her lips for his goodbye kiss. He turned quickly to go and she caught him again and smothered him with kisses. "I can't help it, darling man," she sobbed. "I didn't mean to make it hard for you--but--I've an awful presentiment that I shall lose you--" Her voice died again in a pathetic whisper. Stuart laughed softly and kissed the tears from her eyes. "So has every soldier's wife, honey girl. The silly old presentiment is overworked. It will pass bye and bye--when you see me coming home so many, many times to play that old banjo for you and sing our songs over again." She shook her head and smiled. "Go now--quick," she said, "before I break down again." He swung out the door, his sword clanking and his arm waving. She watched him from the window, crying. She saw him mount his horse with a graceful swing. His figure on horseback was superb. Horse and man seemed one. He looked over his shoulder, saw her at the window and waved again. She ran to her room, closed the door, took his picture to bed with her and cried herself to sleep. The thing that had so worried her was that Colonel Sumner was taking Major Sedgwick with him for conference and a single squadron of fifty men under Stuart's command. The little bride had found out that he was the sole leader of the fifty fighting men and her quick wit had sensed the danger of the possible extermination of such a force in a battle with desperadoes. She was ashamed of her breakdown. But she knew her man was brave and that he loved a fight. She would count the hours until his return. Brown rallied a hundred and fifty men when the squadron of cavalry was ordered to the rescue of Pate and his posse. He entrenched himself on an island in Middle Ottawa Creek and from this stronghold raided and robbed the stores within range of his guerrillas. On June 3rd, he successfully looted the store of J. M. Bernard at Centropolis and secured many valuables, particularly clothing. The raiding party was returning from the looted store as Stuart's cavalry troop was approaching Brown's camp. The cavalry arrived in the nick of time. A battle was imminent that might have ended in a massacre. Within striking distance of Brown's island Colonel Sumner encountered General Whitfield, a Southern Member of Congress, at the head of a squadron of avengers, two hundred and fifty strong, heavily armed and well mounted. Sumner acted with quick decision. He confronted Whitfield and spoke with a quiet emphasis not to be mistaken: "By order of the President of the United States and the Governor of the Territory, I am here to disperse all armed bodies assembled without authority." "May I see the order of the President, sir?" Whitfield asked. "You may." The telegraphic order was handed to the leader. He read it in silence and handed it back without a word. Colonel Sumner continued: "My duty is plain and I'll do it." He signaled Stuart to draw up his company for action. The Lieutenant promptly obeyed. Fifty regulars wheeled and faced two hundred and fifty rugged horsemen of the plains. Whitfield consulted his second in command and while they talked Colonel Sumner again addressed him: "Ask your people to assemble. I wish to read to them the President's order and the Governor's proclamation." Whitfield called his men. In solemn tones Sumner read the documents. Whitfield saw that his men were impressed. "I shall not resist the authority of the General Government. My party will disperse." He promptly ordered them to disband. In five minutes they had disappeared. On the approach of the company of cavalry, John Brown, with a single guard, walked boldly forward to meet them. Colonel Sumner heard his amazing request with rising wrath. He spoke as one commanding a body of coordinate power. "I have come to suggest the arrangement of terms between our forces," Brown coolly suggested. "No officer of law, sir," Sumner sternly replied, "can make terms with lawless, armed men. I am here to execute the orders of the President. You will surrender your prisoners immediately, disarm your men and disperse or take the consequences." Brown turned without a word and slowly walked back to his camp. The United States cavalry followed close at his heels with drawn sabers, Stuart at their head. Colonel Sumner summoned Brown before Sedgwick and Stuart and made to him an announcement which he thought but fair. "I must tell you now that there is with my company a Deputy United States Marshal, who holds warrants for several men in your camp. Those warrants will be served in my presence." Brown's glittering eye rested on the Deputy Marshal. He moved uneasily and finally said in a low tone: "I don't recognize any one for whom I have warrants." The grim face of the man of visions never relaxed a muscle. Sumner turned to the Deputy indignantly. "Then what are you here for?" He made no answer. And Stuart laughed in derision. During this tense moment the keen blue eyes of the Lieutenant of cavalry studied John Brown with the interest of a soldier in the man who knows not fear. At first glance he was a sorry figure. He was lean and gaunt and looked taller than he was for that reason. His face was deeply sun tanned and seamed. He looked a rough, hard-working old farmer. The decided stoop of his shoulders gave the exaggerated impression of age. His face was shaved. He wore a coarse cotton shirt, a clean one that had just been stolen from Bernard's store. It was partly covered by a vest. His hat was an old slouched felt, well worn. In general appearance he was dilapidated, dusty, and soiled. The young officer was too keen a judge of character to be deceived by clothes on a Western frontier. The dusty clothes and worn hat he scarcely saw. It was the terrible mouth that caught and held his imagination. It was the mouth of a relentless foe. It was the mouth of a man who might speak the words of surrender when cornered. But he could no more surrender than he could jump out of his skin. Stuart was willing to risk his life on a wager that if he consented to lay down his arms, he had more concealed and that he would sleep on them that night in the brush. The low forehead and square, projecting chin caught and held his fancy. It was the jaw and chin of the fighting animal. No man who studied that jaw would care to meet it in the dark. But the thing that had put the Deputy out of commission as warrant officer of the Government was the old man's strange, restless eyes. Stuart caught their steel glitter with a sense of the uncanny. He had never seen a human eye that threw at an enemy a look quite so disconcerting. He had laughed at the Deputy's fear to move with fifty dragoons to back him. There was some excuse for it. Back of those piercing points of steel-blue light were one hundred and fifty armed followers. What would happen if he should turn to these men and tell them to fight the cavalry of the United States? It was an open question. The old man walked toward his men with wiry, springing step. The prisoners were released. Stuart shook hands with Pate, who was a Virginian and a former student of the University. Brown's men laid down their arms and dispersed. True to Stuart's surmise he did not move far from his entrenched camp. He anticipated a fake surrender to the troops. He had concealed weapons for the faithful but half a mile away. With Weiner he built a new camp fire before Stuart's cavalry had moved two miles. CHAPTER XXIII The man with the slouched hat and coarse cotton shirt lost no time in grieving over the dispersal of his one hundred and fifty men. It was the largest force he had ever assembled. His experience in the three days in which he had acted as their commander had greatly angered him. The frontiersman who failed to come under the spell of Brown's personality by direct contact generally refused to obey his orders. The crowd of free rangers which his fight with Pate had gathered proved themselves beyond control. They raided the surrounding country without Brown's knowledge. They stole from friend and foe with equal impartiality. There was one consolation in his surrender to the United States troops. He got rid of these troublesome followers. They had already robbed him of the spoils of his own successful raids and not one of them had shown any inclination to bring in the enemies' goods for common use. He began to choose the most faithful among them for a scheme of wider scope and more tragic daring. He was not yet sure of his plan. But God would reveal it clearly. He spent a week at his new camp in the woods wandering alone, dreaming, praying, weighing this new scheme from every point of view. His mind came back again and again to the puzzle of the failure to raise a National Blood Feud. For a moment his indomitable Puritan soul was discouraged. He had obeyed the command of his God. He could not have been mistaken in the voice which spoke from Heaven: "WITHOUT THE SHEDDING OF BLOOD THERE IS NO REMISSION OF SINS." He had laid the Blood Offering on God's altar counting his own life as of no account in the reckoning and from that hour he had been a fugitive from justice, hiding in the woods. He had escaped arrest only by the accidental assembling of a mob of a hundred and fifty disorderly fools who had stolen his own goods before they had been dispersed. Instead of the heroic acclaim to which the deed entitled him, his own flesh and blood had cursed him, one of his sons had been shot and another was lying in prison a jibbering lunatic. Would future generations agree with the men who had met in his own town and denounced his deed as cruel, gruesome and revolting? His stolid mind refused to believe it. Through hours of agonizing prayer the new plan, based squarely on the vision that sent him to Pottawattomie, began to fix itself in his soul. This time he would chose his disciples from the elect. Only men tried in the fires of Action could be trusted. Of five men he was sure. His son, Owen, he knew could be depended on without the shadow of turning. Yet Oliver was the second disciple chosen. He had forgiven the boy for the fight over the pistol and had taken pains to regain his complete submission. John Henry Kagi was the third chosen disciple, a young newspaper reporter of excellent mind and trained pen. He had been captured by United States troops in Kansas as a guerrilla raider and was imprisoned first at Lecompton and then at Tecumseh. The fourth disciple selected was Aaron Dwight Stevens, an ex-convict from the penitentiary at Fort Leavenworth. Stevens was by far the most daring and interesting figure in the group. His knowledge of military tactics was destined to make him an invaluable aide. The uncanny in Brown's spirit had appealed to his imagination from the day he made his escape from the penitentiary and met the old man. The fifth disciple chosen was John E. Cook, a man destined to play the most important role in the new divine mission with the poorest qualification for the task. Born of a well-to-do family in Haddon, Connecticut, he had studied law in Brooklyn and New York. He dropped his studies against the protest of his people in 1855, and, driven by the spirit of adventure, found his way into Kansas and at last led his band of twenty guerrillas into John Brown's camp. Brown's attention was riveted on him from the day they met. He was a man of pleasing personality and the finest rifle shot in Kansas. He was genial; he was always generous; He was brave to the point of recklessness; and he was impulsive, indiscreet and utterly reckless when once bent on a purpose. His sister had married Willard, the Governor of Indiana. Brown's new plan required a large sum of money. With the prestige his fighting in Kansas had given him, he believed the Abolition philanthropists of the East would give this sum. He left his disciples to drill and returned East to get the money. In Boston his success was genuine, although the large amount which he asked was slow in coming. The old man succeeded in deceiving his New England friends completely as to the Pottawattomie murders. On this event he early became a cheerful, consistent and successful liar. This trait of his character had been fully developed in his youth. Everywhere he was acclaimed by the pious as, "Captain Brown, the old partisan hero of Kansas warfare." His magnetic, uncanny personality rarely failed to capture the dreamer and the sentimentalist. Sanborn, Howe, Theodore Parker, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, George L. Stearns and Gerrit Smith became his devoted followers. He even made Wendell Phillips and William Lloyd Garrison his friends. Garrison met him at Theodore Parker's. The two men were one on destroying Slavery: Garrison, the pacifist; Brown, the man who believed in bloodshed as the only possible solution of all the great issues of National life. Brown quoted the Old Testament; Garrison, the New. He captured the imagination of Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson. He was raising funds for another armed attack on Slavery in Kansas. The sentimentalists asked no questions. And if hard-headed business men tried to pry too closely into his plans, they found him a past master in the art of keeping his own counsel. He struck a snag when he appealed to the National Kansas Committee for a gift of rifles and an appropriation of five thousand dollars. They voted the rifles on conditions. But a violent opposition developed against giving five thousand dollars to a man about whose real mind they knew so little. H. B. Hurd, the Chairman of the Committee, had suspected the purpose back of his pretended scheme for operations in Kansas. He put to Brown the pointblank question and demanded a straight answer. "If you get these guns and the money you desire, will you invade Missouri or any slave territory?" The old man's reply was characteristic. He spoke with a quiet scorn. "I am no adventurer. You all know me. You are acquainted with my history. You know what I have done in Kansas. I do not expose my plans. No one knows them but myself, except perhaps one. I will not be interrogated. If you wish to give me anything, I want you to give it freely. I have no other purpose but to serve the cause of Liberty." His answer was not illuminating. It contained nothing the Committee wished to know. The statement that they knew him was a figure of speech. They had read partisan reports of his fighting and his suffering in Kansas--through his own letters, principally. How much truth these letters contained was something they wished very much to find out. He had given no light. He declared that they knew what he had done in Kansas. This was the one point on which they needed most light. The biggest event in the history of Kansas was the deed on the Pottawattomie. In the fierce political campaign that was in progress its effects had been neutralized by denials. Brown had denied his guilt on every occasion. Yet as they studied his strange personality more than one member of the Committee began to suspect him as the only man in the West capable of the act. The Committee refused to vote the rifles and compromised on the money by making a qualification that would make the gift of no service. They voted the appropriation, "in aid of Captain John Brown in any _defensive_ measures that may become necessary." He was authorized to draw five hundred dollars when he needed it for this purpose. The failure rankled in the old man's heart and he once more poured out the vials of his wrath on all politicians,--North and South. For months he became an incessant and restless wanderer throughout New York and the New England States. He finally issued a general appeal for help through the _New York Tribune_ and other friendly papers. The contributions came slowly. The invitations to speak came slower. At Collinsville, Connecticut, however, after his lecture he placed with Charles Blair, a blacksmith and forge-master, an important secret order for a thousand iron pikes. Blair pledged his loyalty. He received his first payment on account, for a stand of weapons destined to become souvenirs in marking the progress of civilization in the new world. In the midst of his disappointing canvas for funds he received a letter from his son, Jason, that a Deputy United States Marshal had passed through Cleveland on the way East with a warrant for his arrest for the Pottawattomie murders. On the receipt of this news he wrote his friend, Eli Thayer: "One of the U. S. hounds is on my track: and I have kept myself hid for a few days to let my track get cold. I have no idea of being taken: _and intend_ (if God _will_) to go back with Irons _in_ rather than _upon_ my hands. I got a _fine lift_ in Boston the other day; and hope Worcester will not be _entirely behind_. I do not mean _you_; or _Mr. Alien & Company_." So dangerous was the advent of the U. S. Marshal from Kansas that Brown took refuge in an upper room in the house of Judge Russell in Boston and remained in hiding an entire week. Mrs. Russell acted as maid and allowed no one to open the front door except herself during the time of his stay. The Judge's house was on a quiet street and his connection with the Abolition movement had been kept secret for political reasons. His services to their cause were in this way made doubly valuable. Brown daily barricaded his door and told his hostess that he would not be taken alive. He added with the nearest approach to a smile ever seen on his face: "I should hate to spoil your carpet, Madame." While in hiding at Judge Russell's he composed a sarcastic farewell to New England. It is in his best style and true character as a poseur: "Old Brown's _Farewell_: to the Plymouth Rock; Bunker Hill Monument; Charter Oaks; and _Uncle Tom's Cabins_. "Has left for Kansas. Was trying since he came out of the Territory to secure an outfit; or, in other words, the means of arming and equipping thoroughly, his regular minute men, who are mixed up _with the People of Kansas_: and _he leaves the States_, with a _deep feeling of sadness_: that after exhausting _his own_ small means: and with his _family and his brave men_: suffered hunger, nakedness, cold, sickness, (and some of them) imprisonment, with most barbarous and cruel treatment: _wounds and death_: that after laying on the ground for months; in the most unwholesome _and_ sickly as well as uncomfortable places: with sick and wounded destitute of any shelter part of the time; dependent in part on the care, and hospitality of the Indians: and hunted like Wolves: that after all this; in order to sustain a cause, which _every Citizen_ of this _Glorious Republic_, is under equal moral obligation to do: (_and for the neglect of which HE WILL be held accountable TO GOD:) in which every Man, Woman and Child of the human family;_ has a deep and awful interest; and that _no wages are asked or expected:_ he cannot secure (amidst all the wealth, luxury and extravagance of this _'Heaven exalted'_ people) even the necessary supplies for a common soldier. HOW ARE THE MIGHTY FALLEN? "JOHN BROWN." Following his usual tactics of interminable delays and restless, aimless wandering, it was the 7th of August before he reached Tabor, Iowa, the appointed rendezvous of his disciples. Two days after his arrival the Free State election of the ninth of August was held in Kansas and the heavy vote polled was a complete triumph of the men of peace within the party. Kansas, in his absence, had settled down to the tried American plan of the ballot box for the decision of political disputes. Brown wrote Stearns a despairing letter. He was discouraged and utterly without funds. He begged for five hundred to one thousand dollars immediately for secret service and no questions asked. He promised interesting times in Kansas if he could secure this money. Of his disciples for the great coming deed but one had arrived at Tabor, his faithful son Owen. The old man lingered at Tabor with his religious friends until November before starting for Kansas. Higginson, his chief backer in Massachusetts, was growing angry over his repeated delays and senseless inaction. Sanborn, always Brown's staunch defender, wrote Higginson a letter begging patience: "You do not understand Brown's circumstances. He is as ready for revolution as any other man, and is now on the border of Kansas safe from arrest, prepared for action. But he needs money for his present expenses and active support. "I believe that he is the best Dis-union champion you can find, and with his hundred men, when he is put where he can raise them and drill them (for he has an expert drill officer with him) WILL DO MORE TO SPLIT THE UNION than a list of 50,000 names for your Convention, good as that is. "What I am trying to hint at is that the friends of Kansas are looking with strange apathy at a movement which has all the elements of fitness and success--a good plan, a tried leader, and a radical purpose. If you can do anything for it _now_, in God's name do it--and the ill results of the new policy in Kansas may be prevented." The new policy in Kansas must be smashed at all hazards, of course. To the men who believed in bloodshed as the only rational way to settle political issues, the ballot box and the council table were the inventions of the Devil. It was the duty of the children of Light to send the Lord's Anointed with the Sword of Gideon to raise anew the Blood Feud. It is evident from this letter of F. B. Sanborn to Higginson that even Sanborn had not penetrated the veil of the old Puritan's soul. The one to whom he had revealed his true plan was his faithful son in Kansas. The Territory was not the objective of this mission. It was only a feint to deceive friend and foe. And he succeeded in doing it. That his purpose was the disruption of the Union in a deluge of blood, Sanborn, of course, understood and approved. He was utterly mistaken as to the time and place and method which the Man of Visions had chosen for the deed. On entering the Territory, now as peaceful as any State in the Union, Brown gathered his disciples, Oliver, Kagi, Stevens, and Cook and despatched them to Tabor, Iowa. Here they were informed for the first time of the real purpose of their organization--the invasion of Virginia and the raising of a servile insurrection in which her soil would be drenched in blood within sight of the Capitol at Washington. With Stevens, as drill master, they began the study of military tactics. They moved to Springdale and established their camp for the winter. CHAPTER XXIV Suddenly the old man left Springdale. He ordered his disciples to continue their drill until he should instruct them as to their next march. Two weeks later he was in Rochester, New York, with Frederick Douglas. In a room in this negro's house Brown composed a remarkable document as a substitute for the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States. He hurried with his finished manuscript to the home of Gerrit Smith at Peterboro for a consultation with Smith, Sanborn, Higginson and Stearns. Only Sanborn and Smith appeared. Brown outlined to them in brief his plan of precipitating a conflict by the invasion of the Black Belt of the South and the establishment of a negro empire. Its details were as yet locked in his own breast. Smith and Sanborn discussed his plans and his Constitution for the Government of the new power. In spite of its absurdities they agreed to support him in the venture. Smith gave the first contribution which enabled him to call the convention of negroes and radicals at Chatham, Canada, to adopt the "Constitution." Brown went all the way to Springdale, Iowa, to escort the entire body of his disciples to this convention. And they came across a continent with him--Stevens, Kagi, Cook, Owen Brown, and six new men whom he had added--Leeman, Tidd, Gill, Taylor, Parsons, Moffit and Realf. Thirty-four negroes gathered with them. Among the negroes were Richard O. P. Anderson and James H. Harris of North Carolina. The presiding officer was William C. Monroe, pastor of a negro church in Detroit. Kagi, the stenographer, was made Secretary of the Convention. Brown addressed the gathering in an unique speech: "For thirty years, my friends, a single passion has pursued my soul--to set at liberty the slaves of the South. I went to Europe in 1851 to inspect fortifications and study the methods of guerrilla warfare which have been successfully used in the old world. I have pondered the uprisings of the slaves of Rome, the deeds of Spartacus, the successes of Schamyl, the Circassian Chief, of Touissant L'Overture in Haiti, of the negro Nat Turner who cut the throats of sixty Virginians in a single night in 1831. "I have developed a plan of my own to sweep the South. You must trust me with its details. I shall depend on the blacks for the body of my soldiers. And I expect every freedman in the North to flock to my standard when the blow has fallen. I know that every slave in the South will answer my call. The slaveholders we will not massacre unless we must. We will hold them as hostages for our protection and the protection of any prisoners who may fall into their hands." The men listened in rapt attention and when he read his "Constitution and Preamble," it was unanimously adopted. The Constitution which they adopted was a piece of insanity in the literal sense of the word, a confused medley of absurd, inapplicable forms. The Preamble, however, which contained the keynote of Brown's philosophy of life, was expressed in clear-cut, logical ideas. He read it in a cold, vibrant voice: "Whereas, Slavery, throughout its entire existence in the United States is none other than a most barbarous, unprovoked and unjustifiable war of one portion of its citizens upon another portion: the only conditions of which are perpetual imprisonment, and hopeless servitude or absolute extermination, in utter disregard and violation of those eternal and self-evident truths set forth in our Declaration of Independence: _Therefore_, we CITIZENS OF the UNITED STATES, and the OPPRESSED PEOPLE who by a RECENT DECISION of the SUPREME COURT ARE DECLARED to have NO RIGHTS WHICH the WHITE MAN is BOUND to RESPECT; TOGETHER WITH ALL OTHER PEOPLE DEGRADED by the LAWS THEREOF, DO, for the TIME BEING ORDAIN and ESTABLISH for OURSELVES, the FOLLOWING PROVISIONAL CONSTITUTION and ORDINANCES the BETTER to protect, our PERSONS, PROPERTY, LIVES and LIBERTIES: and to GOVERN our ACTION." The first result of his Radical Convention was the exhaustion of his treasury. He had used his last dollar to bring his men on from the West and no money had been collected to pay even their return fares. They were compelled to go to work at various trades to earn their bread. Brown determined to return to Kansas and create a sensation that would again stir the East and bring the money into his treasury. He would at the same time test the first principle of his plan by an actual raid into a neighboring Southern State. In the meantime, he issued his first order of the Great Deed. He selected John E. Cook as his scout and spy and dispatched him to Harper's Ferry, Virginia, to map its roads, study its people and reconnoiter the surrounding territory. He raised the money to pay Cook's fare and saw him on the train for Virginia before he started for Kansas to spring his second national sensation. CHAPTER XXV Brown's scout reached the town of Harper's Ferry on June 5, 1858. The magnificent view which greeted his vision as he stepped from the train took his breath. The music of trembling waters seemed a grand accompaniment to an Oratorio of Nature. The sensitive mind of the young Westerner responded to its soul appeal. He stood for half an hour enraptured with its grandeur. Two great rivers, the Potomac and the Shenandoah, rushing through rock-hewn gorges to the sea, unite here to hurl their tons of foaming waters against the last granite wall of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Beyond the gorge, through which the roaring tide has cut its path, lies the City of Washington on the banks of the Potomac, but sixty miles away--a day's journey on a swift horse; an hour and a half by rail. Cook at first had sharply criticized Brown's selection of such a place for the scene of the Great Deed. As he stood surveying in wonder the sublimity of its scenery he muttered softly: "The old man's a wizard!" The rugged hills and the rush of mighty waters called the soul to great deeds. There was something electric in the air. The town, the rivers, the mountains summoned the spirit to adventure. The tall chimneys of the United States Arsenal and Rifle Works called to war. The lines of hills were made for the emplacement of guns. The roaring waters challenged the skill of generals. The scout felt his heart beat in quick response. The more he studied the hills that led to High Knob, a peak two thousand four hundred feet in height, the more canny seemed the choice of Brown. From the top of this peak stretches the county of Fauquier, the beginning of the Black Belt of the South. Fauquier County contained more than ten thousand Slaves and seven hundred freed negroes. There were but nine thousand eight hundred whites. From this county to the sea lay a series of adjoining counties in which the blacks outnumbered the whites. These counties contained more than two hundred and sixty thousand negroes. The Black Belt of Virginia touched the Black Belts of North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia--an unbroken stretch of overwhelming black majority. In some counties they outnumbered the whites, five to one. This mountain gorge, hewn out of the rocks by the waters of the rivers, was the gateway into the heart of the Slave System of the South. And it could be made the highroad of escape to the North if once the way were opened. Another fact had influenced the mind of Brown. The majority of the workmen of Harper's Ferry were mechanics from the North. They would not be enthusiastic defenders of Slavery. They were not slave owners. In a fight to a finish they would be indifferent. Their indifference would make the conquest of the few white masters in town a simple matter. Cook felt again the spell of Brown's imperious will. He had thought the old man's chief reason for selecting Harper's Ferry as the scene was his quixotic desire to be dramatic. He knew the history of the village. It had been named for Robert Harper, an Englishman. Lord Fairfax, the friend of George Washington, had given the millwright a grant of it in 1748. Washington, himself, had made the first survey of the place and selected the Ferry, in 1794, as the site of a National Armory. Colonel Lewis Washington, the great-grandson of Washington's brother, lived on the lordly plantation of Bellair, four miles in the country. Brown had learned that the sword which Frederick the Great had given to Washington, and the pistols which Lafayette had given him hung on the walls of the Colonel's library. He had instructed Cook to become acquainted with Colonel Washington, and locate these treasures. He had determined to lead his negro army of insurrection with these pistols and sword buckled around his waist. Cook was an adventurer but he had no trace of eccentricity in his character. He thought this idea a dangerous absurdity. And he believed at first that it was the one thing that had led his Chief to select this spot. He changed his mind in the first thirty minutes, as he stood studying the mountain peak that stood sentinel at the gateway of the Black Belt. With a new sense of the importance of his mission he sought a boarding house. He was directed by the watchman at the railroad station, a good-looking freedman, an employee of the Mayor of the town, to the widow Kennedy's. Her house was situated on a quiet street just outside the enclosure of the United States Arsenal. Cook was a man of pleasing address, twenty-eight years old, blue-eyed, blond, handsome, affable, genial in manner and a good mixer. Within twenty-four hours he had made friends with the widow and every boarder in the house. They introduced him to their friends and in a week he had won the good opinion of the leading citizens of the place. A few days later the widow's pretty daughter arrived from boarding school and the young adventurer faced the first problem of his mission. She was a slender, dark-eyed, sensitive creature of eighteen. Shy, romantic, and all eyes for the great adventure of every Southern girl's life--the coming of the Prince Charming who would some day ride up to her door, doff his plumed hat, kiss her hand and kneel at her feet? Cook read the eagerness in her brown eyes the first hour of their meeting. And what was more serious he felt the first throb of emotion that had ever distressed him in the presence of a woman. He had never made love. He had tried all other adventures. He had never met the type that appealed to his impulsive mind. He was angry with himself for the almost resistless impulse that came, to flirt with this girl. It could only be a flirtation at best and, it could only end in bitterness and hatred and tragedy in the end. He had done dark deeds on the Western plains. But they were man deeds. No delicate woman had been involved in their tangled ethics. There was something serious in his nature that said no to a flirtation of any kind with a lovely girl. He had always intended to take women seriously. He did take them seriously. He wouldn't hesitate to kill a man if he were cornered. But a woman--that was different. He tried to avoid the eyes of Virginia. He couldn't. In spite of all, seated opposite at the table, he found himself looking into their brown liquid depths. They were big, soulful eyes, full of tenderness and faith and wonder and joy. And they kept saying to him: "Come here, stranger man, and tell me who you are, where you came from, where you're going, and what's your hurry." There was nothing immodest or forward in them. They just kept calling him. She was exactly the type of girl he had dreamed he would like to marry some day when life had quieted down. She was of the spirit, not the flesh. Yet she was beautiful to look upon. Her hair was a dark, curling brown, full of delicate waves even on the top of her head. Her hands were dainty. Her body was a slender poem in willowy, graceful lines. Her voice was the softest Southern drawl. The Kennedys were not slave holders. The pretty daughter joyfully helped her mother when she came home from school. Her sentiments were Southern without the over emphasis sometimes heard among the prouder daughters of the old regime. These Southern sentiments formed another impassable barrier. Cook said this a hundred times to himself and sought to make the barrier more formidable by repeating aloud his own creed when in his room alone. The fight was vain. He drifted into seeing her a few minutes alone each day. She had liked him from the first. He felt it. He knew it. He had liked her from the first, and she knew it. Each night he swore he'd go to bed without seeing her and each night he laughed and said: "Just this once more and it won't count." He felt himself drifting into a tragedy. Yet to save his life he couldn't lay hold of anything that would stand the strain of the sweet invitation in those brown eyes. To avoid her he spent days tramping over the hills. And always he came back more charmed than ever. The spell she was weaving about his heart was resistless. CHAPTER XXVI Brown returned to Kansas with Stevens and Kagi, his two bravest and most intelligent disciples. If he could make the tryout of his plan sufficiently sensational, his prestige would be restored, his chief disciples become trained veterans and his treasury be filled. When he arrived, the Free State forces had again completely triumphed at the ballot box. They had swept the Territory by a majority of three to one in the final test vote on the new Constitution. The issue of Slavery in Kansas was dead. It had been settled for all time. Such an inglorious end for all his dreams of bloodshed did not depress the man of visions. Kansas no longer interested him except as a rehearsal ground for the coming drama of the Great Deed. He had carefully grown a long gray beard for the make-up of his new role. It completely changed his appearance. He not only changed his make-up, but he also changed his name. The title he gave to the new character which he had come to play was, "Shubel Morgan." The revelation of his identity would be all the more dramatic when it came. When his men and weapons had been selected, he built his camp fire on the Missouri Border. His raid was carefully planned in consultation with Stevens, Kagi and Tidd. With these trusted followers he had rallied a dozen recruits who could be depended on to obey orders. Among them was a notorious horse thief and bandit known in the Territory by the title of "Pickles." As they entered the State of Missouri on the night of the twenty-fifth of January, Brown divided his forces. Keeping the main division under his personal command, he despatched Stevens with a smaller force to raid the territory surrounding the two plantations against which he was moving. Between eleven and twelve o'clock Brown reached the home of Harvey G. Hicklin, the first victim marked on his list. Without the formality of a knock he smashed his door down and sprang inside with drawn revolver. Hicklin surrendered. "We have come to take your slaves and such property as we need," the old man curtly answered. "I am at your mercy, gentlemen," Hicklin replied. Gill was placed in charge of the robbers who ransacked the bureau drawers, closets and chests for valuables. Brown collected the slaves and assured them of protection. When every watch, gun, pistol, and every piece of plate worth carrying had been collected, and the stables stripped of every horse and piece of leather, the old man turned to his victim and coolly remarked: "Now get your property back if you can. I dare you and the whole United States Army to follow me to-night. And you tell this to your neighbors to-morrow morning." Hicklin kept silent. Brown knew that his tongue would be busy with the rising sun. He also knew that his message would be hot on the wires to the East before the sun would set. He could feel the thrill it would give his sentimental friends in Boston. And he could see them reaching for their purses. The men were still emptying drawers on the floor in a vain search for cash. Hicklin never kept cash over night in his house. He lived too near the border. Brown called his men from their looting and ordered them to the next house which he had marked for assault--the house of James Lane, three-quarters of a mile away. They smashed Lane's door and took him a prisoner with Dr. Erwin, a guest of the family. From Hicklin he had secured considerable booty and his men were keen for richer spoils. The first attack had netted the raiders two fine horses, a yoke of oxen, a wagon, harness, saddles, watches, a fine collection of jewelry, bacon, flour, meal, coffee, sugar, bedding, clothing, a shotgun, boots, shoes, an overcoat and many odds and ends dumped into the wagon. From Lane they expected more. They were sore over the results. They got six good horses, their harness and wagons, a lot of bedding, clothing and provisions, but no jewelry except two plain silver watches. Brown added five negroes to his party and told them he would take them to Canada. Thus far no blood had been shed. The attacks had been made with such quiet skill, the surprise was complete. In spite of all the talk and bluster of frontier politicians no sane man in the State of Missouri could conceive of the possibility of such a daring crime. The victims were utterly unprepared for the assault. And no defense had been attempted. Stevens had better luck. His party had encountered David Cruise, a man who was rash enough to resist. He was an old man, too, of quiet, peaceable habits and exemplary character. He proved to be the man who didn't know how to submit to personal insult. He owned but one slave who did the cooking for his family. When Stevens broke into his house and demanded the woman, he indignantly refused to surrender his cook to a gang of burglars. The ex-convict, who had served his term for an assault with intent to kill, didn't pause to ask Cruise any questions. His revolver clicked, a single shot rang out and the old man dropped on the floor with a bullet through his heart. Passing the body, Stevens looted the house. He made the largest haul of the night. He secured four oxen, eleven mules, two horses, and a wagon load of provisions. Incidentally he picked up a valuable mule from a neighbor of Cruise as they passed his house on the way to join Brown. When Stevens reported the murder and gave the inventory of the valuable goods stolen, "Shubel Morgan" stroked his long gray beard and spoke but one word: "Good." In his grim soul he knew that the blood stain left on Cruise's floor would be worth more to his cause than all the stolen jewelry, horses and wagons. Its appeal to the East would be the one secret force needed to rouse the archaic instincts of his pious backers. They would deny with indignation the accusation of murder against his men. They would invent the excuse of self-defense. He did not need to make it. From the deeps of their souls would come the shout of the ancient head-hunter returning with the bloody scalp of a foe in his hand. Brown felt this. He knew it, because he felt it in his own heart. He was a Puritan of Puritans. With deliberate daring the caravan moved back into the Territory. For the moment the audacity of the crime stunned the frontier. He had figured on this hour of uncertainty and amazement to make good his escape. He knew that he could depend on the people along the way to Iowa to protect the ten slaves which he had brought out of Missouri. The press of Kansas unanimously condemned the outrage. Brown knew they would. He could spit in their faces now. He was done with Kansas. His caravan was moving toward the North; his eyes were fixed on the hills of Virginia. His experiment had been a success. The President of the United States, James Buchanan, offered a reward of $250 for his arrest. The Governor of Missouri raised the reward to $3,000. The press flashed the news of the daring rescue of ten slaves by old John Brown. He regained in a day his lost prestige. The stories of the robberies which accompanied the rescue were denied as Border Ruffian lies, as "Shubel Morgan" knew they would be denied. His enterprise had met every test. He got his slaves safely through to Canada and started a reign of terror. The effect of the raid into a Slave State had tested his theory of direct, bloodstained action as the solution and the only solution of the problem. The occasional frowns of pious people on his methods caused him no uneasiness or doubt. He was a man of daily prayer. He was on more intimate terms with God than his critics. The one fly in the ointment of his triumph was the cold reception given him by the religious settlement at Tabor, Iowa. These good people had treated him as a prophet of God in times past and his caravan had headed for Tabor as their first resting place. He entered the village with a song of triumph. He would exhibit his freed slaves before the Church and join with the congregation in a hymn of praise to God. But the news of his coming had reached Tabor before his arrival. They had heard of the stealing of the oxen, the horses, the mules, the wagons. They had also heard of the murder of David Cruise. Brown had denied the Pottawattomie crimes and they had believed him. This murder he could not deny. They had not yet reached the point of justifying murder in an unlawful rescue. These pious folks also had a decided prejudice against a horse thief, however religious his training and eloquent his prayers. When his caravan of stolen wagons, horses and provisions, moved slowly into the village, a curious but cold crowd gazed in silence. He placed the negroes in the little school house and parked his teams on the Common. The next day was Sunday and the old Puritan hastened to church with his faithful disciples. Amazed that he had received from the Rev. John Todd no invitation to take part in the services, he handed Stevens a scribbled note: "Give it to the preacher when he comes in." Stevens gave the minister the bit of paper without a word and resumed his seat in the House of God. The Rev. John Todd read the scrawl with a frown: "John Brown respectfully requests the church at Tabor to offer public thanksgiving to Almighty God in behalf of himself and company: _and of their rescued captives, in particular_, for His gracious preservation of their lives and health: and His signal deliverance of all out of the hands of the wicked. 'Oh, give thanks unto the Lord; for He is good: for His mercy endureth forever.'" The Rev. Dr. King was in the pulpit with the militant preacher Todd that day and the perplexed man handed the note to King. The two servants of Christ were not impressed with the appeal. The words Brown had marked in italics and his use of the Psalms failed to rouse the religious fervor of the preachers. They knew that somewhere in the crowd sat the man who had murdered Cruise and stolen those horses. They also knew that John Brown had approved the deeds of his followers. Todd rose and announced that he had received a petition which he could not grant. He announced a public meeting of the citizens of the town in the church the following day to take such action as they might see fit. When Brown faced this meeting on Monday he felt its hostility from the moment he rose. He made an excuse for not speaking by refusing to go on when a distinguished physician from Missouri entered the church. Brown demanded that the man from Missouri be expelled. The citizens of Tabor refused. And the old man sullenly took his seat. Stevens, the murderer, sprang to his feet and in his superb bass voice shouted: "So help me, God, I'll not sit in council with one who buys and sells human flesh." Stevens led the disciples out of the church. At the close of the discussion the citizens of Tabor unanimously adopted the resolution: "_Resolved_, That while we sympathize with the oppressed and will do all that we conscientiously can to help them in their efforts for freedom, nevertheless we have no sympathy with those who go to slave states to entice away slaves and take property or life, when necessary, to attain this end. "J. SMITH, _Sec. of Meeting._" Tabor, Feb. 7, 1857. John Brown shook the dust of Tabor from his feet after a long prayer to his God which he took pains to make himself. At Grinnell, Iowa, his reception was cordial and he began to feel the confidence which his exploit would excite in the still more remote East. His caravan had moved Eastward but fourteen days' journey from Tabor and he had been received with open arms. The farther from the scene of action Brown moved, the more heroic his rugged patriarchal figure with its flowing beard loomed. On reaching Boston his triumph was complete. Every doubt and fear had vanished. Sanborn, Higginson, Stearns, Howe, and Gerrit Smith, in a short time, secured for him more than four thousand dollars and the Great Deed was assured. CHAPTER XXVII While Brown was at work in the North collecting money, arms and ammunition, Cook was quietly completing his work at the Ferry. He fought the temptation to take Virginia with him on his trips and then succumbed. The thing that decided it was the fact that she knew Colonel Louis Washington and had been to Bellair. She promised to introduce him. To make sure of Brown's quixotic instructions about the sword and pistols he must make the trip. The drive in the snug little buggy along the river bank was a red letter experience in the young Westerner's life. Seated beside the modest slip of a Southern girl chatting with vivacity and a happiness she couldn't conceal, the man forgot that he was a conspirator in a plot to deluge a nation in blood. He forgot the long nights of hiding in woods and ravines. He forgot dark deeds of sacking and robbery. He was just a boy again. The sun was shining in the glory of a sweet spring morning in the mountains. The flowers were blooming in the hedges. He smelled the wild cherry, blackberry and dewberry bushes. Birds were singing. The new green of the leaves was dazzling in its splendor. The air was pure and sweet and sent the blood bounding to the tips of his fingers. He glanced at the soft red cheeks of the girl beside him and a great yearning for a home and babies and peace overwhelmed him. His lips trembled and his eyes filled with tears. He rebelled against the task to which he had put his hand. "Why so pensive?" she asked with a laugh. "Am I?" "You haven't spoken for a mile." "I'm just so happy, I reckon," he answered seriously. He remembered his grim task and threw off the spell. He must keep a cool head and a strong hand. He remembered the strange old man to whose "Constitution" he had sworn allegiance in Canada and began to talk in commonplaces. To the girl's romantic ears they had meaning. Every tone of his voice fascinated her. The mystery about him held her imagination. She was sure it was full of thrilling adventure. He would tell her some day. She wondered why he had waited so long. He had been on the point of telling his love again and again and always stopped with an ugly frown. She wondered sometimes if his life had been spoiled by some tragedy. A thousand times she asked herself the question whether he might be married and separated from a wife. He had lived in the North. He had told her many places he had seen. People were divorced sometimes in the North. She dismissed the thought as absurd and resigned herself again to the charms of his companionship. Colonel Washington was delighted to see again the daughter of an old friend. Her father had been his companion on many a hunting and fishing trip. Virginia introduced her companion. "My friend, Mr. John Cook, Colonel Washington." The colonel extended his hand cordially. "Glad to meet you, young man. A friend of Virginia's is a friend of mine, sir." "Thank you." "Walk right in, children, sit down and make yourselves at home. I'll find that damned old lazy butler of mine and get you some refreshments." "Let's sit outside," Virginia whispered. "No," Cook protested. "I want to see the inside of a Washington home." The Colonel waved his arm toward the house. "With you in a minute, children. Walk right in." "Of course, if you wish it," the girl said softly. They entered the fine old house, and sat down in the hall. Cook smiled at the easy fulfillment of his task. Directly in front of the door, set in a deep panel, was the portrait of the first President. On the right in a smaller panel hung the sword which Frederick the Great had given him. On the other side, the pistols from the hands of Lafayette. A tiny, gold plate, delicately engraved, marked each treasure. Virginia showed him these souvenirs of her country's history. She spoke of them with breathless awe. She laughed with girlish pride. "Aren't they just grand?" Cook nodded. He felt guilty of treachery. A betrayal of Southern hospitality in this sweet girl's presence! He ground his teeth at the thought of his weakness the next moment. Colonel Washington appeared through the door from the dining room. He was followed by his ancient butler, bearing a tray filled with drinks. The Colonel served them with his own hand. The negro grinned his welcome to the guests. At the sight of a slave, Cook was himself again. His jaw closed and his eye flashed. He was once more the disciple of the Man of the Blood-Feud. Washington handed a tall glass to Virginia. "Your lemonade, young lady. I know your taste and approve." He bowed low and gave her the drink. He took two glasses of mint juleps, one in each hand. "Mr. Cook, the favorite drink of these mountains, sir, as pure as its dews, as refreshing as its air--the favorite drink of old Virginia. To your good health, sir!" Cook's head barely moved and he drank in silence. He held his mood of reserve on the drive home. In vain the girl smiled and coaxed his dreary spirits. He refused to respond. They passed the same wonderful views, the same birds were singing, the same waters foaming and laughing over the rocks below. The man heard nothing, saw nothing, save a vision inside his raging soul. He saw men riding through the night to that house. He saw black hands grip iron pikes and knock at the door of its great hall. There was a far-away look in his keen eyes--eyes that could sight a rifle with deadly aim. The slender girl nestled closer in wonder at the veil that had suddenly dropped between them. The fires of youth and passion responded for a moment to this instinctive stir of his mate. Resistance was agony. His arm moved to encircle her waist. He turned in an impulse to kiss her lips and whisper the mad things his heart was saying. He caught himself in time. What had he to do with this eternal call of the human heart to love and be loved? It meant home, it meant tenderness. It meant peace and good will to every living thing. He had come to kill, not to love; to destroy, not build homes. Again he rebelled against his hideous task. And then he remembered John Brown and all for which he stood. His oath crashed through his memory. He resolved to put every thought of tenderness, beauty, and love under his feet and trample them. It was the only way to save himself and this girl. It would be hard--but he would do it. For an entire week he did not speak to her except in monosyllables. He made no effort to hide his decision. He wanted her to see and know the firm purpose within his heart. Her eyes followed him with a look of dumb anguish. If she had spoken in reproaches he would have fought and withstood her. Her silence was more than he could bear. On the sixth day of his resolution he saw that she had been crying. She smiled and tried to hide it, but he knew. He would go for a walk to the Heights and cheer her up a bit. It wasn't necessary to be brutal. Her brown eyes began to smile again. They walked over the Heights and down a steep pathway among the rocks to the river's edge and sat down on a boulder worn smooth by the waters of the spring floods. The ripple of the current made soft music. They were silent for a long time and then she turned toward him a tender, questioning gaze. In spite of her effort to be strong a tear stole down the firm young cheek. "What have I done to make you angry?" "Nothing," he answered in a whisper. "What's the matter, then?" He took her hand and held it in a cruel grip before he spoke. His words came at last in passionate pleading. "Oh, dear little girl, can't you see how I've been fighting this thing for months--how I've tried to keep away from you and couldn't?" "Why?" She breathed the question leaning so close that her lips framed a kiss. "I can't tell you," he said. "But you must! You must!" she pleaded. Tears were in his eyes now. He looked away. "A gulf separates us, child." "How can it?" she whispered tenderly. "It's just there!" "Can't you cross it?" "No." She drew her slender body erect with an effort. She tried to speak twice before she succeeded. "You--are--married--then?" "Oh--no--no--not that--no!" She bent close again, a sweet smile breaking through her tears. "Then you can tell me what it is." "I couldn't tell it, even to my wife." Her brow contracted in a puzzled look. "It's nothing low or dishonorable?" "No. And it belongs to the big things of life-and death." "And I cannot know this secret?" "You cannot know. I have taken an oath." "And it separates us?" "Yes." "But why--if--you--love--me--and I love--you--" She paused and blushed scarlet. She had told a man her love before he had spoken. But he _had_ spoken! His voice, his tears, his tones had told her. He looked at her a moment, trembling. He spoke one word at a time as if he had no breath to finish the sentence. "It's--sweet--to--hear--your--dear--lips--say--that--you--love--me--God knows I love you--you-dear-little-angel-sent-from heaven! I'm not worthy to touch your hand and yet I'm crushing it--I can't help it--I can't-I can't." She slipped into his arms and he crushed her to his heart. "I love you," she whispered. "I can trust you. I'll never ask your secret until you wish to tell me. Just love me, forever. That's all I ask." "I can do that, and I will!" he answered solemnly. They were married the next night in the parsonage of the Methodist Church of which she was a member. And the foundation was laid for a tragedy involving more lives than one. CHAPTER XXVIII From an old log farmhouse on the hills of Maryland,--overlooking the town of Harper's Ferry, the panther was crouching to spring. For four months in various disguises Brown had reconnoitered the mountains around the gorge of the two rivers. He had climbed the peak and looked into the county of Fauquier with its swarming slave population. Each week he piloted his wagon to the town of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, thirty-five miles back in the hills. The Humanitarians through their agents were shipping there, day by day, the powder, lead, guns, knives, torches and iron pikes the Chosen One had asked. These pious men met him for a final conference in the home of Gerrit Smith, the preacher philanthropist of Peterboro. The canny old huntsman revealed to them just enough to excite the unconscious archaic impulse beneath the skin of culture. He told them that he was going to make a daring raid into the heart of the Old South and rescue as many of the "oppressed" as possible. They knew that the raid into Missouri had resulted in murder and that he rode back into Kansas with the red stains on his hands. Brown gained their support by this carefully concealed appeal to their subconscious natures. As the crowd of eager faces bent close to catch, the details of his scheme, the burning eyes of the leader were suddenly half closed. Silence followed and they watched the two pin points of light in vain. Each pious man present caught the smell of human blood. Yet each pious man carefully concealed this from himself and his neighbor until it would be approved by all. Had the bald facts behind the enterprise been told in plain English, religion and culture would have called a halt. The elemental impulse of the Beast must therefore be carefully concealed. Every man present knew that they were sending Brown on a man-hunt. They knew that the results might mean bloodshed. They knew, as individuals, exactly what was being said and what was being planned. Its details they did not wish to know. The moral significance--the _big_ moral significance of the deed was something apart from the bloody details. The Great Deed could be justified by the Higher Law, the Greater Glory of God. They were twisting the moral universe into accord with the elemental impulse of the brute that sleeps beneath every human skin. The Great Deed about to be done would be glorious, its actors heroes and martyrs of a Divine Cause. They knelt in prayer and their Chosen Leader invoked the blessings of the Lord of Hosts upon them and upon his disciples in the Divine Cause. The hour of Action was now swiftly approaching. Cook had become a book agent. With his pretty Virginia wife his figure became familiar to every farm, in the county. He visited every house where a slave was to be found. He sold maps as well as books. He also sketched maps in secret when he reached the quiet of his home while his happy little bride sang at her work. He carefully compiled a census of slaves at the Ferry and in the surrounding country. So sure had he become of the success of the blow when it should fall, that he begged his Chief to permit him to begin to whisper the promise of the uprising to a few chosen men among the slaves. The old man's eyes; flamed with anger. "You have not done this already?" he growled. "No--no." "You swear it?" Brown had seized Cook by both arms and searched his eyes for the truth. The younger man was amazed at the volcanic outburst of anger. "A hundred times I've told you, Cook, that you talk too much," he went on tensely. "You mean well, boy, but your marriage may prove a tragedy in more ways than one." "It has proven my greatest weapon." "If you're careful, if you're discreet, if you can control your foolish impulses. I've warned you again and again and yet you've been writing letters--" Cook's eyes wavered. "I only wrote one to an old girl friend in Tabor." "Exactly. You told of your marriage, your happiness, your hopes of a great career--and I got a copy of the letter." "How?" "No matter. If I got it, somebody else could get one. Now will you swear to me again to obey my orders?" The burning eyes pierced his soul and he was wax. "Yes. I swear!" "Good. I want a report from you daily from now on. Stop your excursions into the country, except to meet me in broad daylight in the woods this side of our headquarters. You understand?" "Yes. You can depend on me." Brown watched him with grave misgivings. He was the one man on whom he depended least and yet his life and the life of every one in his enterprise was in his hands. There were more reasons than one why he must hasten the final preparations for the Deed. The suspicions of the neighbors had been roused in spite of the utmost vigilance. He had increased his disciples to twenty men. He had induced his younger son, Watson, to leave North Elba and join them. His own daughter, Annie, and Oliver's wife had come with Watson, and the two women were doing the work for his band--cooking, washing, and scrubbing without a murmur. The men were becoming restless in their close confinement. Five of them were negroes. Brown's disciples made no objections to living, eating and sleeping with these blacks. Such equality was one of the cardinal principles of their creed. But the danger of the discovery of the presence of freed negroes living in this farmhouse with two white women and a group of white men increased each day. The headquarters had a garrulous old woman for a neighbor. Gradually, Mrs. Huffmeister became curious about the doings at the farm. She began to invent daily excuses for a visit. They might be real, of course, but the old man's daughter became uneasy. As she cleaned the table, washed the dishes and swept the floors of the rooms and the porch, she was constantly on the lookout for this woman. The thing that had fascinated her was the man whom this girl called father. His name was "Smith," but it didn't seem to fit him. She was an illiterate German and knew nothing of the stirring events in Kansas. But her eyes followed the head huntsman with fascinated curiosity. At this time his personal appearance was startling in its impressive power, when not on guard or in disguise. His brilliant eyes, his flowing white beard and stooped shoulders arrested attention instantly and held it. He was sixty years old by the calendar and looked older. And yet always the curious thing about him was that the impression of age was on the surface. It was given only when he was still. The moment he moved in the quick, wiry, catlike way that was his habit, age vanished. The observer got the impression of a wild beast crouching to spring. It was little wonder that Mrs. Huffmeister made excuses to catch a glimpse of his figure. It was little wonder that she had begun to talk to her friends about "Mr. Smith" and his curious ways. She had talked to him only once. She was glad that he didn't talk much. There was an expression to his set jaw and lips that was repulsive. Especially there was something chill in the tones of his voice. They never suggested tenderness or love, or hope or happiness--only the impersonal ring of metal. The agile and alert body of a man of his age was an uncanny thing, too. The woman's curiosity was roused anew with each glimpse she got of him until her coming at last became a terror to the daughter. She warned her father and he hastened his preparations. If the world below once got a hint of what was going on behind those rough logs there would be short shrift for the men who were stalking human game. It became necessary for the entire party of twenty men to lie concealed in the low attic room the entire day. Not more than two of them could be seen at one time. The strange assortment of ex-convicts, dreamers, theorists, adventurers and freed negroes were kept busy by their leader until the eve of the Great Deed. They whittled into smooth shape the stout hickory handles for a thousand iron pikes, which Blair, the blacksmith of Collinsville, Connecticut, had finally delivered. To these rude weapons the fondest hopes of the head-huntsman had been pinned from the first. The slave was not familiar with the use of firearms. His strong, black arm could thrust these sharp pieces of iron into human breasts with deadly accuracy. Brown saw that every nail was securely set in the handles. Each day he required the first stand of rifles to be burnished anew. The swords and knives were ground and whetted until their blades were perfect. There was not work enough to stop discussion toward the end. Cook had finally whispered to Tidd that the leader intended to assault and take the United States Arsenal and Rifle Works. Cook's study of law revealed the fact that this act would be high treason against the Republic. The men had all sworn allegiance to Brown under his Constitution but the rank and file of the little provisional army did not understand that he intended to attack the National authority by a direct assault. A violent discussion broke out in the attack led by Tidd. At the end of the argument Tidd became so infuriated by Brown's imperious orders for submission to his will that he left the place in a rage, went down to the Ferry and spent the week with Cook. Brown tendered his resignation as Commander in Chief. There was no other man among them who would dare to lead. A frank discussion disclosed this fact and the disciples were compelled to submit. They voted submission and authorized Owen to put it in writing which he did briefly but to the point: Harper's Ferry, Aug. 18, 1859. DEAR SIR, We have all agreed to sustain your decisions, until you have _proved incompetent_, and many of us will adhere to your decisions as long as you will. Your friend, OWEN SMITH. The rebellion was suppressed within the ranks and the leader's authority restored. But the task of watching and guarding became more and more trying and dangerous. One of the women remained on guard every moment from dawn to dusk. When washing dishes she stood at the end of the table where she could see the approach to the house. The meals over, she took her place on the porch or just inside the door. Always she was reading or sewing. She not only had to watch for foes from without, but she was also the guard set over the restless "invisible" upstairs. In spite of her vigilance, Hazlett and Leeman would slip off into the woods and wander for hours. Hazlett was a fine-looking young fellow, overflowing with good nature and social feelings. The prison life was appalling to him. Leeman was a boy from Saco, Maine, the youngest man among the disciples. He smoked and drank occasionally and chafed under restraint. In spite of the women's keen watch these two fellows more than once broke the rules by slipping into Harper's Ferry in broad daylight and spending the time at Cook's house. They loved to watch the slender, joyous, little wife at her work. They envied Cook, and, while they watched, wondered at the strange spell that had bound their souls and bodies to the old man crouching on the hill to strike the sleeping village. The reports of these excursions reached Brown's ears and increased his uneasiness. The thing that hastened the date for the Great Deed to its final place on the calendar was the fact that a traitor from ambush had written a letter to the Secretary of War, John B. Floyd, revealing the whole plot and naming John Brown of Kansas as the leader. The Secretary of War was at the time in the mountains of Virginia on a vacation. The idea of any sane human being organizing a secret association to liberate the slaves of the South by a general insurrection was too absurd for belief--too puerile for attention. The letter was tossed aside. If this were not enough, his friend and benefactor, Gerrit Smith, had made an unfortunate speech before a negro audience in which he had broadly hinted of his hope of an early slave insurrection. It was the last straw. He was awaiting recruits but he dare not delay. He summoned his friend, Frederick Douglas, from Rochester to meet him at Chambersburg. If he could persuade Douglas to take his place by his side on the night the blow would be struck, he would need no other recruits. Brown knew this negro to be the foremost leader of his race and that the freedmen of the North would follow him. The old man arranged through his agent in Chambersburg that the meeting should take place in an abandoned stone quarry just outside of town. The watcher on the hill over Harper's Ferry was disguised as a fisherman. His slouch hat, and also rod and reel, rough clothes, made him a typical farmer fisherman of the neighborhood. He reached the stone quarry unchallenged. With eager eloquence he begged for the negro's help. Douglas asked the details of his attack. Brown bared it, in all its daring. He did not omit the Armory or the Rifle Works. Douglas was shocked. With his vivid eloquence as a negro orator, he possessed far more common sense than the old Puritan before whom he stood. He opposed his plea as the acme of absurdity. The attack on the Federal Arsenal would be treason. It would array the whole Nation against him. It would hurl the army of the United States with the militia of Virginia on his back in an instant. Brown; boldly faced this possibility and declared that with it he could still triumph, if once he crossed the line of Farquier county and thrust his pikes into the heart of the Black Belt. All day Saturday and half the day on Sunday the argument between the two men continued. At noon on Sunday the old man slipped his arm around the negro and pressed it close. His voice was softer than Douglas had ever heard it and it sent the cold chills down his spine in spite of his firm determination never to yield. "Come with me, Douglas, for God's sake," he begged. "I'll defend you with my life. I want you for a special purpose. I'll capture Harper's Ferry in two hours. They'll be asleep. When I cross the line on the mountain top and call the ten thousand slaves in Fauquier County--the bees will swarm, man! Can't you see them? Can't you hear the roar when I've placed these pikes in their hands?--_I want you_ to hive them." Douglas hesitated for only a moment. His vivid imagination had seen the flash of the hell-lit vision of the slave insurrection and his soul answered with a savage cry. But he slipped from Brown's arms, rubbed his eyes and flung off the spell. "My good friend," he said at last, "you're walking into a steel trap. You can't come out alive." He turned to Shields Green, the negro guard who was now one of the old man's disciples. Green had been a friend of Douglas' in Rochester. He had introduced him to the Crusader. He felt responsible for his life. He had a duty to perform to this ignorant black man and he did it, painful as it was. "Green, you have heard what I've just said to my friend. He has changed his plans since you volunteered. You understand, now. You can go with him or come home with me to Rochester. What will you do?" His answer was coolly deliberate. "I b'lieve I go wid de ole man!" With a heavy heart Brown saw Douglas leave. It was the shattering of his most dramatic dream of the execution of the Great Deed. When the black bees should swarm he had seen himself at the head of the dark, roaring tide of avengers, their pikes and rifles flashing in the Southern sun. Around his waist was the sword of George Washington and the pistols of Lafayette. His Aide of Honor would ride, this negro, once a fugitive slave. Side by side they would sweep the South with fire and sword. On arrival at his headquarters on the hill he learned that a revival of religion was going on in the town below and he fixed Sunday, the seventeenth of October, as the day of the Deed. Harper's Ferry would not only be asleep that night--every foe would be lulled in songs of praise to God. CHAPTER XXIX At eight o'clock on Sunday night, the sixteenth of October, 1859, John Brown drove his one-horse wagon to the door of the rude log house in which he had hidden with his disciples for four months. It was a damp, chill evening of mid fall. Heavy rain clouds obscured the stars and not a traveler ventured along the wind-swept roads. From the attic were loaded into the wagon crowbars, sledge hammers, iron pikes and oil-soaked faggots. The crowbars and sledge hammers might be used on the gates or doors. There could be no doubt about the use to which the leader intended to put the pikes and torches. When the wagon had been loaded the old man summoned his faithful son, Owen. "Captain Owen Brown," the steel voice rang, "you will take private Barclay Coppoc and F.J. Merriam and establish a guard over this house as the headquarters of our expedition. Hold it at all hazards. You are guarding the written records of our work, the names of associates, the reserves of our arms and ammunition. We will send you reinforcements in due time." Owen saluted his commander and the two privates under his command took their places beside him. Brown waved to the eighteen men standing around the wagon. "Get on your arms, and to the Ferry!" They had been ready for hours, eager for the Deed. Not one among them in his heart believed in the wisdom of this assault, yet so grim was the power of Brown's mind over the wills of his followers, there was not a laggard among them. Brown drove the wagon and led the procession down the pitch-black road toward the town. The men fell in line two abreast and slowly marched behind the team. Cook and Tidd, raised to the rank of Captains, their commissions duly signed, led the tramping men. There were many captains in this remarkable army of twenty-one. There were more officers than privates. The officers were commissioned to recruit their black companies when the first blow had been struck. The enterprise on which these twenty-one veteran rangers had started in the chill night was by no means so foolhardy as appears on the surface. The leader was leaving his base of supplies with a rear guard of but three men. Yet the army on the march consisted of but eighteen. He knew that the United States Arsenal had but one guarded gate and that the old watchman had not fired a gun in twenty-five years. It would be the simplest thing to force this gate and the Arsenal was in their hands. The Rifle Works had but a single guard. They could be taken in five minutes. Once inside these enclosures, he had unlimited guns and ammunition at his command. The town would be asleep at ten o'clock when he arrived at the Maryland end of the covered bridge across the Potomac. Eighteen armed men were an ample force to capture the unsuspecting town. Not a single policeman was on duty after ten. The people were not in the habit of locking their doors. The one principle of military law which the leader was apparently violating was the failure to provide a plan of retreat. But retreat was the last thing he intended to face. The one thing on which he had staked his life and the success of his daring undertaking was the swarming of the black bees. His theory was reasonable from the Abolitionist's point of view. He believed that negro Chattel Slavery as practiced in the South was the sum of all villainies. And the Southern slave holders were the arch criminals and oppressors of human history. In his Preamble of the new "Constitution" to which his men had sworn allegiance, he had described this condition as one of "perpetual imprisonment, and hopeless servitude or absolute extermination." If the negroes of the South were held in the chains of such a system, if they were being beaten and exterminated, the black bees _would_ swarm at the first call of a master leader and deluge the soil in blood. John Brown believed this as he believed in the God to whom he prayed before he loaded his pikes and torches on the wagon. These black legions would swarm to-night! He could hear their shouts of joy and revenge as they gripped their pikes and swung into line under his God imposed leadership. The whole scheme was based on this faith. If Garrison's words were true, if the Southern slave holder was a fiend, if Mrs. Stowe's arraignment of Slavery on the grounds of its inhuman cruelty was a true indictment, his faith was well grounded. His thousand pikes in the hands of a thousand determined blacks led by the trained Captains whom he had commissioned was a force adequate to hold the town of Harper's Ferry and invade the Black Belt beyond the Peak. The moment these black legions swarmed and weapons were placed in their hands the insurrection would spread with lightning rapidity. The weapons were in the Arsenal. The massacres would be sweeping through Virginia, North and South Carolina before an adequate force could reach this mountain pass. And when they reached it, he would be at the head of a black, savage army moving southward with resistless power. The only question was the swarming of this dark army. Cook, who had spent nearly a year among the people and knew these slaves best, was the one man who held a doubt. For this reason he had begged Brown a second time to let him sound the strongest men among the slaves and try their spirit. Brown refused. He knew a negro. He was simply a white man in a black skin by an accident of climate. He knew exactly what he would do when put to the test. To discuss the subject was a waste of words. And so with faith serene in the success of the Deed, he paused but a moment at the entrance of the bridge. He ordered Captains Kagi and Stevens to advance and take as prisoner William Williams, the watchman. The two rangers captured Williams without a struggle. "A good joke, boys," he laughed. "You'll find it a good one before the night's over," Stevens answered. When he attempted to move, a revolver at his breast still failed to convince him. "Go 'way, you boys, with your foolishness. It's a dark night, but I'm used to being scared!" It was not until Kagi gave him a rap over the head with his rifle that he sat down in amazement and wiped the sweat from his brow. He forgot the chill of the night air. His brain was suddenly on fire. Brown waited at the entrance of the bridge until the watchman had been captured and Cook and Tidd had cut the line on the Maryland side of the river. He then advanced across the covered way to the gate of the Arsenal hut a few yards beyond the Virginia entrance. He captured Daniel Whelan, the watchman at the Arsenal entrance. Dumbfounded but stubborn, he refused to betray his trust by surrendering the keys. "Open the gate!" Brown commanded. "To hell wid yez!" A half dozen rifles were thrust at his head. He folded his arms and stood his ground. They pushed a lantern into his face and Brown studied him a moment. He didn't wish a gun fired yet. The town was asleep and he wanted it to sleep. "Get a crowbar," he ordered. They got a crowbar from the wagon, jammed it into the chain which held the wagon gate and twisted the chain until it snapped. He drove the wagon inside, closed the gate and the United States Arsenal was in his hands. Brown placed the two watchmen in charge of his men, Jerry Anderson and Dauphin Thompson. He spoke to the prisoners in sharp command. "Behave yourselves, now. I've come here to free all the negroes in this State. If I'm interfered with I'll burn the town and have blood." Every man who passed through the dark streets was accosted, made prisoner and placed under guard. Hazlett and Edwin Coppoc were ordered to hold the Armory. Oliver Brown and William Thompson were sent to seize the Shenandoah bridge, the direct line of march into the slave-thronged lower valley. Stevens was sent to capture the Rifle Works which was accomplished in two minutes. The program had worked exactly as Brown had predicted. Not a shot had been fired and they were masters of the town, its two bridges, the United States Arsenal, Armory and Rifle Works. The men were now despatched through the town for the real work of the night--the arming of the black legion with pikes and torches. It was one o'clock before the first accident happened. Patrick Higgins, the second night watchman, came to relieve Williams on the Maryland bridge. Oliver Brown, on guard, cried: "You're my prisoner, sir." The Irishman grinned. "Yez don't till me!" Without another word he struck Oliver a blow. The crack of a rifle was the answer. In his rage young Brown was too quick with the shot. The bullet plowed a furrow in Higgins' skull but failed to pierce it. He ran into the shadows. Once inside the Wager House, he gave the alarm. The train from the West pulled into the station and was about to start across the bridge when Higgins, his face still streaked with blood, rushed up to the conductor and told him what had happened. He went forward to investigate, was fired on and backed his train out to the next station. As the train pulled out Shepherd Haywood, a freedman, the baggage master of the station, walked toward the bridge to find the missing watchman. The raiders shot him through the breast and he fell mortally wounded. The first victim was a faithful colored employee of Mayor Beekham, the station master of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company. The shot that killed him roused a man of action. Dr. John D. Starry lived but a stone's throw from the spot where Haywood had fallen. Hearing the shot and the groans of the wounded man, the doctor hastened to his rescue and carried him into the station. He could give no coherent account of what had happened and was already in a dying condition. The doctor investigated. He approached two groups of the raiders, was challenged and retreated. Satisfied of the seriousness of the attack when he saw two armed white men lead three negroes holding pikes in their hands into the Armory gate, he saddled his horse and rode to his neighbors in town and country and gave the alarm. While this dangerous messenger was on his foam-flecked horse, Brown, true to his quixotic sense of the dramatic, sent a raiding party of picked men to capture Colonel Washington and bring to his headquarters in the Arsenal the sword and pistols. On this foolish mission he despatched Captains Stevens, Cook and Tidd, with three negro privates, Leary, Anderson and Green. He gave positive orders that Colonel Washington should be forced to surrender the sword of the first President into the hands of a negro. Day was dawning as the strange procession on its return passed through the Armory gate. In his own carriage was seated Colonel Washington and his neighbor, John H. Allstead. Their slaves and valuables were packed in the stolen wagons drawn by stolen horses. Brown stood rifle in hand to receive them. "This," said Stevens to Washington, "is John Brown." "Osawatomie Brown of Kansas," the old man added with a stiffening of his figure. He then handed a pike to each of the slaves captured at Bellair and Allstead's: "Stand guard over these white men." The negroes took the pikes and held them gingerly. At sunrise Kagi sent an urgent message to his Chief advising him that the Rifle Works could not be held in the face of an assault. He begged him to retreat across the Potomac at the earliest possible moment. Retreat was a word not in the old man's vocabulary. He sent Leary to reinforce him, with orders to hold the works. He buckled the sword and pistols of Washington about his gaunt waist and counted his prisoners. He had forty whites within the enclosure. He counted the slaves whom he had armed with pikes. He had enrolled under his banner less than fifty. They stood in huddled groups of wonder and fear. The black bees had failed to swarm. He scanned the horizon and not a single burning home lighted the skies. It had begun to drizzle rain. Not a torch had been used. He had lost four precious hours in his quixotic expedition to capture Colonel Washington, his sword and slaves. He could not believe this a mistake. God had shown him the dramatic power of the act. He held a Washington in his possession. He was being guarded by his own slaves, armed. The scene would make him famous. It would stir the millions of the North. It would drive the South to desperation. The thing that stunned him was the failure of the black legions to mobilize under the Captains whom he had appointed to lead them. It was incredible. He paced the enclosure, feverishly recalling the histories of mobs which he had studied, especially the fury of the French populace when the restraints of Law and Tradition had been lifted by the tocsin of the Revolution. The moment the beast beneath the skin of religion and culture was unchained, the massacres began. Every cruelty known to man had been their pastime. And these beasts were white men. How much more should he expect of the Blacks? Haiti had given him assurance of darker deeds. The world was shivering with the horrors of the Black uprising in Haiti when he was born. He had drunk the story from his Puritan mother's breast. From childhood he had brooded with secret joy over its bloody details. The Black Bees had swarmed there and Toussaint L'Overture had hived them as he had asked Frederick Douglas to hive them here. They seized the rudest weapons and wiped out the white population. They butchered ten thousand French men, women and children. And not a cry of pity or mercy found an echo in a savage breast. What was wrong here? He had proclaimed the slave a freeman. He had placed an iron pike in his right hand and a torch in his left. Why had they not answered with a shout of triumph? His somber mind refused to believe that they would not rise. Even now he was sure they were mobilizing in a sheltered mountain gorge. Before noon he would hear the roar of their coming and see the terror-stricken faces of the whites fleeing before their rush. He had repeated to his Northern crowds the fable of negro suffering in the South until he believed the lie himself. He believed it with every beat of his stern Puritan heart. And he had repeated and shouted it until the gathering Abolitionist mob believed it as a message from God. The fact that the system of African slavery, as actually practiced in the South, was the mildest and most humane form of labor ever fixed by the masters of men, they refused to consider. The mob leader never allows his followers to consider facts. He knows that his crowd prefers dreams to facts. Dreams are the motives of crowd action. The dream, the illusion, the unreality have ever been the forces that have shaped human history in its hours of crisis when Fate has placed the future in the hands of the mob. The fact that Slavery in the South had lifted millions of black savages--half of them from cannibal tribes--into the light of human civilization--that it had been their school, their teacher, their church, their inspiration--did not exist, because it was a fact. They did not deal in facts. And so again Brown lifted his burning eyes toward the hills reflected in the mirror of the rivers. Down one of those rocky slopes the Black Legion would sweep before the day was done! He had boldly despatched Cook across the Potomac bridge with the wagons, horses and treasures stolen from Colonel Washington's house to be stored at headquarters. There was still no doubt or shadow of turning in his imperious soul. With each passing moment the swift feet of the avengers were closing the trap into which he had walked. By ten o'clock the terror-stricken people of the town and county had seized their weapons and the fight began. Bullets were whistling from every street corner and every window commanding a glimpse of the Arsenal and Armory. Brown's handful of men began to fall. The Rifle Works surrendered first and his guard of three men were all dead or wounded. By three o'clock his forces had been cut to pieces and he had taken refuge in the Engine House of the Armory. The bridges were held by the people. Owen, Cook and his guard at the old log house on the Maryland side were cut off and could not come to his rescue. The amazing news of an Abolition invasion of Virginia and the capture of the United States Arsenal and Rifle Works had shaken the nation. President Buchanan hastily summoned from Arlington the foremost soldier of the Republic and despatched Colonel Robert E. Lee to the scene with the only troops available at the Capital, a company of marines. Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart volunteered to act as his aide. The young cavalier was in the East celebrating the birth of a baby boy. CHAPTER XXX When the marines arrived from Washington it was past midnight. The town swarmed with armed men from every farm and fireside. Five companies of militia from Maryland and Virginia were on the ground and Henry Wise, the Governor of Virginia, was hurrying to take command. Stuart had established Colonel Lee's headquarters behind the brick wall of the Arsenal enclosure. Not more than fifty yards from the gate stood the Engine House in which Brown had barricaded himself with his two sons, Oliver and Watson, and four of his men. He held forty white hostages. A sentinel of marines covered the entrance to the enclosure. The militia had yielded command to the United States troops. As Stuart stood awaiting Colonel Lee's arrival, Lieutenant Green, in command of the marines, stepped briskly to the aide's side to report the preliminary work. As yet no one in the excited town knew the identity of the mysterious commander "John Smith" who led the invasion. No one could guess the number of men he had in his army nor how many he held in reserve on the Maryland hills. Stuart's blue eyes flashed with excitement. "The marines have the Arsenal completely surrounded?" he asked. "A rat couldn't get through, Lieutenant Stuart." "The bridges leading into Harper's Ferry guarded?" "Three picked men at each end, sir." "Any signs of the Abolitionists on the hills at dawn?" "A shot from a sniper on the Maryland side nipped one of the guards--" "Then their headquarters and the reserves are back in those hills." "I'm sure of it. I've sent a squad to get the sniper." "All right, it's daylight. Keep your marines away from the Arsenal gate. It's barely fifty yards to the Engine House. We've got the Abolitionists penned inside. But they're good shots." "I've warned them, sir." "No fighting now until Colonel Lee takes command. His train has just pulled in." "Why the devil didn't he come with us?" Green asked suddenly. "Called to the White House for a conference with President Buchanan, in such haste that he couldn't stop to put on his uniform. The Capital's agog over this affair. The wildest rumors are afloat." "Nothing to the rumors afloat here among these militiamen and dazed citizens." "Colonel Lee will straighten them out in short order--" Stuart suddenly stiffened to attention as he saw the soldierly figure of the Colonel approaching from the station with quick, firm step. Over his civilian suit he had hastily thrown an army overcoat and looked what he was, the bronzed veteran commander of the Texas plains. He saluted the two young officers and quickly turned to his aide. "No sign of a slave uprising, of course?" "The invaders did their best to bring it on. They've taken about fifty negroes from their masters." "Armed them?" "With pikes and rifles." "The invaders have robbed houses as reported?" "Taken everything they could get their hands on. They forced their way into Colonel Washington's home, dragged him from bed, stole his watch, silver, wagons, horses, saddles and harness. They hold him a prisoner with four of his slaves." "Colonel Washington is now their prisoner?" "With others they are holding as hostages." "Hostages?" "They swear to murder them all at the first sign of an attack." "They won't!" he answered sharply. "I think they will, sir. They shot an unarmed negro porter at the depot and murdered the Mayor to-day as he was passing through the streets. They are expecting reinforcements at any minute." "The militia are ready for duty?" "Some are. Some are drinking." Lee turned to Lieutenant Green. "Close every barroom in town." Green saluted. "At once, sir." Green turned to execute the order. The only problem that gave Lee concern was the use the invaders might make of the prisoners they held. That they would not hesitate to expose them to death as a protection to their own lives he couldn't doubt. Men who would dare the crime of raising a slave insurrection would not hesitate to violate the code of military honor. He saw Stuart was restless. There was something on his mind. He half guessed the trouble and paused. "Well, Lieutenant?" Stuart laughed. "I suppose, Colonel, you couldn't possibly let me lead the assault on the Engine House, could you?" Lee's eyes twinkled at the eager look. The Colonel was a man as well as a soldier. And he was a father. He loved the shouts of children more than he loved the shouts of armies. In the pause he saw a vision. A little blue-eyed mother crooning over a baby which she had named for her sweetheart. The great heart forgot the daring soldier before him eager for a fight. He saw only the handsome husband and a wife at home praying God for his safe return. He could see her pressing the pink bundle of flesh to her heart, singing a lullaby that was a prayer. There would be no glory in such an assault. There was only the possibility of a bloody tragedy before a handful of desperadoes could be overcome. He faced his aide with a frown. "Lieutenant Green is in command of the marines, sir. You are only my voluntary aide. You will act strictly within the rules of war." Stuart saluted. He knew that his commander was a stern disciplinarian. Argument was out of the question. He made up his mind, however, to watch for a chance to join in the attack, once it was begun. Green returned from his errand leading an old negro who held one of Brown's iron pikes. The lieutenant thrust the trembling figure before the Colonel. Lee studied him, and suppressed the smile that began to play about his lips. "Well, uncle, this looks bad for you," he said finally. "Lordee, Master, don't you blame me!" the old negro protested. "They found him hiding in the bushes," Green explained. "Yassah," the old man broke in. "I wuz kivered up in de leaves!" "That's right, sir," Green agreed. "The pike was standing beside a tree. They raked the leaves and found him in a hole." "An' I tried ter git under de hole, too." "The raiders took you by force?" Lee asked. "Yassah! Dey pulls me outen bed, make me put on my close, gimme dis here han' spike, an' tells me I kin kill my ole marster an' missis when I feels like it--" "Did you try to kill them?" Lee asked seriously. "Who? Me?" "Yes." "Man! I drawed dat han' spike on dem Abolishioners an' I says: 'You low doun stinkin' po' white trash. Des try ter lay de weight er yo' han' on my marster er missis,--an' I'll lan' yo' in de middle of er spell er sickness'--" "And they took you prisoner." "Yassah." "I see." "Dey starts ter shoot me fust! But den dey say I wuzn't wuf de powder an' lead hit'ud take ter kill me." "And you escaped?" "Na sah, not den. Dey make me go wid 'em, wher er no. But I git loose byme bye an' crawl inter dat patch er trees doun dar by de ribber--" "We found him there," Green nodded. "Yassah, I mak' up my min' dat dey's have ter burn de woods an' sif de ashes for' dey ebber see me ergin." Stuart's boyish laughter rang without restraint. "All right, uncle," Lee responded cordially. "You can leave that pike with me." "Yassah, you kin sho have it. God knows I ain't got no use fur it." He threw the pike down and brushed his hands as if to get rid of the contagion of its touch. "You're safe," Lee added. "The United States Marines are in command of Harper's Ferry now." "Yassah. De Lawd knows I doan wanter 'sociate wid no slu-footed, knock-kneed po' whites. I'se er ristercrat, I is. Yassah, dat's me!" "I'm glad to help you, uncle." "Thankee, sah." "Hurry back to your home now and help your people in their troubles." "Yassah, right away, sah--right away!" The old man hurried home, bowing right and left to his white friends and muttering curses on the heads of the Abolitionists, who had dragged him from his bed and caused him to lose four square meals. Lee examined the pike carefully. He measured its long stiletto-like blade, projecting nine inches from its fastenings in the hickory handle. He observed the skill and care with which the rivets had been set. "An ugly piece of iron," he said at last. "I'll bet they've thousands of them somewhere back in these hills," Stuart added. "And not a negro has lifted his hand against his master?" "Not one." Lee ran his fingers along the edges of the blade and a dreamy look came into his thoughtful eyes. "My boy, such people deserve their freedom. But not this way--not this way! God save us from the horrors of the mob and the fanatic who leads them! Slavery is surely and swiftly dying. It cannot survive the economic pressure of the century. If only we can be saved from such madness." His voice died away as in a troubled dream. He looked up suddenly and turned to his aide. "I must summon their leader to surrender. You have not yet learned his name?" "He calls himself John Smith, sir. They've been here all summer in an old farmhouse on the Maryland side." "Strange that their purpose should not have been discovered. Their work has been carefully and secretly planned." "Beyond a doubt." "They could not have done it without big backing somewhere." "They've had it. They've had plenty of money. They have rifles of the finest make. And they're not the type made in this Arsenal." "They expected to use the rifles in the Armory, of course. And they expect reinforcements. Any sign of their reserves?" "Not yet, sir. We have the roads guarded for ten miles." "We'll settle it before they can get help," Lee said sharply. He hastily wrote a summons to surrender and handed it to Stuart. "Approach the Engine House under a flag of truce. Ask for a parley with their leader and give him this." Stuart saluted. "At once, sir." He attached his handkerchief to his sword and entered the gate. A loud murmur rose from the crowd of excited people who had pressed close to see the famous commander of the Marines. Lee turned to the sentinel. "Push that crowd back." The crowd had pressed closer, watching Stuart with increasing excitement. The sentinel clubbed his musket and pressed against the front men savagely. "Stand back!" The people slowly retreated. Lee turned to Lieutenant Green. "Your men are ready for action?" "They await your orders, sir." "I suppose you wish the honor of leading the troops in taking these men out of the Engine House?" Green smiled and bowed. "Thank you, Colonel!" "Pick a detail of only twelve men, with a reserve of twelve more. When Lieutenant Stuart gives you the signal, assault the Engine House and batter down the doors with sledge hammers--" Green saluted. "Yes, sir." Lee spoke his next command in sharp emphasis. "The citizens inside whom the raiders are holding must not be harmed. See to this when you gain an entrance. Once inside, pick your enemies. You understand?" "Perfectly, sir." "Hold your men in check until the signal to attack. I hope it will not be necessary to give it. I shall do my best to avoid further bloodshed." "All right, sir." Green saluted and stood at attention awaiting the arrival of Stuart. Lee's aide had approached the Engine House, watched in breathless suspense by a crowd of more than two thousand people. In spite of the efforts of the sentinels they had jammed every inch of space commanding a view of the enclosure. When Stuart reached the bullet-marked door he called: "For Mr. Smith, the commander of the invaders, I have a communication from Colonel Lee!" Brown opened the door about four inches and placed his body against the crack. Stuart could see through the opening his hand gripping a rifle. He refused to open it further and the parley was held with the door ajar. He at last allowed Stuart to enter. His first look at the man's face startled him. The full gray beard could not mask the terrible mouth which he had studied one day in Kansas. And nothing could dim the flame that burned in his blue-gray eyes. He recognized him instantly. "Why, aren't you old Osawatomie Brown of Kansas, whom I once held there as my prisoner?" "Yes, but you didn't keep me." "I have a written communication from Colonel Lee." "Read it." Stuart drew the sheet of paper from his pocket and read in his clear, ringing voice: "Headquarters Harper's Ferry, October 18, 1859. Colonel Lee, United States Army, commanding the troops sent by the President of the United States to suppress the insurrection at this place, demands the surrender of the people in the Armory buildings." "If they will peaceably surrender themselves and return the pillaged property, they shall be kept in safety to await the orders of the President. Colonel Lee reports to them, in all frankness, that it is impossible for them to escape, that the Armory is surrounded by troops, and that if he is compelled to take them by force he cannot answer for their safety. R. E. LEE, _Colonel Commanding U. S. Troops_." Stuart waited and Brown made no reply. "You will surrender?" "I will not," was the prompt answer. In vain the young officer tried to persuade the stubborn old man to submit without further loss of life. "I advise you to trust to the clemency of the Government," Stuart urged. "I know what that means, sir. A rope for my men and myself. I prefer to die just here." "I'll give you a short time to think it over and return for your final answer." Brown at once began to barricade the doors and windows. And Stuart reported to his commander. Lee met him at the gate. "Well?" "A little surprise for us, Colonel--" "He refuses to surrender?" "Absolutely. Captain 'John Smith' turns out to be Old John Brown of Osawatomie, Kansas, sir." "You're sure?" "I couldn't be mistaken. I had him a prisoner on the plains once when our troops were ordered out to quell the disturbances." "That man's been here all summer planning this attack?" "And not a soul knew him." Lee was silent a moment and spoke slowly: "It can only mean a conspiracy of wide scope to drench the South in blood--" "Of course." "He refuses to yield without a fight?" Stuart laughed. "He don't know how to surrender. I left him with two pistols and a bowie knife in his belt and a rifle in each hand." "How many men were with him?" "I saw but six besides the prisoners he holds as hostages. The prisoners begged for an interview with you, sir. I told them to be quiet--that you knew what you were doing." "It's incredible!" Lee exclaimed. He paused in deep thought and went on as if talking to himself. "Strange old man--I must see him." "I wouldn't, Colonel. He's a tough customer." "I hate to order an assault on six men. He must be insane." "No more than you are, unless the pursuit of a fixed idea for a lifetime makes a man insane." Lee turned suddenly to his aide. "Press that crowd back into the next street and ask him to come here under a flag of truce." "I warn you, Colonel," Stuart protested. "He violated a flag of truce in Kansas. He won't hesitate to shoot you on sight if he takes a notion." Lee smiled. "He didn't try to shoot you on sight, did he?" "No--" "Go back and bring him here. I must find out some things from him if I can. He may not survive the assault." Stuart again fixed his flag of truce and returned to the Engine House. This time the Colonel called a cordon of marines and pressed the crowd into the next street. He beckoned to a sentinel. "Ask Lieutenant Green to step here." The sentinel called a marine to take his place and went in search of the commander of the company. Lee lifted his eyes to the hills of Maryland. But a few miles beyond the first range lay the town of Sharpsburg, where Destiny was setting the stage for the bloodiest battle in the history of the republic. A little farther on lay the town of Gettysburg, over whose ragged hills Death was hovering in search of camping ground. Did his prophetic soul pierce the future? Never had he been more profoundly depressed. The event he was witnessing was but the prelude to a tragedy he felt to be from this hour inevitable. Green saluted in answer to his summons. "I want you to witness an interview which I will have with John Brown, and receive my final orders!" "The leader is old John Brown?" "Lieutenant Stuart has identified him." A shout from a crowd of boys who had climbed the trees of the next street caused Lee to turn toward the gate as the invader and Stuart passed through. As Lee confronted Brown no more startling contrast could be presented by two men born under the same flag. John Brown with his bristling, unkempt beard, his two revolvers and sword hanging and dangling on his gaunt frame, his eyes glittering and red from the loss of two nights' sleep, the incarnation of Lawlessness; Lee, the trained soldier, the inheritor of centuries of constructive genius, the aristocrat in taste, the humblest and gentlest Christian in spirit, the lover of Peace, of Order. The commander of the forces of Law spoke in friendly tones. "You are John Brown of Osawatomie, Kansas?" "Yes!" "You are in command of the invaders who have killed four citizens of Harper's Ferry and seized the United States Arsenal?" "I am in command." "Would you mind telling me why you have invaded Virginia?" "To free your slaves." "How many men were under your command when you entered?" "Seventeen white men and five colored freedmen." "With an armed force of twenty-two you have invaded the South to free three million slaves?" "I expected help--" He paused and his burning eyes flashed toward the hills. "And I still expect it!" "From whom could you expect it?" "From here and elsewhere." "From blacks as well as whites?" "From both." "You have been disappointed in not getting it from either?" "Thus far--yes." Lee studied him with increasing wonder. There was a quiet daring in his attitude, an utter disregard of the tragic forces that had closed in on his ill-fated venture that was astounding. What could be its secret? It was something more than the coolness and poise of a brave Ulan. His manner was not cool. His mind was not poised. There was a vibrant ring to his metallic voice which betrayed the profoundest emotion. His daring came from some mysterious source within. It was a daring that was the contradiction of reason and experience. It was uncanny. Lee asked his questions in measured tones. "You were disappointed, I take it, particularly in the conduct of the blacks?" "Yes." "Exactly. If negro Slavery in the South were to-day the beastly thing which you and Garrison have so long proclaimed, you could not have been disappointed. Had your illusion of abuse and cruelty been true the negroes _would_ have risen to a man, put their masters to death, and burned their homes. Yet, not a black man has lifted his hand. There must be something wrong in your facts--" Brown lifted his head solemnly. "There can be nothing wrong in my faith, Colonel Lee. It comes from God." "I didn't say your faith, my friend. I said your facts--" He paused and picked up the pike. "These unused pikes bear witness to your error. This is an ugly weapon, Mr. Brown!" "It was meant to kill." "We found it in the hands of a negro." "I wish to conceal nothing, sir--" The old man paused, lifted his stooped shoulders and drew a deep breath. "I armed fifty blacks with them and I had many more which I hoped to use." Lee touched the point of the two-edged blade, "This piece of iron, then, placed in the hands of a negro was meant for the breasts of Southern white men, women and children?" "I came to proclaim your slaves free and give them the weapons to make good my orders." "Who gave you the authority to issue orders of life and death?" Lee asked with slow, steady emphasis. Brown's eyes flashed. "I gave it to myself, sir. By the authority of my conscience and what I believe to be right." "Suppose all took the same orders? Every man who differs with his neighbor, gets his gun, proclaims himself the mouthpiece of God and kills those who disagree with him. Civilization is built on an agreement not to do this thing. We have placed in the hands of the officer of the law the task of executing justice. The moment we dare as individuals to take this into our own hands, the world becomes a den of wild beasts--" "The world's already a den of wild beasts," Brown interrupted sharply. "They have snarled and snapped long enough. It's time to clinch and fight it out." There could be no doubt of the savage earnestness of the man who spoke. There was the ring of steel in every word. Lee looked at him curiously. "May I ask how many people you know in the North who feel that way toward the South?" "Millions, sir." "And they back you in this attack?" "A few chosen prophets--yes--thank God." "And these prophets of the coming mob of millions have furnished you the money to arm and equip this expedition?" "They have." "It's amazing--" "The millions are yet asleep," Brown admitted. He shook his gray locks as his terrible mouth closed with a deep intake of breath. "But I'll awake them! The thunderbolt which I have launched over Harper's Ferry will call them. And they will follow me. I hope to hear the throb of their drums over the hills before you have finished with me to-day!" Lee was silent again, looking at the face with flaming eyes in a new wonder. "And you invade to rob and murder at will?" "I have not robbed!" "No?" "I have confiscated the property of slaveholders for use in a divine cause." "Who gave you the right to confiscate the property of others in any cause?" "Again I answer, my conscience." "So a common thief can say." "I am no common thief." "Yet when you forced your way into Colonel Washington's home at night you committed a felony, known as burglary." "I did it in a holy crusade, sir." "The highwayman on the plains might plead the same necessity." "You know, Colonel Lee, that I am neither felon, nor highwayman. I am an Abolitionist. My sole aim in the invasion of the South is to free the slave--" "At any cost?" "At any cost. I see, feel, know but one thing-that you are guilty of a great wrong against God and humanity. I have the right to interfere with you. To free those whom you hold in bondage." "Even though you deluge the world in blood?" "Yes. That is why I am here. I have no personal hate. No spirit of revenge. I have killed only when I thought I had to. I have protected your citizens whom hold as prisoners." "You had no right to take those men prisoners." Brown ignored the interruption. "I ordered my men to fire only on those who were trying to stop our work." "And yet you placed these pikes in the hands of negroes and gave them oil-soaked torches?" Brown threw his hand high over his head as if to waive an irrelevant remark. "I am here, sir, to aid those suffering a great wrong." "And you begin by doing a greater wrong!" The old man pursued his one idea without a break in thought. Lee's words made not the slightest impression. "This question of the negro, Colonel Lee, you must face. You may dispose of me now easily. But this question is still to be settled. The end of that is not yet!" "I, too, believe that Slavery is wrong, my friend. Yet surely this is not the way to bring to the slave his freedom. On pikes to be driven into the breasts of unoffending men and women! Two wrongs have never yet made a right." The old man lifted his head towards the hills and a look of religious rapture overspread his furrowed face. His soul's deepest faith breathed in his words: "Moral suasion is a vain thing, sir. This issue can be settled in blood alone." The Colonel watched him with a growing feeling of futility. "I have taken pains in this interview, Mr. Brown, to clear the way for your surrender without bloodshed. I cannot persuade you?" "Upon what terms?" "Terms?" "I said so, sir." The Colonel marveled at his audacity. Yet he was in dead earnest. His suggestion was not bravado. "The only possible terms I can offer I suggested in my first message. I will protect you and your men from this infuriated crowd and guarantee you a fair trial by the civil authorities." "I can't accept," Brown answered curtly. "You must allow me to leave this place with my men and the prisoners I hold as hostages until I reach the canal locks on the Maryland side. There I will release your citizens, and as soon as this is done your troops may fire on us, and pursue us." "Such an offer is a waste of words. You must see that further resistance is useless." "You have the numbers on us, sir," Brown answered defiantly. "But we are not afraid of death. I'd as lief die by a bullet as on the gallows. I can do more now by dying than by living. I came here to destroy the institution of Slavery by the sword--" Lee's answer came with clean-cut emphasis. "The law which protects Slavery is going to be repealed in God's own time. I am, myself, working toward that end as well as you, sir, and the end is sure. But at this moment the Constitution of the United States to which we owe liberty, justice, order, progress, wealth and power, guarantees this institution. Until its repeal it is my duty and it is your duty to obey the law. Will you submit?" Brown's answer came like the crack of a rifle. "The laws of the United States I have burned in a public square, sir. The Constitution is a covenant with Death, an agreement with Hell. I loathe it. I despise it. I spit upon it--" Lee lifted his hand in gesture of command. "That will do, sir!" He faced Stuart with quick decision. "Take him back to his men and give the signal of assault." "Good!" Stuart turned to Green. "I'll wave my cap." Stuart led Brown through the gate to the Engine House. Lee summoned Green. "Your troops are raw men, I understand." "They have never been under fire, sir. But they're soldiers--never fear." "All right. We'll put them to the test. Assault and take the Engine House without firing a shot. No matter how severe the fire on you, we must protect our citizens held inside. Use the bayonet only. Give each of your twelve men careful instructions. When fired on, they must not return that fire!" Green saluted and passed to the head of his detail of twelve men. A shout from the boys in the tree tops was the signal of Stuart's return. "Watch that crowd," Lee ordered the sentinel. "Use the reserves to hold them out of range." Stuart returned with his eyes flashing. "Ready, sir!" "Give your signal." Stuart stepped into the open, and waved his cap. Green's detail of twelve men, the commander at their head, rushed to the Engine House with a shout. The crowd of two thousand people answered with a roar. A volley rang from the besieged and a moment's silence followed. Their first shots had gone wild and not a marine had fallen. They had reached the door and their sledge hammers were raining blows on its solid timbers. An incessant fire poured from the portholes which Brown had cut through the walls. The men were so close to the door his shots were not effective. Brown ordered one of his prisoners, Captain Dangerfield, a clerk of the Armory Staff, to secure the fastenings. Dangerfield slipped the bolts to their limit and stood watching his chance to throw them and admit the marines. Brown ordered him back. He retreated a few feet and watched the bolts, as the blows rained on the door. Stuart had slipped into the fight. He called to Green. "The hammers are too light. There's a big ladder outside. Get it and use it as a battering ram." With a shout the marines seized the ladder, five men on a side, and drove it with tremendous force against the door. The first blow shivered a panel. Brown ordered the fire engine rolled against the door. Dangerfield sprang to assist. He slipped the bolt out instead of in! The next rush of the ladder drove the door against the engine, rolled it back a foot and made a small opening through which Lieutenant Green forced his way. The marines crowded in behind him. Green sprang on the engine with drawn sword and looked for Brown. A shower of bullets greeted him. Yet the miracle happened. Not one touched him. He recognized Colonel Washington, leaped from the engine and rushed to his side. On one knee, a few feet to his left, knelt a man with a carbine in his hand pulling the lever to reload. Colonel Washington waved his arm. "That's Osawatomie." The Lieutenant sprang twelve feet at him. He gave a quick underthrust of his sword, struck him midway of the body and raised the old man completely from the ground. He fell forward with his head between his knees. Green clubbed his sword and rained blow after blow on his head. The men who watched the scene supposed that he had split the skull. Yet he survived. Green's first sword thrust had struck the heavy leather belt and did not enter the body. The sword was bent double. The clubbed blade was too light. It had made only superficial wounds. As the marines pressed through the opening the first man was shot dead. The second was wounded in the face. The men who followed made short work of the fight. They bayoneted a raider under the engine and pinned another to the wall. The fight had lasted but three minutes. Brown lay on the ground wounded. His son, Oliver, was dead. His son, Watson, was mortally wounded. All the rest were dead or prisoners, save seven who made good their escape with Cook and Owen Brown into the hills of Pennsylvania. Colonel Lee entered the Engine House and greeted Washington. "You are all right, sir?" "Sound as a dollar, Colonel Lee. The damned old fool's had me penned up here for two days. I'm dry as a powder horn and hungry as a wolf. Nothing to eat, and nothing to drink, but _water out of a horse-bucket_!" Green faced his Colonel and saluted. He glanced at the prostrate prisoners. "See that their wounds are dressed immediately. Give them good food, and take them as quickly as possible to the jail at Charlestown under heavy guard. See that they are not harmed or insulted by the people." Lee turned sadly to his friend. "Colonel Washington, the thing we have dreaded has come. The first blow has been struck. The Blood Feud has been raised." CHAPTER XXXI On the surface only was the Great Deed a failure. Not a single pike had been thrust into a white man's breast by his slave. Not a single torch had been applied to a Southern home. His chosen Captains never passed the sentinel peak into Fauquier county. The Black Bees had not swarmed. But the keen ear of the old man had heard the rumble of the swarming of twenty million white hornets in the North. The moment he had lifted his head a prisoner in the hands of his courteous captor, he foresaw the power which the role of martyrdom would give to his cause. Instantly he assumed the part and played it with genius to the last breath of his indomitable body. He had stained the soil of Virginia with the blood of innocent and unoffending citizens. He had raised the Blood Feud at the right moment, a few months before a Presidential campaign. He had raised it at the right spot in a mountain gorge that looked southward to the Capitol at Washington and northward to the beating hearts of the millions, who had been prepared for this event by the long years of the Abolition Crusade which had culminated in _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. A wave of horror for a moment swept the nation, North and South. Frederick Douglas fled to Europe. Sanborn, the treasurer and manager of the conspiracy, hurried across the border into Canada. Howe and Stearns hid. Theodore Parker was already in Europe. Poor, old, gentle, generous Gerrit Smith collapsed and was led to the insane asylum at Ithaca, New York. Two men alone of the conspirators realized the tremendous thing that had been done--John Brown in jail at Charlestown, and Thomas Wentworth Higginson, the militant preacher of Massachusetts. To Brown, life had been an unbroken horror. His tragic Puritan soul had ever faced it with scorn--scorn for himself and the world. He was used to failure and disaster. They had been his meat and drink. Bankruptcy, imprisonment, flight from justice and the death of half his children had been mere incidents of life. He had cast scarcely a glance at his dying sons in the Engine House. He had not tried to minister to them. His hand was tightly gripped on his carbine. His grim soul now rose to its first long flight of religious ecstasy. He saw that the Southerner's reverence for Law and Order would make his execution inevitable. His dark spirit shouted for joy. His own blood, if he could succeed in playing the role of martyr, would raise the Blood Feud to its highest power. No statesman, no leader, no poet, no seer could calm the spirit of the archaic beast in man, which this martyrdom would raise if skillfully played. He was sure he could play the role with success. The one man in the North who saw with clear vision the thing which Brown's failure had done was the Worcester clergyman. Higginson was a preacher by accident. He was a born soldier. From the first meeting with Brown his fighting spirit had answered his cry for blood with a shout of approval. Higginson not only refused to run, but also groaned with shame at the fears of his fellow conspirators. His first utterance was characteristic of his spirit. "I am overwhelmed with remorse that the men who gave him money and arms could not have been by his side when he fell." He stood his ground in Worcester and dared arrest. He did not proclaim his guilt from the housetop. But his friends and neighbors knew and he walked the streets with head erect. He did more. He joined with John W. LeBarnes and immediately organized a plot to liberate Brown by force. He raised the money and engaged George H. Hoyt to go to Harper's Ferry, ostensibly to appear as his attorney at the trial, in reality to act as a spy, discover the strength of the jail and find whether it could be stormed and taken by a company of determined men. At his first interview with Brown the spy revealed his purpose. "I have come from Boston to rescue you," he whispered. The old man's face was convulsed with anger. He spoke in the tones of final command which had always closed argument with friend or foe. "Never will I consent to such a scheme." "But listen--" "You listen to me, young man. The bare mention of this thing again and I shall refuse to see or speak to you. Do you accept my decision, sir?" Hoyt agreed at once. Only in this way could he keep in touch with the man whom he had come to save. "The last thing on this earth I would ask," Brown continued sternly, "is to be taken from this jail except by the State of Virginia when I shall ascend the scaffold." Hoyt looked longingly at the old-fashioned fireplace in his prison room. Two men could have crawled up its flue at the same time. His refusal did not stop Higginson's efforts. He appealed to the forlorn wife at North Elba, New York, to go to Harper's Ferry, ask to see her husband and whisper her plan into his ear. He sent the money and got Mrs. Brown as far as Baltimore on her journey when Brown heard of it and stopped her with a peremptory command. The determined conspirator then worked up the proposition to buy a steam tug which could make 18 knots an hour, steam up the James River to Richmond, kidnap the Governor of the Commonwealth, Henry Wise, and hold him for ransom until Brown was released. The scheme only failed for the lack of money. Higginson had seen one thing. Brown saw a bigger thing. Higginson's refusal to flee was based on sound psychology. He knew that from the day John Brown struck his brutal blow at the heart of the South and blood had begun to flow, the Blood Feud would be the biggest living fact in the Nation's history. He knew that he could remain in Worcester with impunity. The strength of a revolution lies in the fact that its first bloodletting releases the instincts of the animal in man hitherto restrained by law. He knew that Brown's cry of Liberty for the slave would become for millions the cloak to hide the archaic impulse to kill. He knew that while the purpose of civilization is to restrain and control these instincts of the beast in man--it was too late for the forces of Law and Order to rally in the North. The first outbursts of indignation against Brown would quickly pass. They would be futile. He read them with a smile. The _New York Herald_ said: "He has met with a fate which he courted, but his death and the punishment of all his criminal associates will be as a feather in the balance against the mischievous consequences which will probably follow from the rekindling of the slavery excitement in the South." The _Tribune_ took the lead in dismissing the act as the deed of a madman. The Hartford _Evening News_ declared: "Brown is a poor, demented, old man. The calamity would never have occurred had there been no lawless and criminal invasion of Kansas." But the most significant utterance in the North came from the Pacifist leader of Abolition, William Lloyd Garrison, himself. Higginson read it with a cry of joy. _The Liberator's_ words of comment were brief but significant of the coming mob mind: "The particulars of a misguided, wild, and apparently insane, through disinterested and well-intended effort by insurrection, to emancipate the slaves in Virginia, under the leadership of Captain John, alias 'Osawatomie' Brown, may be found on our third page. Our views of war and bloodshed even in the best of causes, are too well known to need, repeating here; _but let no one who glories in the revolutionary struggle of 1776, deny the right of slaves to imitate the example of our fathers._" Even the leader of the movement for Abolition by peaceful means had succumbed to the poison of the smell of human blood. Higginson knew that the process of a revolution was always in the order of Ideas, Leaders, The Mob, The Tread of Armies. For thirty years Garrison and the Abolition Crusaders had spread the Ideas. The Inspired Leader had at last appeared. His right arm had struck the first blow. He could hear the roar of the coming mob whose impulse to murder had been roused. It would call their ancestral soul. The answer was a certainty. He could see no necessity for Brown's blood to be spilled in martyrdom. The old man, walking with burning eyes toward his trial, knew better. His vision was clear. God had revealed His full purpose at last. He would climb a Virginia gallows and drag millions down, from that scaffold into the grave with him. CHAPTER XXXII Never in the history of an American commonwealth was a trial conducted with more reverence for Law than the arraignment of John Brown and his followers in the stately old Court House at Charlestown, Virginia. The people whom he had assaulted with intent to kill, the people against whom he had incited slaves to rise in bloody insurrection, the kinsmen of the dead whom his rifles had slain, stood in line on the street and watched him pass into the building manacled to one of his disciples. They did not hoot, nor hiss, nor curse. They watched him walk in silence between the tall granite pillars of the House of Justice. The behavior of this crowd was highwater mark in the development of Southern character. The structure of their society rested on the sanctity of Law. It was being put to the supreme test. A Northern crowd under similar conditions, had they followed the principles which John Brown preached, would have torn those prisoners to pieces without the formality of a trial. It was precisely this trait of character in his enemies on which Brown relied for the martyrdom he so passionately desired. When the witnesses at the preliminary hearing had testified to his guilt and the Court had ordered the trial set, he was asked if he had counsel. He rose from his seat and addressed the nation, not the Court: "Virginians, I did not ask for any quarter at the time I was taken. I did not ask to have my life spared. The Governor of the State of Virginia tenders me his assurance that I shall have a fair trial, but under no circumstances whatever will I be able to have a fair trial. If you seek my blood, you can have it at any moment, without this mockery of a trial. I have no counsel. I am ready for my fate. I do not wish a trial. I have now little further to ask, other than that I may not be foolishly insulted, as cowardly barbarians insult those who fall into their power." The posing martyr was courting insults which had not been offered him. He was grieved that he could not bring the charge of barbarous treatment. He had been treated by Colonel Lee with the utmost consideration. His wounds had been dressed. He had received the best medical care. He had eaten wholesome food. His jailer had proven friendly and sympathetic. He went out of his way to insult the Court and the people and invite abuse. He demanded that he be executed without trial. The Court calmly assigned him two of the ablest lawyers in the county, and ordered the trial to proceed. At noon the following day the Grand Jury returned a true bill against each of the prisoners for treason to the commonwealth, and for conspiring with slaves to commit both treason and murder, and for murder. Captain Avis, the kindly jailer, was ordered to bring his prisoners into Court. He found old Brown in bed, pretending to be ill. He refused to rise. He was determined to get the effect of an arraignment of his prostrate body in the court room. He had foreseen the effect of this picture on the imagination of the North. The crowd of eager reporters at the preliminary hearing had given him the cue. He was carried into the court room exactly as he had desired, on a cot. While the hearing proceeded he lay with his eyes closed as if in deep suffering. He had carefully prepared a plea for delay which he knew would not be granted. Its effect on the mob mind of the North was what he sought. The press would give it wings. He lifted himself on his elbow and asked Judge Parker to allow him to make a protest: "I have been promised a fair trial. I am not now in circumstances that enable me to attend a trial, owing to the state of my health. I have a severe wound in the back, or rather in one kidney which enfeebles me very much. But I am doing well, and I only ask for a very short delay of my trial, that I may be able to listen to it! And I merely ask this that, as the saying is, the devil may have his dues, no more. I wish to say further that my hearing is impaired by wounds I have about my head. I could not hear what the Court said this morning. I would be glad to hear what is said at my trial. Any short delay would be all I would ask. I do not presume to ask more than a very short delay so that I may in some degree recover and be able at least to listen to my trial." Dr. Mason the attending physician, swore that he had examined Brown, and that his wounds had effected neither his hearing nor his mind. He further swore that he was not seriously disabled. Brown knew that this was true, but he had entered his plea. His words would flash over the nation. The effect was what he foresaw. Although he had defied the laws of God and man, he dared demand more than justice under the laws which he had spit upon. And, however inconsistent his position, he knew that as the poison of the Blood Feud which he was raising filled the souls of the people through the press, he would be glorified from day to day and new power given to every word he might utter. He had already composed his last message destined to sway the minds of millions. The response of the radical press to his pose of illness was quick and sharp. The Lawrence, Kansas, _Republican_ voiced the feelings of thousands: "We defy an instance to be shown in any civilized community where a prisoner has been forced to trial for his life, when so disabled by sickness or ghastly wounds as to be unable even to sit up during the proceedings, and compelled to be carried to the judgment hall upon a litter. Such a proceeding shames the name of Justice, and only finds a congenial place amid the records of the bloody Inquisition." Even so conservative a paper as the Boston _Transcript_ said: "Whatever may be his guilt or folly, a man convicted under such circumstances, and, especially, a man executed after such a trial, will be the most terrible fruit that Slavery has ever borne, and will excite the execration of the civilized world." The canny old poseur was on his way to an immortal martyrdom. He knew that every article of the Virginia Code was being scrupulously obeyed. He knew that the Grand Jury was in session and that the trial was set at the first term of the court following the crime. There had been no haste. He also knew that the impartial Judge who was presiding was the soul of justice in his dealings both with the clamorous people, the prosecution and the counsel appointed for the defense. But he also knew that the mob mind to whom he was appealing would not believe that he knew this. In appeals to the crowd he was a past master. In this appeal he knew that facts would count for nothing--beliefs, illusions for everything. He played each opportunity for all it was worth. When the Court opened the following morning, his counsel, Mr. Botts, amazed the prisoner and the prosecution by reading a telegram from Ohio asking a delay on the ground that important affidavits were on the way to prove legally that John Brown was insane. Before the old man could stop him he gave to the Court the substance of these sworn statements. His friends and relatives in Ohio had sworn that Brown had been always a monomaniac and had been intermittently insane for twenty years. One swore that he had been plainly insane for a quarter of a century. On the family record of insanity the affidavits all agreed. His grandmother was hopelessly insane for six years and died insane. His uncles and aunts, two sons and two daughters had been intermittently insane for years, while one of his daughters had died a hopeless maniac. His only sister, her daughter and one of his brothers were insane at intervals. Two of his first cousins were occasionally mad. Two had been committed to the State Insane Asylum repeatedly and two others were at that time in close restraint. Brown refused to allow this plea to be entered. He bitterly denounced the counsel assigned to him as traitors, and at their request the following day they were allowed to withdraw from the case. No sooner had he finished his denunciation of his counsel than Hoyt, the young alleged attorney, sent by Higginson to defend him, sprang to his feet and asked a delay, as he was unprepared to proceed without assistance. The Judge adjourned the Court until the following morning at ten o'clock. The young spy knew nothing of law but he bluffed it through until the arrival of two able attorneys, Samuel Chilton of Washington, and Hiram Grismer of Cleveland. Botts, the dismissed counsel, who had sought to save Brown's life by the plea of insanity, put his notes and his office at the disposal of Hoyt and sat up all night with him preparing his work for the following day. When the new lawyers appeared the old man made another play at illness to gain delay. The Court ordered him to be brought in on his cot. Again, the physician swore he was lying, that he was gaining in strength daily. The Judge, however, granted a delay of two days. The moment the order was issued for an adjournment Brown deliberately rose from his cot and walked back to jail. The trial was closed on Monday by the speeches of the prosecution and the defense. The judge charged the jury and in three-quarters of an hour they filed back into the jury box. The crowd jammed every inch of space in the old Court House, the wide entrance hall, and overflowed into the street. The foreman solemnly pronounced him guilty. The old man merely pulled the covers of his cot up and stretched his legs, as if he had no interest in the verdict. Entirely recovered from every effect of his wounds, as able to walk as ever, he had refused to walk and had been carried again into the court room. He had determined to receive his sentence on a bed. He knew the effect of this picture on the gathering mob. The silence of death fell on the crowded room. Not a single cry of triumph from the kindred of the dead. Not a single cheer from the men whose wives and children had been saved from the horrors of massacre. Chilton made his motion for an arrest of judgment and the judge ordered the motion to stand over until the next day. Brown heard the arguments the following day again lying on his cot. The judge reserved his decision and the final scene of the drama was enacted on November second. The clerk asked John Brown if he had anything to say concerning why sentence should not be pronounced upon him. The crowd stared as they saw the wiry figure of the old man quickly rise. He fixed his eagle eye on them, not on the judge. Over their heads he talked to the gathering mob of his countrymen. Brown had been a habitual liar from boyhood. In this speech, made on the eve of the sentence of death, he lied in every paragraph. He lied as he had when he grew a beard to play the role of "Shubel Morgan." He lied as he had lied to his victims when posing as a surveyor on the Pottawattomie. He lied as he had done when he crept through the darkness of the night on his sleeping prey. He lied as he had a hundred times about those gruesome murders. He lied for his Sacred Cause. He lied without stint and without reservation. He lied with such conviction that he convinced himself in the end that he was a hero--a martyr of human liberty and progress. And that he was telling the solemn truth. "I have, may it please the court, a few words to say: "In the first place I deny everything but what I have already admitted: of a design on my part to free slaves. I intended certainly to have made a clean thing of that matter, as I did last winter when I went into Missouri and there took slaves without the snapping of a gun on either side, moving them through the country and finally leading them into Canada. I designed to have done the thing again on a larger scale. That was all I intended. I never did intend murder or treason, or the destruction of property, or to excite or to incite slaves to rebellion, or to make insurrection. "Now, if it is deemed necessary that I should forfeit my life for the furtherance of the ends of justice, and mingle my blood further with the blood of my children--and with the blood of millions in this slave country whose rights are disregarded by wicked, cruel and unjust treatment--I say let it be done." David Cruise was not there to tell of the bullet that crashed through his heart in Missouri. Frederick Douglas was not there to tell that he abandoned Brown in the old stone quarry outside Chambersburg, precisely because he had changed the plan of carrying off slaves as in Missouri to a scheme of treason, wholesale murders and insurrection. Cruise was in his grave and Douglas on his way to Europe. There was no one to contradict his statements. The mob mind never asks for facts. It asks only for assertions. John Brown gave them what he knew they wished to hear and believe. They heard and they believed. With due solemnity, the Judge pronounced the sentence of death and fixed the date on December the second, thirty days in the future. The old man's eyes flamed with hidden fires at the unexpected grant of a month in which to complete the raising of the Blood Feud so gloriously begun. He was a master in the coming of mystic phrases in letters. He gloried in religious symbols. Within thirty days he could work with his pen the miracle that would transform a nation into the puppets of his will. He walked beside the jailer, his eyes glittering, his head uplifted. The Judge ordered the crowd to keep their seats until the prisoner was removed. In silence he marched through the throng without a hiss or a taunt. CHAPTER XXXIII The day of the Great Deed was one never to be forgotten by Cook's little bride. They had been married six months. Each hour had bound the girl's heart in closer and sweeter bonds. The love that kindled for the handsome blond the day of their first meeting had grown into the deathless passion of the woman for her mate. He was restless Saturday night. Through the long hours she held her breath to catch his regular breathing. He did not sleep. At last the terror of it gripped her. Her hand touched his brow and brushed the hair back from his forehead. "What's the matter, John dear?" "Restless." "What is it?" "Oh, nothing much. Just got to thinking about something and can't sleep. That's all. Go to sleep now, like a good girl. I'm all right." The little fingers sought his hand and gripped it. "I'll try." She rose at dawn. He had asked an early breakfast to make a long trip into the country. At the table she watched him furtively. She had asked to go with him and he told her he couldn't take her. She wondered why. A great fear began to steal into her soul. It was the first time she had dared to look into the gulf. She would never ask his secret. He must tell her of his own free will. Her eyes searched his. And he turned away without an answer. He fought for self-control when he kissed her goodbye. A mad desire swept his heart to take her in his arms, perhaps for the last time. It would be a confession at the moment the blow was about to fall. He would betray the lives of his associates. He gripped himself and left her with a careless smile. All day she brooded over the odd parting, the constraint, the silence, the sleepless night. She went to the services of the revival and sought solace in the songs and prayers of the people. At night the minister preached a sermon that soothed her. A warm glow filled her heart. If God is love as the preacher said, he must know the secrets of his heart and life. He must watch over and bring her lover safely back to her arms. She reached home at a quarter to ten and went to bed humming an old song Cook had taught her. The tired body was ready for sleep. She did not expect her husband to return that night. He had gone as far as Chambersburg. He promised to come on Monday afternoon. Through the early hours of the fatal night she slept as soundly as a child. The firing at the Arsenal between three and four o'clock waked her. She sprang to her feet and looked out the window. The street lamps flickered fitfully in the drizzling rain. No one was passing. There were no shouts, no disturbances. She wondered about the shots. A crowd of drunken fools were still hanging around the Galt House bar perhaps. She went back to bed and slept again. It was eight o'clock before the crash of a volley from the Arsenal enclosure roused her. She leaped to her feet, rushed to the window and stood trembling as volley followed volley in a long rattle of rifle and shotgun and pistol. A neighbor hurried past with a gun in his hand. She asked him what the fighting meant. "Armed Abolitionists have invaded Virginia," he shouted. Still it meant nothing to her personally. Her husband was not an Abolitionist. She had known him for more than a year. She had been with him day and night for six months in the sweet intimacy of home and love. And then the hideous truth came crashing on her terror-stricken soul. Cook had been recognized by a neighbor as he drove Colonel Washington's wagon across the Maryland bridge at dawn. A committee of citizens came to cross-examine her. She faced them with blanched cheeks. "My husband, an Abolitionist!" she gasped. "He's with those murderers and robbers." She turned on the men like a young tigress. "You're lying--I tell you!" For an hour they tried to drag from her a confession of his plans. They left at last convinced that she knew nothing, that she suspected nothing of his real life. She had fought them bravely to the last. In her soul of souls she knew the hideous truth. She recalled the strange yearning with which he had looked at her as he left Sunday morning. She saw the bottom of the gulf at last. With a cry of anguish and despair she sank to the floor in a faint. She stirred with one thought tearing at her heart. Had they killed or captured him? She rose, dressed and joined the crowd that surged through the streets. The Rifle Works had been captured, Kagi was dead, the other two wounded, one fatally, the other a prisoner. No trace of her husband had been found. He had not reentered the town from the Maryland side. She walked to the bridge and found it guarded by armed citizens. Tears of joy filled her eyes. "He can't get back now!" she breathed. She hurried to her room, fell on her knees and prayed: "Oh, dear Lord Jesus, I've tried to be a good and faithful wife. My man has loved me tenderly and truly. Save him, oh, Lord! Don't let him come back now into this den of howling beasts. They'll tear him to pieces. And I can't endure it. I can't. I can't. Have pity, Lord. I'm just a poor, heart-broken wife!" Through six days of terror and excitement, of surging crowds and marching soldiers, the shivering figure watched through her window--and silently prayed. A guard had been set at her house to catch her husband if he dared to return. She laughed softly. He would not return! She had asked God not to let him. She was asking him now with every breath she breathed. God would not forget her. He would answer her prayers. She knew it. God is love. She had begun to sleep again at night. Her man was safe in the mountains of Pennsylvania. The Governor of Virginia had set a price on his head. Men were scouring the hills hunting, as they hunt wild beasts, but God would save him. She had seen His shining face in prayer and He had promised. And then the blow fell. Far down the street she caught the roar of a mob. Its cries came faintly at first and then they grew to fierce oaths and brutal shouts. A man stopped in front of her house and spoke to the guard. "They've got him!" "Who?" "Cook!" "The damned beast, the spy, the traitor!" "Where are they takin' him?" "To the jail at Charlestown." She had no time to lose. She must see him. Bareheaded she rushed into the street and fought her way to his side. His hands were manacled but his fair head was held erect until he saw the white face of his bride. And then his eyes fell. Would she, too, turn and curse him? He asked himself the hideous question once and dared not lift his head. He felt her coming nearer. The guard halted. His eyes were blurred. He could see nothing. He only felt two soft arms slip round his neck. His own moved instinctively to clasp her but the manacles held them. She kissed his lips before the staring crowd and murmured inarticulate sounds of love and tenderness. She smoothed his blond hair back from his forehead and crooned over him as a mother over a babe. "My little wife--my poor little girlie--my baby!" he murmured. "Forgive me--I tried to save you from this. But I couldn't. Love would have it so. Now you can forget me!" The arms tightened about his neck, and gave the answer lips could not frame. When his trial came she moved to Charlestown to sit by his side in the prison dock, touch his manacled hands and look into his eyes. The trial moved to its certain end with remorseless certainty. Cook's sister, the wife of Governor Willard, sat beside her doomed brother, and cheered the desolate heart of the girl he had married. Governor Willard gave the full weight of his position and his sterling manhood to his wife in her grief. He had employed the best lawyer in his state to defend Cook--Daniel W. Vorhees, whose eloquence had given him the title of "The Tall Sycamore of the Wabash." When the great advocate rose, his towering figure commanded a painful silence in the crowded court room. The people, who packed every inch of its space, hated the man who had lived among them for more than a year as a spy. But he had a wife, he had a sister. And in this solemn hour he should have his day in court. The crowd listened to Vorhees' speech with rapt attention. His appeal was not based on the letter of the law. He took broader, higher grounds. He sketched the dark days of blood-cursed Kansas. He saw a handsome prodigal son, lured by the spirit of adventure, drawn into its vortex of blind passions. He pictured the sinister figure of the grim Puritan leader condemned to death. He told of the spell this evil mind had thrown over a sensitive boy's soul. He pleaded for mercy and forgiveness, for charity and divine love. He pictured the little Virginia girl at his side drawn into the tragedy by a deathless love. He sketched in words that burned into the souls of his hearers the love of his sister, a love big and tender and strong, a love that had followed him in the far frontiers with prayers, a love that encircled him in the darkness of deeds of violence against the forms of law and order. He pleaded for her and the distinguished Governor of a great state, not because of their high position in life but because they had hearts that could ache and break. When he had finished his remarkable speech, strong men who hated Cook were sobbing. The room was bathed in tears. The stern visaged judge made no effort to hide his. The court charged the jury to do impartial justice under the laws of the commonwealth. There could be but one verdict. It was solemnly given by the foreman and the judge pronounced the sentence of death. Two soft arms stole around the doomed man's neck, and then, before the court, crowd and God as witnesses, the little wife tenderly cried: "My lover--my sweetheart--my husband--through evil report and through good report, through life, through death, through all eternity--I--love--you!" Again strong men wept and turned from one another to hide the signs of their weakness. The wife walked beside her doomed lover back to the jail. As they went through the narrow passage to his cell, the tall, rough-looking prison guard who accompanied them brushed close, caught her hand and pressed it. His eyes met hers in a quick look that said more plainly than words: "I must see you alone." She waited outside the jail until he reappeared. He approached her boldly and spoke as if he were delivering a casual message. "Keep your courage, young woman. And don't you be surprised at anything I'm going to say to you. There's people lookin' at us now. I'm just tellin' you a message your husband's told me--you understand." "Yes--yes--go on--I understand," she answered quickly. "I'm from Kansas. I'm a friend of John Cook's. I come all the way here to help him. I joined these guards to get to him. I'm goin' to get him out of here if I can." "Thank God--thank God," she murmured. "Keep a stiff upper lip and get your hand on some money to follow us." "I will." Another guard approached. "Leave me now. My name's Charles Lenhart. Don't try to talk to me again. Just watch and wait." She nodded, brushed the tears from her eyes and left quickly. He was on the job without delay. Cook and Edwin Coppoc, condemned to die on the same day, occupied the same room in jail. They borrowed a knife from Lenhart as soon as he came on duty and "forgot" to return it. With this knife they worked at night for a week cutting a hole through the brick wall. Under their clothes in a corner they concealed the fragments of bricks. When the opening had been completed, they cut teeth in the knife blade and made a small saw strong and keen enough to eat through a link in their shackles. On the night fixed, Lenhart was on guard waiting in breathless suspense for the men to drop the few feet into the prison yard. A brick wall fifteen feet high could he scaled from his shoulders and the last man up could give him a lift. Through the long, chill hours he paced his beat on the wall and waited to hear the crunching of the bodies slipping through the walls. What had happened? Something had gone wrong in the impulsive mind of the blue-eyed adventurer inside. The hole was open, the saw in his hand to cut the manacles, when he suddenly stopped. "What's the matter?" Coppoc asked. "We can't do this to-night." "For God's sake, why?" "My sister's in town with Governor Willard to tell me goodbye. They will put the blame of this on them. My sister might be imprisoned. The Governor would be in bad. I've caused them trouble enough--God knows--" "When are they going?" "To-morrow. We'll wait until to-morrow night--after they've gone." "But Lenhart may not be on guard." "That's so," Cook agreed. "Coppoc, you can go alone. You'd better do it." "No." "You'd better." "I'm not made out of that sort of goods," the boy answered. "You've got a good old Quaker mother out in Springdale praying for you. It's your chance--go--I can't tonight." Nothing could induce Coppoc to desert his comrade and leave him to certain death when his escape should be known. They replaced the bricks, covered the debris and waited until the following night. At eleven o'clock they cut the manacles and Coppoc crawled out first. He had barely touched the ground when Cook followed. They glanced about the yard and it was deserted. They strained their eyes to make out the figure of the guard who passed the brick wall. He was not in sight. It was a good omen. Lenhart had no doubt foreseen their escape and dropped to the street outside. They saw that the timbers of the gallows on which they were to die had not all been fastened. They secured two pieces of scantling and reached the top of the wall. Suddenly the dark figure of a guard moved toward them. Cook called the signal to Lenhart. But a loyal son of Virginia stood sentinel that night. The answer was a rifle shot. They started to leap and caught the flash of a bayonet below. They walked back into the jail and surrendered to Captain Avis, their friendly keeper. The little wife waited and watched in vain. CHAPTER XXXIV All uncertainty at an end to his execution, John Brown set his hand to finish the work of his life in a supreme triumph. He entered upon the task with religious joy. The old Puritan had always been an habitual writer of letters. The authorities of Virginia allowed him to write daily to his friends and relatives. He quickly took advantage of this power. The sword of Washington which he grasped on that fatal Sunday night had proven a feeble weapon. He seized a pen destined to slay a million human beings. His soul on fire with the fixed idea that he had been ordained by God to drench a nation in blood, he joyfully began the task of creating the mob mind. No man in history had a keener appreciation of the power of the daily press in the propaganda of crowd ideas. The daily newspaper had just blossomed into its full radiance in the modern world. No invention in the history of the race has equaled the cylinder printing press as an engine for creating crowd movements. The daily newspaper of 1859 spoke only in the language of crowds. They were, in fact, so many mob orators haranguing their subscribers. They wrote down to the standards of the mob. They were molders of public opinion and they were always the creatures of public opinion. They wrote for the masses. Their columns were filled with their own peculiar brand of propaganda, illusions, dreams, assertions, prejudices, sensations, with always a cheap smear of moral platitude. Our people had grown too busy to do their own thinking. The daily newspapers now did it for them. There was as little originality in them as in the machines which printed the editions. Yet they were repeated by the crowd as God-inspired truth. We no longer needed to seek for the mob in the streets. We had it at the breakfast table, in the office, in the counting room. The process of crowd thinking became the habit of daily life. John Brown hastened to use this engine of propaganda. From his comfortable room in the jail at Charlestown there poured a daily stream of letters which found their way into print. A perfect specimen of his art was the concluding paragraph of a letter to his friend and fellow conspirator, George L. Stearns of Boston. "I have asked to be _spared_ from having any _mock or hypocritical prayers made over me_ when I am publicly _murdered_; and that my only _religious attendants_ be poor, _little, dirty, ragged, bareheaded and barefooted slave boys and girls_, led by old, _gray-headed slave mothers_," This message he knew would reach the heart of every Abolitionist of the North, of every reader of _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. On the day of his transfiguration on the scaffold he would deliver the final word that would sweep these millions into the whirlpool of the Blood Feud. To his wife and children he wrote a message which hammered again his fixed idea into a dogma of faith: "John Rogers wrote to his children, 'Abhor the arrant whore of Rome.' John Brown writes to his children to abhor with _undying hatred_ also the 'sum of all villainies,' slavery." Not only did these daily letters find their way into the hands of millions through the press, but the newspapers maintained a staff of reporters at Charlestown to catch every whisper from the prisoner. So brilliantly did these reports visualize his daily life that the crowds who read them could hear the clanking of the chains as he walked and the groans that came from his wounded body. Thousands of letters began to pour into the office of the Governor of Virginia, threatening, imploring, pleading for his life. The leading politicians of all parties of the North were at length swept into this howling mob by the press. To every plea the Governor of the Commonwealth replied: "Southern Society is built on Reverence for Law. The Law has been outraged by this man. It shall be vindicated, though the heavens fall." In this stand he was immovable and the South backed him to a man. For exciting servile insurrection the King of Great Britain was held up to everlasting scorn by our fathers who wrote the Declaration of Independence. For this crime among others we rebelled and established the American Republic. Should John Brown be canonized for the same infamy? The Southern people asked this question in dumb amazement at the clamor from the North. And so the Day of Transfiguration on the scaffold dawned. Judge Thomas Russell and his good wife journeyed all the way from Boston to minister to the wants of their strange guest. There was in the distinguished jurist's mind a question which he must ask Brown before the rope should strangle him forever. His martyrdom had cleared every doubt and cloud from the mind of his friend save one. His fascinating letters, filled with the praise of God and the glory of a martyr's cause, had exalted him. The judge had heard his speech in court on the day he was sentenced to death and had believed that each word was inspired. But the old man, who was now to die in glory, had spent a week in Judge Russell's house in Boston hiding from a deputy sheriff in whose hands was a warrant for plain murder--one of the foulest murders in the records of crime. The judge was a student of character, as well as Abolitionist. He asked Brown for his last confidential statement as to these crimes on the Pottawattomie. There was no hesitation in his bold reply. Standing beneath the shadow of the gallows, the white hand of Death on his stooped shoulders, one foot on earth and the other pressing the shores of eternity, he lied as brazenly as he had lied a hundred times before. He assured his friend and his wife that he had nothing to do with those killings. Mrs. Russell, weeping, kissed him. And Brown said calmly: "Now, go." As he ascended the scaffold he handed to one who stood near his final message, the supreme utterance over which he had prayed day and night to his God. Despatched from the scaffold, and sealed by his blood, he knew that its magic words would spread by contagion the Red Thought. His face shone with the glory of his hope as his feet climbed the scaffold steps. On the scrap of paper he had written: "I, JOHN BROWN, AM NOW QUITE CERTAIN THAT THE CRIMES OF THIS GUILTY LAND WILL NEVER BE PURGED AWAY BUT WITH BLOOD." The trap fell, his darkened soul swung into eternity and the deed was done. He had raised the Blood Feud to the nth power. His message thrilled the world. Bells were tolling in the North while crowds of weeping men and women knelt in prayer to his God. Had they but lifted the veil and looked, they would have seen the face of a fiend. But their eyes were now blinded with the madness which had driven him to his death. In Cleveland, Melodeon Hall was draped in mourning at a meeting where thousands wept and cursed and prayed. Mammoth gatherings were held in New York, in Rochester and Syracuse. In Boston a crowd, so dense they were lifted from their feet by the pressure of thousands behind, clamoring for entrance, rushed into Tremont Temple. William Lloyd Garrison, the Pacifist, declared the meeting was called to witness John Brown's resurrection. He flung the last shred of principle to the winds and joined the mob of the Blood Feud without reservation. "As a peace man--an ultra peace man--I am prepared to say: 'Success to every Slave Insurrection in the South and in every Slave Country!'" Wendell Phillips, believing Judge Russell's report of Brown's denial of the Pottawattomie murders, declared to the thousands who crowded Cooper Union that John Brown was a Saint--that he was not on the Pottawattomie Creek on that fateful night, that he was not within twenty-five miles of the spot! Ralph Waldo Emerson, ignorant of the truth of Pottawattomie, hailed Brown as "the new Saint, than whom none purer or more brave was ever led by love of men into conflict and death--the new Saint who has achieved his martyrdom and will make the gallows glorious as the cross." One great spirit among the anti-slavery forces refused to be swept in the current of insanity. Abraham Lincoln at Troy, Kansas, said on the day of Brown's death: "Old John Brown has been executed for treason against a State. We cannot object, even though he agreed with us in thinking Slavery wrong. That cannot excuse violence, bloodshed and treason. It could avail him nothing that he might _think_ himself right." Lincoln's voice was drowned in the roar of the mob. John Brown from the scaffold had set in motion forces of mind beyond control. Never before had men so little grasped the present, so stupidly ignored the past, so poorly divined the future. Reason had been hurled from her throne. Man had ceased to think. Had Lieutenant Green's sword pierced Brown's heart he would have died the death of a mad dog. His imprisonment, his carefully staged martyrdom, his message of blood, and final, just execution by Law created the mob mind which destroyed reverence for Law. As he swung from the gallows and his body swayed for a moment between heaven and earth Colonel Preston, standing beside the steps, solemnly cried: "So perish all such enemies of Virginia! All such enemies of the Union! All such foes of the human race!" Yet even as the trap was sprung, in the Capitol of the greatest State of the North, the leaders of the crowd were firing a hundred guns as a dirge for their martyr hero. A criminal paranoiac had become the leader of twenty millions of people. The mob mind had caught the disease of his insanity and a nation began to go mad. Robert E. Lee, in command of the forces of Law and Order, watched the swaying ghostly figure with a sense of deep foreboding for the future. CHAPTER XXXV John Brown's body lay molderingin the grave but his soul was marching on. And his soul was a thousand times mightier than his body had ever been. While living, his abnormal mind repelled men of strong personality. He had never been able to control more than two dozen people in any enterprise which he undertook. And in these small bands rebellions always broke out. The paranoiac had been transfigured now into the Hero and the Saint through the worship of the mob which his insanity had created. His apparent strength of character was in reality weakness, an incapacity to master himself or control his criminal impulses. But the Jacobin mind of his followers did not consider realities. They only cherished dreams, illusions, assertions. The mob never reasons. It only believes. Reason is submerged in passion. John Brown was a typical Jacobin leader. He was first and last a Puritan mystic. The God he worshipped was a fiend, but he worshipped Him with all the more passionate devotion for that reason. When he committed murder on the Pottawattomie he stalked his prey as a panther. He sang praises to his God as he paused in the brush before he sprang. His narrow mind, with a single fixed idea, was inaccessible to any influences save those which fed his mania. Nothing could loose the grip of his soul on this dream. He closed his glittering eyes and refused to consider anything that might contradict his faith. He acted without reason, driven blindly forward by an impulse. When his cunning mind used reason it was never for the purpose of finding truth. It was only for the purpose of confounding his enemies. He never used it as a guide to conduct. By the magic of mental contagion he had transferred from the scaffold this Jacobin mind to the soul of a nation. The contact of persons is not necessary to transfer this disease. Its contagion is electric. It moves in subtle thought waves, as a mysterious pestilence spreads in the night. The mob mind, once formed, is a new creation and becomes with amazing rapidity a resistless force. The reason for its uncanny power lies in the fact that when once formed it is dominated by the unconscious, not the conscious forces, of man's nature. Its credulity is boundless. Its passions dominate all life. The records of history are a sealed book. Experience does not exist. Impulse rules the universe. And this mob mind moves always as a unit. It devours individuality. Men who as individuals may be gentle and humane are swept into accord with the most beastly cry of the crowd. This mental unity grows out of the crushing power of contagion. Gestures, cries, deeds of hate and fury are caught, approved, repeated. Any lie can be built into a religion if repeated often enough to a crowd by a mind on fire with its passions. Pirates have died as bravely as John Brown. The glorification of the manner of his dying was merely a phenomenon of the unity of the crowd mind. It was precisely the grip of his Puritan mysticism, his worship of the Devil, that gave to his insanity its most dangerous appeal. For the first time in the history of the republic the mob mind had mastered the collective soul of its people. The contagion had spread both North and South. In the North by sympathy, in the South by a process of reaction even more violent and destructive of reason. John Brown had realized his vision of the Plains. He had raised a National Blood Feud. No hand could stay the scourge. The Red Thought burst into a flame that swept North and South, as a prairie fire sweeps the stubble of autumn. _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had prepared the stubble. From the Northern press began to pour a stream of vindictive abuse. A fair specimen of this insanity appeared in the New York _Independent_: "The mass of the population of the Atlantic Coast of the slave region of the South are descended from the transported convicts and outcasts of Great Britain. Oh, glorious chivalry and hereditary aristocracy of the South! Peerless first families of Virginia and Carolina! Progeny of the highwaymen, the horse thieves and sheep stealers and pickpockets of Old England!" The fact that this paper was a religious publication, the outgrowth of the New England conscience, gave its columns a peculiar power over the Northern mind. The South retorted in kind. _De Bow's Review_ declared: "The basic framework and controlling inference of Northern sentiment is Puritanic, the old Roundhead rebel refuse of England, which has ever been an unruly sect of Pharisees, the worst bigots on earth and the meanest tyrants when they have the power to exercise it." When the Conventions met a few months later to name candidates for the Presidency and make a declaration of principles, leaders had ceased to lead and there were no principles to declare. The mob mind was supreme. The Democratic Convention met at Charleston, South Carolina, to name the successor of James Buchanan. Their constituents commanded a vast majority of the voters of the Nation. The Convention became a mob. The one man, the one giant leader left in the republic, the one constructive mind, the one man of political genius who could have saved the nation from the holocaust toward which it was plunging was Stephen A. Douglas of Illinois. He could have been elected President by an overwhelming majority had he been nominated by this united convention. He was entitled to the nomination. He had proven himself a statesman of the highest rank. He had proven himself impervious to sectional hatred or sectional appeal. He was a Northern man, but a friend of the South as well as the North. He was an American of the noblest type. But the radical wing of his party in the South were seeing Red. Old Brown's words to them meant the spirit of the North. They heard echoing and reechoing from every newspaper and pulpit: "I, JOHN BROWN, AM NOW QUITE CERTAIN THAT THE CRIMES OF THIS GUILTY LAND WILL NEVER BE PURGED AWAY BUT WITH BLOOD." If the hour for bloodshed had come they demanded that the South prepare without further words. And they believed that the hour had come. They heard the tread of swarming hosts. They were eager to meet them. Reason was flung to the winds. Passion ruled. Compromise was a thing beyond discussion. Douglas was a Northern man and they would have none of him. He was hooted and catcalled until he was compelled to withdraw from the Convention. The radical South named their own candidate for President. He couldn't be elected. No matter. War was inevitable. Let it come. The Northern Democratic Convention named Douglas for President. He couldn't be elected. No matter. War was inevitable. Let it come. In dumb amazement at the tragedy approaching--the tragedy of a divided Union and a bloody civil war--the Union men of the party nominated a third ticket, Bell of Tennessee and Everett of Massachusetts. They couldn't be elected. No matter. War was inevitable. It had to come. They would stand by their principles and go down with them. When the new Republican party met at Chicago they were sobered by the responsibility suddenly thrust upon them of naming the next President of the United States. Fremont, a mere figurehead as their candidate, had polled a million votes in the campaign before. With three Democratic tickets in the field, success was sure. They wrote a conservative platform and named for their candidate Abraham Lincoln, the one man in their party who had denounced John Brown's deeds, the man who had declared in his debates with Douglas that he did not believe in making negroes voters or jurors, that he did not believe in the equality of the races, that he did not believe that two such races could ever live together in a Democracy on terms of political or social equality. Their candidate was the gentlest, broadest, sanest man within their ranks. Unless the nation had already gone mad they felt that in his triumph they would be safe from the Red Menace which stalked through their crowded hall. Their radical leaders were furious. But they were compelled to submit and fight for his election. The life of their party depended on it. Their own life was bound up in their party. There was really but one issue before the nation--peace or war. The new party, both in its candidate and its platform, sought with all its power to stem the Red Tide of the Blood Feud which John Brown had raised. Their well-meant efforts came too late. War is a condition of mind primarily. Its causes are always psychological--not physical. The result of this state of mind is an abnormal condition of the nervous system, in which the thoughts and acts of men are controlled by the collective mind--the mob mind. Indians execute their war dances for days and nights to produce this mental state. Once it had been created, the war cry alone can be heard. This mind, once formed, deliberative bodies cease to exist. The Congress of the United States ceased to exist as a deliberative body at the session which followed John Brown's execution. The atmosphere of both the Senate and the House was electric with hatred and passion. Men who met at the last session as friends, now glared into each other's faces, mortal enemies. L. Q. C. Lamar, the young statesman from Mississippi, threw a firebrand into the House on the day of its opening. "The Republicans of this House are not guiltless of the blood of John Brown, his conspirators, and the innocent victims of his ruthless vengeance." Keitt of South Carolina shouted: "The South asks nothing but her rights. I would have no more, but as God is my judge I would shatter this republic from turret to foundation stone before I would take a little less!" Old Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania scrambled up on his club foot and with a face flaming with scorn replied: "I do not blame gentlemen of the South for using this threat of rending God's creation from foundation to turret. They have tried it fifty times, and fifty times they have found weak and recreant tremblers in the North who have been affected by it, and who have retreated before these intimidations." He turned to the group of conservative members of his own party with a look of triumphant taunting. He wanted war. He courted it. He saw its coming with a shout of joy. The House was in an uproar. Members leaped from their seats and jammed the aisles, shouting, cheering, hissing, catcalling. The clerk was powerless to preserve order. For two months the bedlam continued while they voted in vain to elect a Speaker. The new party was determined to have John Sherman. The opposition was divided but finally chose Mr. Pennington, a moderate of mediocre ability. During these eight weeks of senseless wrangling the members began to arm themselves with revolvers. One of the weapons dropped from the pocket of a member from New York and he was accused of attempting to draw it for use against an opponent. The sergeant at arms was summoned and pandemonium broke loose. For a moment it seemed that a pitched battle before the dais of the Speaker was inevitable. John Sherman rose and made a remarkable statement--remarkable in showing how the mob mind will inevitably destroy the mind of the individual until its unity is undisputed. He spoke in tones of reconciliation. "When I came here I did not believe that the Slavery question would come up; and but for the unfortunate affair of Brown's at Harper's Ferry I do not believe that there would have been any feeling on the subject. Northern members came here with kindly feelings, no man approving of the deed of John Brown, and every man willing to say so, every man willing to admit it an act of lawless violence." It was true. And yet before that mad session closed they were Brown's disciples and he had become their martyr here. The mob mind devours individuality, and reduces all to the common denominator of the archaic impulse. In the fierce conflict for Speaker four years before, when Banks had been chosen, Slavery was then the issue. Good humor, courtesy and reason ruled the contest which lasted three days longer than the fight over Sherman. Instead of courtesy and reason--hatred, passion, defiance, assertion were now the order of the day. Four years before a threat of disunion was made on the floor. The House received it with shouts of derision and laughter. Keitt's dramatic threat had thrown the House into an uproar which had to be quelled by the sergeant at arms. Envy, hate, jealousy, spite, passion were supreme. The favorite epithets hurled across the Chamber were: "Slave driver!" "Nigger thief!" The newspapers no longer reported speeches as delivered. They were revised and raised to greater powers of vituperation and abuse. Instead of a convincing, logical speech, their champion hurled a "torrent of scathing denunciation," "withering sarcasm," and "crushing invective!" At this historic session appeared the first suit of Confederate Gray, worn by Roger A. Pryor, the brilliant young member from Virginia. Immediately a Northern member leaped to his feet. He had caught the significance of the Southern emblem. He gave a moment's silent survey to the gray suit and opened his address on the State of the Country by saying: "Virginia, instead of clothing herself in sheep's wool, had better don her appropriate garb of sackcloth and ashes!" The nation was already at war before Abraham Lincoln left Springfield for Washington to take his seat as President. It was deemed wise that he should enter the city practically in disguise. In vain the great heart that beat within his lonely breast tried to stem the Red Tide in his first inaugural. With infinite pathos he turned toward the South and spoke his words of peace, reconciliation and assurance: "I have no purpose directly or indirectly to interfere with the institution of Slavery in the States where it exists. I believe I have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so." His closing sentences were spoken with his deep eyes swimming in tears. "I am loath to close. We are not enemies but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." The noblest men of North and South joined with the new President, pleading for peace. They knew by the light of reason that a war of brothers would be a wanton crime. They proved by irresistible logic that every issue dividing the nation could be settled at the Council Table. They pleaded in vain. They pitched straws against a hurricane. From the deep, subconscious nature of man, the lair of the beast, came only the growl of challenge to mortal combat. The new President is but a leaf tossed by the wind. The Union of which our fathers dreamed is rent in twain. With tumult and shout, the armies gather, blue and gray, brother against brother. A madman's soul now rides the storm and leads the serried lines as they sweep to the red rendezvous with Death. CHAPTER XXXVI A little mother with a laughing boy two years old and baby in her arms was awaiting at a crowded hotel in Washington the coming of her father from the Western plains. Her men were going in opposite directions in these tragic days that were trying the souls of men. Colonel Phillip St. George Cooke was a Virginian. Lieutenant J. E. B. Stuart was a Virginian. The soul of the little mother was worn out with the question that had no answer. Why should her lover-husband and her fine old daddy fight each other? She stood appalled before such a conflict. She had written to her father a letter so gentle, so full of tender appeal, he could not resist its call. She had asked that he come to see her babies and her husband and, face to face, say the things that were in his heart. Her own sympathies were with her husband. He had breathed his soul into hers. She thought as he thought and felt as he felt. But her dear old daddy must have deep reasons for refusing to follow Virginia, if she should go with the South in Secession. She must hear these reasons. Stuart must hear them. If he could convince them, they would go with him. In her girl's soul she didn't care which way they went, as long as they did not fight each other. She had watched the shadow of this war deepen with growing anguish. If her father should meet her husband in battle and one should kill the other! How could she live? The thought was too horrible to frame in, words, but it haunted her dreams. She couldn't shake it off. That her rollicking soldier man would come out alive she felt sure somehow. No other thought was possible. To think that he might be killed in the pride and glory of his youth was nonsense. Her mind refused now to dwell on the idea. She dismissed it with a laugh. He was so vital. He lived to his finger tips. His voice rang with the joy of living. The spirit of eternal youth danced in his blue eyes. He was just twenty-eight years old. He was the father of a darling boy who bore his name and a baby that nestled in her arms to whom they had given hers. Life in its morning of glory was his--wife, babies, love, youth, health, strength, clean living and high thinking. No, it was the thought of harm to her father that was eating her heart out. He has passed the noon-tide of life. His slender, graceful form lacked the sturdy power of youth. His chances were not so good. The thing that sickened her was the certainty that both these men, father and husband, would organize the cavalry service and fight on horseback. They had spent their honeymoon on the plains. She had ridden over them with her joyous lover. He would be a cavalry commander. She knew that he would be a general. Her father was a master of cavalry tactics and was at work on the Manuel for the United States Army. The two men were born under the same skies. Their tastes were similar. Their clean habits of life were alike. Their ideals were equally high and noble. How could two such men fight each other to the death over an issue of politics when some wife or sister or mother must look on a dead face when the smoke has cleared? Her soul rose in rebellion against it all. She summoned every power of her mind to the struggle with her father. She brought them together at last in the room with her babies, asleep in their cradles. She sat down between the two and held a hand in each of hers. "Now, daddy dear, you must tell me why you're going to fight Virginia if she secedes from the Union." The gentle face smiled sadly. "How can I make you understand, dear baby? It's foolish to argue such things. We follow our hearts--that's all." "But you must tell me," she pleaded. "There's nothing to tell, child. We must each decide these big things of life for himself. I'll never draw my sword against the Union. My fathers created it. I've fought for it. I've lived for it. And I've got to die for it, if must be, that's all--" He paused, withdrew his hand from hers, rose and put it on Stuart's shoulder. "You've chosen a fine boy for your husband, my daughter. I love him. I'm proud of him. I shall always be proud that your children bear his name. He must fight this battle of his allegiance in his own soul and answer to God, not to me. I would not dare to try to influence him." Stuart rose and grasped the Colonel's hand. His eyes were moist. "Thank you, Colonel. I shall always remember this hour with you and my Flora. And I shall always love and respect you, in life or death, success or failure." The older man held Stuart's hand in a strong grip. "It grieves me to feel that you may fight the Union, my son. I have seen the end in a vision already. The Union is indissoluble. The stars in their courses have said it." "It may be, sir," Stuart slowly answered. "Who knows? We must do each what we believe to be right, as God gives us to see the right." The little mother was softly crying. Her hopes had faded. There was the note of finality in each word her men had uttered. She was crushed. For an hour she talked in tender commonplaces. She tried to be cheerful for her father's sake. She saw that he was suffering cruelly at the thought of saying a goodbye that might be the last. She broke down in a flood of bitter tears. The father took her into his arms and soothed her with tender words. But something deep and strange had stirred in the mother heart within her. She drew away from his arms and cried in anguish. "It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong--this feud of blood! And God will yet save the world from it. I must believe that or I'd go mad!" The two men looked at each other in wonder for a moment and then at the mother's convulsed face. Into the older man's features slowly crept a look of awe, as if he had heard that voice before somewhere in the still hours of his soul. Stuart bent and kissed her tenderly. "There, dear, you're overwrought. Don't worry. Your work God has given you in these cradles." "Yes, that's why I feel this way," she whispered on his breast. CHAPTER XXXVII If reason had ruled, the Gulf States of the South would never have ordered their representatives to leave Washington on the election of Abraham Lincoln. The new administration could have done nothing with the Congress chosen. The President had been elected on a fluke because of the division of the opposition into three tickets. Lincoln was a minority President and was powerless except in the use of the veto. If the Gulf States had paused for a moment they could have seen that such an administration, whatever its views about Slavery, would have failed, and the next election would have been theirs. The moment they withdrew their members of Congress, however, the new party had a majority and could shape the nation's laws. The crowd mind acts on blind impulse, never on reason. In spite of the President's humane purpose to keep peace when he delivered his first inaugural, he had scarcely taken his seat at the head of his Cabinet when the mob mind swept him from his moorings and he was caught in the torrent of the war mania. The firing on Fort Sumter was not the first shot by the Secessionists. They had fired on the _Star of the West_, a ship sent to the relief of the Fort, weeks before. They had driven her back to sea. But the President at that moment had sufficient power to withstand the cry for blood. At the next shot he succumbed to the inevitable and called for 75,000 volunteers to invade the South. This act of war was a violation of his powers under Constitutional law. Congress alone could declare war. But Congress was not in session. The mob had, in fact, declared war. The President and his Cabinet were forced to bow to its will and risk their necks on the outcome of the struggle. So long as Virginia, North Carolina and Tennessee refused to secede and stood with the Border States of Maryland, Missouri and Kentucky inside the Union, the Confederacy organized at Montgomery, Alabama, must remain a mere political feint. The call of the President on Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Missouri and Maryland, all slave States, to furnish their quota of troops to fight the seceders, was in effect a declaration of war by a united North upon the South. Virginia had refused to join the Confederacy before by an overwhelming majority. All eyes were again turned on the Old Dominion. Would she accept the President's command and send her quota of troops to fight her sisters of the South, or would she withdraw from the Union? The darkest day of its history was dawning on Arlington. Lee had spent a sleepless night watching the flickering lights of the Capitol, waiting, hoping, praying for a message from the Convention at Richmond. On that message hung the present, the future, and the sacred glory of the past. The lamp on the table in the hall was still burning dimly at dawn when Mary Lee came downstairs and pulled the old-fashioned bell cord which summoned the butler. Ben entered with a bow. "You ring for me, Missy?" "Yes. You sent to town to see if an Extra had been issued?" "Yassam. De boy come back more'n a hour ago." "There was none?" "Nomum." "And he couldn't find Lieutenant Stuart?" "Nomum. He look fur him in de telegraph office an' everywhar." "Why don't he come--why don't he come?" she sighed. "I spec dem wires is done down, an' de news 'bout Secesum come froo de country fum Richmon' by horseback, M'am." The girl sighed again wearily. "The coffee and sandwiches ready, Ben?" "Yassam. All on de table waitin'. De coffee gittin' cold." "I'll bring Papa down, if I can get him to come." "Yassam. I hopes ye bring him. He sho must be wore out." "It's daylight," she said, "open the windows and put out the lamp." Mary climbed the stairs again to get her father to eat. Ben drew the curtains and the full light of a beautiful spring morning flooded the room. A mocking bird was singing in the holly. A catbird cried from a rosebush, a redbird flashed and chirped from the hedge and a colt whinnied for his mother. The old negro lowered the lamp, blew it out and began to straighten the room. A soft knock sounded on the front door. He stopped and listened. That was queer. No guest could be coming to Arlington at dawn. Lieutenant Stuart would come on horseback and the ring of his horse's hoofs could be heard for half a mile. He turned back to his work and the knock was repeated, this time louder. He cautiously approached the door. "Who's dar?" "Hit's me." "Me who?" "Hit's me--Sam." "'Tain't no Sam nuther--" "'Tis me." "Sam's bin free mos' ten year now an' he's livin' in New York--" "I done come back. Lemme come in a minute!" Ben was not sure. He picked up a heavy cane, held it in his right hand and cautiously opened the door with his left, as Sam entered. The old man dropped the cane and stepped back in dumb amazement. It was some time before he spoke. "Name er Gawd, Sam--hit is you." "Sho, hit's me!" "What yer doin' here?" "I come to see my old marster when I hears all dis talk 'bout war. Whar is he?" Ben lifted his eyes to the ceiling and spoke in a solemn tone: "Up dar in his room all night trampin' back an' forth lak er lion in de cage, waitin' fur Marse Stuart ter fetch de news fum Richmond 'bout secessun--" "Secessun?" Ben nodded--and raised his eyes in a dreamy look. "Some say Ole Virginy gwine ter stay in de Union. Some say she's a gwine ter secede. De Convenshun in Richmon' wuz votin' on hit yestiddy. Marse Stuart gone ter town ter fetch de news ter Arlington." Sam stepped close and searched Ben's face. "What's my ole marster dat set me free gwine ter do?" "Dat's what everybody's axin. He bin prayin' up dar all night." Sam glanced toward the stairway and held his silence for a while. He spoke finally with firm conviction. "Well, I'se gwine wid him. Ef he go wid de Union, I goes. Ef he go wid ole Virginy, I go wid ole Virginy. Whichever way _he_ go, dat's de _right_ way--" "Dat's so, too!" Ben responded fervently. Sam advanced to the old butler with the quick step of the days when he was his efficient helper. "What ye want me ter do?" Ben led him to the portico and pointed down the white graveled way to Washington. "Run doun de road ter de rise er dat hill an' stay dar. De minute yer see a hoss cross dat bridge--hit's Marse Stuart. Yer fly back here an' tell me--" Sam nodded and disappeared. Ben hurried back into the hall, as Mary and her mother came down the stairs. Mrs. Lee was struggling to control her fears. "No sign of Lieutenant Stuart yet, Ben?" "Nomum. I'se er watchin'." "Look again and see if there's any dust on that long stretch beyond the river--" Ben shook his head. "Yassam, I look." He passed out the front door still wagging his head in deep sympathy for the stricken mistress of the great house. Mary slipped her arm around her mother, and used the pet name she spoke in moments of great joy and sorrow. "Oh, Mim dear, you mustn't worry so!" Her mother's lips trembled. She tried to be strong and failed. The tears came at last streaming down her cheeks. "I can't help it, darling. Life hangs on this message--our home--" She paused and her eyes wandered about the familiar room and its furnishings. "You know how I love this home. It's woven into the very fiber of my heart. Our future--all that we have on earth--it's more than I can bear--" The daughter drew the dear face to her lips. "But why try to take it all on our shoulders, dearest? We must leave Papa to fight this out alone. We can't decide it for him." The mother brushed her tears away and responded cheerfully. "Yes, I know, dear. Your father didn't leave his room all day yesterday. He ate no dinner. No supper. All night the tramp of his feet overhead has only been broken when he fell on his knees to pray--" Her voice wandered off as in a half dream. She paused, and then rushed on impetuously. "Why, why can't we hear from Richmond? The Convention should have voted before noon yesterday. And we've waited all night--" "The authorities may be holding back the news." "But why should they suppress _such_ news? The world must know." She stopped suddenly--as if stunned by the thought that oppressed her. She seized Mary's hand, and asked tensely: "What do you think, dear? Has Virginia left the Union?" A quick answer was on the young lips. She had a very clear opinion. She had talked to Stuart. And his keen mind had seen the inevitable. She didn't have the heart to tell her mother. She feigned a mind blank from weariness. "I can't think, honey. I'm too tired." Ben came back shaking his gray head. "Nomum. Dey ain't no sign on de road yet." The waiting wife and mother cried in an anguish she could not control. "Why--why--why?" Ben sought to distract her thoughts with the habit of house control. He spoke in his old voice of friendly scolding. "Ain't Marse Robert comin' doun to his coffee, M'am?" "Not yet, Ben. I couldn't persuade him." The mistress caught the effort of her faithful servant to help in his humble way and it touched her. She was making a firm resolution to regain her self-control when a distant cry was heard from the roadway. "Uncle Ben!" "What's dat?" the old man asked. "He's coming?" Mrs. Lee gasped. "I dunno, M'am. I hears sumfin!" Sam's cry echoed near the house now in growing excitement. "Uncle Ben--Uncle Ben!" "See, Ben, see quick--" Mary cried. "Yassam. He's comin', sho. He's seed him." The mother's face was uplifted in prayer. "God's will be done!" The words came in a bare whisper. And then as if in answer to the cry of her heart she caught new hope and turned to her daughter. "You know, dear, the first Convention voted against Secession!" Sam reached the door and met Ben. "Uncle Ben--he's a comin'--Marse Stuart's horse! I seen him 'way 'cross de ribber fust--des one long, white streak er dust ez fur ez de eye can reach!" The mother gripped Mary's arm with cruel force. The strain was again more than she could bear. "Oh, dear, oh, dear, what have they done? What have they done?" Ben entered the hall holding himself erect with the dignity of one who must bear great sorrows with his people. The mistress called to him weakly: "Tell Colonel Lee, Ben." The old man bowed gravely. "Yassam. Right away, M'am." Ben hurried to call his master as Sam edged into the front door and smiled at his mistress. Mrs. Lee saw and recognized him for the first time. His loyalty touched her deeply in the hour of trial. She extended her hand in warm greeting. "Why, _Sam_, you've come home!" "Yassam. I come back ter stan' by my folks when dey needs me." Mary's eyes were misty as she smiled her welcome. "You're a good boy, Sam." "Yassam. Marse Robert teach me." The echo of Stuart's horse's hoof rang under the portico and Sam hurried to meet him. His clear voice called: "Don't put 'im up, boy!" Mary's heart began to pound. She knew he would be galloping down the white graveled way again in a few minutes. His next order confirmed her fear. "Just give him some water!" "Yassah!" The two women stood huddled close in tense anxiety. Lee hurried down the stairs and met Stuart at the door. Before the familiarity of a handshake or word of welcome he asked: "What news, Lieutenant?" Stuart spoke with deep emotion. On every word the man and the woman hung breathlessly. "It has come, sir. Virginia has answered to the President's call to send troops against her own people. She has sacrificed all save honor. The vote of the Convention was overwhelming. She has withdrawn from the Union--" A moment's deathly silence. And the cry of pain from a woman's white lips. Mary caught her mother in her arms and held her firmly. The cry wrung her young heart. "Oh, dear God, have mercy on us--and give us strength to bear it--" Stuart hurried to her side and tried to break the blow with cheerful words. "Don't worry, Mrs. Lee. The South is right." Lee had not spoken. His brilliant eyes had the look of a man who walks in his sleep. They were in the world but not of it. The deep things of eternity were in their brooding. He waked at last and turned to Stuart sadly. "God save our country, my boy." He paused and looked out the doorway on the beautiful green of the lawn. The perfume from the rose garden stole in on the fresh breeze that stirred from the river. "A frightful blow," he went on dreamily, "this news you bring." Stuart's young body stiffened. "You're the foremost citizen of Virginia, sir. Others may doubt and waver and be confused. I think I know what you're going to do, in the end--" "It's hard--it's hard," the strong man cried bitterly. The mother and daughter studied his face in eager, anxious waiting. On his word life hung. Stuart glanced at their tense faces and couldn't find speech. He turned and spoke briskly. "I must hurry, sir. I'll be in Richmond before sunset." The sound of carriage wheels grated on the road and a foaming pair of horses drew under the portico. A woman sprang out. Mrs. Lee turned to the Colonel. "It's your sister, Annie, Colonel." "Yes," Stuart added, "I passed her on the way--" Mrs. Marshall hurried to greet Mrs. Lee. The two women embraced and wept in silence. "Mary!" "Annie!" The names were barely breathed. Mary silently kissed her aunt as she turned from her mother. The Colonel's sister raised her eyes and saw Stuart. Her tones were sharp with the ring of a commander giving orders: "Our army is marching, Lieutenant Stuart! You here in civilian clothes?" The strong, young body stiffened. "I have resigned my commission in the United States Army, Mrs. Marshall--" Her finger rose in an imperious gesture. "You will live to regret it, sir!" Lee frowned and laid his hand on his sister's arm in a gesture of appeal. "Annie, dear, please." She regained her poise at the touch of his hand and turned to Mrs. Lee. Stuart extended his hand briskly. "Goodbye, sir. I hope to see you in Richmond soon--" Lee's answer was gravely spoken. "Goodbye, my boy. I honor you in your quick decision, with the clear vision of youth. We, older men, must halt and pray, and feel our way." With a laugh in his blue eyes Stuart paused at the door half embarrassed at Mrs. Marshall's presence. He waved his hat to the group. "Well, goodbye, everybody! I'm off to join the Cavalry!" Outside as he hurried to his horse he waved again. "Goodbye--!" There was a moment's painful silence. They listened to the beat of his horse's hoof on the white roadway toward Washington. As the tall soldier listened he heard the roar of the hoofs of coming legions. And a warrior's soul leaped to the saddle. But the soul of the man, of the father and brother uttered a cry of mortal pain. He looked about the hall in a dazed way as if unconscious of the presence of the women of his home. Mrs. Lee saw his deep anxiety and whispered to Mrs. Marshall. "Come to my room, Annie, and rest before you say anything to Robert--" She shook her head. "No--no, my dear. I can't. My heart's too full. I can't rest. It's no use trying." The wife took both her hands. "Then remember, that his heart is even fuller than yours." "Yes, I know." "And you cannot possibly be suffering as he is." "I'll not forget, dear." Mrs. Lee pressed her hands firmly. "And say nothing that you'll live to regret?" "I promise, Mary." "Please!" With a lingering look of sympathy for brother and sister, Mrs. Lee softly left the room. Lee stood gazing through the window across the shining waters of the river whose mirror but a few months ago had reflected the distorted faces of John Brown and his men at Harper's Ferry. It had come, the vision he had seen as he looked on the dark stains that fateful morning. He dreaded this interview with his sister. He knew the views of Judge Marshall, her husband. He knew her own love for the Union. She was struggling for control of Her emotions and her voice was strained. "You've--you've heard this awful news from Richmond?" "Yes," he answered quietly. "And I've long felt it coming. The first thunderbolt struck us at Harper's Ferry. The storm has broken now--" "What are you going to do?" She asked the question as if half afraid to pronounce the words. Lee turned away in silence. She followed him and laid a hand on his arm. "You'll let me tell you all that's in my heart, my brother?" The soldier was a boy again. He took his sister's hand and stroked it as he had in the old days at Stratford. "Of course, my dear." "And remember that we _are_ brother and sister?" "Always." She clung to his hand and made no effort now to keep back the tears. "And that I shall always believe in you and be proud of you--" A sob caught her voice and she could not go on. He pressed her hand. "It's sweet to hear you say this, Annie, in the darkest hour of my life--" She interrupted him in quick, passionate appeal. "Why should it be the darkest hour, Robert? What have you or I, or our people, to do with the madmen who are driving the South over the brink of this precipice?" Lee shook his head. "The people of the South are not being driven now, my dear--" He stopped. His eyes flashed as his words quickened. "They are rushing with a fierce shout as one man. The North thinks that only a small part of the Southern people are in this revolution, misled by politicians. The truth is, the masses are sweeping their leaders before them, as leaves driven by a storm. The cotton states are unanimous. Virginia has seceded. North Carolina and Tennessee will follow her to-morrow, and the South a Unit, the Union is divided." The sister drew herself up with pride, and squarely faced him. She spoke with deliberation. "Our families, Robert, from the beginning have stood for the glory of the Union. It is unthinkable that you should leave it. Such men as Edmund Ruffin--yes--the impulsive old firebrand has already volunteered as a private and gone to South Carolina. He pulled the lanyard that fired the first shot against Fort Sumter. We have nothing in common with such men--" Lee lifted his hand in protest. "Yes, we have, my dear. We are both sons of Virginia, our mother and the mother of this Republic." "All the more reason why I'm begging to-day that you dedicate your genius, your soul and body to fight the men who would destroy the Union!" Lee raised his eyes as if in prayer and drew a deep breath. "There's but one thing for me to decide, Annie--my duty." His sister clasped her hands nervously and glanced about the room. Her eyes rested on the portraits of Washington, and his wife and she turned quickly. "Your wife is the grand-daughter of Martha Washington. Can you look on that portrait of the father of this country, handed down to the mother of your children, and dare draw your sword to destroy his work?" "I've tried to put him in my place and ask what he would do--" He stopped suddenly. "What would Washington do if he stood in my place to-day?" "My dear brother!" "Remember now that you are appealing to me as my sister. Did Washington allow the ties of blood to swerve him from his duty? His own mother was a loyal subject of the King of Great Britain and died so--" "Washington led an army of patriots in a sacred cause," she interrupted. "Surely. But he won his first victories as a soldier fighting the French, under the British flag. He denounced that flag, joined with the French and forced Cornwallis to surrender to the armies of France and the Colonies of America. He was equally right when he fought under the British flag against the French, and when he fought with Lafayette and Rochambeau and won our independence. Each time he fought for his rights under law. Each time with mind and conscience clear, he answered the call of duty. The man who does that is always right, my sister, no matter what flag flies above him!" "Oh, Robert, there is but one flag--the flag of Washington, and your father, Henry Lee--" The brother broke in quickly. "And yet, the first blood in this conflict was drawn by a man who cursed that flag, who again and again defied its authority, and gloried in the fact that he had trampled it beneath his feet. The North has proclaimed him a Saint. Their soldiers are now marching on the South singing a song of glory to John Brown and all for which he stood. What would Washington do if he were living, and these men were marching to invade Virginia, put his home at Mount Vernon to the torch, and place pikes in the hands of his slaves--" Lee searched his sister's eyes and drove his question home. "What would he do?" The woman was too downright in her honesty to quibble or fence. She couldn't answer. She flushed and hesitated. "I don't know--I don't know. I only know," she hastened to add, "that he couldn't be a traitor." "Even so. Who is the traitor, my dear? The man who defies the Constitution and the laws of the Union? Or the man who defends the law and the rights of his fathers under it?" Again she couldn't answer. She would not acknowledge defeat. She simply refused to face such a problem. It led the wrong way. With quick wit she changed her point of attack. She drew close and asked in passionate tenderness: "Have you counted the cost? The frightful cost which you and yours must pay if you dare defend Virginia?" Lee nodded his head sorrowfully. "On my knees, I've tried to reckon it." He looked longingly over the wide lawn that rolled in green splendor toward the river. "I know that if I cast my lot with Virginia, this home, handed down to us from Washington, will be lost, and its fields trampled under the feet of hostile armies. That my wife and children may wander homeless, dependent on the charity or courtesy of friends. The thought of it tears my heart!" His voice sank to a whisper. And then he lifted his head firmly. "But I must not allow this to swerve me an inch from my duty--" The sound of horses' hoofs again echoed on the roadway, as Ben entered from the dining room to announce breakfast. Lee listened. "See who that is, Ben." "Yassah." As Ben passed out the door, Lee continued: "I will not say one word to influence my three sons. I will not even write to them. They must fight this battle out alone, as I am fighting it out to-day." His sister smiled wanly. "Your sons will follow you, Robert. And so will thousands of the best men in Virginia. Your responsibility is terrible." Ben announced from the door. "Mr. Francis Preston Blair, ter see you, sir." Lee waved the butler from the room. "I'll receive him, Ben. You can go." "Thank God!" Mrs. Marshall breathed. "He's the most influential man in Washington. He is in close touch with the President, and he is a Southerner--" She looked at her brother pleadingly. "You'll give him the most careful hearing, Robert?" "I don't know the object of his visit, but I'll gladly see him." "He's a staunch Union man. He can have but one object in coming!" she cried with elation. With courtesy Lee met his distinguished visitor at the door and grasped his hand. "Walk in, Mr. Blair. You know my sister, Mrs. Marshall of Baltimore?" Blair smiled. "I am happy to say that Mrs. Marshall and I are the best of friends. We have often met at the house of my son, Montgomery Blair, of Mr. Lincoln's Cabinet." "Let me take your hat, sir," Lee said with an answering smile. "Thank you." The Colonel crossed the room to place it on a table. Mrs. Marshall took advantage of the moment to whisper to Blair. "I've done my best. I'm afraid I haven't convinced him. May God give you the word to speak to my brother to-day!" Blair rubbed his hands and a look of triumph overspread his rugged face. "He has, Madame. I have a message for him!" "A message?" "From the highest authority!" "May I be present at your conference?" she pleaded eagerly. "By all means, Madame. Stay and hear my announcement. He cannot refuse me." Lee sought at once to put Blair at ease on his mission. "From my sister's remark a moment ago, I may guess the purpose of your coming, Mr. Blair?" His guest surveyed Lee with an expression of deep pleasure in the unfolding of his message. "In part, yes, you may have guessed my purpose. But I have something to say that even your keen mind has not surmised--" "I am honored, sir, in your call and I shall be glad to hear you." Blair drew himself erect as if on military duty. "Colonel Lee, I have come after a conference with President Lincoln, to ask you to throw the power of your great name into this fight now to put an end to chaos--" "You have come from the President?" "Unofficially--" "Oh--" "But with his full knowledge and consent." "And what is his suggestion?" Blair hesitated. "He cannot make it until he first knows that you will accept his offer." "His offer?" Blair waited until the thought had been fully grasped and then uttered each word with solemn emphasis. "His offer, sir, of the supreme command of the armies of the Union--" A cry of joy and pride came resistlessly from the sister's lips. "Oh, Robert--Robert!" Lee was surprised and deeply moved. He rose from his seat, walked to the window, looked out, flushed and slowly said: "You--you--cannot mean this--?" Blair hastened to assure him. "I am straight from the White House. General Scott has eagerly endorsed your name." "But I cannot realize this to me--from Abraham Lincoln?" "From Abraham Lincoln, whose simple common sense is the greatest asset to-day which the Union possesses. His position is one of frank conciliation toward the South." "Yet he said once that this Republic cannot endure half slave and half free and the South interpreted that to mean--war--" "Exactly. Crowds do not reason. They refuse to think. They refuse, therefore, to hear his explanation of those words. He hates Slavery as you hate Slavery. He knows, as you know, that it is doomed by the process of time. To make this so clear that he who runs may read, he wrote in his inaugural address in so many words his solemn pledge to respect every right now possessed by the masters of the South under law. _"'I have no purpose to interfere with the institution of Slavery in the States where it exists.'"_ "His sole purpose now is to save the Union, Slavery or no Slavery--" "Surely, Robert," his sister cried, "you can endorse that stand!" "Mr. Lincoln," Blair went on eagerly, "is a leader whose common sense amounts to genius. No threats or bluster, inside his own party or outside of it, can swerve him from his high aim. He is going to save this Union first and let all other questions bide their time." Lee searched Blair with his keen eyes. "But Mr. Lincoln, without the authority of Congress, has practically declared war. He has called on Virginia to furnish troops to fight a sister State. My State has decided that he had no power under the Constitution to issue such a call. It is, therefore, illegal. The organic law of the republic makes no provision for raising troops to fight a sister State." Blair lifted both hands in a persuasive gesture. "Let us grant, Colonel Lee, that in law you are right. The States are sovereign. The Constitution gives the General Government no power to coerce a State. Our fathers, as a matter of fact, never faced such a possibility. Grant all that in law. Even so, a mighty, united nation has grown through the years. It is now a living thing, immutable, indissoluble. It commands your obedience and mine." Lee was silent and Mrs. Marshall cried: "Surely this is true, Robert!" "My dear Mr. Blair," Lee slowly began, "your claim is the beginning of the end of law--the beginning of anarchy. If under the law, Virginia is right, is it not my duty to defend her? Obedience to law is the cornerstone on which all nations are built if they endure. Reverence for law is to-day the force driving the South into revolution--" "A revolution doomed to certain failure," Blair quickly interrupted. "The border slave states of Maryland, Kentucky and Missouri, under Mr. Lincoln's conservative leadership, will never secede. Without them the South must fail. You have served under the flag of the Union for thirty years. You know the North. You know the South. And you know that such a revolution based on a division of the Union without these border States is madness--" "It is madness, Robert," Mrs. Marshall joined, "utter madness!" "Right and duty, Mr. Blair, have nothing to do with success or failure," Lee responded. "I know the fearful odds against the South. I know the indomitable will, the energy, the fertile resources, the pride of opinion of the North, once set in motion. I know that the South has no money, no army, no organized government, no standing in the Court of Nations. She will have a white population of barely five millions against twenty-two millions--and her ports will be closed by our Navy--" Blair interrupted and leaned close. "And let me add, that as our leader _you_ will not only command the greatest army ever assembled under the American flag, backed by a great Navy--but that your victory will be but the beginning of a career. From your window you see the White House and the Capitol. The man who leads the Union armies will succeed Mr. Lincoln as President." Lee's protest was emphatic. "I aspire to no office, Mr. Blair. I'm fifty-four years of age. I am on the hilltop of life. The way leads down a gentle slope, I trust, to a valley of peace, love and happiness. Ambition does not lure me; I have lived. I have played my part as well as I know how. I am content. I love my Country, North and South, East and West. I am a trained soldier--I know nothing else." "The highest honor of this Nation, Colonel Lee, is something no man born under our flag dares to decline. Few men in history have been so well equipped as you for such an honor, both by birth and culture. You must also remember that the President of the United States is Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy. You are proud of your profession. You would honor it in the highest office of the Republic. You are held in the highest esteem by every soldier in the army. The President calls you. The Nation calls you. All eyes are upon you." Blair studied the effect of his appeal. He saw that Lee was profoundly moved. Yet his courteous manner gave no hint of the trend of his emotions. He did not reply for a moment and then spoke with tenderness. "My dear friend, you must not think that I am deaf to such calls. They move me to the depths. But no honor can reconcile me to this awful war. It is madness. It is absolutely unnecessary. But for John Brown's insane act it could have been avoided. But it has come. Its glory does not tempt me. I wish peace on earth and good will to all men. I am a soldier, but a Christian soldier--" His voice broke. "I am one of the humblest followers of Jesus Christ. There is but a single question for me to decide--my duty--" A horseman dashed under the portico, threw his reins to Sam and entered without announcement. "Colonel Lee?" he asked. "Yes." He handed Lee a folded paper bearing the great seal of the State. "A message, sir, from Richmond." Lee's hand trembled as he broke the seal. He stared at its words as in a dream. "You have important news?" Blair asked. "Most important. I am summoned to Richmond by the Governor in obedience to a resolution of the Legislature." Mrs. Marshall advanced on the dusty, young messenger, her eyes aflame with anger. "How dare you enter this house unannounced, sir?" The boy did not answer. He turned away with a smile. She repented her words immediately. They had sounded undignified, if not positively rude. But she had been so sure that Blair could not fail. This call from Richmond, coming in the moment of crisis, drove her to desperation. She looked at Blair helplessly and he rallied to the attack with renewed determination. "A Nation is calling you. The Union your fathers created is calling you, Colonel Lee!" Lee's figure stiffened the least bit, though his words were uttered in the friendliest tones. "Virginia is also calling me, Mr. Blair. Your own State of Maryland has not seceded. For that reason you cannot feel this tragedy as I feel it. Put yourself in my place. I ask you the question, is not the command of a State that of a mother to a child? We are citizens of the State, not of the Union. There is no such thing as citizenship in the Union. We vote only as citizens of a State. We enlist as soldiers by States. I was sent to West Point as a cadet by the State of Virginia. Even President Lincoln's proclamation calling for volunteers to coerce a State, revolutionary as it is, is addressed, not to individual men, but to the States. He must call on each to furnish her quota of soldiers--" "Yet the call is to every citizen of the Nation!" Lee's hand was raised in a gesture of imperious affirmation. "There is no such thing as citizenship of the Nation! We don't pay taxes to the Nation. We may yet become a Nation. We are as yet a Union of Sovereign States. Virginia has refused to furnish the troops called for by the President and has withdrawn from the Union. She reserved in her vote to enter, the right to withdraw. I am a Virginian. What is my duty?" "To fight for the Union, Robert--always!" Mrs. Marshall answered. "I love the Union, my dear sister, my heart aches at the thought of its division--" He turned sharply to Blair. "But is not the South to-day in taking her stand for the rights of the State asserting a principle as vital as the Union itself? All the great minds of the North have recognized that these rights are fundamental to our life. Bancroft declares that the State is the guardian of the security and happiness of the individual. Hamilton declares that, if the States shall lose their powers, the people will be robbed of their liberties. George Clinton says that the States are our _only_ security for the liberties of the people against a centralized tyranny. These rights once surrendered, and I solemnly warn you, my friend, that your children and mine may live to see in Washington a centralized power that will dare to say what you shall eat, what you shall drink, and what you shall wear!" Blair laughed incredulously. "Surely it's a far cry to that, Colonel--" "I'm not so sure, Mr. Blair. And the cry from Virginia rings through my heart. I see her in mortal peril. My father was three times Governor of the Commonwealth. Virginia gave America the immortal words of the Declaration of Independence. She gave us something greater. She gave us George Washington, a Southern slaveholder, whose iron will alone carried our despairing people through ten years of hopeless revolution and won at last our right to live. Madison wrote the Constitution. John Marshall of Virginia, as Chief Judge of the Supreme Court, established its power on the foundations of Justice and Law. Jefferson doubled our area in the Louisiana Territory. Scott and Taylor extended it to the Pacific Ocean from Oregon to the Gulf of California. Virginia in the generosity of her great heart gave the Northwest to the Union and forbade the extension of slavery within it--" Blair leaped to make a point. "Surely these proud recollections, of her gifts to the Union should form bonds too strong to be broken!" "So say I, sir! Surely they should place the people of all sections under obligations too deep to permit the invasion of her sacred soil! Can I stand by as her loyal son and see this invasion begun? I regret that Virginia has withdrawn. But the deed is done. Her people through their Governor and their Legislature call me--command me to come to her defense. They may be wrong. They may be blinded by passion. They are still my people, my neighbors, my friends, my children--and I cannot--" He drew a deep breath and rose to his full height. "_I will not draw my sword against them!_" "Glory to God!" the messenger exulted. Blair spoke with despair. "This is your final decision?" "Final." The messenger slipped close to Lee and spoke hurriedly. "I came by special train, sir--an engine and coach. They wait you on a siding just outside of town. We're afraid the line may be cut. The Northern troops are bivouacing on the Capitol hill. They may stop us. We've no time to lose. I hope you can come at once." The messenger walked quickly through the door and seized his horse's reins. Lee turned to Blair. "Troops are on the Capitol Hill?" "A regiment of Pennsylvanians has just arrived, I believe." Sam had edged through the door and stood smiling at his old master. The Colonel had not seen him to this moment. "You here, Sam?" he said with feeling. "Yassah. I come home ter stan' by you, Marse Robert." "Saddle my horse, you can go with me!" "Yassah. Thankee, sah!" "Bring Sid to fetch our horses back from the train." "Yassah, glory hallelujah!" Sam shouted as he darted for the stable. The anxious mother, praying in her room upstairs, heard Sam's shout and hurried down with Mary. The other children happily were on the Pamunkey at the home of Custis. The mother's heart was pounding. There was war in Sam's shout. She felt its savage thrill. She gripped herself for the ordeal. There should be no vain regrets, no foolish words. Her soul rose in the glory of sacrificial love. "What is it, my dear?" she asked softly. "I go to Richmond immediately. Northern troops are pouring into Washington. Send my things to me if you can." His eyes wandered about the room he loved. He would never see it again. He felt this in his inmost soul. It would be but the work of an hour for the troops to sweep across the bridge, sack its rooms and leave its beautiful lawn a sodden waste. The wife saw the anguish in his gaze and her words rang with exaltation. "Then it is God's will. And I shall try to smile. You have reached this decision in deepest thought and prayer. And I know that you are right!" Lee took her in his arms and held her in silence. Those who saw, wept. At last he kissed her tenderly and turned to the others. His sister walked blindly toward him. "Oh, Robert, you have broken my heart--" "I know, Annie, that you'll blame me," he answered, gently. She slipped her arms about his neck. "No, I shall not blame you. I understand now. I only grieve--" Her voice broke. She struggled to control herself. "How handsome you are in this solemn hour, my glorious, soldier-brother--" Again her voice failed. "The pity and horror of it all! My husband and my son will fight you--and--I--shall--pray--for--their--success--oh--how can God permit it!--Goodbye, Robert!" Her arms tightened and his responded. His hand touched her hair and he said slowly: "If dark hours come to us, my sister, we are children again roaming the fields hand in hand. We'll just remember that." She kissed him tenderly. "And success or failure, dear Annie," he continued, "shall be in God's hands--not ours. I go to lead a forlorn hope perhaps. But I must share the miseries of my people." He slipped from her arms and silently embraced his daughter, and again her mother. "Say goodbye to the other children for me when you see them, dear." Blair took his extended hand. "I know what you feel, Colonel Lee," he said solemnly. "I'm only sorry I could not hold you." "Thank you, my friend. My people believe, and I believe that we have rights to defend. And we must do our best--even if we perish." He strode quickly to the door, and paused. A sudden pain caught his heart as he crossed its threshold for the last time. He looked back, lifted his head as in prayer and passed out. He mounted his horse and rode swiftly through the beautiful spring morning toward Richmond--and Immortality. The women stood weeping. The President's messenger watched in sorrow. CHAPTER XXXVIII When John Brown cunningly surveyed the lines around those houses in Kansas, observed the fastenings of their doors, marked the strength of the shutters, learned the names of their dogs, crept under the cover of darkness on his prey as a wild beast creeps through the jungle and hacked his innocent victims to pieces, we know that he was a criminal paranoiac pursuing a fixed idea under the delusion that God had sent him. Yet on the eighteenth of July, 1861, Colonel Fletcher Webster's regiment, the Twelfth Massachusetts, marched through the streets of Boston singing a song of glory to John Brown which one of its members composed. They were also marching Southward to kill. The only difference was they had a Commission. War had been declared. Why did the war crowd on the streets and in the ranks burst into song as they marched to kill their fellow men? To find the answer we must go back to the dawn of human history and see man, as yet a savage beast, with but one impulse the dominant force in life, the archaic impulse to slay. All wars are not begun in this elemental fashion. There are wars of defense forced on innocent nations by brutal aggressors. But the joy that thrills the soul of the crowd on the declaration of war is always the simple thing. It is the roar of the lion as he springs on his prey. In this Song to the Soul of John Brown there was no thought of freeing a slave. War was not declared on that ground. The President who called them had no such purpose. The men who marched had no such idea. They sang "Glory, Glory Hallelujah! Glory, Glory Hallelujah!" because they saw Red. The restraints of Law, Religion and Tradition had been lifted. The primitive beast that had been held in check by civilization, rose with a shout and leaped to its ancient task. The homicidal wish--fancy with which the human mind had toyed in times of peace in dreams and reveries--was now a living reality. Not one in a thousand knew what the war was about. And this one in a thousand who thought he knew was mistaken. It had been made legal to kill. They were marching to kill. They shouted. They sang. They were marching to the most utterly senseless and unnecessary struggle in the history of our race. The North in the hours of sanity which preceded the outburst did not wish war. The South in her sane moments never believed it possible. Yet the hell-lit tragedy of brothers marching to slay their brothers had come. Nothing could dampen the enthusiasm of this first joyous mob. On the night of the twentieth of July the Army of the North was encamped about seven miles from Beaureguard's lines at Bull Run. The volunteers were singing, shouting, girding their loins for the fray. They had heard the firing on the first skirmish line. Fifteen or twenty men had been killed it was reported. The Red Thought leaped! At two o'clock before day on Sunday morning, the order came to advance against the foe. The deep thrill of the elemental man swept the crowd. They had come loaded down with baggage. They hurled it aside and got their guns. What many of them were afraid of was that the whole rebel army would escape before they could get into the thick of it. Many had brought handcuffs and ropes along with which to manacle their prisoners and have sport with them after the fight, another ancient pastime of our half-ape ancestors. They threw down some of their blankets but held on to their handcuffs. When the first crash of battle came these raw recruits on both sides fought with desperate bravery for nine terrible hours. They fought from dawn until three o'clock in the afternoon under the broiling Southern sun of July. Charge and counter charge left their toll of the dead and then the tired archaic muscles began to wonder when it would end. Why hadn't victory come? Where were the prisoners they were to manacle? Both sides were sick with hunger and weariness. The Southerners were expecting reinforcements from Manassas Junction. The Northerners were expecting reinforcements. Their eyes were turned toward the same road which led from the Shenandoah Valley. A dust cloud suddenly rose over the hill. A fresh army was marching on the scene. North and South looked with straining eyes. They were not long in doubt. The first troops suddenly swung in on the right flank of the Southern army and began to form their lines to charge the North. Suddenly from this fresh Southern line rose a new cry. From two thousand throats came the shrill, elemental, savage shout of the hunter in sight of his game--the fierce Rebel Yell. They charged the Northern lines and then pandemonium--blind, unreasoning wolf-panic seized the army that had marched with songs and shouts to kill. They broke and fled. They cut the traces of their horses, left the guns, mounted and rode for life. The mob engulfed the buggies and carriages of Congressmen and picnickers who had come out from Washington to see the fun. A rebellion crushed at a blow! Stuart at the head of his Black Horse Cavalry, his saber flashing, cut his way through this mob again and again. When the smoke of battle lifted, the dazed, ill-organized ambulance corps searched the field for the first toll of the Blood Feud. They found only nine hundred boys slain and two thousand six hundred wounded. They lay weltering in their blood in the smothering heat and dust and dirt. The details of men were busy burying the dead, some of their bodies yet warm. The morning after dawned black and lowering and the rain began to pour in torrents. Through the streets of Washington the stragglers streamed. The plumes which waved as they sang were soaked and drooping. Their gorgeous, new uniforms were wrinkled and mud-smeared. The President called for five hundred thousand men this time. The joy and glory of war had gone. But war remained. War grim, gaunt, stark, hideous--as remorseless as death. CHAPTER XXXIX In a foliage-embowered house on a hill near Washington Colonel Jeb Stuart, Commander of the Confederate Cavalry, had made his headquarters. Neighing horses were hitched to the swaying limbs. They pawed the ground, wheeled and whinnied their impatience at inaction. Every man who sat in one of those saddles owned his mount. These boys were the flower of Southern manhood. The Confederate Government was too poor to furnish horses for the Cavalry. Every man, volunteering for this branch of the service, must bring his own horse and equipment complete. The South only furnished a revolver and carbine. At the first battle of Bull Run they didn't have enough of them even for the regiments Stuart commanded. Whole companies were armed only with the pikes which John Brown had made for the swarming of the Black Bees at Harper's Ferry. They used these pikes as lances. The thing that gave the Confederate Cavalry its impetuous dash, its fire and efficiency was the fact that every man on horseback had been born in the saddle and had known his horse from a colt. From the moment they swung into line they were veterans. The North had no such riders in the field as yet. Brigadier-General Phillip St. George Cooke was organizing this branch of the service. It would take weary months to train new riders and break in strange horses. Until these born riders, mounted on their favorites, could be killed or their horses shot from under them, there would be tough work ahead for the Union Cavalry. A farmer approached at sunset. He gazed on the array with pride. He lifted his gray head and shouted: "Hurrah for our boys! Old Virginia'll show 'em before we're through with this!" A sentinel saluted the old man. "I've come for Colonel Stuart. His wife and babies are at my house. He'll understand. Tell him." The farmer watched the spectacle. Straight in front of the little portico on its tall staff fluttered the Commander's new, blood-red battle flag with its blue St. Andrew's cross and white stars rippling in the wind. Spurs were clanking, sabers rattling. A courier dashed up, dismounted and entered the house. Young officers in their new uniforms were laughing and chatting in groups before the door. An escort brought in a Federal Cavalry prisoner on his mount. The boys gathered around him and roared with laughter. He was a good-natured Irishman who could take a joke. His horse was loaded down with a hundred pounds of extra equipment. The Irishman had half of it strapped on his own back. A boy shouted: "For the Lord's sake, did you take him with all that freight?" An escort roared: "That's why we took him. He couldn't run." The boy looked at the solemn face of the prisoner and chaffed: "And why have ye got that load on your own back, man?" Without cracking a smile the Irishman replied: "An' I thought me old horse had all he could carry!" The boys roared, pulled him down, took off his trappings and told him to make himself at home. Inside the house could be heard the hum of conversation, with an occasional boom of laughter that could come from but one throat. Work for the day completed, he came to the door to greet his visitor. The farmer's eyes flashed at the sight of his handsome figure. He was only twenty-eight years old, of medium height, with a long, silken, bronzed beard and curling mustache. He waved his hand and cried: "With you in a minute!" His voice was ringing music. He wore a new suit of Confederate gray which his wife had just sent him. His gauntlets extended nine inches above the wrists. His cavalry boots were high above the knee. His broad-brimmed felt hat was caught up on one side with a black ostrich plume. His cavalry coat fitted tightly--a "fighting jacket." It was circled with a black belt from which hung his revolver and over which was tied a splendid yellow sash. His spurs were gold. A first glance would give the impression of a gay youngster over fond of dress. But the moment his blue eyes flashed there came the glint of steel. The man behind the uniform was seen, the bravest of the brave, the flower of Southern chivalry. For all his gay dress he was from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, every inch the soldier--the soldier with the big brain and generous, fun-loving heart. His forehead was extraordinary in height and breadth, bronzed by sun and wind. His nose was large and nostrils mobile. His eyes were clear, piercing, intense. His laughing mouth was completely covered by the curling mustache and long beard. He had darted around the house on waving to his visitor and in a minute reappeared, followed by three negroes. He was taking his minstrels with him on the trip to see his wife. The cavalcade mounted. He waved his aides aside. "No escort, boys. See you at sunrise." The farmer's house was only half a mile inside his lines. When the army of the North was hurled back into Washington he had sent for his wife and babies and arranged for their board at the nearest farmhouse. The little mother's heart was fluttering with love and pride. Richmond was already ringing with the praises of her soldier man. They were recruiting the first brigade of Cavalry. He was slated for Brigadier-General of the mounted forces. And he was only twenty-eight! Stuart sprang from his horse and rushed to meet his wife. She was waiting in the glow of the sunset, her eyes misty with joyous tears. It was a long time as she nestled in his arms before she could speak. Her voice was barely a whisper. "You've passed through your first baptism of blood safely, my own!" "Baptism of blood--nothing!" He laughed. "It wasn't a fight at all. We had nothing to do till the blue birds flew. And then we flew after 'em. Oh, honey girl, it was just a lark. I laughed till I cried--" She raised her eyes to his. "And you didn't see my dear old daddy anywhere?" "No. I wish I had! I'd have taken the loyal old rascal prisoner and made you keep him till the war's over." "It _is_ over, isn't it, dear?" "No." "Why, you've driven the army back in a panic on Washington. They'll ask for peace, won't they?" "They won't, honey. I know 'em too well. They'll more than likely ask for a million volunteers." "It's not over, then?" "No, dear little mother. I'll be honest with you. Don't believe silly talk. We're in for a long, desperate fight--" "And I've been so happy thinking you'd come home--" "Your home will be with me, won't it?" "Always." "All right. This is the beginning of my scheme for the duration of the war. I'm going to get you a map of Virginia, showing the roads. I'll get you a compass. There'll always be a little farmhouse somewhere behind my headquarters. Our home will be in the field and saddle for a while." He kissed his babies and ate his supper laughing and joking like a boy of nineteen. The table cleared, he ordered a concert for their entertainment. Bob, the leader of his minstrels, was a dandified mulatto who played the guitar, the second was a whistler and the third a master of the negro dance, the back step and the breakdown. Bob tuned his guitar, picked his strings and gazed at the ceiling. He was apparently selecting the first piece. It, was always the same, his favorite, "Listen to the Mocking Bird." He played with a plaintive, swaying melody that charmed his hearers. The whistler amazed them with his marvelous imitation of birds and bird calls. The room throbbed with every note of the garden, field and wood. The mother's face was wreathed in smiles. The boy shouted. The baby crooned. The first piece done, the audience burst into a round of applause. Bob gave them "Alabama" next, accompanied by the whistler and his bird chorus. Stuart laughed and called for the breakdown. Bob begins a jig on his guitar, the whistler claps and the sable dancer edges his way to the center of the floor in little spasmodic shuffles. He begins with his heel tap, then the toe, then in leaps and whirls. The guitar swelled to a steady roar. The whistler quickens his claps. And Stuart's boyish laughter rang above the din. "Go it, boy! Go it!" The dancer's eyes roll. His step quickens. He cuts the wildest figures in a frenzy of abandoned joy. With a leap through the door he is gone. The guitar stops with a sudden twang and Stuart's laughter roars. And then he gave an hour to play with his children before a mother's lullaby should put them to sleep. He got down on his all fours and little Jeb mounted and rode round the room to the baby's scream of joy. He lay flat on the floor with the baby on his breast and let her pull his beard and mustache until her strength failed. The children were still sound asleep when they sat down and ate breakfast before day. At the first streak of dawn he was standing beside his horse ready for the dash back to his headquarters and the work of the day. The shadow had fallen across the woman's heart again. He saw and understood. He put his hand under her chin and lifted it. "No more tears now, my sweetheart." "I'll try." "We may be here for weeks." "There'll be another fight soon?" "I think not." "For a month?" "Not for a long time." "Thank God!" A far-off look stole into his eyes. "It will be a good one though when it comes, I reckon." "There can be no _good_ one--if my boy's in it." "Well, I'll be in it!" "Yes. I know." She kissed him and turned back into the house, with the old fear gripping her heart. CHAPTER XL The early months of the war were but skirmishes. The real work of killing and maiming the flower of the race had not begun. The defeat had given the sad-eyed President unlimited power to draw on the resources of the nation for men and money. His call for half a million soldiers met with instant response. The fighting spirit of twenty-two million Northern people had been roused. They felt the disgrace of Bull Run and determined to wipe it out in blood. Three Northern armies were hurled on the South in a well-planned, concerted movement to take Richmond. McDowell marched straight down to Fredericksburg with forty thousand. Fermont, with Milroy, Banks and Shields, was sweeping through the Shenandoah Valley. McClellan, with his grand army of one hundred and twenty thousand men, had moved up the Peninsula in resistless force until he lay on the banks of the Chickahominy within sight of the spires of Richmond. To meet these three armies aggregating a quarter of a million men, the South could marshall barely seventy thousand. Jackson was despatched with eighteen thousand to baffle the armies of McDowell, Fremont, Milroy, Shields and Banks in the Valley and prevent their union with McClellan. The war really began on Sunday, the second of June, 1862, when Robert E. Lee was sent to the front to take command of the combined army of seventy thousand men of the South. The new commander with consummate genius planned his attack and flung his gray lines on McClellan with savage power. The two armies fought in dense thickets often less than fifty yards apart. Their muskets flashed sheets of yellow flame. The sound of ripping canvas, the fire of small arms in volleys, could no longer be distinguished. The sullen roar was endless, deafening, appalling. Over the tops of oak, pine, beech, ash and tangled undergrowth came the flaming thunder of two great armies equally fearless, the flower of American manhood in their front ranks, daring, scorning death, fighting hand to hand, man to man. The people in the churches of Richmond as they prayed could hear the awful roar. They turned their startled faces toward the battle. It rang above the sob of organ and the chant of choir. The hosts in blue and gray charged again and again through the tangle of mud and muck and blood and smoke and death. Bayonet rang on bayonet. They fought hand to hand, as naked savages once fought with bare hands. The roar died slowly with the shadows of the night, until only the crack of a rifle here and there broke the stillness. And then above the low moans of the wounded and dying came the distant notes of the church bells in Richmond calling men and women again to the house of God. There was no shout of triumph--no cheering hosts--only the low moan of death and the sharp cry of a boy in pain. The men in blue could have moved in and bivouaced on the ground they had lost. The men in gray had no strength left. The dead and the dying were everywhere. The wounded were crawling through the mud and brush, like stricken animals; some with their legs broken; some with arms dangling by a thread; some with hideous holes torn in their faces. The front was lighted with the unclouded splendor of a full Southern moon. Down every dim aisle of the woods they lay in awful, dark heaps. In the fields they lay with faces buried in the dirt or eyes staring up at the stars, twisted, torn, mangled. The blue and the gray lay side by side in death, as they had fought in life. The pride and glory of a mighty race of freemen. The shadows of the details moved in the moonlight. They were opening the first of those long, deep trenches. They were careful in these early days of war. They turned each face downward as they packed them in. The grave diggers could not then throw the wet dirt into their eyes and mouths. Aching hearts in far-off homes couldn't see; but these boys still had hearts within their breasts. The fog-rimmed lanterns flickered over the fields peering into the faces on the ground. The ambulance corps did its best at the new trade. It was utterly inadequate on either side. It's always so in war. The work of war is to maim, to murder--not to heal or save. The long line of creaking wagons began to move into Richmond over the mud-cut roads. Every hospital was filled. The empty wagons rolled back in haste over the cobble stones and out on the muddy roads to the front again. At the hospital doors the women stood in huddled groups--wives, sweethearts, mothers, sisters, praying, hoping, fearing, shivering. Far away in the field hospitals, the young doctors with bare, bloody arms were busy with saw and knife. Boys who had faced death in battle without a tremor stood waiting their turn trembling, crying, cursing. They could see the piles of legs and arms rising higher as the doctors hurled them from the quivering bodies. They stretched out their hands in the darkness to feel the touch of loved ones. They must face this horror alone, and then battle through life, maimed wrecks. They peered through the shadows under the trees where the dead were piled and envied them their sleep. The armies paused next day to gird their loins for the crucial test. Jackson was still in the Shenandoah Valley holding three armies at bay, defeating them in detail. His swift marches had so paralyzed his enemies that McDowell's forty thousand men lay at Fredericksburg unable to move. Lee summoned Stuart. When the conference ended the young Cavalry Commander threw himself into the saddle and started Northward with a song. Determined to learn the strength of McClellan's right wing and confuse his opponent, Lee had sent Stuart on the most daring adventure in the history of cavalry warfare. Stuart had told him that he could ride around McClellan's whole army, cut his communications and strike terror in his rear. With twelve hundred picked horsemen, fighting, singing, dare-devil riders, Stuart slipped from Lee's lines and started toward Fredericksburg. On the second day he surprised and captured the Federal pickets without a shot. He dreaded a meeting with the Cavalry. His father-in-law, General Cooke, was in command of a brigade of blue riders. He thought with a moment's pang of the little wife at home praying that they should never meet. Let her pray. God would help her. He couldn't let such a thing happen. He suddenly confronted a squadron of Federal Cavalry. With a yell his troops charged and cleared the field. They must ride now with swifter hoofbeat than ever. The news would spread and avengers would be on their heels. They were now far in the rear of McClellan's grand army. They had felt out his right wing and knew to a mile where its lines ended. They dashed toward the York River Railroad which supplied the Northern army, surprised the company holding Tunstall's Station, took them prisoners, cut the wires and tore up the tracks. On his turn toward Richmond when he reached the Chickahominy River, its waters were swollen and he couldn't cross. He built a bridge out of the timbers of a barn, took his last horse over and destroyed it, as the shout of a division of Federal Cavalry was heard in the distance. With twelve hundred men he had made a raid which added a new rule to cavalry tactics. He had ridden around a great army, covering ninety miles in fifty-six hours with the loss of but one man. He had established the position of the enemy, destroyed enormous quantities of war material, captured a hundred and sixty-five prisoners and two hundred horses. He had struck terror to the hearts of a sturdy foe, and thrilled the South with new courage. Jackson's victorious little army joined Lee at Gaines' Mill on the twenty-seventh of June, and on the following day McClellan was in full retreat. On the first of July it ended at Malvern Hill on the banks of the James. Of the one hundred and ten thousand men who marched in battle line on Richmond, eighty-six thousand only reached the shelter of his gunboats. The first great battle of the war had raged from the first of June until the first of July. Fifty thousand brave boys were killed or mangled on the red fields of death. Washington was in gloom. The Grand Army of more than two hundred thousand had gone down in defeat. It was incredible. Richmond had been saved. The glory of Lee, Jackson and Stuart filled the South with a new radiance. But the celebration of victory was in minor key. Every home was in mourning. Six days later Stuart once more clasped his wife to his heart. It had been a month since he had seen her. The thunder of guns she had heard without pause. She knew that both her father and her lover were somewhere in the roaring hell below the city. Stuart never told her how close they had come to a charge and counter charge at the battle of Gaines' Mill. The old, tremulous question she couldn't keep back: "You didn't see my daddy, did you, dear?" Stuart shouted in derision at the idea. "Of course not, honey girl. It's not written in the book of life. Forget the silly old fear." "And they didn't even scratch my soldier man?" "Never a scratch!" She kissed him again. "You know I've a little woman praying for me every day. I lead a charmed life!" She gazed at his handsome, bronzed face. "I believe you do, dearest!" CHAPTER XLI McClellan fell before the genius of Lee, and Pope was put in his place. They met at Second Manassas. The new general ended his brief campaign in a disaster so complete, so appalling that it struck terror to the heart of the Nation. Lee had crushed him with an ease so amazing that Lincoln was compelled to recall McClellan to supreme command. When the toll of the Blood Feud was again reckoned twenty-five thousand more of our brave boys lay dead or wounded beneath the blazing sun of the South. The Confederate Government now believed its army invincible, led by Lee. In spite of poor equipment, with the men half clad and half barefooted, Lee was ordered to invade Maryland. It was a political move, undertaken without the approval of the Commander. As the gray lines swept Northward to cross the Potomac into Maryland, Lincoln was jubilant. To Hay, his young secretary, he whispered: "We've got them now, boy. We've got them! The war must speedily end. Lee can never get into Maryland with fifty thousand effective men. The river will be behind them. I'll have McClellan on him with a hundred thousand well-shod, well-fed, well-armed soldiers and the finest equipment of artillery that ever thundered into battle. "McClellan's on his mettle. His army will fight like tigers to show their faith in him. They were all against me when I removed him. Now they'll show me something. Mark my words." Luck was with McClellan. By an accident Lee's plan of campaign had fallen into his hands. Yet it was too late to forestall his first master stroke. In the face of a hostile army of twice his numbers Lee divided his forces, threw Jackson's corps on Harper's Ferry, captured the town, Arsenal and Rifle Works, twelve thousand five hundred prisoners and vast stores of war material. Among the booty taken were new blue uniforms with which Jackson promptly clothed his men. Lee met McClellan at Antietam and waited for Jackson to arrive from Harper's Ferry. When McClellan's artillery opened in the gray dawn, more than sixteen thousand of Lee's footsore men had fallen along the line of march unable to reach the battlefield. The Union Commander was massing eighty-seven thousand men behind his flaming batteries. Lee could count on but thirty-seven thousand. He gave McClellan battle with his little army hemmed in on one side by Antietam Creek and on the other by the sweeping Potomac. The President in Washington received the news of the positions of the armies and their chances of success with exultation. As the sun rose a glowing dull red ball of fire breaking through the smoke of the artillery, Hooker's division swept into action and drove the first line of Lee's men into the woods. Here they rallied and began to mow down the charging masses with deadly aim. For two hours the sullen fight raged in the woods without yielding an inch on either side. Hooker fell wounded. He called for aid. Mansfield answered and fell dead as he deployed his men. Sedgwick's Corps charged and were caught in a trap between two Confederate brigades concealed and massed to meet them. Sedgwick was wounded and his command barely saved from annihilation. While this struggle raged on the Union right, the center saw a bloodier tragedy. French and Richardson charged the Confederate position. A sunken road crossed the field over which they marched. For four tragic hours the men in gray held this sunken road until it was piled with their bodies. When the final charge of massed blue took it, they found to their amazement that but three hundred living men had been holding it for an hour against the assaults of five thousand. So perfect was the faith of those gray soldiers in Robert E. Lee they died as if it were the order of the day. It was simply fate. Their Commander could make no mistake. Burnsides swung his reinforced division around the woods and pushed up the heights against Sharpsburg to cut Lee's only line of retreat. He forced the thin, gray lines before him through the streets of the village. On its outer edge he suddenly confronted a mass of men clad in their own blue uniform. How had these men gotten here? He was not long in doubt. The blue line suddenly flashed a red wave squarely in their faces. It was Jackson's Corps from Harper's Ferry in their new uniforms. The shock threw the Union men into confusion, a desperate charge drove them out of Sharpsburg, and Lee's army camped on the field with the dead. For fourteen hours five hundred guns and a hundred thousand muskets thundered and hissed their message of blood. When night fell more than twenty thousand of our noblest men lay dead and wounded on the field. Lee skillfully withdrew his army across the Potomac. Safe in Virginia he rallied his shattered forces while he sent Stuart once more in a daring ride around McClellan's army. Again McClellan fell before the genius of Lee. Burnsides was put in his place. They met at Fredericksburg. Burnsides, the courtly, polished gentleman, crossed the Rappahannock River and charged the hills on which Lee's grim, gray men had entrenched. His magnificent army marched into a death trap. Lee's batteries had been trained to rake the field from three directions. Five times the Union hosts charged these crescent hills and five times they were rolled back in waves of blood. A fierce freezing wind sprang up from the North. The desperate Union Commander thought still to turn defeat into victory and ordered the sixth charge. The men in blue pulled down their caps and charged once more into the jaws of death. The lines as they advanced snatched up the frozen bodies of their comrades, carried them to the front, stacked the corpses into long piles for bulwarks, dropped low and fought behind them. In vain. The gray hills roared and blazed, roared and blazed with increasing fury. Darkness came at last and drew a mantle of mercy over the scene. The men in blue planted the frozen bodies of their dead along the outer line as dummy sentinels and crept through the shadows across the river shattered, broken, crushed. They left their wounded. Through the long hours of the freezing night the pitiful cries came to the boys in gray on the wings of the fierce North winds. They crawled out into the darkness here and there and held a canteen to the lips of a dying foe. At dawn they looked and saw the piles of the slain wrapped in white shrouds of snow. The shivering, ragged, gray figures, thinly clad, swept down the hill, stripped the dead and shook the frost from the warm clothes. Burnsides fell before the genius of Lee and Hooker was put in his place. Fighting Joe Hooker they called him. At Chancellorsville a few months later he led his reorganized army across the same river and threw it on Lee with supreme confidence in the results. He led an army of one hundred and thirty thousand men in seven grand divisions backed by four hundred and forty-eight great guns. Lee, still on the hills behind Fredericksburg, had sixty-two thousand men and one hundred and seventy guns. He had sent Longstreet's corps into Tennessee. Hooker threw the flower of his army across the river seven miles above Fredericksburg to flank Lee and strike him from the rear while the remainder of his army crossed in front and between the two he would crush the Confederate army as an eggshell. But the unexpected happened. Lee was not only a stark fighter. He was a supreme master of the art of war. He understood Hooker's move from the moment it began. His gray army had already slipped out of his trenches and were feeling their way through the tangled vines and underbrush with sure, ominous tread. In this wilderness Hooker's four hundred guns would be as useless as his own hundred and seventy. It would be a hand-to-hand fight in the tangled brush. The gray veteran was a dead shot and he was creeping through his own native woods. On this beautiful May morning, Lee, Jackson, and Stuart met in conference before the battle opened. The plan was chosen. Lee would open the battle and hold Hooker at close range. Jackson would "retreat." Out of sight, he would turn, march swiftly ten miles around their right wing and smash it before sundown. At five o'clock in the afternoon while Lee held Hooker's front, Jackson's corps crept into position in Hooker's rear. The shrill note of a bugle rang from the woods and the yelling gray lines of death swept down on their unsuspecting foe. Without support the shattered right wing was crushed, crumpled and rolled back in confusion. At eight o'clock Jackson, pressing forward in the twilight, was mortally wounded by his own men and Stuart took his command. The gay, young cavalier placed himself at the head of Jackson's corps and charged Hooker's disorganized army. Waving his black plumed hat above his handsome, bearded face, he chanted with boyish gaiety an improvised battle song: "Old Joe Hooker, Won't you come out o' the Wilderness?" His men swept the field and as Hooker's army retreated Lee rode to the front to congratulate Stuart. At sight of his magnificent figure wreathed in smoke his soldiers went wild. Above the roar of battle rang their cheers: "Lee! Lee! Lee!" From line to line, division to division, the word leaped until the wounded and the dying joined its chorus. The picket lines were so close that night in the woods they could talk to one another. The Southerners were chaffing the Yanks over their many defeats, when a Yankee voice called through the night his defense of the war to date: "Ah, Johnnie, shut up--you make me tired. You're not such fighters as ye think ye are. Swap generals with us and we'll come over and lick hell out of you!" There was silence for a while and then a Confederate chuckled to his mate: "I'm damned if they mightn't, too!" The morning dawned at last after the battle and they began to bury the dead and care for the wounded. Their agonies had been horrible. Some had fallen on Friday, thousands on Saturday. It was now Monday. Through miles of dark, tangled woods in the pouring rain they still lay groaning and dying. And over all the wings of buzzards hovered. The keen eyes of the vultures had watched them fall, poised high as the battle raged. The woods had been swept again and again by fire. Many of the bodies were black and charred. Some of the wounded had been burned to death. Their twisted bodies and distorted features told the story. The sickening odor of roasted human flesh yet filled the air. It was late at night on the day after, before the wounded had all been moved. The surgeons with sleeves rolled high, their arms red, their shirts soaked, bent over their task through every hour of the black night until legs and arms were piled in heaps ten feet high beside each operating table. Thirty thousand magnificent men had been killed and mangled. The report from Chancellorsville drifted slowly and ominously northward. The White House was still. The dead were walking beside the lonely, tall figure who paced the floor in dumb anguish, pausing now and then at the window to look toward the hills of Virginia. Lee's fame now filled the world and the North shivered at the sound of it. Volunteering had ceased. But the cannon were still calling for fodder. The draft was applied. And when it was resisted in fierce riots, the soldiers trained their guns on their own people. The draft wheel was turned by bayonets and the ranks of the army filled with fresh young bodies to be mangled. Hooker fell before Lee's genius and Meade took his place. The Confederate Government, flushed with its costly victories, once more sought a political sensation by the invasion of the North. Lee marched his army of veterans into Pennsylvania. At Gettysburg he met Meade. The first day the Confederates won. They drove the blue army back through the streets of the village and their gallant General, John F. Reynolds, was killed. The second day was one of frightful slaughter. The Union army at its close had lost twenty thousand men, the Confederate fifteen thousand. The moon rose and flooded the rocky field of blood and death with silent glory. From every shadow and from every open space through the hot breath of the night came the moans of thousands and high above their chorus rang the cries for water. No succor could be given. The Confederates were massing their artillery on Seminary Ridge. The Union legions were burrowing and planting new batteries. Fifteen thousand helpless, wounded men lay on the field through the long hours of the night. At ten o'clock a wounded man began to sing one of the old hymns of Zion whose words had come down the ages wet with tears and winged with human hopes. In five minutes ten thousand voices, from blue and gray, had joined. Some of them quivered with agony. Some of them trembled with a dying breath. For two hours the hills echoed with the unearthly music. At a council of war Longstreet begged Lee to withdraw from Gettysburg and pick more favorable ground. Reinforced by the arrival of Pickett's division of fifteen thousand fresh men and Stuart's Cavalry, he decided to renew the battle at dawn. The guns opened at the crack of day. For seven hours the waves of blood ebbed and flowed. At noon there was a lull. At one o'clock a puff of white smoke flashed from Seminary Ridge. The signal of the men in gray had pealed its death call. Along two miles on this crest they had planted a hundred and fifty guns. Suddenly two miles of flame burst from the hills in a single fiery wreath. The Federal guns answered until the heavens were a hell of bursting, screaming, roaring shells. At three o'clock the storm died away and the smoke lifted. Pickett's men were deploying in the plain to charge the heights of Cemetery Ridge. Fifteen thousand heroic men were forming their line to rush a hill on whose crest lay seventy-five thousand entrenched soldiers backed by four hundred guns. Pickett's bands played as on parade. The gray ranks dressed on their colors. And then across the plain, with banners flying, they swept and climbed the hill. The ranks closed as men fell in wide gaps. Not a man faltered. They fell and lay when they fell. Those who stood moved on and on. A handful reached the Union lines on the heights. Armistead with a hundred men broke through, lifted his red battle flag and fell mortally wounded. The gray wave in sprays of blood ebbed down the hill, and the battle ended. Meade had lost twenty-three thousand men and seventeen generals. Lee had lost twenty thousand men and fourteen generals. The swollen Potomac was behind Lee and his defeated army. So sure was Stanton of the end that he declared to the President: "If a single regiment of Lee's army ever gets back into Virginia in an organized condition it will prove that I am totally unfit to be Secretary of War." The impossible happened. Lee got back into Virginia with every regiment marching to quick step and undaunted spirit. He crossed the swollen Potomac, his army in fighting trim, every gun intact, carrying thousands of fat Pennsylvania cattle and four thousand prisoners of war taken on the bloody hills of Gettysburg. The rejoicing in Washington was brief. Meade fell before the genius of Lee, and Grant, the stark fighter of the West, took his place. The new Commander was granted full authority over all the armies of the Union. He placed Sherman at Chattanooga in command of a hundred thousand men and ordered him to invade Georgia. He sent Butler with an army of fifty thousand up the Peninsula against Richmond on the line of McClellan's old march. He raised the army of the Potomac to a hundred and forty thousand effective fighting soldiers, placed Phil Sheridan in command of his cavalry, put himself at the head of this magnificent army and faced Lee on the banks of the Rapidan. He was but a few miles from Chancellorsville where Hooker's men had baptized the earth in blood the year before. A new draft of five hundred thousand had given Grant unlimited men for the coming whirlwind. His army was the flower of Northern manhood. He commanded the best-equipped body of soldiers ever assembled under the flag of the Union. His baggage train was sixty miles long and would have stretched the entire distance from his crossing at the Rapidan to Richmond. Lee's army had been recruited to its normal strength of sixty-two thousand. Again the wily Southerner anticipated the march of his foe and crept into the tangled wilderness to meet him where his superiority would be of no avail. Confident of his resistless power Grant threw his army across the Rapidan and plunged into the wilderness. From the dawn of the first day until far into the night the conflict raged. As darkness fell Lee had pushed the blue lines back a hundred yards, captured four guns and a number of prisoners. At daylight they were at it again. As the Confederate right wing crumpled and rolled back, Long-street arrived on the scene and threw his corps into the breach. Lee himself rode forward to lead the charge and restore his line. At sight of him, from thousands of parched throats rose the cries: "Lee to the rear!" "Go back, General Lee!" "We'll settle this!" They refused to move until their leader had withdrawn. And then with a savage yell they charged and took the field. Lee sent Longstreet to turn Grant's left as Jackson had done at Chancellorsville. The movement was executed with brilliant success. Hancock's line was smashed and driven back on his second defenses. Wardsworth at the head of his division was mortally wounded and fell into Longstreet's hands. At the height of his triumph in a movement that must crumple Grant's army back on the banks of the river, Longstreet fell, shot by his own men. In the change of commanders the stratagem failed in its big purpose. In two days Grant lost sixteen thousand six hundred men, a greater toll than Hooker paid when he retreated in despair. Grant merely chewed the end of his big cigar, turned to his lieutenant and said: "It's all right, Wilson. We'll fight again." The two armies lay in their trenches watching each other in grim silence. CHAPTER XLII In Lee's simple tent on the battlefield amid the ghostly trees of the wilderness his Adjutant-General, Walter Taylor, sat writing rapidly. Sam, his ebony face shining, stood behind trying to look over his shoulder. He couldn't make it out and his curiosity got the better of him. "What dat yer writin' so hard, Gin'l Taylor?" Without lifting his head the Adjutant continued to write. "Orders of promotion for gallantry in battle, Sam." "Is yer gwine ter write one fer my young Marse Robbie?" Taylor paused and looked up. The light of admiration overspread his face. "General Lee never promotes his sons or allows them on his staff, Sam. General Custis Lee, General Rooney Lee, and Captain Robbie won their spurs without a word from him. They won by fighting." "Yassah! Dey sho's been some fightin' in dis here wilderness. Hopes ter God we git outen here pretty quick. Gitten too close tergedder ter suit me." The clatter of a horse's hoofs rang out in the little clearing in front of the tent. Taylor looked up again. "See if that's Stuart. General Lee's expecting him." Sam peered out the door of the tent. "Dey ain't no plume in his hat an' dey ain't no banjo man wid him. Nasah. Tain't Gin'l Stuart." "All right. Pull up a stool." "Yassah!" Sam unfolded a camp stool and placed it at the table. A sentinel approached and called: "Senator William C. Rives of the Confederate Congress to see General Lee." Taylor rose. "Show him in." The Senator entered with a quick, nervous excitement he could not conceal. "Colonel Taylor--" "Senator." The men clasped hands and Taylor continued to watch the nervous manner of his caller. "My coming from Richmond is no doubt a surprise?" "Naturally. We're in pretty close quarters with Grant here to-night--" Rives raised his hand in a gesture of despair. "No closer than our Government in Richmond is with the end at this moment, in my judgment. I couldn't wait. I had to come to-night. You have called an informal council as I requested?" "The moment I got your message an hour ago." Taylor caught his excitement and bent close. "What is it, Senator?" Rives hesitated, glanced at the doors of the tent and answered rapidly. "The Confederate Congress has just held a secret session without the knowledge of President Davis--" He drew from his pocket a letter and handed it to the Adjutant. "You will see from this letter of the presiding officer my credentials. They have sent me as their agent on an important mission to General Lee." He paused as Taylor carefully read the letter. "How soon can I see him?" "I'm expecting him in a few minutes," Taylor answered. "He's riding on the front lines trying to feel out Grant's next move. He is very anxious over it." "This battle was desperate?" Rives asked nervously. "Terrific." "Our losses in the two days?" "More than ten thousand." "Merciful God--" "Grant's losses were far greater," Taylor added briskly. "No matter, Taylor, no matter!" he cried in anguish, springing to his feet. He fought for control of his emotions and hurried on. "The maws of those cannon now are insatiate! We can't afford to lose ten thousand men from our thin ranks in two days. If your army suspected for one moment the real situation in Richmond, they'd quit and we'd be lost." "They only ask for General Lee's orders, Senator. Their faith in our leader is sublime." "And that's our only hope," Rives hastened to add. "General Lee may save us. And he is the only man who can do it." He stopped and studied Taylor closely. He spoke with some diffidence. "The faith of his officers in him remains absolutely unshaken?" "They worship him." "My appeal will be solely to him. But I may need help." "I've asked Alexander and Gordon to come. General Gordon did great work to-day. It was his command that broke Hancock's lines and took prisoners. I've just slated him for further promotion. Stuart is already on the way here to report the situation on the right where his cavalry is operating." The ring of two horses' hoofs echoed. "If Stuart will only back me!" Rives breathed. Outside the Cavalry Commander was having trouble with Sweeney, his minstrel follower, an expert banjo player. Stuart laughed heartily at his fears. "Come on, Sweeney. Don't be a fool." The minstrel man still held back and Stuart continued to urge. "Come on in, Sweeney. Don't be bashful. I promised you shall see General Lee and you shall. Come on!" Taylor and Rives stood in the door of the tent watching the conflict. "Never be afraid of a great man, Sweeney!" Stuart went on. "The greater the man the easier it is to get along with him. General Lee wears no scarlet in his coat, no plume in his hat, no gold braid on his uniform. He's as plain as a gray mouse--" Stuart laughed and whispered: "He's too great to need anything to mark his rank. But he never frowns on my gay colors." "He knows," Taylor rejoined, "that it's your way of telling the glory of the cause." "Sure! He just laughs at my foolishness and gives me an order to lick a crowd that outnumbers me, three to one." He took hold of Sweeney's arm. "Don't be afraid, old boy. Marse Robert won't frown on your banjo. He'll just smile as he recalls what the cavalry did in our last battle. Minstrel man, make yourself at home." Sweeney timidly touched the strings, and Stuart wheeled toward Rives. "Well, Senator, how goes it in Richmond?" Rives answered with eager anxiety. His words were not spoken in despair but with an undertone of desperate appeal. "Dark days have come, General Stuart. And great events are pending. Events of the utmost importance to the army, to the country, to General Lee." "Just say General Lee and let it go at that," Stuart laughed. "He _is_ the army _and_ the country." He turned to Taylor. "Where's Marse Robert?" "Inspecting the lines. He fears a movement to turn our flank at Spottsylvania Court House." "My men are right there, watching like owls. They'll catch the first rustle of a leaf by Sheridan's cavalry." "I hope so." "Never fear. Well, Sweeney, while we wait for General Lee, Senator Rives needs a little cheer. We've medicine in that box for every ill that man is heir to. Things look black in Richmond, he tells us. All right. Give us the old familiar tune--_Hard Times and Wuss Er Comin'!_--Go it!" Sweeney touched his strings sharply. "You don't mind, sir?" he asked Taylor. "Certainly not. I like it." Sentinels, orderlies, aides and scouts gathered around the door as Sweeney played and sang with Stuart. The Cavalryman's spirit was contagious. Before the song had died away, they were all singing the chorus in subdued tones. Sweeney ended with Stuart's favorite--_Rock of Ages_. General John B. Gordon joined the group, followed by General E.P. Alexander. Taylor called the generals together. "Senator Rives, gentlemen, is the bearer of an important message from the Confederate Congress to General Lee. I have asked you informally to join him in this meeting." Rives entered his appeal. "I am going to ask you to help me to-night in paying the highest tribute to General Lee in our power." Gordon responded promptly. "We shall honor ourselves in honoring him, sir." "Always," Alexander agreed. Rives plunged into the heart of his mission. "Gentlemen, so desperate is the situation of the South that our only hope lies in our great Commander. The Confederate Congress has sent me to offer him the Dictatorship--" "You don't mean it?" Stuart exploded. "Will you back me?" The Cavalry leader grasped his hand. "Yours to count on, sir!" "Yes," Gordon joined. "We'll back you!" Alexander cried. Rives' face brightened. "If he will only accept. The question is how to approach him?" "It must be done with the utmost care," Alexander warned. "Exactly." Rives nodded. "Shall I announce to him it once the vote of Congress conferring on him the supreme power?" "Not if you can approach him more carefully," Alexander cautioned. "I can first propose that as Commanding General he might accept the peace proposals which Francis Preston Blair has brought from Washington--" "What kind of peace proposals?" Gorden asked sharply. "He proposes to end the war immediately by an armistice, and arrange for the joint invasion of Mexico by the combined armies of the North and South under the command of General Lee." Alexander snapped at the suggestion. "By all means suggest the armistice first. General Lee won his spurs in Mexico. The plan might fire his imagination--as it would have fired the soul of Caesar or Napoleon. If he refuses to go over the head of Davis, you can then announce the vote of Congress giving him supreme power." The general suddenly paused at the familiar sound of Traveler's hoofbeat. The officers stood and saluted as Lee entered. He was dressed in his full field gray uniform of immaculate cut and without spot. He wore his sword, high boots and spurs and his field glasses were thrown across his broad shoulders. He glanced at the group in slight surprise and drew Stuart aside. "I sent for you, General Stuart, to say that I am expecting a courier at any moment who may report that General Grant will move on Spottsylvania Court House." He paused in deep thought. "If so, Sheridan will throw the full force of his cavalry on your lines, to turn our right and circle Richmond." Stuart's body stiffened. "I'm ready, sir. He may reach Yellow Tavern. He'll never go past it." In low, tense words Lee said: "I'm depending on you, sir." Stuart saluted in silence. Lee turned back into the group and Taylor explained: "I have called an informal meeting at the request of Senator Rives." Lee smiled. "Oh, I see. A council of both War and State." Rives came forward and the Commander grasped his hand. "Always glad to see _you_, Senator. What can we do for you?" "Everything, sir. Can we enter at once into our conference?" "The quicker the better. General Grant may drop in on us at any moment without an invitation." Rives smiled wanly. "General Lee, we face the gravest crisis of the war." "No argument is needed to convince me of that, sir. Grant's men have gripped us with a ferocity never known before." "And our boys," Alexander added, "in all the struggle have never been such stark fighters as to-day." "I agree with you," Lee nodded. "But Grant is getting ready to fight again to-morrow morning--not next month. His policy is new, and it's clear. He plans to pound us to death in a series of quick, successive blows. His man power is exhaustless. We can't afford to lose many men. He can. An endless blue line is streaming to the front." "And that's why I'm here to-night, General," Rives said gravely. "Grant is now in supreme command of all the Armies of the Union. While he moves on Richmond, Butler is sweeping up the James and Sherman is pressing on Atlanta. We have lost ten thousand men in two-days' battle. In the next we'll lose ten thousand more. In the next ten thousand more--" "We must fight, sir. I have invaded the North twice. But I stand on the defense now. I have no choice." "That remains to be seen, General Lee," Rives said with a piercing look. "What do you mean?" "A few days ago, your old friend, Francis Preston Blair, entered our lines and came to Richmond on a mission of peace. He has now before Mr. Davis and his Cabinet a plan to end the war. He proposes that we stop fighting, unite and invade Mexico to defend the Monroe Doctrine. Maximilian of Austria has just been proclaimed Emperor in a conspiracy backed by Napoleon. The suggestion is that we join armies under your command, dethrone Maximilian, push the soldiers of Napoleon into the sea, and restore the rule of the people on the American Continent." Lee looked at him steadily. "Mr. Davis refuses to listen to this proposal?" "Only on the basis of the continued division of our country. Lincoln naturally demands that we come back into the Union first, and march on Mexico afterwards. Mr. Davis refuses to come back into the Union first. And so we end where we began--unless we can get help from you, General Lee--" "Well?" "The Confederate Congress has sent me as their spokesman to make a proposition to you." He handed Lee the letter from the Congress. "Will you issue as Commanding General an order for an armistice to arrange the joint invasion of Mexico?" "You mean take it on myself to go over the head of Mr. Davis, and issue this order without his knowledge?" "Exactly. We could not take him into our confidence." "But Mr. Davis is my superior officer and he is faithfully executing the laws." "You will not proclaim an armistice, then?" Lee spoke with irritation. "How can you ask me to go over the head of my Chief with such an order?" Alexander pressed forward. "But you might consider a proclamation looking to peace under this plan--if you were in a position of supreme power?" "I have no such power. I advised our people to make peace before I invaded Pennsylvania. I have urged it more than once, but they cannot see it. And I must do the work given me from day to day." "We now propose to give to you the sole decision as to what that work shall be." "How, sir?" "I am here to-night, General, as the agent of our Government, to confer on you this power. The Congress has unanimously chosen you as Dictator of the Confederacy with supreme power over both the civil and military branches of the Government." "And well done!" cried Gordon. "We back them!" echoed Alexander. "Hurrah for the Confederate Congress," shouted Stuart--"the first signs of brains they've shown in many a day--" He caught himself at a glance from Rives. "Excuse me, Senator--I didn't mean quite that." Lee fixed Rives with his brilliant eyes. "The Confederate Congress has no authority to declare & Dictatorship." "We have." "By what law?" "By the law of necessity, sir. The civil government in Richmond has become a farce. I acknowledge it sorrowfully. Your soldiers are ill clothed, half starved, and the power to recruit your ranks is gone. The people have lost faith in their civil leaders. Disloyalty is rampant. In the name of ultra State Sovereignty, treason is everywhere threatening. Soldiers are taken from your army by State authorities on the eve of battle. Men are deserting in droves and defy arrest. You have justly demanded the death penalty for desertion. It has been denied. Bands of deserters now plunder, burn and rob as they please. You are our only hope. You are the idol of our people. At your call they will rally. Men will pour into your ranks, and we can yet crush our enemies, or invade Mexico as you may decide." "He's right, General," Gordon agreed. "The South will stand by you to a man." Alexander added with deep reverence: "The people believe in you, General Lee, as they believe in God." A dreamy look overspread Lee's face. "Their faith is misplaced, sir! God alone decides the fate of nations. And God, not your commanding General, will decide the fate of the South. The thing that appalls me is that we have no luck. For in spite of numbers, resources, generalship--the unknown factor in war is luck. The North has had it all. At Shiloh at the moment of a victory that would have ended Grant's career, Albert Sydney Johnson, our ablest general, was shot and Grant escaped. At the battle of Chancellorsville in these very woods, Jackson at the moment of his triumph-Jackson my right arm--was shot by his own men. To-day Longstreet falls in the same way when he is about to repeat his immortal deed--" He paused. "The South has had no luck!" Alexander eagerly protested. "I don't agree with you, sir. God has given the South Lee as her Commander. Your genius is equal to a hundred thousand men. And in all our terrible battles, at the head of your men, again and again, as you were to-day, with bullets whistling around you, you've lived a charmed life. You're here to-night strong in body and mind, without a scratch. Don't tell me, sir, that we haven't had luck!" Stuart broke in. "You're the biggest piece of luck that ever befell an army." Lee rose. "I appreciate your confidence and your love, gentlemen. But I've made many tragic mistakes, and tried to find an abler man to take my place." "There's no such man!" Stuart boomed. "Give the word to-night and every soldier in this army would follow you into the jaws of hell!" Lee's eyes were lifted dreamily. "And you ask me to blot out the liberties of our people by a single act of usurpation?" Alexander lifted his hand. "Only for a moment, General, that we may restore them in greater glory. The truth is the Confederate Government is not fitted for revolution. Let's win this war and fix it afterwards." "I do not believe either in military statesmen or political generals. The military should be subordinate always to the civil power--" "But Congress," Rives broke in, "speaking for the people, offers you supreme power. Mr. Davis has not proven himself strong enough for the great office he holds." Lee flared at this assertion. "And if he has not, sir, who gave _me_ the right to sit in judgment upon my superior officer and condemn him without trial? Mr. Davis is the victim of this unhappy war. I say this, though, that he differs with me on vital issues. I urged the abolition of Slavery. He opposed it. So did your Congress. I urged the uncovering of Richmond and the concentration of our forces into one great army for an offensive--" Rives interrupted. "We ask you to take the supreme power and decide these questions." Lee replied with a touch of anger. "But I may be wrong in my policies. Mr. Davis is a man of the highest character, devoted soul and body to the principles to which he has pledged his life. He is a statesman of the foremost rank. He is a trained soldier, a West Point graduate. He is a man of noble spirit--courageous, frank, positive. A great soul throbs within his breast. He has done as well in his high office as any other man could have done--" He looked straight at Rives. "We left the Union, sir, because our rights had been invaded. Our revolution is justified by this fact alone. You ask me to do the thing that caused us to revolt. To brush aside the laws which our people have ordained and set up a Dictatorship with the power of life and death over every man, woman and child. For three years we have poured out our blood in a sacred cause. We are fighting for our liberties under law, or we are traitors, not revolutionists. We are fighting for order, justice, principles, or we are fighting for nothing--" A courier dashed to the door of the tent and handed Lee a message which he read with a frown. "This discussion is closed, gentlemen. General Grant is moving on Spottsylvania Court House. My business is to get there first. My work is not to jockey for place or power. It is to fight. Move your forces at once!" CHAPTER XLIII Lee hurried to Spottsylvania Court House and was entrenched before Grant arrived. The two armies again flew at each other's throat. True to Lee's prediction the Union Commander hurled Sheridan's full force of ten thousand cavalry in a desperate effort to turn the right and strike Richmond while the Confederate infantry were held in a grip of death. From a hilltop Stuart saw the coming blue legions of Sheridan. They rode four abreast and made a column of flashing sabers and fluttering guidons thirteen miles long. The young Cavalier waved his plumed hat and gave a shout. It was magnificent. He envied them the endless line of fine horses. He had but three small brigades to oppose them. But his spirits rose. He ordered his generals to harass the advancing host at every point of vantage, delay them as long as possible and draw up their forces at Yellow Tavern for the battle. He took time to dash across the country from Beaver Dam Station to see his wife and babies. He had left them at the house of Edmund Fontaine. He feared that the Federal Cavalry might have raided the section. To his joy he found them well and happy, unconscious of the impending fight. For the first time in his joyous life of song and play and war he was worried. His wife was in high spirits. She cheered him. "Don't worry about us, my soldier man! We're all right. No harm has ever befallen us. We've had three glorious years playing lovers' hide-and-seek. I've ceased to worry about you. Your life is charmed. God has heard my prayers. You're coming home soon to play with me and the babies always!" She was too happy for Stuart to describe the host of ten thousand riders which he had just seen. Their lives were in God's hands. It was enough. He held her in his arms longer than was his wont at parting. And then with a laugh and a shout to the children he was gone. At Jerrold's Mill, Wickham's brigade suddenly fell on Sheridan's rear guard and captured a company. Sheridan refused to stop to fight. At Mitchell's Shop, Wickham again dashed on the rear guard and was forced back by a counter charge. As he retreated, fighting a desperate hand-to-hand saber engagement, Fitzhugh Lee and Stuart rushed to his aid and the blue river rolled on again toward Richmond. At Hanover Junction Stuart allowed his men to sleep until one o'clock and then rode with desperate speed to Yellow Tavern. He reached his chosen battle ground at ten o'clock the following morning. He had won the race and at once deployed his forces to meet the coming avalanche. Wickham he stationed on the right of the road, Lomax on the left. He placed two guns in the road, one on the left to rake it at an angle. He dismounted his men and ordered them to fight as infantry. A reserve of mounted men were held in his rear. He sent his aide into Richmond to inquire of its defenses and warn General Bragg of the sweeping legions. The Commandant at the Confederate Capital replied that he could hold his trenches. He would call on Petersburg for reinforcements. He asked Stuart to hold Sheridan back as long as possible. On the morning of the eleventh of May, at 6:30, he wrote his dispatch to Lee: "Fighting against immense odds of Sheridan. My men and horses are tired, hungry and jaded, _but all right!_" It was four o'clock before Sheridan struck Yellow Tavern. With skill and dash he threw an entire brigade on Stuart's left, broke his line, rolled it up and captured his two guns. Stuart ordered at once a reserve squadron to charge the advancing Federals. With desperate courage they drove them back in a hand-to-hand combat, saber ringing on saber to the shout and yell of savages. As the struggling, surging mass of blue riders rolled back in confusion, Stuart rode into the scene cheering his men. A man in blue, whose horse had been shot from under him, fired his revolver pointblank at Stuart. The shot entered his body just above the belt and the magnificent head with the waving plume drooped on his breast. Captain Dorsey hurried to his assistance. There were but a handful of his men between him and the Federal line, The wounded Commander was in danger of being captured by a sudden dash of reserves. He was lifted off his horse and he leaned against a tree. Stuart raised his head. "Go back now, Dorsey, to your men." "Not until you're safe, sir." As the ambulance passed through his broken ranks in the rear, he lifted himself on his elbow and rallied his men with a brave shout: "Go back! Go back to your duty, men! And our country will be safe. Go back! Go back! I'd rather die than be whipped." The men rallied and rushed to the firing line. They fought so well that Sheridan lost the way to Richmond and the Capital of the Confederacy was saved. The wounded Commander was taken to the home of his brother-in-law, Dr. Charles Brewer, in Richmond. He had suffered agonies on the rough journey but bore his pain with grim cheerfulness. He had sent a swift messenger to his wife. He knew she would reach Richmond the next day. The following morning Major McClellan, his aide, rode in from the battlefield to report to General Bragg. Having delivered his message he hurried to the bedside of his beloved Chief. The doctor shook his head gravely. "Inflammation has set in, Major--" "My God, is there no hope?" "None." The singing, rollicking, daring young Cavalier felt the hand of death on his shoulder. He was calm and cheerful. His bright words were broken by paroxysms of suffering. He would merely close his shining blue eyes and wait. He directed his aide to dispose of his official papers. He touched McClellan's hand and the Major's closed over it. "I wish you to have one of my horses and Venable the other." McClellan nodded. "Which of you is the heavier?" "Venable, sir." "All right, give him the gray. You take the bay." The pain choked him into silence again. At last he opened his eyes. "You'll find in my hat a small Confederate flag which a lady in Columbia, South Carolina, sent me with the request that I wear it on my horse in a battle and return it to her. Send it." Again the agony stilled the musical voice. "My spurs," he went on, "which I have always worn in battle, I promised to Mrs. Lilly Lee of Shepherdstown, Virginia--" He paused. "My sword--I leave--to--my--son." A cannon roared outside the city. With quick eagerness he asked: "What's that?" "Gracey's brigade has moved out against Sheridan's rear as he retreats. Fitz Lee is fighting them still at Meadow Bridge." He turned his blue eyes upward and prayed: "God grant they may win--" He moved his head aside and said: "I must prepare for another world." He listened to the roar of the guns for a moment and signaled to his aide: "Major, Fitz Lee may need you." McClellan pressed his hand and hurried to the front. As he passed out the tall figure of the President of the Confederacy entered. Jefferson Davis sat by his side and held his hand. He loved his daring young Cavalry Commander. He had made him a Major-General at thirty. He was dying now at thirty-one. The tragedy found the heart of the sorrowful leader of all the South. When the Reverend Dr. Peterkin entered he said: "Now I want you to sing for me the old song I love best-- "'Rock of Ages cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee--'" With failing breath he joined in the song. A paroxysm of pain gripped him and he asked the doctor: "Can I survive the night?" "No, General. The end is near." He was silent. And then slowly said: "I am resigned if it be God's will. But--I--would--like--to--see--my--wife--" The beautiful voice sank into eternal silence. So passed the greatest cavalry leader our country has produced. A man whose joyous life was a long wish of good will toward all of his fellow men. The little mother heard the news as she rode in hot haste over the rough roads to Richmond. The hideous thing was beyond belief, but it had come. She had heard the roar of battle for three years and after each bloody day he had come with a smile on his lips and a stronger love in his brave heart. She had ceased to fear his death in battle. God had promised her in prayer to spare him. Only once had a bullet cut his clothes. And now he was dead. But yesterday he dashed across the country from his line of march, and, even while the conflict raged, held her in his arms and crooned over her. The tears had flowed for two hours before she reached the house of death. She could weep no longer. A sister's arm encircled her waist and led her unseeing eyes into the room. There was no wild outburst of grief at the sight of his cold body. She stooped to kiss the loved lips, placed her hand on the high forehead and drew back at its chill. She stood in dumb anguish until her sister in alarm said: "Come, dear, to my room." The set, blue eyes never moved from the face of her dead. "It's wrong. It's wrong. It's all wrong--this hideous murder of our loved ones! Why must they send my husband to kill my father? Why must they send my father to kill the father of my babies? Why didn't they stop this a year ago? It must end some time. Why did they ever begin it? Why must brother kill his brother? My father, thank God, didn't kill him. But little Phil Sheridan, his schoolmate, did. And he never spoke an unkind word about him in his life! His heart was overflowing with joy and love. He sang when he rode into battle--" She paused and a tear stole down her cheeks at last. "Poor boy, he loved its wild din and roar. It was play to his daring spirit." A sob caught her voice and then it rose in fierce rebellion: "Where was God when he fell? He was thirty-one years old, in the glory of a beautiful life--" Her sister spoke in gentle sympathy. "His fame fills the world, dear." "Fame? Fame? What is that to me, now? I stretch out my hand, and it's ashes. My arms are empty. My heart is broken. Life isn't worth the living." Her voice drifted into a dreamy silence as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She stood for half an hour staring through blurred eyes at the cold clay. She turned at last and seized her sister's hands both in hers, and gazed with a strange, set look that saw something beyond time and the things of sense. "My dear sister, God will yet give to the mothers of men the power to stop this murder. There's a better way. There's a better way," CHAPTER XLIV While Sheridan rode against Richmond, Lee and Grant were struggling in a pool of red at the "Bloody Angle" of Spottsylvania. The musketry fire against the trees came in a low undertone, like the rattle of a hail storm on the roofs of houses. A company of blue soldiers were cut off by a wave of charging gray. The men were trying to surrender. Their officers drew their revolvers and ordered them to break through. A sullen private shouted: "Shoot your officers!" Every commander dropped in his tracks. And the men were marched to the rear. Hour after hour the flames of hell swirled in endless waves about this angle of the Southern trenches. Line after line of blue broke against it and eddied down its sides in slimy pools. Color bearers waved their flags in each other's faces, clinched and fought, hand to hand, like devils. Two soldiers on top of the trench, their ammunition spent, choked each other to death and rolled down the embankment among the mangled bodies that filled the ditch. In this mass of struggling maniacs men were fighting with guns, swords, handspikes, clubbed muskets, stones and fists. Night brought no pause to save the wounded or bury the dead. For five days Grant circled his blue hosts in a whirlpool of death trying in vain to break Lee's trenches. He gave it up. The stolid, silent man of iron nerves watched the stream of wagons bearing the wounded, groaning and shrieking, from the field. Lee's forces had been handled with such skill the impact of numbers had made but little impression. Thirty thousand dead and mangled lay on the field. The stark fighter of the West was facing a new problem. The devotion of Lee's men was a mania. He was unconquerable in a square hand-to-hand fight in the woods. A truce to bury the dead followed. They found them piled six layers deep in the trenches, blue and gray locked in the last embrace. Black wings were flapping over them unafraid of the living. Their red beaks were tearing at eyes and lips, while deep below yet groaned and moved the wounded. Again Grant sought to flank his wily foe. This time he beat Lee to the spot. The two armies rushed for Cold Harbor in parallel columns flashing at each other deadly volleys as they marched. Lee took second choice of ground and entrenched on a gently sloping line of hills. They swung in crescent as at Fredericksburg. With consummate skill he placed his guns and infantry to catch both flanks and front of the coming foe. And then he waited for Grant to charge. Thousands of men in the blue ranks were busy now sewing their names in their underclothing. With the first streak of dawn, at 4:30, they charged. They walked into the mouth of a volcano flaming tons of steel and lead in their faces. The scene was sickening. Nothing like it had, to this time, happened in the history of man. _Ten thousand men in blue fell in twenty minutes._ Meade ordered Smith to renew the assault. Daring a court martial, Smith flatly refused. The story of the next seventy-two hours our historians have refused to record. Through the smothering heat of summer for three days and nights the shrieks and groans of the wounded rose in endless waves of horror. No hand could be lifted to save. With their last breath they begged, wept, cried, prayed for water. No man dared move in the storm-swept space. Here and there a heroic boy in blue caught the cry of a wounded comrade and crawled on his belly to try a rescue only to die in the embrace of his friend. When the truce was called to clear the shambles every man of the ten thousand who had fallen was dead--save two. The salvage corps walked in a muck of blood. They slipped and stumbled and fell in its festering pools. The flies and vultures were busy. Dead horses, dead men, smashed guns, legs, arms, mangled bodies disemboweled, the earth torn into an ashen crater. In the thirty days since Grant had met Lee in the wilderness, the Northern army had lost sixty thousand men, the bravest of our race. Lee's losses were not so great but they were tragic. They were as great in proportion to the number he commanded. Grant paused to change his plan of campaign. The procession of ambulances into Washington had stunned the Nation. Every city, town, village, hamlet and country home was in mourning. A stream of protest against the new Commander swept the North. Lincoln refused to remove him. And on his head was heaped the blame for all the anguish of the bitter years of failure. His answer to his critics was remorseless. "We must fight to win. Grant is the ablest general we have. His losses are appalling. But the struggle is now on to the bitter end. Our resources of men and money are exhaustless. The South cannot replace her fallen sons. Her losses, therefore, are fatal!" War had revealed to all at last that the Abolition crusade had been built on a lie. The negro had proven a bulwark of strength to the South. Had their theories been true, had the slaves been beaten and abused the Black Bees would surely have swarmed. A single Southern village put to the torch by black hands would have done for Lee's army what no opponent had been able to do. It would have been destroyed in a night. The Confederacy would have gone down in hopeless ruin. Not a black hand had been raised against a Southern man or woman in all the raging hell. This fact is the South's vindication against the slanders of the Abolitionists. The negroes stood by their old masters. They worked his fields; they guarded his women and children; they mourned over the graves of their fallen sons. And now in the supreme hour of gathering darkness came the last act of the tragedy--the arming of the Northern blacks and the training of their hands to slay a superior race. In the first year of the war Lincoln had firmly refused the prayer of Thomas Wentworth Higginson that he be allowed to arm and drill the Black Legions of the North. Later the pressure could not be resisted. The daily murder of the flower of the race had lowered its morale. It had lowered the value set on racial trait and character. The Cavalier and Puritan, with a thousand years of inspiring history throbbing in their veins, had become mere cannon fodder. The cry for men and still more men was endless. And this cry must be heard, or the war would end. Men of the white breed were clasping hands at last across the lines under the friendly cover of the night. They spoke softly through their tears of home and loved ones. The tumult and the shout had passed. The jeer and taunt, blind passion and sordid hate lay buried in the long, deep graves of a hundred fields of blood. Grant's new plan of campaign resulted in the deadlock of Petersburg. The two armies now lay behind thirty-five miles of deep trenches with a stretch of volcano-torn, desolate earth between them. The Black Legions were massed for a dramatic ending of the war. Grant, Meade, and Burnside had developed a plan. Hundreds of sappers and miners burrowed under the shell-torn ground for months, digging a tunnel under Lee's fortress immediately before Petersburg. The tunnel was not complete before Lee's ears had caught the sound. A counter tunnel was hastily begun but Grant's men had reached the spot under the center of Elliot's salient before the Confederates could intercept them. Grant skillfully threw a division of his army on the north side of the James and made a fierce frontal attack on Richmond while he gathered the flower of his army, sixty-five thousand men with his Black Legions, before the tunnel that would open the way into Petersburg. Lee was not misled by the assault on Richmond. But it was absolutely necessary to meet it, or the Capital would have fallen. He was compelled, in the face of the threatened explosion and assault, to divide his forces and weaken his lines before the tunnel. His men were on the ground beyond the James to intercept the column moving toward Richmond. When the assault failed, Hancock and Sheridan immediately recrossed the river to take part in the capture of Petersburg and witness the end of the Confederacy. The tons of powder were stored under the fort and the fuse set. The Black battalions stood ready to lead the attack and enter Petersburg first. At the final council of war, the plan was changed. A division of New Englanders, the sons of Puritan fathers and mothers, were set to this grim task and the negroes were ordered to follow. High words had been used at the Council. The whole problem of race and racial values was put to the test of the science of anthropology and of mathematics. The fuse would be set before daylight. The charge must be made in darkness with hundreds of great guns flaming, shrieking, shaking the earth. The negro could not be trusted to lead in this work. He had followed white officers in the daylight and under their inspiration had fought bravely. But he was afraid of the dark. It was useless to mince matters. The council faced the issue. He could not stand the terrors of the night in such a charge. The decision was an ominous one for the future of America--ominous because merciless in its scientific logic. The same power which had given the white man his mastery of science and progress in the centuries of human history gave him the mastery of his brain and nerves in the dark. For a thousand years superstition had been trained out of his brain fiber. He could hold a firing line day or night. The darkness was his friend, not his enemy. The New Englanders were pushed forward for the attack. The grim preparations were hurried. The pioneers were marshaled with axes and entrenching tools. A train pulled in from City Point with crowds of extra surgeons, their amputating tables and bandages ready. The wagons were loaded with picks and shovels to bury the dead quickly in the scorching heat of July. The men waited in impatience for the explosion. It had been set for two o'clock. For two hours they stood listening. Their hearts were beating high at first. The delay took the soul out of them. They were angry, weary, cursing, complaining. The fuse had gone out. Another had to be trained and set. As the Maine regiments gripped their muskets waiting for the explosion of the mine, a negro preacher in the second line behind them was haranguing the Black Battalions. His drooning, voodoo voice rang through the woods in weird echoes: "Oh, my men! Dis here's gwine ter be er great fight. De greatest fight in all de war. We gwine ter take ole Petersburg dis day. De day er Juberlee is come. Yes, Lawd! An' den we take Richmon', 'stroy Lee's army an' en' dis war. Yas, Lawd, an' 'member dat Gen'l Grant an' Gen'l Burnside, an' Gen'l Meade's is all right here a-watch-in' ye! An' member dat I'se er watchin' ye. I'se er sargint in dis here comp'ny. Any you tries ter be a skulker, you'se gwine ter git a beyonet run clean froo ye--yas, Lawd! You hear me!" He had scarcely finished his harangue when a smothering peal of thunder shook the world. The ground rocked beneath the feet of the men. Some were thrown backwards. Some staggered and caught a comrade's shoulder. A pillar of blinding flame shot to the stars. A cloud of smoke rolled upward and spread its pall over the trembling earth. A shower of human flesh and bones spattered the smoking ground. The men in front shivered as they brushed the pieces of red meat from their hands and clothes. The artillery opened. Hundreds of guns were pouring shells from their flaming mouths. The people of Petersburg leaped from their beds and pressed into the streets stunned by the appalling shock and the storm of artillery which followed. The ground in front of the tunnel had been cleared of the abatis. Burnside's New England veterans rushed the crater. A huge hole had been torn in Lee's fortifications one hundred yards long and sixty feet wide and twenty-five feet in depth. The hole proved a grave. The charging troops floundered in its spongy, blood-soaked sides. They stumbled and fell into its pit. The regiments in the rear, rushing through the smoke and stumbling over the mangled pieces of flesh of Elliott's three hundred men who had been torn to pieces, were on top of the line in front before they could clear the crumbling walls. When the charging hosts at last reached the firm ground inside the Confederate lines, the men in gray were rallying. Their guns had been trained on the yawning chasm now a struggling, squirming, cursing mass of blue. Slowly order came out of chaos and Burnside's men swung to the right and to the left and swept Lee's trenches for three hundred yards in each direction. The charging regiments poured into them and found the second Confederate line. Elliott's men who yet lived, driven from their outer line by the resistless rush of the attack, retreated to a deep ravine, rallied and held this third line. Lee reached the field and took command. Mahone's men came to the rescue marching with swift, steady tread. They took their position on the crest which commanded the open space toward the captured trenches. As Wright's brigade moved into position, the Black Battalions were ordered to charge. They had been hurried through the crater and into the trenches on the right and left. At the signal they swarmed over the works, with a voodoo yell, and in serried black waves, charged the men in gray. In broad daylight the Southerners saw for the first time the plan of the dramatic attack. The white men of the South shrieked an answer and gripped their muskets. The cry they gave came down the centuries from three thousand years of history. It came from the hearts of a conquering race of men. They had heard the Call of the Blood of the Race that rules the world. Without an order from their commanders, with a single impulse, the whole Southern line leaped from their cover and dashed on the advancing Black Legions in a counter charge so swift, so terrible, there was but a single crash and the yell of white victory rang over the field. The Blacks broke and piled pell mell into the trenches and on into the hell hole of the crater. Fifty of Lee's guns were now pouring a steady stream of shells into this pit of the damned. The charging gray lines rolled over the captured trenches. They ringed the edge of the crater with a circle of flaming muskets. The writhing mass of dead, dying, wounded and living, scrambling blacks and whites, was a thing for devil's joy. At the bottom of the pit the heap was ten feet deep in moving flesh. In vain the terror-stricken blacks scrambled up the slippery sides through clouds of smoke. They fell backward and rolled down the crumbling walls. Young John Doyle stood on the brink of this crater, his eyes aflame with revenge. His musket was so hot at last he threw it down, tore a cartridge belt from the body of a dead negro trooper, seized his rifle and went back to his task. Sickened at last by the holocaust, the officers of the South ordered their men to cease firing. They had charged without orders. They refused to take orders. The officers began to strike them with their swords! "Cease firing!" "Damn you, stop it!" Their orders rang around the flaming curve in vain. They seized the men by their collars and dragged them back. The gray soldiers tore away, rushed to the smoking rim and fired as long as they had a cartridge in their belts. It was the poor white man who got beyond control at the sight of these yelling black troops wearing the uniform of the Republic. Had their souls leaped the years and seen in a vision dark-skinned hosts charging the ranks of white civilization in a battle for supremacy of the world? CHAPTER XLV When the smoke had lifted from the field of the Black Battalions, Lee stood in Richmond before a secret meeting of the leaders of the Confederacy. Jefferson Davis presided. The meeting was called by request of the Commander. He had an important announcement to make. Facing the anxious group gathered around the Cabinet table he spoke with unusual emphasis: "Gentlemen, the end is in sight unless I can have more men. So long as I can burrow underground my half-clothed and half-starved soldiers will hold Grant at bay. I may hold him until next spring. Not longer. The North is using negro troops. They have enrolled nearly two hundred thousand. Their man power counts. We can arm our negroes to meet them. They will fight under the leadership of their masters. I speak as a mathematician and a soldier. I do not discuss the sentimental side. I must have men and I must have them before spring or your cause is lost." Robert Toombs of Georgia leaped to his feet. His words came slowly, throbbing with emotion. "Any suggestion from General Lee deserves the immediate attention of this Government. He speaks to-night as an engineer and mathematician. He has told us the worst. It was his duty. I honor him for it. "But I differ with him. He can see but one angle of this question. He is a soldier in field. It is our duty to see both the soldier's and the statesman's point of view. And our cause is not so desperate as the science of engineering and mathematics would tell us. "The war of the revolution was won by Washington in spite of mathematics. The odds were all against him. We have our chance. This war is now in its fourth year. The outlook seems dark in Richmond. It is darker in Washington. What have they accomplished in these years of blood and tears? Nothing. Not a slave has been freed. Not a question at issue has found its solution. The millions of the North are in despair and they are crying for peace--peace at any price. The Presidential election is but a few weeks off. They have nominated Abraham Lincoln again for President. They had to, although he is the most unpopular man who ever sat in the White House. All the mistakes, all the agony, all the horrors of this war, they have unjustly heaped on his drooping shoulders. "McClellan is his opponent _on a peace platform_. "The Republican Party is split as ours was before the war. John C. Fremont is running on the Radical ticket against Lincoln. Unless a miracle happens General George B. McClellan will be elected the next President. If he is, the war ends in a draw. "It's a fair chance. We can take it. "But our chance of success is not the real question before us. It is a bigger one. The question before you is bigger than the South. It is bigger than the Republic. It is bigger than the Continent. It may involve the future of civilization. "The employment of these negro troops, clothed in the uniform of the Union, marks the lowest tide mud to which its citizenship has ever sunk. The profoundest word in history is _race_. The ancestral soul of a people rules its destiny. What is the ancestral soul of the negro? The measurement of the skull of the Egyptian is exactly the shape and size of six thousand years ago. Has the negro moved upward? This republic was born of the soul of a race of pioneer white freemen who settled our continent and built an altar within its Forest Cathedral to Liberty and Progress. In the record of man has a negro ever dreamed this dream? "The Roman Republic fell and Rome became a degenerate Empire. Why? Because of the lowering of her racial stock by slaves. The decline of the Roman spirit was due to a mixture of races. The flower of her manhood died on her far-flung battle lines. Slaves and degenerates at home bred her future citizens. "Have we also placed our feet on the path of oblivion? History is littered with the wrecks of civilization. And always the secret is found in racial degeneracy--the lowering of the standard of racial values. Civilization is a name--an effect. Race is the cause. If a race maintains its soul, it must remain itself and it must breed its best. Race is the result of thousands of years of this selection. One drop of negro blood makes a negro. The inferior can always blot out the superior if granted equality. "This uniform is the first step toward racial oblivion for the white man in America. It is the first step toward equality. A people of half breeds have no soul. They are always ungovernable. The negro is the lowest species of man. Through Slavery he has been disciplined into the family of humanity. We cannot yet grant him equality. Abraham Lincoln who has consented to arm these blacks against us has himself said: _"'There is a physical difference between the white and black races which will forever forbid them living together on terms of political or social equality.'_ "How can he prevent social and political equality once these black men are clothed with the dignity of the uniform of a Nation? He has declared his intention of colonizing the negro race. General Lee also holds this as the solution. If Slavery falls, it _is_ the _only_ solution. "In the meantime we hold fast to the faith within us. Dare to arm a negro, drill and teach him to kill white men, and we are traitors to country, traitors to humanity, traitors to civilization. Robert E. Lee himself is the supreme contradiction of the sentimental mush involved in the dogma of equality. His genius and character is a racial product. "The man in gray stands for two things, Reverence for Law and the Racial Supremacy of the White Man. "If we must clothe negroes in gray to save the Confederacy, let it go down in blood and ashes. We'll stand for this. And hand our ideal down to our children. If defeat shall come, we may yet live to save the Republic. We hold a message for Humanity." There was no further discussion. The South chose death before racial treason. CHAPTER XLVI The miracle which Toombs feared came to pass. In the blackest hour of the Lincoln administration, his own party despaired of his election. The National Republican Committee came to Washington and demanded that he withdraw from the ticket and allow them to name a candidate who might have a chance against General McClellan and his peace platform. And then it happened. Sherman suddenly took Atlanta and swung his legions toward the sea. A black pall of smoke marked his trail. The North leaped once more with the elemental impulse. A wave of war enthusiasm swept Lincoln back into the White House. And a new line of blue soldiers streamed to Grant's front. The ragged men in gray were living on parched corn. Grant edged his blue legions farther and farther southward until he saw the end of the mortal trenches Lee's genius had built. The lion sprang on his exposed flank and Petersburg was doomed. The Southern Commander sent his fated message to Richmond that he must uncover the Capital of the Confederacy, and staggered out of his trenches to attempt a union of forces with Johnston's army in North Carolina. Grant's host were on his heels, his guns thundering, his cavalry destroying. A negro regiment entered Richmond as the flames of the burning city licked the skies. Lee paused at Appomattox to await the coming of his provision train. His headquarters were fixed beneath an apple tree in full bloom. He bent anxiously over a field map with his Adjutant. His face was clouded with deep anxiety. "Why doesn't Gordon report?" he cried. "We've sent three couriers. They haven't returned. Grant has not only closed the road to Lynchburg, he has pushed a wedge into our lines and cut Gordon off. If he has, we're in a trap--" "It couldn't have happened in an hour!" Taylor protested. "Order Fitzhugh Lee to concentrate every horse for Gordon's support and call in Alexander for a conference." Taylor hastened to execute the command and Lee sat down under the flower-draped tree. Sam approached bearing a tray. "De coffee's all ready, Marse Robert--'ceptin' dey ain't no coffee in it. Does ye want a cup? Hit's good, hot black water, sah!" Lee's eyes were not lifted. "No, Sam, thank you." The faithful negro shook his head and walked back to his sorry kitchen. Taylor handed his order to a dust-covered courier. "Take this to Fitz Lee." The courier scratched his head. "I don't know General Fitz Lee, sir." "The devil you don't. What division are you from?" "Dunno, sir. Been cut to pieces so many times and changed commanders so much I dunno who the hell I belong to--" "How'd you get here?" "Detailed for the day." "You know General John B. Gordon?" The dusty figure stiffened. "I'm from Georgia." "Take this to him." Taylor handed the man his order as the thunder of a line of artillery opened on the left. "Which way is General Gordon?" the courier asked. "That's what I want to know. Get to him. Follow the line of that firing. You'll find him where it's hottest. Get back here quick if you have to kill your horse." Sam came back with his tray. "I got yo' breakfus' an' dinner both now, Marse Robert." Lee looked up with a smile. "Too tired now. Eat it for me, Sam--" Sam turned quickly. "Yassah. I do de bes' I kin fur ye." As Sam went back to the kitchen he motioned to a ragged soldier who stood with his wife and little girl gazing at the General. "Dar he is. Go right up an' tell him." Sweeney approached Lee timidly. The wife and girl hung back. He tried to bow and salute at the same time. "Excuse me for coming, General Lee, but my company's halted there in the woods. You've stopped in a few yards of my house, sir. Won't you come in and make it your headquarters?" "No, my good friend. I won't disturb your home." The wife edged near. "It's no trouble at all, sir. We'd be so proud to have you." "Thank you. I always use my tent, Madame. I'll not be here long." "Please come, sir!" the man urged. Lee studied his face. "Haven't I seen you before, my friend?" "Yes, sir. I'm the man who brought the news that General Stuart had fallen at Yellow Tavern." Lee grasped his hand. "Oh, I remember. You're Sweeney--Sweeney whose banjo he loved so well. And this is your wife and little girl?" "Yes, sir," Mrs. Sweeney answered. The Commander pressed her hand cordially. "I'm glad to know you, Mrs. Sweeney. Your husband's music was a great joy to General Stuart." The little girl handed him a bunch of violets. He stooped, kissed her and took her in his arms. "You'd like your papa to come back home from the war and stay with you always, wouldn't you, dear?" "Yes, sir," she breathed. "Maybe he will, soon." "You see, General," Sweeney said, "when my Chief fell, I threw my banjo away and got a musket." "If I only had Stuart here to-day!" Lee sighed. "He'd cut his way through, sir, with a shout and a laugh," Sweeney boasted. A courier handed Lee a dispatch and Sweeney edged away. The Commander read the message with a frown and crumpled the paper in his hand. The wagons at Appomattox had been cut to pieces. His army had nothing to eat. They had been hungry for two days and nights. "It's more than flesh can bear, Taylor--and yet listen to those guns! They're still fighting this morning. Fighting like tigers. Grant's closing in with a hundred thousand men. Unless Gordon breaks through within an hour--he's got us--" Lee gazed toward the sound of the guns on the left. His face was calm but his carriage was no longer quite erect. The agony of sleepless nights had plowed furrows in his forehead. His eyes were red. His cheeks were sunken and haggard. His face was colorless. And yet he was calmly deliberate in every movement. An old man, flushed with excitement, staggered up to him. Lee started. "Ruffin--you here?" "General Lee," he began, "will you hear me for just one moment?" "Certainly." Lee sprang to his feet. "But how did you get into my lines--I thought I was surrounded?" "I came out of Richmond with General Alexander's rear guard, sir, six days ago." "Oh, I see." "Ten years ago, General Lee, in your house, I predicted this war. Last week I saw the city in flames and I hope to God every house was in ashes before that regiment of negro cavalry galloped through its streets." "I trust not, Ruffin. I left my wife and children there." "I hope they're safe, sir." "They're in God's hands." A courier handed Lee a dispatch which he read aloud. "President Davis has been forced to flee from Danville and all communication with him has been cut." "General Lee," Ruffin cried excitedly, "this country is now in your hands." "What would you have me do?" "Fight until the last city is in ashes and the last man falls in his tracks. Fools at your headquarters have been talking for two days of surrender. It can't be done. It can't be done. If you surrender do you know what will happen?" "I've tried to think." "I'll tell you, sir. Thaddeus Stevens, the Radical Leader of Congress, has already prepared the bill to take the ballot from the Southern white man and give it to the negro. The property of the whites he proposed to confiscate and give to their slaves. He will clothe the negro with all power and set him to rule over his former masters." Lee answered roughly. "Nonsense, Ruffin. I am better informed. Senator Washburn, Mr. Lincoln's spokesman, entered Richmond with the Federal army. He says that the President will remove the negro troops from the United States as soon as peace is declared. He has a bill in Congress to colonize the negro race." "Stevens is the master of Congress." "If the North wins, Lincoln will be the master of Congress. We need fear no scheme of insane vengeance." Lee took from Taylor two despatches. "General Mahone has taken a thousand prisoners--" "Glory to God!" Ruffin shouted. "Such men don't know how to surrender!" "And our cavalry has captured. General Gregg and a squadron of his men--" "Surrender!" the old man roared. "They'll never surrender, sir, unless you say so. Our wives, our daughters, our children, our homes, our cause, our lives, are in your hands. For God's sake, don't listen to fools. Don't give up, General Lee--don't--" General Alexander sprang from his horse and approached his Commander. Lee spoke in low, strained tones. "I'm afraid we're caught." He turned to the old man. "Excuse me, Ruffin, I must confer with General Alexander." Ruffin's reply came feebly. "With your permission I will--stay--at--your headquarters for a little while." "Certainly." Taylor led the old man toward his baggage wagon. "Come with me, sir. I'll find you a cot." "Thank you. Thank you." His eyes were dim and he walked stumblingly. "Surrender, Taylor! Surrender? Why, there's no such word--there's no such word--" Lee and Alexander moved down to the little field table. "We must decide," the Commander began, "what to do in case Gordon can't break through. How many guns in your command?" "More than forty, sir. We've just captured a section of Federal artillery in perfect order." "Forty guns! And Grant is circling us with five hundred--" "We have fought big odds before. We have ammunition. The artillery has done little on this retreat. They're eager for a fight, if you wish to give battle." "I can rally but eight thousand men for a final charge. They are tired and hungry. What have we got to do?" "This means but one thing, then--" "Well, sir?" "Order the army to scatter--each man for himself. They can slip through the brush to-night like quail, and reach Johnston's army." "You think this best?" "It's the only thing to do, sir. Surrender--never. Scatter. And when Grant closes in to-morrow his hands will be empty. He'll find a few broken guns and wagons. Our men will be safe beyond his lines and ready to fight again." "That's the plan!" Taylor joined. "We can beat Grant that way, General. The Confederacy may win by delay. At least by delay we can give the State Governments time to make their own terms as States. If you surrender, it's all over." "I do not think the North will acknowledge the sovereignty of the States at this late day." "It is reported that Lincoln has offered to accept the surrender of States and make terms--" "This would, of course," Lee slowly answered, "prolong the war as long as one held out--" "And don't forget, sir," Alexander urged stoutly, "that the single State of Texas is three times larger than France. She has countless head of cattle and horses on her plains. She can equip armies. Her warlike sons, with you to lead them, would laugh at conquest for the next ten years. The territory of the South is too vast to be held except at a cost the North cannot afford to pay--" "Armies may march across it," Taylor interrupted, "a million soldiers could not hold it _unless you surrender!_" "Guerrilla warfare is a desperate resort," Lee answered sadly. "There are things worse," Alexander cried passionately. "This army is ready to die to a man before we will submit to unconditional surrender. The men who have fought under you for these three tragic years have the right to demand that you spare us this shame!" "General Grant will not ask unconditional surrender. I have been in correspondence with him for two days. He has already put his terms in writing. They are generous. All officers may retain their swords and every horse go home for the spring plowing. He merely requires our parole not to take up arms again." "He would offer no such terms," Alexander argued, "unless he knew you yet had a chance to win--" Lee waved his hand. "Our only chance is to continue the struggle by a fierce guerrilla war--" "For God's sake, let's do it, sir!" "Can we," the calm voice went on, "as Christian soldiers, choose such a course? We've fought bravely for what we believed to be right. If I enter a guerrilla struggle, what will be the result? Years of bloody savagery. Our own men, demoralized by war, would supply their wants by violence and plunder. I could not control them. And so raid and counter-raid. Houses pillaged and burned by friend and foe. Crops destroyed. All industry paralyzed. Women violated. We might force the Federal Government at last to make some sort of compromise. But at what a cost--what a cost!" "You can control our men," Alexander maintained. "Your name is magic. The South will obey you." Lee gazed earnestly into the face of his gallant young Commander of Artillery and said: "If I wield such power over our people, is it not a sacred trust? Is it not my duty now to use it for their healing, and not their ruin?" General John B. Gordon suddenly rode up and sprang from his horse. Lee eagerly turned. "General Gordon--you have cut through?" "I have secured a temporary truce to report to you in person, I have fought my corps to a frazzle. The road is still blocked and I cannot move." "What is your advice?" Lee asked. "Your decision settles it, sir." A courier plunged toward the group on a foaming horse. "Fitzhugh Lee's cavalry's broken through!" he shouted. "The way's opened. The whole army can pass!" "I don't believe it," Gordon growled. "It's too good to be true," Taylor said. "It's true!" Alexander exclaimed, "of course it's true!" "You come from Longstreet?" Lee inquired. "Yes, sir. He asks instructions." "Tell him to use his discretion. He's on the spot." The courier wheeled and rode back as the crash of a musket rang out beside the baggage wagon. "What's that?" Taylor asked sharply. "It can't be an attack," Gordon wondered. "A truce is in force." Sam rushed to Lee. "Hit's Marse Ruffin, sah," he whispered. "He put de muzzle er de gun in his mouf an' done blow his own head clean off!" "See to him, Taylor," Lee ordered. "The old ones will quit, I'm afraid." A courier rode up and handed him another dispatch. He read it slowly. "Fitzhugh Lee says the message was a mistake, the road is still blocked. Only a company of raiders broke through." "It's too bad," Gordon said. "It's hell," Alexander groaned. "Let's scatter, sir! It's the only way. Issue the order at once--" A sentinel saluted. "Colonel Babcock, aide to General U.S. Grant, has come for your answer, sir." All eyes were fixed on Lee. "Tell Babcock I'll see him in a moment." An ominous silence fell. Lee lifted his head and spoke firmly. "We've played our parts, gentlemen, in a hopeless tragedy, pitiful, terrible. At least eight hundred thousand of our noblest sons are dead and mangled. A million more will die of poverty and disease. Every issue could have been settled and better settled without the loss of a drop of blood. The slaves are freed by an accident. An accident of war's necessity--not on principle. The manner of their sudden emancipation, unless they are removed, will bring a calamity more appalling than the war itself. It must create a Race Problem destined to grow each day more threatening and insoluble. Yet if I had to live it all over again I could only do exactly what I have done--" He paused. "And now I'll go at once to General Grant." He took two steps to cross the stile over the fence, and turned as a cry of pain burst from Alexander's lips. He sank to a seat, bowed his face in his hands and groaned: "Oh, my God, I can't believe it! I can't believe it. After all these years of blood. I can't believe it--my God--to think that this is the end!" "I know, General Alexander," Lee spoke gently, "that my surrender means the end. It has come and we must face it. We must accept the results in good faith and turn our faces toward the east. Yesterday is dead. To-morrow is ours--" His voice softened. "I don't mind telling you now, that I had rather die a thousand deaths than go to General Grant. Dying is the easiest thing that I could do at this moment. I could ride out front along the lines for five minutes and it would be all over. But the men who know how to die must do harder things. I call you, sir, to this battle grimmer than death--to this nobler task--we've got to live now!" Alexander slowly rose with Gordon and both men saluted. Within an hour he was returning from the meeting with his brave and generous conqueror. A loud cheer rang over the Confederate lines. "It's Lee returning along the road crowded with his men," Gordon explained. Another cheer echoed through the forests. Gordon smiled. "Alexander the Great, when he conquered a world, never got the tribute which Lee is receiving from those men. There's not one in their ranks who wouldn't die for him." Louder and louder rolled the cheers mingled now with the pet name his soldiers loved. "Marse Robert! Marse Robert!" Alexander's eyes flashed. "The hour of his surrender, the supreme triumph of his life." Lee rode slowly into view on Traveler's gray back. The men were crowding close. They cried softly. They touched his saddle, his horse and tried to reach his hands. He lifted his right arm over their heads and they were still. "My heart's too full for speech, my men. I have done for you all that was in my power. You have done your duty. We leave the rest to God. Go quietly to your homes now and work to build up our ruined country. Obey the laws and be as good citizens as you have been soldiers. I'm going to try to do this. Will you help me?" "That we will!" "Yes." "Yes." "Goodbye." "Goodbye, Marse Robert!" Grizzled veterans were sobbing like children. The war had ended--the most futile and ferocious of human follies. When it shall cease on earth at last, then, and not until then, will the soul of man leap to its final triumph, for the energy of the universe will flow through the fingers of workmen, artists, authors, inventors and healers. On this issue the saving of a world awaits the word of the mothers of men. THE END 
15263	----	THE UNDERGROUND RAIL ROAD. A RECORD OF FACTS, AUTHENTIC NARRATIVES, LETTERS, &C., NARRATING THE HARDSHIPS HAIR-BREADTH ESCAPES AND DEATH STRUGGLES OF THE SLAVES IN THEIR EFFORTS FOR FREEDOM, AS RELATED BY THEMSELVES AND OTHERS, OR WITNESSED BY THE AUTHOR TOGETHER WITH SKETCHES OF SOME OF THE LARGEST STOCKHOLDERS, AND MOST LIBERAL AIDERS AND ADVISERS, OF THE ROAD. BY William Still For many years connected with the Anti-Slavery Office in Philadelphia, and Chairman of the Acting Vigilant Committee of the Philadelphia Branch of the Underground Rail Road. 1872 PHILADELPHIA: PORTER & COATES, Thou shall not deliver unto his master the servant that has escaped from his master unto thee.--_Deut._ xxiii. 16. Illustrated with 70 fine Engravings by Bensell, Schell and others, and Portraits from Photographs from Life. SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION. 822, CHESTNUT STREET. Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1871, by W.M. STILL, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. [Illustration: W. Still] PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION. * * * * * Like millions of my race, my mother and father were born slaves, but were not contented to live and die so. My father purchased himself in early manhood by hard toil. Mother saw no way for herself and children to escape the horrors of bondage but by flight. Bravely, with her four little ones, with firm faith in God and an ardent desire to be free, she forsook the prison-house, and succeeded, through the aid of my father, to reach a free State. Here life had to be begun anew. The old familiar slave names had to be changed, and others, for prudential reasons, had to be found. This was not hard work. However, hardly months had passed ere the keen scent of the slave-hunters had trailed them to where they had fancied themselves secure. In those days all power was in the hands of the oppressor, and the capture of a slave mother and her children was attended with no great difficulty other than the crushing of freedom in the breast of the victims. Without judge or jury, all were hurried back to wear the yoke again. But back this mother was resolved never to stay. She only wanted another opportunity to again strike for freedom. In a few months after being carried back, with only two of her little ones, she took her heart in her hand and her babes in her arms, and this trial was a success. Freedom was gained, although not without the sad loss of her two older children, whom she had to leave behind. Mother and father were again reunited in freedom, while two of their little boys were in slavery. What to do for them other than weep and pray, were questions unanswerable. For over forty years the mother's heart never knew what it was to be free from anxiety about her lost boys. But no tidings came in answer to her many prayers, until one of them, to the great astonishment of his relatives, turned up in Philadelphia, nearly fifty years of age, seeking his long-lost parents. Being directed to the Anti-Slavery Office for instructions as to the best plan to adopt to find out the whereabouts of his parents, fortunately he fell into the hands of his own brother, the writer, whom he had never heard of before, much less seen or known. And here began revelations connected with this marvellous coincidence, which influenced me, for years previous to Emancipation, to preserve the matter found in the pages of this humble volume. And in looking back now over these strange and eventful Providences, in the light of the wonderful changes wrought by Emancipation, I am more and more constrained to believe that the reasons, which years ago led me to aid the bondman and preserve the records of his sufferings, are to-day quite as potent in convincing me that the necessity of the times requires this testimony. And since the first advent of my book, wherever reviewed or read by leading friends of freedom, the press, or the race more deeply represented by it, the expressions of approval and encouragement have been hearty and unanimous, and the thousands of volumes which have been sold by me, on the subscription plan, with hardly any facilities for the work, makes it obvious that it would, in the hands of a competent publisher, have a wide circulation. And here I may frankly state, that but for the hope I have always cherished that this work would encourage the race in efforts for self-elevation, its publication never would have been undertaken by me. I believe no more strongly at this moment than I have believed ever since the Proclamation of Emancipation was made by Abraham Lincoln, that as a class, in this country, no small exertion will have to be put forth before the blessings of freedom and knowledge can be fairly enjoyed by this people; and until colored men manage by dint of hard acquisition to enter the ranks of skilled industry, very little substantial respect will be shown them, even with the ballot-box and musket in their hands. Well-conducted shops and stores; lands acquired and good farms managed in a manner to compete with any other; valuable books produced and published on interesting and important subjects--these are some of the fruits which the race are expected to exhibit from their newly gained privileges. If it is asked "how?" I answer, "through extraordinary determination and endeavor," such as are demonstrated in hundreds of cases in the pages of this book, in the struggles of men and women to obtain their freedom, education and property. These facts must never be lost sight of. The race must not forget the rock from whence they were hewn, nor the pit from whence, they were digged. Like other races, this newly emancipated people will need all the knowledge of their past condition which they can get. The bondage and deliverance of the children of Israel will never be allowed to sink into oblivion while the world stands. Those scenes of suffering and martyrdom millions of Christians were called upon to pass through in the days of the Inquisition are still subjects of study, and have unabated interest for all enlightened minds. The same is true of the history of this country. The struggles of the pioneer fathers are preserved, produced and re-produced, and cherished with undying interest by all Americans, and the day will not arrive while the Republic exists, when these histories will not be found in every library. While the grand little army of abolitionists was waging its untiring warfare for freedom, prior to the rebellion, no agency encouraged them like the heroism of fugitives. The pulse of the four millions of slaves and their desire for freedom, were better felt through "The Underground Railroad," than through any other channel. Frederick Douglass, Henry Bibb, Wm. Wells Brown, Rev. J.W. Logan, and others, gave unmistakable evidence that the race had no more eloquent advocates than its own self-emancipated champions. Every step they took to rid themselves of their fetters, or to gain education, or in pleading the cause of their fellow-bondmen in the lecture-room, or with their pens, met with applause on every hand, and the very argument needed was thus furnished in large measure. In those dark days previous to emancipation, such testimony was indispensable. The free colored men are as imperatively required now to furnish the same manly testimony in support of the ability of the race to surmount the remaining obstacles growing out of oppression, ignorance, and poverty. In the political struggles, the hopes of the race have been sadly disappointed. From this direction no great advantage is likely to arise very soon. Only as desert can be proved by the acquisition of knowledge and the exhibition of high moral character, in examples of economy and a disposition to encourage industrial enterprises, conducted by men of their own ranks, will it be possible to make political progress in the face of the present public sentiment. Here, therefore, in my judgment is the best possible reason for vigorously pushing the circulation of this humble volume--that it may testify for thousands and tens of thousands, as no other work can do. WILLIAM STILL, Author. September, 1878. Philadelphia, Pa. ILLUSTRATIONS. THE AUTHOR PETER STILL--"THE KIDNAPPED AND THE RANSOMED" CHARITY STILL TWICE ESCAPED FROM SLAVERY DESPERATE CONFLICT IN A BARN DEATH OF ROMULUS HALL RESURRECTION OF HENRY BOX BROWN RESCUE OF JANE JOHNSON AND HER CHILDREN PASSMORE WILLIAMSON JANE JOHNSON ESCAPING FROM PORTSMOUTH, VA TWENTY-EIGHT FUGITIVES ESCAPING FROM EASTERN SHORE OF MARYLAND ESCAPING FROM ALABAMA ON TOP OF A CAR CROSSING THE RIVER ON HORSEBACK IN THE NIGHT A BOLD STROKE FOR FREEDOM--CONTEST WITH FIRE-ARMS ABRAM GALLOWAY THE MAYOR AND POLICE OF NORFOLK SEARCHING CAPTAIN FOUNTAIN'S SCHOONER MARIA WEEMS ESCAPING AS JO WRIGHT JOHN HENRY HILL DRY-GOODS MERCHANT SEARCHING THE CARS ESCAPE WITH A LADY, AS HER COACHMAN, WITH MASTER'S HORSE AND CARRIAGE SIX ON TWO HORSES UP A TREE SAMUEL GREEN SENTENCED TO THE PENITENTIARY FOR TEN YEARS FOR HAVING A COPY OF "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN" IN HIS HOUSE LEAR GREEN ESCAPING IN A CHEST ESCAPE OF ELEVEN PASSENGERS FROM MARYLAND IN TWO CARRIAGES THE CHRISTIANA TRAGEDY WILLIAM AND ELLEN CRAFT MEMBERS OF THE ACTING COMMITTEE: N.W. DEPEE JACOB C. WHITE CHARLES WISE EDWIN H. COATES KNIFING HIS VICTIM LIVING IN A HOLLOW TREE IN A CAVE A NARROW ESCAPE SUSPENDED BY THE HANDS WITH BLOCK AND TACKLE CROSSING THE BAY BREAKING HIM IN MOTHER ESCAPING WITH SEVEN CHILDREN FIGHT IN CHESAPEAKE BAY JOHN W. DUNGEE MARY MILBURN (SECRETED IN A BOX) HEAVY WEIGHTS--ARRIVAL OF A PARTY AT LEAGUE ISLAND SKETCHES AND PORTRAITS OF STATION-MASTERS, PROMINENT ANTI-SLAVERY MEN, AND SUPPORTERS OF THE U.G.R.R.: ABIGAIL GOODWIN THOMAS GARRETT DANIEL GIBBONS LUCRETIA MOTT J. MILLER M'KIM WILLIAM H. FURNESS WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON LEWIS TAPPAN ELIJAH F. PENNYPACKER WILLIAM WRIGHT DR. BARTHOLOMEW FUSSELL ROBERT PURVIS JOHN HUNN SAMUEL RHOADS WILLIAM WHIPPER SAMUEL D. BURRIS CHARLES D. CLEVELAND GRACE ANNA LEWIS MRS. FRANCES E.W. HARPER JOHN NEEDLES CONTENTS. SETH CONCKLIN UNDERGROUND RAILROAD LETTERS. From Thomas Garrett--G.A. Lewis--E.L. Stevens--Sydney Howard Gay--John Henry Hill--J. Bigelowe--Ham and Eggs--Rev. H. Wilson--Sheridan Ford--E.F. Pennypacker--J.C. Bustill--Slave secreted in Richmond--G.S. Nelson--John Thompson--Wm. Penn WILLIAM BOX PEEL JONES Came boxed up _viâ_ Erricson line of Steamers. WESLEY HARRIS ALIAS ROBERT JACKSON, CRAVEN MATTERSON AND TWO BROTHERS. CLARISSA DAVIS Arrived in Male Attire. ANTHONY BLOW ALIAS HENRY LEVISON Secreted Ten Months--Eight days on the Steamship City of Richmond bound for Philadelphia. PERRY JOHNSON, OF ELKTON, MARYLAND. Eye knocked Out. ISAAC FORMAN, WILLIAM DAVIS AND WILLIS REDICK. Hearts full of joy for Freedom--Very anxious for Wives in Slavery. JOSEPH HENRY CAMP Sold, the day he escaped, for Fourteen Hundred Dollars--Slave Trader loses his Bargain. SHERIDAN FORD Secreted in the Woods--Escapes in a Steamer. JOSEPH KNEELAND ALIAS JOSEPH HULSON Young Master had a "Malignant Spirit". EX-PRESIDENT TYLER'S HOUSEHOLD LOSES AN ARISTOCRATIC ARTICLE. EDWARD MORGAN, HENRY JOHNSON, JAMES AND STEPHEN BUTLER. "Two Thousand Dollars Reward" offered. HENRY PREDO Daniel Hughes, Thomas Elliott, and five others betrayed into Dover Jail. MARY EPPS ALIAS EMMA BROWN, JOSEPH AND ROBERT ROBINSON. A Slave Mother Loses her Speech at the Sale of her Child ... Bob Escapes from his Master, a Trader, with Fifteen Hundred Dollars in North Carolina Money. GEORGE SOLOMON, DANIEL NEALL, BENJAMIN R. FLETCHER AND MARIA DORSEY. HENRY BOX BROWN Arrived by Adams Express. TRIAL OF THE EMANCIPATORS OF COL. J.H. WHEELER'S SLAVES, JANE JOHNSON AND HER TWO LITTLE BOYS. THE ARRIVALS OF A SINGLE MONTH. Sixty Passengers came in one Month--Twenty-eight in one Arrival--Great Panic and Indignation Meeting--Interesting Correspondence from Masters and Fugitives. A SLAVE GIRL'S NARRATIVE. Cordelia Loney, Slave of Mrs. Joseph Cahell, (widow of the late Hon. Joseph Cahell, of Virginia)--Cordelia's Escape from her Mistress in Philadelphia. ARRIVAL OF JACKSON, ISAAC AND EDMONDSON TURNER FROM PETERSBURG. Touching Scene on Meeting their Old Blind Father at the U.G.R.R. Depot. ROBERT BROWN ALIAS THOMAS JONES. Crossing the River on Horseback in the Night. ANTHONY LONEY ALIAS WILLIAM ARMSTEAD AND CORNELIUS SCOTT. SAMUEL WILLIAMS ALIAS JOHN WILLIAMS. BARNABY GRIGBY ALIAS JOHN BOYER, AND MARY ELIZABETH HIS WIFE, FRANK WANZER ALIAS ROBERT SCOTT, EMILY FOSTER ALIAS ANN WOOD. WILLIAM JORDAN ALIAS WILLIAM PRICE. JOSEPH GRANT AND JOHN SPEAKS. Two Passengers _viâ_ Liverpool. WILLIAM N. TAYLOR. "One Hundred Dollars Reward". LOUISA BROWN, JACOB WATERS, AND ALFRED GOULDEN. ARRIVAL FROM BALTIMORE. Jefferson Pipkins alias David Jones, Louisa Pipkins, Elizabeth Brit, Harriet Brown, alias Jane Wooton, Gracy Murry alias Sophia Sims, Edward Williams _alias_ Henry Johnson, Charles Lee alias Thomas Bushier. SEVERAL ARRIVALS FROM DIFFERENT PLACES. Henry Anderson, Charles and Margaret Congo, Chaskey Brown, William Henry Washington, James Alfred Frisley, Charles Henry Salter, Stephen Taylor, Charles Brown, Charles H. Hollis, Luther Dorsey. ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND. Jeremiah W. Smith and wife Julia. EIGHT ARRIVALS. James Massey, Perry Henry Trusty, George Rhoads, James Rhoads, George Washington, Sarah Elizabeth Rhoads, and Child, Mary Elizabeth Stephenson. CHARLES THOMPSON. Carrier of "The National American". BLOOD FLOWED FREELY. Abram Galloway and Richard Eden--Secreted in a Vessel Loaded with Spirits of Turpentine--Shrouds Prepared to Prevent being Smoked to Death--Abram a Soldier under Father Abraham--Senator of North Carolina. JOHN PETTIFOOT. "One Hundred Dollars Reward" Offered--McHenry and McCulloch Anxious About John. EMANUEL T. WHITE. "Would rather Fight than Eat". THE ESCAPE OF A CHILD FOURTEEN MONTHS OLD. Letter from "J.B."--Letters from E.L. Stevens ... Great Anxiety and Care. ESCAPE OF A YOUNG SLAVE MOTHER. Baby, Little Girl and Husband left Behind--Three Hundred Dollars Reward Offered. SAMUEL W. JOHNSON. Arrival from the Richmond Daily Dispatch Office--"Uncle Tom's Cabin" turned Sam's Brain--Affecting Letters. FAMILY FROM BALTIMORE. Stephen Amos _alias_ Henry Johnson, Harriet _alias_ Mary Jane Johnson, and their four children, Ann Rebecca, William H., Elizabeth and Mary Ellen. ELIJAH HILTON. From Richmond--"Five Hundred Dollars Reward" offered by R.J. Christian.... Grateful letter from Canada. SOLOMON BROWN. Arrived per City of Richmond--Letter from Canada containing expressions of Gratitude. WILLIAM HOGG ALIAS JOHN SMITH. Traveler from Maryland--William was much troubled about his Wife left behind--Letter from Canada. TWO FEMALE PASSENGERS FROM MARYLAND. Ann Johnson and Lavina Woolfley Sold--Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire. CAPTAIN F. AND THE MAYOR OF NORFOLK. Twenty-one Passengers secreted in Captain Fountain's Boat--Mayor and Posse of Officers on the Boat searching for U.G.R.R. Passengers. ARRIVALS FROM DIFFERENT PLACES. Matilda Mahoney--Dr. J.W. Pennington's Brother and Sons--Great Adventure to deliver a Lover. FLEEING GIRL OF FIFTEEN IN MALE ATTIRE. Ann Maria Weems alias Joe Wright--Great Triumph--Arrival on Thanksgiving Day--Interesting letters from J. Bigelow. FIVE YEARS AND ONE MONTH SECRETED. John Henry, Hezekiah and James Hill. FROM VIRGINIA, MARYLAND AND DELAWARE. Archer Barlow, alias Emet Robins--Samuel Bush _alias_ William Oblebee--John Spencer and his son William and James Albert--Robert Fisher--NATHAN HARRIS--Hansel Waples--Rosanna Tonnell, _alias_ Maria Hyde--Mary Ennis _alias_ Licia Hemmit and two Children--Lydia and Louisa Caroline. SAM, ISAAC, PERRY, CHARLES AND GREEN. "One Thousand Dollars Reward". FROM RICHMOND AND NORFOLK, VA. William B. White, Susan Brooks, and Wm. Henry Atkinson. FOUR ARRIVALS. Charlotte and Harriet escape in deep Mourning--White Lady and Child with a Colored Coachman--Three likely Young Men from Baltimore--Four large and two Small Hams--U.G.R.R. Passengers Travelling with their Master's Horses and Carriage--Six Passengers on two Horses, &c. FROM VIRGINIA, MARYLAND, DELAWARE, NORTH CAROLINA, WASHINGTON, D.C. AND SOUTH CAROLINA. CHARLES GILBERT, Fleeing from Davis, a Negro Trader--Secreted under a Hotel--Up a Tree--Under a Floor--In a Thicket--On a Steamer. LIBERTY OR DEATH. Jim Bowlegs alias Bill Paul. SALT-WATER FUGITIVE. SAMUEL GREEN ALIAS WESLEY KINNARD. Ten Years in the Penitentiary for having a Copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin in his House. AN IRISH GIRL'S DEVOTION TO FREEDOM. In Love with a Slave--Gets him off to Canada--Follows him--Marriage, &c. "SAM" NIXON ALIAS DR. THOMAS BAYNE. The Escape of a Dentist on the U.G.R.R. &c. SUNDRY ARRIVALS. From Loudoun County, Va., Norfolk, Baltimore, Md., Petersburg, Va., &c. HEAVY REWARD. "Two Thousand Six Hundred Dollars Reward" Offered. SLAVE-TRADER HALL IS FOILED. Robert McCoy alias William Donar, and Elizabeth Sanders, arrived per steamer. THE PROTECTION OF SLAVE PROPERTY IN VIRGINIA. A Bill providing additional Protection for the Slave Property of Citizens of this Commonwealth. ESCAPING IN A CHEST. "One Hundred and Fifty Dollars Reward"--Lear Green. ISAAC WILLIAMS, HENRY BANKS AND KIT NICKLESS. ARRIVAL OF FIVE PROM THE EASTERN SHORE OF MARYLAND. Cyrus Mitchell alias John Steel, Joshua Handy alias Hambleton Hamby, Charles Button alias William Robinson, Ephraim Hudson alias John Spry, Francis Molock alias Thomas Jackson. SUNDRY ARRIVALS ABOUT AUGUST 1ST, 1855. Francis Hilliard and Others. DEEP FURROWS ON THE BACK. Thomas Madden. PETER MATHEWS ALIAS SAMUEL SPARROWS. "I might as well be in the Penitentiary as in Slavery." "MOSES" ARRIVES WITH SIX PASSENGERS. ESCAPED FROM "A WORTHLESS SOT." John Atkinson. WILLIAM BUTCHER ALIAS Wm. T. MTCHELL. "He was abuseful". "WHITE ENOUGH TO PASS". ESCAPING WITH MASTER'S CARRIAGES AND HORSES. Harriet Shephard, and her five Children with five other Passengers. EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS SECRETED. Washington Somlor alias James Moore. ARTHUR FOWLER ALIAS BENJAMIN JOHNSON. SUNDRY ARRIVALS. About the 1st of June, 1855--Emory Roberts and others. SUNDRY ARRIVALS ABOUT JANUARY 1ST, 1855. Verenea Mercer and others. SLAVE-HOLDER IN MARYLAND WITH THREE COLORED WIVES. James Griffin alias Thomas Brown. CAPTAIN F. ARRIVES WITH NINE PASSENGERS. Names of Passengers. OWEN AND OTHO TAYLOR'S FLIGHT WITH HORSES, &c. HEAVY REWARD. Three Hundred Dollars Reward--"Tom" gone. CAPT. F. ARRIVES WITH FOURTEEN "PRIME ARTICLES" ON BOARD. SUNDRY ARRIVALS, LATTER PART OF DECEMBER, 1855, AND BEGINNING OF JANUARY, 1856. Joseph Cornish and others. PART OF THE ARRIVALS IN DECEMBER, 1855. Thomas J. Gooseberry and others. THE FUGITIVE SLAVE BILL OF 1850. "An Act Respecting Fugitives from Justice, and Persons Escaping from the Services of their Masters." THE SLAVE HUNTING TRAGEDY IN LANCASTER COUNTY, IN SEPTEMBER, 1851. "Treason at Christiana". WILLIAM AND ELLEN CRAFT. Female Slave in Male Attire, fleeing as a Planter, with her Husband as her Body Servant. ARRIVALS FROM RICHMOND. Lewis Cobb and Nancy Brister. PASSENGERS FROM NORTH CAROLINA, [By SCHOONER.] Major Latham, William Wilson, Henry Goram, Wiley Madison, and Andrew Shepherd. THOMAS CLINTON, SAUNEY PRY AND BENJAMIN DUCKET. Passed over the U.G.R.R. in the Fall of 1856. ARRIVALS IN APRIL, 1856. Charles Hall and others. FIVE FROM GEORGETOWN CROSS-ROADS. Mother and Child from Norfolk, Va., &c. PASSENGERS FROM MARYLAND. William Henry MOODY, BELINDA BIVANS, &c. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. ARRIVAL FROM WASHINGTON, D.C., &c., 1857. George Carroll, Randolph Branson, John Clagart and William Royan. ARRIVAL FROM UNIONVILLE, 1857. Israel Todd and Bazil Aldridge. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1857. Ordee Lee and Richard J. Booce. ARRIVAL FROM CAMBRIDGE, 1857. Silas Long and Solomon Light--"The Mother of Twelve Children"--Old Jane Davis. BENJAMIN ROSS AND HIS WIFE HARRIET Fled from Caroline County, Eastern Shore of Maryland, June, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM DELAWARE, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM ALEXANDRIA, IN 1857. ARRIVAL FROM UNIONVILLE, 1857. FROM NEW ORLEANS, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM WASHINGTON, D.C. ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. ARRIVAL FROM GEORGETOWN CROSS ROADS AND ALEXANDRIA. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. ARRIVAL FROM NORFOLK, VA. ARRIVAL FROM WASHINGTON, D.C. FOUR ABLE BODIED "ARTICLES" IN ONE ARRIVAL, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM ARLINGTON, MD., 1857. FIVE PASSENGERS, 1847. ARRIVAL FROM HOWARD COUNTY, MD., 1857. ARRIVAL FROM PRINCE GEORGE'S COUNTY, MD. ARRIVAL FROM RAPPAHANNOCK COUNTY, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM NORTH CAROLINA, 1857. ALFRED HOLLON, GEORGE AND CHARLES N. RODGERS. ARRIVAL FROM KENT COUNTY, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM BALTIMORE COUNTY, 1857. MARY COOPER AND MOSES ARMSTEAD, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM NEAR WASHINGTON, D.C. HON. L. McLANE'S PROPERTY, SOON AFTER HIS DEATH, TRAVELS VIA THE UNDERGROUND RAIL ROAD--WILLIAM KNIGHT, ESQ. LOSES A SUPERIOR "ARTICLE." ARRIVAL FROM HARFORD COUNTY, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM NORFOLK, VA., 1857. ARRIVAL FROM HOOPERVILLE, MD., 1857. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1857. ARRIVAL FROM QUEEN ANNE COUNTY, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM BALTIMORE. ARRIVED FROM DUNWOODY COUNTY, 1858. ARRIVED FROM ALEXANDRIA, VA., 1857. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM PETERSBURG, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. ARRIVAL OF A PARTY OF SIX, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM BALTIMORE, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM HIGHTSTOWN, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM BELLAIR. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM NORFOLK, VA., 1858. ARRIVAL FROM NEAR BALTIMORE, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM WASHINGTON, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM THE OLD DOMINION. ARRIVAL FROM DELAWARE, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM DELAWARE, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM NORTH CAROLINA AND DELAWARE. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. ARRIVAL FROM THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM HONEY BROOK TOWNSHIP, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM ALEXANDRIA, VA., 1858. ARRIVAL FROM THE SEAT OF GOVERNMENT. CROSSING THE BAY IN A SKIFF. ARRIVAL FROM KENT COUNTY, MD., 1858. ARRIVAL FROM WASHINGTON, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM CECIL COUNTY, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM GEORGETOWN, D.C., 1858. ARRIVAL FROM SUSSEX COUNTY, 1858. SUNDRY ARRIVALS IN 1859. ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1859. ARRIVAL FROM DELAWARE, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1859. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1859. SUNDRY ARRIVALS, 1859. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1859. ARRIVAL FROM DELAWARE, 1859. ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1859. SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM MARYLAND, 1859. ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1859. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, VIRGINIA, AND THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA. SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM MARYLAND AND VIRGINIA. ARRIVAL FROM SEAFORD, 1859. ARRIVAL FROM TAPS' NECK, MD., 1859. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1859. SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM VIRGINIA, MARYLAND AND DELAWARE. ARRIVAL FROM DIFFERENT POINTS. SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM MARYLAND, 1860. ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1860. ARRIVAL FROM BALTIMORE, 1860. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. ARRIVAL FROM FREDERICKSBURG, 1860. SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM MARYLAND, 1860. CROSSING THE BAY IN A BATTEAU. ARRIVAL FROM DORCHESTER COUNTY, 1860. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1860. TWELVE MONTHS IN THE WOODS, 1860. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. A SLAVE CATCHER CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP. TO WHOM IT MIGHT CONCERN. ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1858. ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1859. ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND. "AUNT HANNAH MOORE." KIDNAPPING OF RACHEL AND ELIZABETH PARKER--MURDER OF JOSEPH C. MILLER, IN 1851 AND 1852. ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1854. ARRIVAL FROM NORFOLK. ARRIVAL OF FIFTEEN FROM NORFOLK, VIRGINIA. THE CASE OF EUPHEMIA WILLIAMS. HELPERS AND SYMPATHIZERS AT HOME AND ABROAD--INTERESTING LETTERS. PAMPHLET AND LETTERS. LETTERS TO THE WRITER. WOMAN ESCAPING IN A BOX, 1857. ORGANIZATION OF THE VIGILANCE COMMITTEE. PORTRAITS AND SKETCHES. ESTHER MOORE. ABIGAIL GOODWIN. THOMAS GARRETT. DANIEL GIBBONS. LUCRETIA MOTT. JAMES MILLER McKIM. WILLIAM H. FURNESS, D.D. WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. LEWIS TAPPAN. ELIJAH F. PENNYPACKER. WILLIAM WRIGHT. DR. BARTHOLOMEW FUSSELL. THOMAS SHIPLEY. ROBERT PURVIS. JOHN HUNN. SAMUEL RHOADS. GEORGE CORSON. CHARLES D. CLEVELAND. WILLIAM WHIPPER. ISAAC T. HOPPER. SAMUEL D. BURRIS. MARIANN, GRACE ANNA, AND ELIZABETH R. LEWIS. CUNNINGHAM'S RACHE. FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER. THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD * * * * * SETH CONCKLIN. In the long list of names who have suffered and died in the cause of freedom, not one, perhaps, could be found whose efforts to redeem a poor family of slaves were more Christlike than Seth Concklin's, whose noble and daring spirit has been so long completely shrouded in mystery. Except John Brown, it is a question, whether his rival could be found with respect to boldness, disinterestedness and willingness to be sacrificed for the deliverance of the oppressed. By chance one day he came across a copy of the Pennsylvania Freeman, containing the story of Peter Still, "the Kidnapped and the Ransomed,"--how he had been torn away from his mother, when a little boy six years old; how, for forty years and more, he had been compelled to serve under the yoke, totally destitute as to any knowledge of his parents' whereabouts; how the intense love of liberty and desire to get back to his mother had unceasingly absorbed his mind through all these years of bondage; how, amid the most appalling discouragements, prompted alone by his undying determination to be free and be reunited with those from whom he had been sold away, he contrived to buy himself; how, by extreme economy, from doing over-work, he saved up five hundred dollars, the amount of money required for his ransom, which, with his freedom, he, from necessity, placed unreservedly in the confidential keeping of a Jew, named Joseph Friedman, whom he had known for a long time and could venture to trust,--how he had further toiled to save up money to defray his expenses on an expedition in search of his mother and kindred; how, when this end was accomplished, with an earnest purpose he took his carpet-bag in his hand, and his heart throbbing for his old home and people, he turned his mind very privately towards Philadelphia, where he hoped, by having notices read in the colored churches to the effect that "forty-one or forty-two years before two little boys[A] were kidnapped and carried South"--that the memory of some of the older members might recall the circumstances, and in this way he would be aided in his ardent efforts to become restored to them. [Footnote A: Sons of Levin and Sidney--the last names of his parents he was too young to remember.] And, furthermore, Seth Concklin had read how, on arriving in Philadelphia, after traveling sixteen hundred miles, that almost the first man whom Peter Still sought advice from was his own unknown brother (whom he had never seen or heard of), who made the discovery that he was the long-lost boy, whose history and fate had been enveloped in sadness so long, and for whom his mother had shed so many tears and offered so many prayers, during the long years of their separation; and, finally, how this self-ransomed and restored captive, notwithstanding his great success, was destined to suffer the keenest pangs of sorrow for his wife and children, whom he had left in Alabama bondage. Seth Concklin was naturally too singularly sympathetic and humane not to feel now for Peter, and especially for his wife and children left in bonds as bound with them. Hence, as Seth was a man who seemed wholly insensible to fear, and to know no other law of humanity and right, than whenever the claims of the suffering and the wronged appealed to him, to respond unreservedly, whether those thus injured were amongst his nearest kin or the greatest strangers,--it mattered not to what race or clime they might belong,--he, in the spirit of the good Samaritan, owning all such as his neighbors, volunteered his services, without pay or reward, to go and rescue the wife and three children of Peter Still. The magnitude of this offer can hardly be appreciated. It was literally laying his life on the altar of freedom for the despised and oppressed whom he had never seen, whose kins-folk even he was not acquainted with. At this juncture even Peter was not prepared to accept this proposal. He wanted to secure the freedom of his wife and children as earnestly as he had ever desired to see his mother, yet he could not, at first, hearken to the idea of having them rescued in the way suggested by Concklin, fearing a failure. To J.M. McKim and the writer, the bold scheme for the deliverance of Peter's family was alone confided. It was never submitted to the Vigilance Committee, for the reason, that it was not considered a matter belonging thereto. On first reflection, the very idea of such an undertaking seemed perfectly appalling. Frankly was he told of the great dangers and difficulties to be encountered through hundreds of miles of slave territory. Seth was told of those who, in attempting to aid slaves to escape had fallen victims to the relentless Slave Power, and had either lost their lives, or been incarcerated for long years in penitentiaries, where no friendly aid could be afforded them; in short, he was plainly told, that without a very great chance, the undertaking would cost him his life. The occasion of this interview and conversation, the seriousness of Concklin and the utter failure in presenting the various obstacles to his plan, to create the slightest apparent misgiving in his mind, or to produce the slightest sense of fear or hesitancy, can never be effaced from the memory of the writer. The plan was, however, allowed to rest for a time. In the meanwhile, Peter's mind was continually vacillating between Alabama, with his wife and children, and his new-found relatives in the North. Said a brother, "If you cannot get your family, what will you do? Will you come North and live with your relatives?" "I would as soon go out of the world, as not to go back and do all I can for them," was the prompt reply of Peter. The problem of buying them was seriously considered, but here obstacles quite formidable lay in the way. Alabama laws utterly denied the right of a slave to buy himself, much less his wife and children. The right of slave masters to free their slaves, either by sale or emancipation, was positively prohibited by law. With these reflections weighing upon his mind, having stayed away from his wife as long as he could content himself to do, he took his carpet-bag in his hand, and turned his face toward Alabama, to embrace his family in the prison-house of bondage. His approach home could only be made stealthily, not daring to breathe to a living soul, save his own family, his nominal Jew master, and one other friend--a slave--where he had been, the prize he had found, or anything in relation to his travels. To his wife and children his return was unspeakably joyous. The situation of his family concerned him with tenfold more weight than ever before, As the time drew near to make the offer to his wife's master to purchase her with his children, his heart failed him through fear of awakening the ire of slaveholders against him, as he knew that the law and public sentiment were alike deadly opposed to the spirit of freedom in the slave. Indeed, as innocent as a step in this direction might appear, in those days a man would have stood about as good a chance for his life in entering a lair of hungry hyenas, as a slave or free colored man would, in talking about freedom. He concluded, therefore, to say nothing about buying. The plan proposed by Seth Concklin was told to Vina, his wife; also what he had heard from his brother about the Underground Rail Road,--how, that many who could not get their freedom in any other way, by being aided a little, were daily escaping to Canada. Although the wife and children had never tasted the pleasures of freedom for a single hour in their lives, they hated slavery heartily, and being about to be far separated from husband and father, they were ready to assent to any proposition that looked like deliverance. So Peter proposed to Vina, that she should give him certain small articles, consisting of a cape, etc., which he would carry with him as memorials, and, in case Concklin or any one else should ever come for her from him, as an unmistakable sign that all was right, he would send back, by whoever was to befriend them, the cape, so that she and the children might not doubt but have faith in the man, when he gave her the sign, (cape). Again Peter returned to Philadelphia, and was now willing to accept the offer of Concklin. Ere long, the opportunity of an interview was had, and Peter gave Seth a very full description of the country and of his family, and made known to him, that he had very carefully gone over with his wife and children the matter of their freedom. This interview interested Concklin most deeply. If his own wife and children had been in bondage, scarcely could he have manifested greater sympathy for them. For the hazardous work before him he was at once prepared to make a start. True he had two sisters in Philadelphia for whom he had always cherished the warmest affection, but he conferred not with them on this momentous mission. For full well did he know that it was not in human nature for them to acquiesce in this perilous undertaking, though one of these sisters, Mrs. Supplee, was a most faithful abolitionist. Having once laid his hand to the plough he was not the man to look back,--not even to bid his sisters good-bye, but he actually left them as though he expected to be home to his dinner as usual. What had become of him during those many weeks of his perilous labors in Alabama to rescue this family was to none a greater mystery than to his sisters. On leaving home he simply took two or three small articles in the way of apparel with one hundred dollars to defray his expenses for a time; this sum he considered ample to start with. Of course he had very safely concealed about him Vina's cape and one or two other articles which he was to use for his identification in meeting her and the children on the plantation. His first thought was, on reaching his destination, after becoming acquainted with the family, being familiar with Southern manners, to have them all prepared at a given hour for the starting of the steamboat for Cincinnati, and to join him at the wharf, when he would boldly assume the part of a slaveholder, and the family naturally that of slaves, and in this way he hoped to reach Cincinnati direct, before their owner had fairly discovered their escape. But alas for Southern irregularity, two or three days' delay after being advertised to start, was no uncommon circumstance with steamers; hence this plan was abandoned. What this heroic man endured from severe struggles and unyielding exertions, in traveling thousands of miles on water and on foot, hungry and fatigued, rowing his living freight for seven days and seven nights in a skiff, is hardly to be paralleled in the annals of the Underground Rail Road. The following interesting letters penned by the hand of Concklin convey minutely his last struggles and characteristically represent the singleness of heart which impelled him to sacrifice his life for the slave-- EASTPORT, MISS., FEB. 3, 1851. To Wm. Still:--Our friends in Cincinnati have failed finding anybody to assist me on my return. Searching the country opposite Paducah, I find that the whole country fifty miles round is inhabited only by Christian wolves. It is customary, when a strange negro is seen, for any white man to seize the negro and convey such negro through and out of the State of Illinois to Paducah, Ky., and lodge such stranger in Paducah jail, and there claim such reward as may be offered by the master. There is no regularity by the steamboats on the Tennessee River. I was four days getting to Florence from Paducah. Sometimes they are four days starting, from the time appointed, which alone puts to rest the plan for returning by steamboat. The distance from the mouth of the river to Florence, is from between three hundred and five to three hundred and forty-five miles by the river; by land, two hundred and fifty, or more. I arrived at the shoe shop on the plantation, one o'clock, Tuesday, 28th. William and two boys were making shoes. I immediately gave the first signal, anxiously waiting thirty minutes for an opportunity to give the second and main signal, during which time I was very sociable. It was rainy and muddy--my pants were rolled up to the knees. I was in the character of a man seeking employment in this country. End of thirty minutes gave the second signal. William appeared unmoved; soon sent out the boys; instantly sociable; Peter and Levin at the Island; one of the young masters with them; not safe to undertake to see them till Saturday night, when they would be at home; appointed a place to see Vina, in an open field, that night; they to bring me something to eat; our interview only four minutes; I left; appeared by night; dark and cloudy; at ten o'clock appeared William; exchanged signals; led me a few rods to where stood Vina; gave her the signal sent by Peter; our interview ten minutes; she did not call me "master," nor did she say "sir," by which I knew she had confidence in me. Our situation being dangerous, we decided that I meet Peter and Levin on the bank of the river early dawn of day, Sunday, to establish the laws. During our interview, William prostrated on his knees, and face to the ground; arms sprawling; head cocked back, watching for wolves, by which position a man can see better in the dark. No house to go to safely, traveled round till morning, eating hoe cake which William had given me for supper; next day going around to get employment. I thought of William, who is a Christian preacher, and of the Christian preachers in Pennsylvania. One watching for wolves by night, to rescue Vina and her three children from Christian licentiousness; the other standing erect in open day, seeking the praise of men. During the four days waiting for the important Sunday morning, I thoroughly surveyed the rocks and shoals of the river from Florence seven miles up, where will be my place of departure. General notice was taken of me as being a stranger, lurking around. Fortunately there are several small grist mills within ten miles around. No taverns here, as in the North; any planter's house entertains travelers occasionally. One night I stayed at a medical gentleman's, who is not a large planter; another night at an ex-magistrate's house in South Florence--a Virginian by birth--one of the late census takers; told me that many more persons cannot read and write than is reported; one fact, amongst many others, that many persons who do not know the letters of the alphabet, have learned to write their own names; such are generally reported readers and writers. It being customary for a stranger not to leave the house early in the morning where he has lodged, I was under the necessity of staying out all night Saturday, to be able to meet Peter and Levin, which was accomplished in due time. When we approached, I gave my signal first; immediately they gave theirs. I talked freely. Levin's voice, at first, evidently trembled. No wonder, for my presence universally attracted attention by the lords of the land. Our interview was less than one hour; the laws were written. I to go to Cincinnati to get a rowing boat and provisions; a first class clipper boat to go with speed. To depart from the place where the laws were written, on Saturday night of the first of March. I to meet one of them at the same place Thursday night, previous to the fourth Saturday from the night previous to the Sunday when the laws were written. We to go down the Tennessee river to some place up the Ohio, not yet decided on, in our row boat. Peter and Levin are good oarsmen. So am I. Telegraph station at Tuscumbia, twelve miles from the plantation, also at Paducah. Came from Florence to here Sunday night by steamboat. Eastport is in Mississippi. Waiting here for a steamboat to go down; paying one dollar a day for board. Like other taverns here, the wretchedness is indescribable; no pen, ink, paper or newspaper to be had; only one room for everybody, except the gambling rooms. It is difficult for me to write. Vina intends to get a pass for Catharine and herself for the first Sunday in March. The bank of the river where I met Peter and Levin is two miles from the plantation. I have avoided saying I am from Philadelphia. Also avoided talking about negroes. I never talked so much about milling before. I consider most of the trouble over, till I arrive in a free State with my crew, the first week in March; then will I have to be wiser than Christian serpents, and more cautious than doves. I do not consider it safe to keep this letter in my possession, yet I dare not put it in the post-office here; there is so little business in these post-offices that notice might be taken. I am evidently watched; everybody knows me to be a miller. I may write again when I get to Cincinnati, if I should have time. The ex-magistrate, with whom I stayed in South Florence, held three hours' talk with me, exclusive of our morning talk. Is a man of good general information; he was exceedingly inquisitive. "I am from Cincinnati, formerly from the _State of New York_." I had no opportunity to get anything to eat from seven o'clock Tuesday morning till six o'clock Wednesday evening, except the hoe cake, and no sleep. Florence is the head of navigation for small steamboats. Seven miles, all the way up to my place of departure, is swift water, and rocky. Eight hundred miles to Cincinnati. I found all things here as Peter told me, except the distance of the river. South Florence contains twenty white families, three warehouses of considerable business, a post-office, but no school. McKiernon is here waiting for a steamboat to go to New Orleans, so we are in company. PRINCETON, GIBSON COUNTY, INDIANA, FEB. 18, 1851. To Wm. Still:--The plan is to go to Canada, on the Wabash, opposite Detroit. There are four routes to Canada. One through Illinois, commencing above and below Alton; one through to North Indiana, and the Cincinnati route, being the largest route in the United States. I intended to have gone through Pennsylvania, but the risk going up the Ohio river has caused me to go to Canada. Steamboat traveling is universally condemned, though many go in boats, consequently many get lost. Going in a skiff is new, and is approved of in my case. After I arrive at the mouth of the Tennessee river, I will go up the Ohio seventy-five miles, to the mouth of the Wabash, then up the Wabash, forty-four miles to New Harmony, where I shall go ashore by night, and go thirteen miles east, to Charles Grier, a farmer, (colored man), who will entertain us, and next night convey us sixteen miles to David Stormon, near Princeton, who will take the command, and I be released. David Stormon estimates the expenses from his house to Canada, at forty dollars, without which, no sure protection will be given. They might be instructed concerning the course, and beg their way through without money. If you wish to do what should be done, you will send me fifty dollars, in a letter, to Princeton, Gibson county, Inda., so as to arrive there by the 8th of March. Eight days should be estimated for a letter to arrive from Philadelphia. The money to be State Bank of Ohio, or State Bank, or Northern Bank of Kentucky, or any other Eastern bank. Send no notes larger than twenty dollars. Levi Coffin had no money for me. I paid twenty dollars for the skiff. No money to get back to Philadelphia. It was not understood that I would have to be at any expense seeking aid. One half of my time has been used in trying to find persons to assist, when I may arrive on the Ohio river, in which I have failed, except Stormon. Having no letter of introduction to Stormon from any source, on which I could fully rely, I traveled two hundred miles around, to find out his stability. I have found many Abolitionists, nearly all who have made propositions, which themselves would not comply with, and nobody else would. Already I have traveled over three thousand miles. Two thousand and four hundred by steamboat, two hundred by railroad, one hundred by stage, four hundred on foot, forty-eight in a skiff. I have yet five hundred miles to go to the plantation, to commence operations. I have been two weeks on the decks of steamboats, three nights out, two of which I got perfectly wet. If I had had paper money, as McKim desired, it would have been destroyed. I have not been entertained gratis at any place except Stormon's. I had one hundred and twenty-six dollars when I left Philadelphia, one hundred from you, twenty-six mine. Telegraphed to station at Evansville, thirty-three miles from Stormon's, and at Vinclure's, twenty-five miles from Stormon's. The Wabash route is considered the safest route. No one has ever been lost from Stormon's to Canada. Some have been lost between Stormon's and the Ohio. The wolves have never suspected Stormon. Your asking aid in money for a case properly belonging east of Ohio, is detested. If you have sent money to Cincinnati, you should recall it. I will have no opportunity to use it. Seth Concklin, Princeton, Gibson county, Ind. P.S. First of April, will be about the time Peter's family will arrive opposite Detroit. You should inform yourself how to find them there. I may have no opportunity. I will look promptly for your letter at Princeton, till the 10th of March, and longer if there should have been any delay by the mails. In March, as contemplated, Concklin arrived in Indiana, at the place designated, with Peter's wife and three children, and sent a thrilling letter to the writer, portraying in the most vivid light his adventurous flight from the hour they left Alabama until their arrival in Indiana. In this report he stated, that instead of starting early in the morning, owing to some unforeseen delay on the part of the family, they did not reach the designated place till towards day, which greatly exposed them in passing a certain town which he had hoped to avoid. But as his brave heart was bent on prosecuting his journey without further delay, he concluded to start at all hazards, notwithstanding the dangers he apprehended from passing said town by daylight. For safety he endeavored to hide his freight by having them all lie flat down on the bottom of the skiff; covered them with blankets, concealing them from the effulgent beams of the early morning sun, or rather from the "Christian Wolves" who might perchance espy him from the shore in passing the town. The wind blew fearfully. Concklin was rowing heroically when loud voices from the shore hailed him, but he was utterly deaf to the sound. Immediately one or two guns were fired in the direction of the skiff, but he heeded not this significant call; consequently here ended this difficulty. He supposed, as the wind was blowing so hard, those on shore who hailed him must have concluded that he did not hear them and that he meant no disrespect in treating them with seeming indifference. Whilst many straits and great dangers had to be passed, this was the greatest before reaching their destination. But suffice it to say that the glad tidings which this letter contained filled the breast of Peter with unutterable delight and his friends and relations with wonder beyond degree.[A] No fond wife had ever waited with more longing desire for the return of her husband than Peter had for this blessed news. All doubts had disappeared, and a well grounded hope was cherished that within a few short days Peter and his fond wife and children would be reunited in Freedom on the Canada side, and that Concklin and the friends would be rejoicing with joy unspeakable over this great triumph. But alas, before the few days had expired the subjoined brief paragraph of news was discovered in the morning Ledger. [Footnote A: In some unaccountable manner this the last letter Concklin ever penned, perhaps, has been unfortunately lost.] RUNAWAY NEGROES CAUGHT.--At Vincennes, Indiana, on Saturday last, a white man and four negroes were arrested. The negroes belong to B. McKiernon, of South Florence, Alabama, and the man who was running them off calls himself John H. Miller. The prisoners were taken charge of by the Marshall of Evansville.--_April 9th_. How suddenly these sad tidings turned into mourning and gloom the hope and joy of Peter and his relatives no pen could possibly describe; at least the writer will not attempt it here, but will at once introduce a witness who met the noble Concklin and the panting fugitives in Indiana and proffered them sympathy and advice. And it may safely be said from a truer and more devoted friend of the slave they could not have received counsel. EVANSVILLE, INDIANA, MARCH 31st, 1851. WM. STILL: _Dear Sir_ ,--On last Tuesday I mailed a letter to you, written by Seth Concklin. I presume you have received that letter. It gave an account of his rescue of the family of your brother. If that is the last news you have had from them, I have very painful intelligence for you. They passed on from near Princeton, where I saw them and had a lengthy interview with them, up north, I think twenty-three miles above Vincennes, Ind., where they were seized by a party of men, and lodged in jail. Telegraphic dispatches were sent all through the South. I have since learned that the Marshall of Evansville received a dispatch from Tuscumbia, to look out for them. By some means, he and the master, so says report, went to Vincennes and claimed the fugitives, chained Mr. Concklin and hurried all off. Mr. Concklin wrote to Mr. David Stormon, Princeton, as soon as he was cast into prison, to find bail. So soon as we got the letter and could get off, two of us were about setting off to render all possible aid, when we were told they all had passed, a few hours before, through Princeton, Mr. Concklin in chains. What kind of process was had, if any, I know not. I immediately came down to this place, and learned that they had been put on a boat at 3 P.M. I did not arrive until 6. Now all hopes of their recovery are gone. No case ever so enlisted my sympathies. I had seen Mr. Concklin in Cincinnati. I had given him aid and counsel. I happened to see them after they landed in Indiana. I heard Peter and Levin tell their tale of suffering, shed tears of sorrow for them all; but now, since they have fallen a prey to the unmerciful blood-hounds of this state, and have again been dragged back to unrelenting bondage, I am entirely unmanned. And poor Concklin! I fear for him. When he is dragged back to Alabama, I fear they will go far beyond the utmost rigor of the law, and vent their savage cruelty upon him. It is with pain I have to communicate these things. But you may not hear them from him. I could not get to see him or them, as Vincennes is about thirty miles from Princeton, where I was when I heard of the capture. I take pleasure in stating that, according to the letter he (Concklin) wrote to Mr. D. Stewart, Mr. Concklin did not abandon them, but risked his own liberty to save them. He was not with them when they were taken; but went afterwards to take them out of jail upon a writ of Habeas Corpus, when they seized him too and lodged him in prison. I write in much haste. If I can learn any more facts of importance, I may write you. If you desire to hear from me again, or if you should learn any thing specific from Mr. Concklin, be pleased to write me at Cincinnati, where I expect to be in a short time. If curious to know your correspondent, I may say I was formerly Editor of the "New Concord Free Press," Ohio. I only add that every case of this kind only tends to make me abhor my (no!) _this_ country more and more. It is the Devil's Government, and God will destroy it. Yours for the slave, N.R. JOHNSTON. P.S. I broke open this letter to write you some more. The foregoing pages were written at night. I expected to mail it next morning before leaving Evansville; but the boat for which I was waiting came down about three in the morning; so I had to hurry on board, bringing the letter along. As it now is I am not sorry, for coming down, on my way to St. Louis, as far as Paducah, there I learned from a colored man at the wharf that, that same day, in the morning, the master and the family of fugitives arrived off the boat, and had then gone on their journey to Tuscumbia, but that the "white man" (Mr. Concklin) had "got away from them," about twelve miles up the river. It seems he got off the boat some way, near or at Smithland, Ky., a town at the mouth of the Cumberland River. I presume the report is true, and hope he will finally escape, though I was also told that they were in pursuit of him. Would that the others had also escaped. Peter and Levin could have done so, I think, if they had had resolution. One of them rode a horse, he not tied either, behind the coach in which the others were. He followed apparently "contented and happy." From report, they told their master, and even their pursuers, before the master came, that Concklin had decoyed them away, they coming unwillingly. I write on a very unsteady boat. Yours, N.R. JOHNSTON. A report found its way into the papers to the effect that "Miller," the white man arrested in connection with the capture of the family, was found drowned, with his hands and feet in chains and his skull fractured. It proved, as his friends feared, to be Seth Concklin. And in irons, upon the river bank, there is no doubt he was buried. In this dreadful hour one sad duty still remained to be performed. Up to this moment the two sisters were totally ignorant of their brother's whereabouts. Not the first whisper of his death had reached them. But they must now be made acquainted with all the facts in the case. Accordingly an interview was arranged for a meeting, and the duty of conveying this painful intelligence to one of the sisters, Mrs. Supplee, devolved upon Mr. McKim. And most tenderly and considerately did he perform his mournful task. Although a woman of nerve, and a true friend to the slave, an earnest worker and a liberal giver in the Female Anti-Slavery Society, for a time she was overwhelmed by the intelligence of her brother's death. As soon as possible, however, through very great effort, she controlled her emotions, and calmly expressed herself as being fully resigned to the awful event. Not a word of complaint had she to make because she had not been apprised of his movements; but said repeatedly, that, had she known ever so much of his intentions, she would have been totally powerless in opposing him if she had felt so disposed, and as an illustration of the true character of the man, from his boyhood up to the day he died for his fellow-man, she related his eventful career, and recalled a number of instances of his heroic and daring deeds for others, sacrificing his time and often periling his life in the cause of those who he considered were suffering gross wrongs and oppression. Hence, she concluded, that it was only natural for him in this case to have taken the steps he did. Now and then overflowing tears would obstruct this deeply thrilling and most remarkable story she was telling of her brother, but her memory seemed quickened by the sadness of the occasion, and she was enabled to recall vividly the chief events connected with his past history. Thus his agency in this movement, which cost him his life, could readily enough be accounted for, and the individuals who listened attentively to the story were prepared to fully appreciate his character, for, prior to offering his services in this mission, he had been a stranger to them. The following extract, taken from a letter of a subsequent date, in addition to the above letter, throws still further light upon the heart-rending affair, and shows Mr. Johnston's deep sympathy with the sufferers and the oppressed generally-- EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM REV. N.R. JOHNSTON. My heart bleeds when I think of those poor, hunted and heart-broken fugitives, though a most interesting family, taken back to bondage ten-fold worse than Egyptian. And then poor Concklin! How my heart expanded in love to him, as he told me his adventures, his trials, his toils, his fears and his hopes! After hearing all, and then seeing and communing with the family, now joyful in hopes of soon seeing their husband and father in the land of freedom; now in terror lest the human blood-hounds should be at their heels, I felt as though I could lay down my life in the cause of the oppressed. In that hour or two of intercourse with Peter's family, my heart warmed with love to them. I never saw more interesting young men. They would make Remonds or Douglasses, if they had the same opportunities. While I was with them, I was elated with joy at their escape, and yet, when I heard their tale of woe, especially that of the mother, I could not suppress tears of deepest emotion. My joy was short-lived. Soon I heard of their capture. The telegraph had been the means of their being claimed. I could have torn down all the telegraph wires in the land. It was a strange dispensation of Providence. On Saturday the sad news of their capture came to my ears. We had resolved to go to their aid on Monday, as the trial was set for Thursday. On Sabbath, I spoke from Psalm xii. 5. "For the oppression of the poor, for the sighing of the needy, now will I arise," saith the Lord: "I will set him in safety from him that puffeth at (from them that would enslave) him." When on Monday morning I learned that the fugitives had passed through the place on Sabbath, and Concklin in chains, probably at the very time I was speaking on the subject referred to, my heart sank within me. And even yet, I cannot but exclaim, when I think of it--O, Father! how long ere Thou wilt arise to avenge the wrongs of the poor slave! Indeed, my dear brother, His ways are very mysterious. We have the consolation, however, to know that all is for the best. Our Redeemer does all things well. When He hung upon the cross, His poor broken hearted disciples could not understand the providence; it was a dark time to them; and yet that was an event that was fraught with more joy to the world than any that has occurred or could occur. Let us stand at our post and wait God's time. Let us have on the whole armor of God, and fight for the right, knowing, that though we may fall in battle, the victory will be ours, sooner or later. * * * * * May God lead you into all truth, and sustain you in your labors, and fulfill your prayers and hopes. Adieu. N.R. JOHNSTON. LETTERS FROM LEVI COFFIN. The following letters on the subject were received from the untiring and devoted friend of the slave, Levi Coffin, who for many years had occupied in Cincinnati a similar position to that of Thomas Garrett in Delaware, a sentinel and watchman commissioned of God to succor the fleeing bondman-- CINCINNATI, 4TH MO., 10TH, 1851. FRIEND WM. STILL:--We have sorrowful news from our friend Concklin, through the papers and otherwise. I received a letter a few days ago from a friend near Princeton, Ind., stating that Concklin and the four slaves are in prison in Vincennes, and that their trial would come on in a few days. He states that they rowed seven days and nights in the skiff, and got safe to Harmony, Ind., on the Wabash river, thence to Princeton, and were conveyed to Vincennes by friends, where they were taken. The papers state, that they were all given up to the Marshal of Evansville, Indiana. We have telegraphed to different points, to try to get some information concerning them, but failed. The last information is published in the _Times_ of yesterday, though quite incorrect in the particulars of the case. Inclosed is the slip containing it. I fear all is over in regard to the freedom of the slaves. If the last account be true, we have some hope that Concklin will escape from those bloody tyrants. I cannot describe my feelings on hearing this sad intelligence. I feel ashamed to own my country. Oh! what shall I say. Surely a God of justice will avenge the wrongs of the oppressed. Thine for the poor slave, LEVI COFFIN. N.B.--If thou hast any information, please write me forthwith. CINCINNATI, 5TH MO., 11TH, 1851. WM. STILL:--_Dear Friend_--Thy letter of 1st inst., came duly to hand, but not being able to give any further information concerning our friend, Concklin, I thought best to wait a little before I wrote, still hoping to learn something more definite concerning him. We that became acquainted with Seth Concklin and his hazardous enterprises (here at Cincinnati), who were very few, have felt intense and inexpressible anxiety about them. And particularly about poor Seth, since we heard of his falling into the hands of the tyrants. I fear that he has fallen a victim to their inhuman thirst for blood. I seriously doubt the rumor, that he had made his escape. I fear that he was sacrificed. Language would fail to express my feelings; the intense and deep anxiety I felt about them for weeks before I heard of their capture in Indiana, and then it seemed too much to bear. O! my heart almost bleeds when I think of it. The hopes of the dear family all blasted by the wretched blood-hounds in human shape. And poor Seth, after all his toil, and dangerous, shrewd and wise management, and almost unheard of adventures, the many narrow and almost miraculous escapes. Then to be given up to Indianians, to these fiendish tyrants, to be sacrificed. O! Shame, Shame!! My heart aches, my eyes fill with tears, I cannot write more. I cannot dwell longer on this painful subject now. If you get any intelligence, please inform me. Friend N.R. Johnston, who took so much interest in them, and saw them just before they were taken, has just returned to the city. He is a minister of the Covenanter order. He is truly a lovely man, and his heart is full of the milk of humanity; one of our best Anti-Slavery spirits. I spent last evening with him. He related the whole story to me as he had it from friend Concklin and the mother and children, and then the story of their capture. We wept together. He found thy letter when he got here. He said he would write the whole history to thee in a few days, as far as he could. He can tell it much better than I can. Concklin left his carpet sack and clothes here with me, except a shirt or two he took with him. What shall I do with them? For if we do not hear from him soon, we must conclude that he is lost, and the report of his escape all a hoax. Truly thy friend, LEVI COFFIN. Stunning and discouraging as this horrible ending was to all concerned, and serious as the matter looked in the eyes of Peter's friends with regard to Peter's family, he could not for a moment abandon the idea of rescuing them from the jaws of the destroyer. But most formidable difficulties stood in the way of opening correspondence with reliable persons in Alabama. Indeed it seemed impossible to find a merchant, lawyer, doctor, planter or minister, who was not too completely interlinked with slavery to be relied upon to manage a negotiation of this nature. Whilst waiting and hoping for something favorable to turn up, the subjoined letter from the owner of Peter's family was received and is here inserted precisely as it was written, spelled and punctuated-- McKIERNON'S LETTER. SOUTH FLORENCE ALA 6 Augest 1851 Mr WILLIAM STILL _No 31 North Fifth street Philadelphia_ Sir a few days sinc mr Lewis Tharenton of Tuscumbia Ala shewed me a letter dated 6 June 51 from Cincinnati signd samuel Lewis in behalf of a Negro man by the name of peter Gist who informed the writer of the Letter that you ware his brother and wished an answer to be directed to you as he peter would be in philadelphi. the object of the letter was to purchis from me 4 Negros that is peters wife & 3 children 2 sons & 1 Girl the Name of said Negres are the woman Viney the (mother) Eldest son peter 21 or 2 years old second son Leven 19 or 20 years 1 Girl about 13 or 14 years old. the Husband & Father of these people once Belonged to a relation of mine by the name of Gist now Decest & some few years since he peter was sold to a man by the Name of Freedman who removed to cincinnati ohio & Tuck peter with him of course peter became free by the volentary act of the master some time last march a white man by the name of Miller apperd in the nabourhood & abducted the bove negroes was caut at vincanes Indi with said negroes & was thare convicted of steling & remanded back to Ala to Abide the penalty of the law & on his return met his Just reward by Getting drownded at the mouth of cumberland River on the ohio in attempting to make his escape I recovered & Braught Back said 4 negroes or as You would say coulard people under the Belief that peter the Husband was accessory to the offence thareby putting me to much Expense & Truble to the amt $1000 which if he gets them he or his Friends must refund these 4 negroes are worth in the market about 4000 for thea are Extraordinary fine & likely & but for the fact of Elopement I would not take 8000 Dollars for them but as the thing now stands you can say to peter & his new discovered Relations in Philadelphia I will take 5000 for the 4 culerd people & if this will suite him & he can raise the money I will delever to him or his agent at paduca at mouth of Tennessee river said negroes but the money must be Deposeted in the Hands of some respectabl person at paduca before I remove the property it wold not be safe for peter to come to this countery write me a line on recpt of this & let me Know peters views on the above I am Yours &c B. McKIERNON N B say to peter to write & let me Know his viewes amediately as I am determined to act in a way if he don't take this offer he will never have an other oppertunity B McKIERNON WM. STILL'S ANSWER. PHILADELPHIA, Aug. 16th, 1851. To B. McKIERNON, ESQ.: _Sir_--I have received your letter from South Florence, Ala., under date of the 6th inst. To say that it took me by surprise, as well as afforded me pleasure, for which I feel to be very much indebted to you, is no more than true. In regard to your informants of myself--Mr. Thornton, of Ala., and Mr. Samuel Lewis, of Cincinnati--to them both I am a stranger. However, I am the brother of Peter, referred to, and with the fact of his having a wife and three children in your service I am also familiar. This brother, Peter, I have only had the pleasure of knowing for the brief space of one year and thirteen days, although he is now past forty and I twenty-nine years of age. Time will not allow me at present, or I should give you a detailed account of how Peter became a slave, the forty long years which intervened between the time he was kidnapped, when a boy, being only six years of age, and his arrival in this city, from Alabama, one year and fourteen days ago, when he was re-united to his mother, five brothers and three sisters. None but a father's heart can fathom the anguish and sorrows felt by Peter during the many vicissitudes through which he has passed. He looked back to his boyhood and saw himself snatched from the tender embraces of his parents and home to be made a slave for life. During all his prime days he was in the faithful and constant service of those who had no just claim upon him. In the meanwhile he married a wife, who bore him eleven children, the greater part of whom were emancipated from the troubles of life by death, and three only survived. To them and his wife he was devoted. Indeed I have never seen attachment between parents and children, or husband and wife, more entire than was manifested in the case of Peter. Through these many years of servitude, Peter was sold and resold, from one State to another, from one owner to another, till he reached the forty-ninth year of his age, when, in a good Providence, through the kindness of a friend and the sweat of his brow, he regained the God-given blessings of liberty. He eagerly sought his parents and home with all possible speed and pains, when, to his heart's joy, he found his relatives. Your present humble correspondent is the youngest of Peter's brothers, and the first one of the family he saw after arriving in this part of the country. I think you could not fail to be interested in hearing how we became known to each other, and the proof of our being brothers, etc., all of which I should be most glad to relate, but time will not permit me to do so. The news of this wonderful occurrence, of Peter finding his kindred, was published quite extensively, shortly afterwards, in various newspapers, in this quarter, which may account for the fact of "Miller's" knowledge of the whereabouts of the "fugitives." Let me say, it is my firm conviction that no one had any hand in persuading "Miller" to go down from Cincinnati, or any other place, after the family. As glad as I should be, and as much as I would do for the liberation of Peter's family (now no longer young), and his three "likely" children, in whom he prides himself--how much, if you are a father, you can imagine; yet I would not, and could not, think of persuading any friend to peril his life, as would be the case, in an errand of that kind. As regards the price fixed upon by you for the family, I must say I do not think it possible to raise half that amount, though Peter authorized me to say he would give you twenty-five hundred for them. Probably he is not as well aware as I am, how difficult it is to raise so large a sum of money from the public. The applications for such objects are so frequent among us in the North, and have always been so liberally met, that it is no wonder if many get tired of being called upon. To be sure some of us brothers own some property, but no great amount; certainly not enough to enable us to bear so great a burden. Mother owns a small farm in New Jersey, on which she has lived for nearly forty years, from which she derives her support in her old age. This small farm contains between forty and fifty acres, and is the fruit of my father's toil. Two of my brothers own small places also, but they have young families, and consequently consume nearly as much as they make, with the exception of adding some improvements to their places. For my own part, I am employed as a clerk for a living, but my salary is quite too limited to enable me to contribute any great amount towards so large a sum as is demanded. Thus you see how we are situated financially. We have plenty of friends, but little money. Now, sir, allow me to make an appeal to your humanity, although we are aware of your power to hold as property those poor slaves, mother, daughter and two sons,--that in no part of the United States could they escape and be secure from your claim--nevertheless, would your understanding, your heart, or your conscience reprove you, should you restore to them, without price, that dear freedom, which is theirs by right of nature, or would you not feel a satisfaction in so doing which all the wealth of the world could not equal? At all events, could you not so reduce the price as to place it in the power of Peter's relatives and friends to raise the means for their purchase? At first, I doubt not, but that you will think my appeal very unreasonable; but, sir, serious reflection will decide, whether the money demanded by you, after all, will be of as great a benefit to you, as the satisfaction you would find in bestowing so great a favor upon those whose entire happiness in this life depends mainly upon your decision in the matter. If the entire family cannot be purchased or freed, what can Vina and her daughter be purchased for? Hoping, sir, to hear from you, at your earliest convenience, I subscribe myself, Your obedient servant, WM. STILL. To B. McKiernon, Esq. No reply to this letter was ever received from McKiernon. The cause of his reticence can be as well conjectured by the reader as the writer. Time will not admit of further details kindred to this narrative. The life, struggles, and success of Peter and his family were ably brought before the public in the "Kidnapped and the Ransomed," being the personal recollections of Peter Still and his wife "Vina," after forty years of slavery, by Mrs. Kate E.R. Pickard; with an introduction by Rev. Samuel J. May, and an appendix by William H. Furness, D.D., in 1856. But, of course it was not prudent or safe, in the days of Slavery, to publish such facts as are now brought to light; all such had to be kept concealed in the breasts of the fugitives and their friends. [Illustration: PETER STILL ] [Illustration: CHARITY STILL ] The following brief sketch, touching the separation of Peter and his mother, will fitly illustrate this point, and at the same time explain certain mysteries which have been hitherto kept hidden-- THE SEPARATION. With regard to Peter's separation from his mother, when a little boy, in few words, the facts were these: His parents, Levin and Sidney, were both slaves on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. "I will die before I submit to the yoke," was the declaration of his father to his young master before either was twenty-one years of age. Consequently he was allowed to buy himself at a very low figure, and he paid the required sum and obtained his "free papers" when quite a young man--the young wife and mother remaining in slavery under Saunders Griffin, as also her children, the latter having increased to the number of four, two little boys and two little girls. But to escape from chains, stripes, and bondage, she took her four little children and fled to a place near Greenwich, New Jersey. Not a great while, however, did she remain there in a state of freedom before the slave-hunters pursued her, and one night they pounced upon the whole family, and, without judge or jury, hurried them all back to slavery. Whether this was kidnapping or not is for the reader to decide for himself. Safe back in the hands of her owner, to prevent her from escaping a second time, every night for about three months she was cautiously "kept locked up in the garret," until, as they supposed, she was fully "cured of the desire to do so again." But she was incurable. She had been a witness to the fact that her own father's brains had been blown out by the discharge of a heavily loaded gun, deliberately aimed at his head by his drunken master. She only needed half a chance to make still greater struggles than ever for freedom. She had great faith in God, and found much solace in singing some of the good old Methodist tunes, by day and night. Her owner, observing this apparently tranquil state of mind, indicating that she "seemed better contented than ever," concluded that it was safe to let the garret door remain unlocked at night. Not many weeks were allowed to pass before she resolved to again make a bold strike for freedom. This time she had to leave the two little boys, Levin and Peter, behind. On the night she started she went to the bed where they were sleeping, kissed them, and, consigning them into the hands of God, bade her mother good-bye, and with her two little girls wended her way again to Burlington County, New Jersey, but to a different neighborhood from that where she had been seized. She changed her name to Charity, and succeeded in again joining her husband, but, alas, with the heart-breaking thought that she had been compelled to leave her two little boys in slavery and one of the little girls on the road for the father to go back after. Thus she began life in freedom anew. Levin and Peter, eight and six years of age respectively, were now left at the mercy of the enraged owner, and were soon hurried off to a Southern market and sold, while their mother, for whom they were daily weeping, was they knew not where. They were too young to know that they were slaves, or to understand the nature of the afflicting separation. Sixteen years before Peter's return, his older brother (Levin) died a slave in the State of Alabama, and was buried by his surviving brother, Peter. No idea other than that they had been "kidnapped" from their mother ever entered their minds; nor had they any knowledge of the State from whence they supposed they had been taken, the last names of their mother and father, or where they were born. On the other hand, the mother was aware that the safety of herself and her rescued children depended on keeping the whole transaction a strict family secret. During the forty years of separation, except two or three Quaker friends, including the devoted friend of the slave, Benjamin Lundy, it is doubtful whether any other individuals were let into the secret of her slave life. And when the account given of Peter's return, etc., was published in 1850, it led some of the family to apprehend serious danger from the partial revelation of the early condition of the mother, especially as it was about the time that the Fugitive Slave law was passed. Hence, the author of "The Kidnapped and the Ransomed" was compelled to omit these dangerous facts, and had to confine herself strictly to the "personal recollections of Peter Still" with regard to his being "kidnapped." Likewise, in the sketch of Seth Concklin's eventful life, written by Dr. W.H. Furness, for similar reasons he felt obliged to make but bare reference to his wonderful agency in relation to Peter's family, although he was fully aware of all the facts in the case. UNDERGROUND RAIL ROAD LETTERS. Here are introduced a few out of a very large number of interesting letters, designed for other parts of the book as occasion may require. All letters will be given precisely as they were written by their respective authors, so that there may be no apparent room for charging the writer with partial colorings in any instance. Indeed, the originals, however ungrammatically written or erroneously spelt, in their native simplicity possess such beauty and force as corrections and additions could not possibly enhance-- LETTER FROM THOMAS GARRETT (U.G.R.R. DEPOT). WILMINGTON, 3mo. 23d, 1856. DEAR FRIEND, WILLIAM STILL:--Since I wrote thee this morning informing thee of the safe arrival of the Eight from Norfolk, Harry Craige has informed me, that he has a man from Delaware that he proposes to take along, who arrived since noon. He will take the man, woman and two children from here with him, and the four men will get in at Marcus Hook. Thee may take Harry Craige by the hand as a brother, true to the cause; he is one of our most efficient aids on the Rail Road, and worthy of full confidence. May they all be favored to get on safe. The woman and three children are no common stock. I assure thee finer specimens of humanity are seldom met with. I hope herself and children may be enabled to find her husband, who has been absent some years, and the rest of their days be happy together. I am, as ever, thy friend, THOS. GARRETT. LETTER FROM MISS G.A. LEWIS (U.G.R.R. DEPOT). KIMBERTON, October 28th, 1855. ESTEEMED FRIEND;--This evening a company of eleven friends reached here, having left their homes on the night of the 26th inst. They came into Wilmington, about ten o'clock on the morning of the 27th, and left there, in the town, their two carriages, drawn by two horses. They went to Thomas Garrett's by open day-light and from thence were sent hastily onward for fear of pursuit. They reached Longwood meeting-house in the evening, at which place a Fair Circle had convened, and stayed a while in the meeting, then, after remaining all night with one of the Kennet friends, they were brought to Downingtown early in the morning, and from thence, by daylight, to within a short distance of this place. They come from New Chestertown, within five miles of the place from which the nine lately forwarded came, and left behind them a colored woman who knew of their intended flight and of their intention of passing through Wilmington and leaving their horses and carriages there. I have been thus particular in my statement, because the case seems to us one of unusual danger. We have separated the company for the present, sending a mother and five children, two of them quite small, in one direction, and a husband and wife and three lads in another, until I could write to you and get advice if you have any to give, as to the best method of forwarding them, and assistance pecuniarily, in getting them to Canada. The mother and children we have sent off of the usual route, and to a place where I do not think they can remain many days. We shall await hearing from you. H. Kimber will be in the city on third day, the 30th, and any thing left at 408 Green Street directed to his care, will meet with prompt attention. Please give me again the direction of Hiram Wilson and the friend in Elmira, Mr. Jones, I think. If you have heard from any of the nine since their safe arrival, please let us know when you write. Very Respectfully, G.A. LEWIS. _2d day morning, 29th_.--The person who took the husband and wife and three lads to E.F. Pennypecker, and Peart, has returned and reports that L. Peart sent three on to Norristown. We fear that there they will fall into the hands of an ignorant colored man Daniel Ross, and that he may not understand the necessity of caution. Will you please write to some careful person there? The woman and children detained in this neighborhood are a very helpless set. Our plan was to assist them as much as possible, and when we get things into the proper train for sending them on, to get the assistance of the husband and wife, who have no children, but are uncle and aunt to the woman with five, in taking with them one of the younger children, leaving fewer for the mother. Of the lads, or young men, there is also one whom we thought capable of accompanying one of the older girls--one to whom he is paying attention, they told us. Would it not be the best way to get those in Norristown under your own care? It seems to me their being sent on could then be better arranged. This, however, is only a suggestion, Hastily yours, G.A. LEWIS. LETTER FROM E.L. STEVENS, ESQ. _(The reader will interpret for himself_.) WASHINGTON, D.C., July 11th, 1858. MY DEAR SIR:--Susan Bell left here yesterday with the child of her relative, and since leaving I have thought, perhaps, you had not the address of the gentleman in Syracuse where the child is to be taken for medical treatment, etc. His name is Dr. H.B. Wilbur. A woman living with him is a most excellent nurse and will take a deep interest in the child, which, no doubt, will under Providence be the means of its complete restoration to health. Be kind enough to inform me whether Susan is with you, and if she is give her the proper direction. _Ten packages_ were sent to your address last evening, one of them belongs to Susan, and she had better remain with you till she gets it, as it may not have come to hand. Susan thought she would go to Harrisburg when she left here and stay over Sunday, if so, she would not get to Philadelphia till Monday or Tuesday. Please acknowledge the receipt of this, and inform me of her arrival, also when the packages came safe to hand, inform me especially if Susan's came safely. Truly Yours, E.L. STEVENS. LETTER FROM S.H. GAY, ESQ., EX-EDITOR OF THE ANTI-SLAVERY STANDARD AND NEW YORK TRIBUNE. FRIEND STILL:--The two women, Laura and Lizzy, arrived this morning. I shall forward them to Syracuse this afternoon. The two men came safely yesterday, but went to Gibbs'. He has friends on board the boat who are on the lookout for fugitives, and send them, when found, to his house. Those whom you wish to be particularly under my charge, must have careful directions to this office. There is now no other sure place, but the office, or Gibbs', that I could advise you to send such persons. Those to me, therefore, must come in office hours. In a few days, however, Napoleon will have a room down town, and at odd times they can be sent there. I am not willing to put any more with the family where I have hitherto sometimes sent them. When it is possible I wish you would advise me two days before a shipment of your intention, as Napoleon is not always on hand to look out for them at short notice. In special cases you might advise me by Telegraph, thus: "One M. (or one F.) this morning. W.S." By which I shall understand that one Male, or one Female, as the case may be, has left Phila. by the 6 _o'clock train_--one or more, also, as the case may be. Aug. 17th, 1855. Truly Yours, S.H. GAY. LETTER FROM JOHN H. HILL, A FUGITIVE, APPEALING IN BEHALF OF A POOR SLAVE IN PETERSBURG, VA. HAMILTON, Sept. 15th, 1856. DEAR FRIEND STILL:--I write to inform you that Miss Mary Wever arrived safe in this city. You may imagine the happiness manifested on the part of the two lovers, Mr. H. and Miss W. I think they will be married as soon as they can get ready. I presume Mrs. Hill will commence to make up the articles to-morrow. Kind Sir, as all of us is concerned about the welfare of our enslaved brethren at the South, particularly our friends, we appeal to your sympathy to do whatever is in your power to save poor Willis Johnson from the hands of his cruel master. It is not for me to tell you of his case, because Miss Wever has related the matter fully to you. All I wish to say is this, I wish you to write to my uncle, at Petersburg, by our friend, the Capt. Tell my uncle to go to Richmond and ask my mother whereabouts this man is. The best for him is to make his way to Petersburg; that is, if you can get the Capt. to bring him. He have not much money. But I hope the friends of humanity will not withhold their aid on the account of money. However we will raise all the money that is wanting to pay for his safe delivery. You will please communicate this to the friends as soon as possible. Yours truly, JOHN H. HILL. LETTER FROM J. BIGELOW, ESQ. WASHINGTON, D.C., June 22d, 1854. MR. WILLIAM STILL:--_Sir_--I have just received a letter from my friend, Wm. Wright, of York Sulphur Springs, Pa., in which he says, that by writing to you, I may get some information about the transportation of some _property_ from this neighborhood to your city or vicinity. A person who signs himself Wm. Penn, lately wrote to Mr. Wright, saying he would pay $300 to have this service performed. It is for the conveyance of _only one_ SMALL package; but it has been discovered since, that the removal cannot be so safely effected without taking _two larger_ packages with it. I understand that the _three_ are to be brought to this city and stored in safety, as soon as the forwarding merchant in Philadelphia shall say he is ready to send on. The storage, etc., here, will cost a trifle, but the $300 will be promptly paid for the whole service. I think Mr. Wright's daughter, Hannah, has also seen you. I am also known to Prof. C.D. Cleveland, of your city. If you answer this promptly, you will soon hear from Wm. Penn himself. Very truly yours, J. BIGELOW. LETTER FROM HAM & EGGS, SLAVE (U.G.R.R. AG'T). PETERSBURG, VA., Oct. 17th, 1860. MR. W. STILL:--_Dear Sir_--I am happy to think, that the time has come when we no doubt can open our correspondence with one another again. Also I am in hopes, that these few lines may find you and family well and in the enjoyment of good health, as it leaves me and family the same. I want you to know, that I feel as much determined to work in this glorious cause, as ever I did in all of my life, and I have some very good hams on hand that I would like very much for you to have. I have nothing of interest to write about just now, only that the politics of the day is in a high rage, and I don't know of the result, therefore, I want you to be one of those wide-a-wakes as is mentioned from your section of country now-a-days, &c. Also, if you wish to write to me, Mr. J. Brown will inform you how to direct a letter to me. No more at present, until I hear from you; but I want you to be a wide-a-wake. Yours in haste, HAM & EGGS. LETTER FROM REV H. WILSON (U.G.R.R. AG'T). ST. CATHARINE, C.W., July 2d, 1855. MY DEAR FRIEND, WM. STILL:--Mr. Elias Jasper and Miss Lucy Bell having arrived here safely on Saturday last, and found their "companions in tribulation," who had arrived before them, I am induced to write and let you know the fact. They are a cheerful, happy company, and very grateful for their freedom. I have done the best I could for their comfort, but they are about to proceed across the lake to Toronto, thinking they can do better there than here, which is not unlikely. They all remember you as their friend and benefactor, and return to you their sincere thanks. My means of support are so scanty, that I am obliged to write without paying postage, or not write at all. I hope you are not moneyless, as I am. In attending to the wants of numerous strangers, I am much of the time perplexed from lack of means; but send on as many as you can and I will divide with them to the last crumb. Yours truly, HIRAM WILSON. LETTER FROM SHERIDAN FORD, IN DISTRESS. BOSTON, MASS., Feb. 15th, 1855. No. 2, Change Avenue. MY DEAR FRIEND:--Allow me to take the liberty of addressing you and at the same time appearing troublesomes you all friend, but subject is so very important that i can not but ask not in my name but in the name of the Lord and humanity to do something for my Poor Wife and children who lays in Norfolk Jail and have Been there for three month i Would open myself in that frank and hones manner. Which should convince you of my cencerity of Purpoest don't shut your ears to the cry's of the Widow and the orphant & i can but ask in the name of humanity and God for he knows the heart of all men. Please ask the friends humanity to do something for her and her two lettle ones i cant do any thing Place as i am for i have to lay low Please lay this before the churches of Philadelphaise beg them in name of the Lord to do something for him i love my freedom and if it would do her and her two children any good i mean to change with her but cant be done for she is Jail and you most no she suffer for the jail in the South are not like yours for any thing is good enough for negros the Slave hunters Says & may God interpose in behalf of the demonstrative Race of Africa Whom i claim desendent i am sorry to say that friendship is only a name here but i truss it is not so in Philada i would not have taken this liberty had i not considered you a friend for you treaty as such Please do all you can and Please ask the Anti Slavery friends to do all they can and God will Reward them for it i am shure for the earth is the Lords and the fullness there of as this note leaves me not very well but hope when it comes to hand it may find you and family enjoying all the Pleasure life Please answer this and Pardon me if the necessary sum can be required i will find out from my brotherinlaw i am with respectful consideration. SHERIDAN W. FORD. Yesterday is the fust time i have heard from home Sence i left and i have not got any thing yet i have a tear yet for my fellow man and it is in my eyes now for God knows it is tha truth i sue for your Pity and all and may God open their hearts to Pity a poor Woman and two children. The Sum is i believe 14 hundred Dollars Please write to day for me and see if the cant do something for humanity. LETTER FROM E.F. PENNYPACKER (U.G.R.R. DEPOT). SCHUYLKILL, 11th mo., 7th day, 1857. WM. STILL:--_Respected Friend_--There are three colored friends at my house now, who will reach the city by the Phil. & Reading train this evening. Please meet them. Thine, &c., E.F. PENNYPACKER. We have within the past 2 mos. passed 43 through our hands, transported most of them to Norristown in our own conveyance. E.F.P. LETTER FROM JOS. C. BUSTILL (U.G.R.R. DEPOT). HARRISBURG, March 24, '56. FRIEND STILL:--I suppose ere this you have seen those five large and three small packages I sent by way of Reading, consisting of three men and women and children. They arrived here this morning at 8-1/2 o'clock and left twenty minutes past three. You will please send me any information likely to prove interesting in relation to them. Lately we have formed a Society here, called the Fugitive Aid Society. This is our first case, and I hope it will prove entirely successful. When you write, please inform me what signs or symbols you make use of in your despatches, and any other information in relation to operations of the Underground Rail Road. Our reason for sending by the Reading Road, was to gain time; it is expected the owners will be in town this afternoon, and by this Road we gained five hours' time, which is a matter of much importance, and we may have occasion to use it sometimes in future. In great haste, Yours with great respect, Jos. C. BUSTILL, LETTER FROM A SLAVE SECRETED IN RICHMOND. RICHMOND, VA, Oct. 18th, 1860. To MR. WILLIAM STILL:--_Dear Sir_--Please do me the favor as to write to my uncle a few lines in regard to the bundle that is for John H. Hill, who lives in Hamilton, C.W. Sir, if this should reach you, be assured that it comes from the same poor individual that you have heard of before; the person who was so unlucky, and deceived also. If you write, address your letter John M. Hill, care of Box No. 250. I am speaking of a person who lives in P.va. I hope, sir, you will understand this is from a poor individual. LETTER FROM G.S. NELSON (U.G.R.R. DEPOT). MR. STILL:--_My Dear Sir_--I suppose you are somewhat uneasy because the goods did not come safe to hand on Monday evening, as you expected--consigned from Harrisburg to you. The train only was from Harrisburg to Reading, and as it happened, the goods had to stay all night with us, and as some excitement exists here about goods of the kind, we thought it expedient and wise to detain them until we could hear from you. There are two small boxes and two large ones; we have them all secure; what had better be done? Let us know. Also, as we can learn, there are three more boxes still in Harrisburg. Answer your communication at Harrisburg. Also, fail not to answer this by the return of mail, as things are rather critical, and you will oblige us. G.S. NELSON. _Reading, May 27, '57_. We knew not that these goods were to come, consequently we were all taken by surprise. When you answer, use the word, goods. The reason of the excitement, is: some three weeks ago a big box was consigned to us by J. Bustill, of Harrisburg. We received it, and forwarded it on to J. Jones, Elmira, and the next day they were on the fresh hunt of said box; it got safe to Elmira, as I have had a letter from Jones, and all is safe. Yours, G.S.N. LETTER FROM JOHN THOMPSON. MR. STILL:--You will oblige me much Iff you will Direct this Letter to Vergenia for me to my Mother & iff it well sute you Beg her in my Letter to Direct hers to you & you Can send it to me iff it sute your Convenience. I am one of your Chattle. JOHN THOMPSON, Syracuse, Jeny 6th. Direction--Matilda Tate Care of Dudley M Pattee Worrenton Farkiear County Verginia. LETTER FROM JOHN THOMPSON, A FUGITIVE, TO HIS MOTHER. MY DEAR MOTHER:--I have imbrace an opportunity of writing you these few lines (hoping) that they may fine you as they Leave me quite well I will now inform you how I am geting I am now a free man Living By the sweet of my own Brow not serving a nother man & giving him all I Earn But what I make is mine and iff one Plase do not sute me I am at Liberty to Leave and go some where elce & can ashore you I think highly of Freedom and would not exchange it for nothing that is offered me for it I am waiting in a Hotel I supose you Remember when I was in Jail I told you the time would Be Better and you see that the time has come when I Leave you my heart was so full & yours But I new their was a Better Day a head, & I have Live to see it. I hird when I was on the Underground R. Road that the Hounds was on my Track but it was no go I new I was too far out of their Reach where they would never smell my track when I Leave you I was carred to Richmond & sold & From their I was taken to North Carolina & sold & I Ran a way & went Back to Virginna Between Richmond & home & their I was caught & Put in Jail & their I Remain till the oner come for me then I was taken & carred Back to Richmond then I was sold to the man who I now Leave he is nothing But a But of a Feller Remember me to your Husband & all in quirin Friends & say to Miss Rosa that I am as Free as she is & more happier I no I am getting $12 per month for what Little work I am Doing I hope to here from you a gain I your Son & ever By JOHN THOMPSON. LETTER FROM "WM. PENN" (OF THE BAR). WASHINGTON, D.C., Dec. 9th, 1856. DEAR SIR:--I was unavoidably prevented yesterday, from replying to yours of 6th instant, and although I have made inquiries, I am unable _to-day_, to answer your questions satisfactorily. Although I know some of the residents of Loudon county, and have often visited there, still I have not practiced much in the Courts of that county. There are several of my acquaintances here, who have lived in that county, and _possibly_, through my assistance, your commissions might be executed. If a better way shall not suggest itself to you, and you see fit to give me the _facts_ in the case, I can better judge of my ability to help you; _but I know not the man resident there, whom I would trust with an important suit_. I think it is now some four or five weeks since, that some packages left this vicinity, said to be from fifteen to twenty in number, and as I suppose, went through your hands. It was at a time of uncommon vigilance here, and to me it was a matter of extreme wonder, _how and through whom_, such a work was accomplished. Can you tell me? It is _needful_ that I should know! Not for curiosity merely, but for the good of others. An enclosed slip contains the _marks_ of one of the packages, which you will read and then _immediately burn_. If you can give me any light that will _benefit others_, I am sure you will do so. A traveler here, _very reliable_, and who knows his business, has determined not to leave home again till spring, at least not without extraordinary temptations. I think, however, he or others, might be tempted to travel in Virginia. Yours, WM. P. LETTER FROM MISS THEODOCIA GILBERT. SKANEATELES (GLEN HAVEN) CHUY., 1851. WILLIAM STILL:--_Dear Friend and Brother_--A thousand thanks for your good, generous letter! It was so kind of you to have in mind my intense interest and anxiety in the success and fate of poor Concklin! That he desired and intended to hazard an attempt of the kind, I well understood; but what particular one, or that he had actually embarked in the enterprise, I had not been able to learn. His memory will ever be among the sacredly cherished with me. He certainly displayed more real disinterestedness, more earnest, unassuming devotedness, than those who _claim_ to be the sincerest friends of the slave can often boast. What more _Saviour_-like than the _willing_ sacrifice he has rendered! Never shall I forget that night of our extremest peril (as we supposed), when he came and so heartily proffered his services at the hazard of his liberty, of life even, in behalf of William L. Chaplin. _Such_ generosity! at _such_ a moment! The emotions it awakened no words can bespeak! They are to be sought but in the inner chambers of one's own soul! He as earnestly devised the means, as calmly counted the cost, and as unshrinkingly turned him to the task, as if it were his own freedom he would have won. Through his homely features, and humble garb, the intrepidity of soul came out in all its lustre! Heroism, in its native majesty, _commanded_ one's admiration and love! Most truly can I enter into your sorrows, and painfully appreciate the pang of disappointment which must have followed this sad intelligence. But so inadequate are words to the consoling of such griefs, it were almost cruel to attempt to syllable one's sympathies. I cannot bear to believe, that Concklin has been actually murdered, and yet I hardly dare hope it is otherwise. And the poor slaves, for whom he periled so much, into what depths of hopelessness and woe are they again plunged! But the deeper and blacker for the loss of their dearly sought and new-found freedom. How long must wrongs like these go unredressed? "_How long, O God, how long_?" Very truly yours, THEODOCIA GILBERT. WILLIAM PEEL, ALIAS WILLIAM BOX PEEL JONES. ARRIVED PER ERRICSON LINE OF STEAMERS, WRAPPED IN STRAW AND BOXED UP, APRIL, 1859. William is twenty-five years of age, unmistakably colored, good-looking, rather under the medium size, and of pleasing manners. William had himself boxed up by a near relative and forwarded by the Erricson line of steamers. He gave the slip to Robert H. Carr, his owner (a grocer and commission merchant), after this wise, and for the following reasons: For some time previous his master had been selling off his slaves every now and then, the same as other groceries, and this admonished William that he was liable to be in the market any day; consequently, he preferred the box to the auction-block. He did not complain of having been treated very badly by Carr, but felt that no man was safe while owned by another. In fact, he "hated the very name of slaveholder." The limit of the box not admitting of straightening himself out he was taken with the cramp on the road, suffered indescribable misery, and had his faith taxed to the utmost,--indeed was brought to the very verge of "screaming aloud" ere relief came. However, he controlled himself, though only for a short season, for before a great while an excessive faintness came over him. Here nature became quite exhausted. He thought he must "die;" but his time had not yet come. After a severe struggle he revived, but only to encounter a third ordeal no less painful than the one through which he had just passed. Next a very "cold chill" came over him, which seemed almost to freeze the very blood in his veins and gave him intense agony, from which he only found relief on awaking, having actually fallen asleep in that condition. Finally, however, he arrived at Philadelphia, on a steamer, Sabbath morning. A devoted friend of his, expecting him, engaged a carriage and repaired to the wharf for the box. The bill of lading and the receipt he had with him, and likewise knew where the box was located on the boat. Although he well knew freight was not usually delivered on Sunday, yet his deep solicitude for the safety of his friend determined him to do all that lay in his power to rescue him from his perilous situation. Handing his bill of lading to the proper officer of the boat, he asked if he could get the freight that it called for. The officer looked at the bill and said, "No, we do not deliver freight on Sunday;" but, noticing the anxiety of the man, he asked him if he would know it if he were to see it. Slowly--fearing that too much interest manifested might excite suspicion--he replied: "I think I should." Deliberately looking around amongst all the "freight," he discovered the box, and said, "I think that is it there." Said officer stepped to it, looked at the directions on it, then at the bill of lading, and said, "That is right, take it along." Here the interest in these two bosoms was thrilling in the highest degree. But the size of the box was too large for the carriage, and the driver refused to take it. Nearly an hour and a half was spent in looking for a furniture car. Finally one was procured, and again the box was laid hold of by the occupant's particular friend, when, to his dread alarm, the poor fellow within gave a sudden cough. At this startling circumstance he dropped the box; equally as quick, although dreadfully frightened, and, as if helped by some invisible agency, he commenced singing, "Hush, my babe, lie still and slumber," with the most apparent indifference, at the same time slowly making his way from the box. Soon his fears subsided, and it was presumed that no one was any the wiser on account of the accident, or coughing. Thus, after summoning courage, he laid hold of the box a third time, and the Rubicon was passed. The car driver, totally ignorant of the contents of the box, drove to the number to which he was directed to take it--left it and went about his business. Now is a moment of intense interest--now of inexpressible delight. The box is opened, the straw removed, and the poor fellow is loosed; and is rejoicing, I will venture to say, as mortal never did rejoice, who had not been in similar peril. This particular friend was scarcely less overjoyed, however, and their joy did not abate for several hours; nor was it confined to themselves, for two invited members of the Vigilance Committee also partook of a full share. This box man was named Wm. Jones. He was boxed up in Baltimore by the friend who received him at the wharf, who did not come in the boat with him, but came in the cars and met him at the wharf. The trial in the box lasted just seventeen hours before victory was achieved. Jones was well cared for by the Vigilance Committee and sent on his way rejoicing, feeling that Resolution, Underground Rail Road, and Liberty were invaluable. On his way to Canada, he stopped at Albany, and the subjoined letter gives his view of things from that stand-point-- MR. STILL:--I take this opportunity of writing a few lines to you hoping that tha may find you in good health and femaly. i am well at present and doing well at present i am now in a store and getting sixteen dollars a month at the present. i feel very much o blige to you and your family for your kindnes to me while i was with you i have got a long without any trub le a tal. i am now in albany City. give my lov to mrs and mr miller and tel them i am very much a blige to them for there kind ns. give my lov to my Brother nore Jones tel him i should like to here from him very much and he must write. tel him to give my love to all of my perticnlar frends and tel them i should like to see them very much. tel him that he must come to see me for i want to see him for sum thing very perticler. please ansure this letter as soon as posabul and excuse me for not writting sooner as i don't write myself. no more at the present. WILLIAM JONES. derect to one hundred 125 lydus. stt His good friend returned to Baltimore the same day the box man started for the North, and immediately dispatched through the post the following brief letter, worded in Underground Rail Road parables: BALTIMO APRIL 16, 1859. W. STILL:--Dear brother i have taken the opportunity of writing you these few lines to inform you that i am well an hoping these few lines may find you enjoying the same good blessing please to write me word at what time was it when isreal went to Jerico i am very anxious to hear for thare is a mighty host will pass over and you and i my brother will sing hally luja i shall notify you when the great catastrophe shal take place No more at the present but remain your brother N.L.J. * * * * * WESLEY HARRIS,[A] ALIAS ROBERT JACKSON, AND THE MATTERSON BROTHERS. [Footnote A: Shot by slave-hunters.] In setting out for freedom, Wesley was the leader of this party. After two nights of fatiguing travel at a distance of about sixty miles from home, the young aspirants for liberty were betrayed, and in an attempt made to capture them a most bloody conflict ensued. Both fugitives and pursuers were the recipients of severe wounds from gun shots, and other weapons used in the contest. Wesley bravely used his fire arms until almost fatally wounded by one of the pursuers, who with a heavily loaded gun discharged the contents with deadly aim in his left arm, which raked the flesh from the bone for a space of about six inches in length. One of Wesley's companions also fought heroically and only yielded when badly wounded and quite overpowered. The two younger (brothers of C. Matterson) it seemed made no resistance. In order to recall the adventures of this struggle, and the success of Wesley Harris, it is only necessary to copy the report as then penned from the lips of this young hero, while on the Underground Rail Road, even then in a very critical state. Most fearful indeed was his condition when he was brought to the Vigilance Committee in this City. UNDERGROUND RAIL ROAD RECORD. _November 2d_, 1853.--Arrived: Robert Jackson (shot man), _alias_ Wesley Harris; age twenty-two years; dark color; medium height, and of slender stature. Robert was born in Martinsburg, Va., and was owned by Philip Pendleton. From a boy he had always been hired out. At the first of this year he commenced services with Mrs. Carroll, proprietress of the United States Hotel at Harper's Ferry. Of Mrs. Carroll he speaks in very grateful terms, saying that she was kind to him and all the servants, and promised them their freedom at her death. She excused herself for not giving them their freedom on the ground that her husband died insolvent, leaving her the responsibility of settling his debts. But while Mrs. Carroll was very kind to her servants, her manager was equally as cruel. About a month before Wesley left, the overseer, for some trifling cause, attempted to flog him, but was resisted, and himself flogged. This resistance of the slave was regarded by the overseer as an unpardonable offence; consequently he communicated the intelligence to his owner, which had the desired effect on his mind as appeared from his answer to the overseer, which was nothing less than instructions that if he should again attempt to correct Wesley and he should repel the wholesome treatment, the overseer was to put him in prison and sell him. Whether he offended again or not, the following Christmas he was to be sold without fail. Wesley's mistress was kind enough to apprise him of the intention of his owner and the overseer, and told him that if he could help himself he had better do so. So from that time Wesley began to contemplate how he should escape the doom which had been planned for him. "A friend," says he, "by the name of C. Matterson, told me that he was going off. Then I told him of my master's writing to Mrs. Carroll concerning selling, etc., and that I was going off too. We then concluded to go together. There were two others--brothers of Matterson--who were told of our plan to escape, and readily joined with us in the undertaking. So one Saturday night, at twelve o'clock, we set out for the North. After traveling upwards of two days and over sixty miles, we found ourselves unexpectedly in Terrytown, Md. There we were informed by a friendly colored man of the danger we were in and of the bad character of the place towards colored people, especially those who were escaping to freedom; and he advised us to hide as quickly as we could. We at once went to the woods and hid. Soon after we had secreted ourselves a man came near by and commenced splitting wood, or rails, which alarmed us. We then moved to another hiding-place in a thicket near a farmer's barn, where we were soon startled again by a dog approaching and barking at us. The attention of the owner of the dog was drawn to his barking and to where we were. The owner of the dog was a farmer. He asked us where we were going. We replied to Gettysburg--to visit some relatives, etc. He told us that we were running off. He then offered friendly advice, talked like a Quaker, and urged us to go with him to his barn for protection. After much persuasion, we consented to go with him. "Soon after putting us in his barn, himself and daughter prepared us a nice breakfast, which cheered our spirits, as we were hungry. For this kindness we paid him one dollar. He next told us to hide on the mow till eve, when he would safely direct us on our road to Gettysburg. All, very much fatigued from traveling, fell asleep, excepting myself; I could not sleep; I felt as if all was not right. "About noon men were heard talking around the barn. I woke my companions up and told them that that man had betrayed us. At first they did not believe me. In a moment afterwards the barn door was opened, and in came the men, eight in number. One of the men asked the owner of the barn if he had any long straw. 'Yes,' was the answer. So up on the mow came three of the men, when, to their great surprise, as they pretended, we were discovered. The question was then asked the owner of the barn by one of the men, if he harbored runaway negroes in his barn? He answered, 'No,' and pretended to be entirely ignorant of their being in his barn. One of the men replied that four negroes were on the mow, and he knew of it. The men then asked us where we were, going. We told them to Gettysburg, that we had aunts and a mother there. Also we spoke of a Mr. Houghman, a gentleman we happened to have some knowledge of, having seen him in Virginia. We were next asked for our passes. We told them that we hadn't any, that we had not been required to carry them where we came from. They then said that we would have to go before a magistrate, and if he allowed us to go on, well and good. The men all being armed and furnished with ropes, we were ordered to be tied. I told them if they took me they would have to take me dead or crippled. At that instant one of my friends cried out--'Where is the man that betrayed us?' Spying him at the same moment, he shot him (badly wounding him). Then the conflict fairly began. The constable seized me by the collar, or rather behind my shoulder. I at once shot him with my pistol, but in consequence of his throwing up his arm, which hit mine as I fired, the effect of the load of my pistol was much turned aside; his face, however, was badly burned, besides his shoulder being wounded. I again fired on the pursuers, but do not know whether I hit anybody or not. I then drew a sword, I had brought with me, and was about cutting my way to the door, when I was shot by one of the men, receiving the entire contents of one load of a double barreled gun in my left arm, that being the arm with which I was defending myself. The load brought me to the ground, and I was unable to make further struggle for myself. I was then badly beaten with guns, &c. In the meantime, my friend Craven, who was defending himself, was shot badly in the face, and most violently beaten until he was conquered and tied. The two young brothers of Craven stood still, without making the least resistance. After we were fairly captured, we were taken to Terrytown, which was in sight of where we were betrayed. By this time I had lost so much blood from my wounds, that they concluded my situation was too dangerous to admit of being taken further; so I was made a prisoner at a tavern, kept by a man named Fisher. There my wounds were dressed, and thirty-two shot were taken from my arm. For three days I was crazy, and they thought I would die. During the first two weeks, while I was a prisoner at the tavern, I raised a great deal of blood, and was considered in a very dangerous condition--so much so that persons desiring to see me were not permitted. Afterwards I began to get better, and was then kept privately--was strictly watched day and night. Occasionally, however, the cook, a colored woman (Mrs. Smith), would manage to get to see me. Also James Matthews succeeded in getting to see me; consequently, as my wounds healed, and my senses came to me, I began to plan how to make another effort to escape. I asked one of the friends, alluded to above, to get me a rope. He got it. I kept it about me four days in my pocket; in the meantime I procured three nails. On Friday night, October 14th, I fastened my nails in under the window sill; tied my rope to the nails, threw my shoes out of the window, put the rope in my mouth, then took hold of it with my well hand, clambered into the window, very weak, but I managed to let myself down to the ground. I was so weak, that I could scarcely walk, but I managed to hobble off to a place three quarters of a mile from the tavern, where a friend had fixed upon for me to go, if I succeeded in making my escape. There I was found by my friend, who kept me secure till Saturday eve, when a swift horse was furnished by James Rogers, and a colored man found to conduct me to Gettysburg. Instead of going direct to Gettysburg, we took a different road, in order to shun our pursuers, as the news of my escape had created general excitement. My three other companions, who were captured, were sent to Westminster jail, where they were kept three weeks, and afterwards sent to Baltimore and sold for twelve hundred dollars a piece, as I was informed while at the tavern in Terrytown." [Illustration: DESPERATE CONFLICT IN A BARN.] The Vigilance Committee procured good medical attention and afforded the fugitive time for recuperation, furnished him with clothing and a free ticket, and sent him on his way greatly improved in health, and strong in the faith that, "He who would be free, himself must strike the blow." His safe arrival in Canada, with his thanks, were duly announced. And some time after becoming naturalized, in one of his letters, he wrote that he was a brakesman on the Great Western R.R., (in Canada--promoted from the U.G.R.R.,) the result of being under the protection of the British Lion. * * * * * DEATH OF ROMULUS HALL--NEW NAME GEORGE WEEMS. In March, 1857, Abram Harris fled from John Henry Suthern, who lived near Benedict, Charles county, Md., where he was engaged in the farming business, and was the owner of about seventy head of slaves. He kept an overseer, and usually had flogging administered daily, on males and females, old and young. Abram becoming very sick of this treatment, resolved, about the first of March, to seek out the Underground Rail Road. But for his strong attachment to his wife (who was owned by Samuel Adams, but was "pretty well treated"), he never would have consented to suffer as he did. Here no hope of comfort for the future seemed to remain. So Abram consulted with a fellow-servant, by the name of Romulus Hall, alias George Weems, and being very warm friends, concluded to start together. Both had wives to "tear themselves from," and each was equally ignorant of the distance they had to travel, and the dangers and sufferings to be endured. But they "trusted in God" and kept the North Star in view. For nine days and nights, without a guide, they traveled at a very exhausting rate, especially as they had to go fasting for three days, and to endure very cold weather. Abram's companion, being about fifty years of age, felt obliged to succumb, both from hunger and cold, and had to be left on the way. Abram was a man of medium size, tall, dark chestnut color, and could read and write a little and was quite intelligent; "was a member of the Mount Zion Church," and occasionally officiated as an "exhorter," and really appeared to be a man of genuine faith in the Almighty, and equally as much in freedom. In substance, Abram gave the following information concerning his knowledge of affairs on the farm under his master-- "Master and mistress very frequently visited the Protestant Church, but were not members. Mistress was very bad. About three weeks before I left, the overseer, in a violent fit of bad temper, shot and badly wounded a young slave man by the name of Henry Waters, but no sooner than he got well enough he escaped, and had not been heard of up to the time Abram left. About three years before this happened, an overseer of my master was found shot dead on the road. At once some of the slaves were suspected, and were all taken to the Court House, at Serentown, St. Mary's county; but all came off clear. After this occurrence a new overseer, by the name of John Decket, was employed. Although his predecessor had been dead three years, Decket, nevertheless, concluded that it was not 'too late' to flog the secret out of some of the slaves. Accordingly, he selected a young slave man for his victim, and flogged him so cruelly that he could scarcely walk or stand, and to keep from being actually killed, the boy told an untruth, and confessed that he and his Uncle Henry killed Webster, the overseer; whereupon the poor fellow was sent to jail to be tried for his life." But Abram did not wait to hear the verdict. He reached the Committee safely in this city, in advance of his companion, and was furnished with a free ticket and other needed assistance, and was sent on his way rejoicing. After reaching his destination, he wrote back to know how his friend and companion (George) was getting along; but in less than three weeks after he had passed, the following brief story reveals the sad fate of poor _Romulus Hall_, who had journeyed with him till exhausted from hunger and badly frost-bitten. A few days after his younger companion had passed on North, Romulus was brought by a pitying stranger to the Vigilance Committee, in a most shocking condition. The frost had made sad havoc with his feet and legs, so much so that all sense of feeling had departed therefrom. [Illustration: DEATH OF ROMULUS HALL.] How he ever reached this city is a marvel. On his arrival medical attention and other necessary comforts were provided by the Committee, who hoped with himself, that he would be restored with the loss of his toes alone. For one week he seemed to be improving; at the expiration of this time, however, his symptoms changed, indicating not only the end of slavery, but also the end of all his earthly troubles. Lockjaw and mortification set in in the most malignant form, and for nearly thirty-six hours the unfortunate victim suffered in extreme agony, though not a murmur escaped him for having brought upon himself in seeking his liberty this painful infliction and death. It was wonderful to see how resignedly he endured his fate. Being anxious to get his testimony relative to his escape, etc., the Chairman of the Committee took his pencil and expressed to him his wishes in the matter. Amongst other questions, he was asked: "Do you regret having attempted to escape from slavery?" After a severe spasm he said, as his friend was about to turn to leave the room, hopeless of being gratified in his purpose: "Don't go; I have not answered your question. I am glad I escaped from slavery!" He then gave his name, and tried to tell the name of his master, but was so weak he could not be understood. At his bedside, day and night, Slavery looked more heinous than it had ever done before. Only think how this poor man, in an enlightened Christian land, for the bare hope of freedom, in a strange land amongst strangers, was obliged not only to bear the sacrifice of his wife and kindred, but also of his own life. Nothing ever appeared more sad than seeing him in a dying posture, and instead of reaching his much coveted destination in Canada, going to that "bourne whence no traveler returns." Of course it was expedient, even after his death, that only a few friends should follow him to his grave. Nevertheless, he was decently buried in the beautiful Lebanon Cemetery. In his purse was found one single five cent piece, his whole pecuniary dependence. This was the first instance of death on the Underground Rail Road in this region. The Committee were indebted to the medical services of the well-known friends of the fugitive, Drs. J.L. Griscom and H.T. Childs, whose faithful services were freely given; and likewise to Mrs. H.S. Duterte and Mrs. Williams, who generously performed the offices of charity and friendship at his burial. From his companion, who passed on Canada-ward without delay, we received a letter, from which, as an item of interest, we make the following extract: "I am enjoying good health, and hope when this reaches you, you may be enjoying the same blessing. Give my love to Mr. ----, and family, and tell them I am in a land of liberty! I am a man among men!" (The above was addressed to the deceased.) The subjoined letter, from Rev. L.D. Mansfield, expressed on behalf of Romulus' companion, his sad feelings on hearing of his friend's death. And here it may not be inappropriate to add, that clearly enough is it to be seen, that Rev. Mansfield was one of the rare order of ministers, who believed it right "to do unto others as one would be done by" in practice, not in theory merely, and who felt that they could no more be excused for "falling down," in obedience to the Fugitive Slave Law under President Fillmore, than could Daniel for worshiping the "golden image" under Nebuchadnezzar. AUBURN, NEW YORK, MAY 4TH, 1857. DEAR BR. STILL:--Henry Lemmon wishes me to write to you in reply to your kind letter, conveying the intelligence of the death of your fugitive guest, Geo. Weems. He was deeply affected at the intelligence, for he was most devotedly attached to him and had been for many years. Mr. Lemmon now expects his sister to come on, and wishes you to aid her in any way in your power--as he knows you will. He wishes you to send the coat and cap of Weems by his sister when she comes. And when you write out the history of Weems' escape, and it is published, that you would send him a copy of the papers. He has not been very successful in getting work yet. Mr. and Mrs. Harris left for Canada last week. The friends made them a purse of $15 or $20, and we hope they will do well. Mr. Lemmon sends his respects to you and Mrs. Still. Give my kind regards to her and accept also yourself, Yours very truly, L.D. MANSFIELD. * * * * * JAMES MERCER, WM. H. GILLIAM, AND JOHN CLAYTON. STOWED AWAY IN A HOT BERTH. This arrival came by Steamer. But they neither came in State-room nor as Cabin, Steerage, or Deck passengers. A certain space, not far from the boiler, where the heat and coal dust were almost intolerable,--the colored steward on the boat in answer to an appeal from these unhappy bondmen, could point to no other place for concealment but this. Nor was he at all certain that they could endure the intense heat of that place. It admitted of no other posture than lying flat down, wholly shut out from the light, and nearly in the same predicament in regard to the air. Here, however, was a chance of throwing off the yoke, even if it cost them their lives. They considered and resolved to try it at all hazards. Henry Box Brown's sufferings were nothing, compared to what these men submitted to during the entire journey. They reached the house of one of the Committee about three o'clock, A.M. All the way from the wharf the cold rain poured down in torrents and they got completely drenched, but their hearts were swelling with joy and gladness unutterable. From the thick coating of coal dust, and the effect of the rain added thereto, all traces of natural appearance were entirely obliterated, and they looked frightful in the extreme. But they had placed their lives in mortal peril for freedom. Every step of their critical journey was reviewed and commented on, with matchless natural eloquence,--how, when almost on the eve of suffocating in their warm berths, in order to catch a breath of air, they were compelled to crawl, one at a time, to a small aperture; but scarcely would one poor fellow pass three minutes being thus refreshed, ere the others would insist that he should "go back to his hole." Air was precious, but for the time being they valued their liberty at still greater price. After they had talked to their hearts' content, and after they had been thoroughly cleansed and changed in apparel, their physical appearance could be easily discerned, which made it less a wonder whence such outbursts of eloquence had emanated. They bore every mark of determined manhood. The date of this arrival was February 26, 1854, and the following description was then recorded-- Arrived, by Steamer Pennsylvania, James Mercer, William H. Gilliam and John Clayton, from Richmond. James was owned by the widow, Mrs. T.E. White. He is thirty-two years of age, of dark complexion, well made, good-looking, reads and writes, is very fluent in speech, and remarkably intelligent. From a boy, he had been hired out. The last place he had the honor to fill before escaping, was with Messrs. Williams and Brother, wholesale commission merchants. For his services in this store the widow had been drawing one hundred and twenty-five dollars per annum, clear of all expenses. He did not complain of bad treatment from his mistress, indeed, he spoke rather favorably of her. But he could not close his eyes to the fact, that at one time Mrs. White had been in possession of thirty head of slaves, although at the time he was counting the cost of escaping, two only remained--himself and William, (save a little boy) and on himself a mortgage for seven hundred and fifty dollars was then resting. He could, therefore, with his remarkably quick intellect, calculate about how long it would be before he reached the auction block. He had a wife but no child. She was owned by Mr. Henry W. Quarles. So out of that Sodom he felt he would have to escape, even at the cost of leaving his wife behind. Of course he felt hopeful that the way would open by which she could escape at a future time, and so it did, as will appear by and by. His aged mother he had to leave also. Wm. Henry Gilliam likewise belonged to the Widow White, and he had been hired to Messrs. White and Brother to drive their bread wagon. William was a baker by trade. For his services his mistress had received one hundred and thirty-five dollars per year. He thought his mistress quite as good, if not a little better than most slave-holders. But he had never felt persuaded to believe that she was good enough for him to remain a slave for her support. Indeed, he had made several unsuccessful attempts before this time to escape from slavery and its horrors. He was fully posted from A to Z, but in his own person he had been smart enough to escape most of the more brutal outrages. He knew how to read and write, and in readiness of speech and general natural ability was far above the average of slaves. He was twenty-five years of age, well made, of light complexion, and might be put down as a valuable piece of property. This loss fell with crushing weight upon the kind-hearted mistress, as will be seen in a letter subjoined which she wrote to the unfaithful William, some time after he had fled. LETTER FROM MRS. L.E. WHITE. RICHMOND, 16th, 1854. DEAR HENRY:--Your mother and myself received your letter; she is much distressed at your conduct; she is remaining just as you left her, she says, and she will never be reconciled to your conduct. I think Henry, you have acted most dishonorably; had you have made a confidant of me I would have been better off; and you as you are. I am badly situated, living with Mrs. Palmer, and having to put up with everything--your mother is also dissatisfied--I am miserably poor, do not get a cent of your hire or James', besides losing you both, but if you can _reconcile_ so do. By renting a cheap house, I might have lived, now it seems starvation is before me. Martha and the Doctor are living in Portsmouth, it is not in her power to do much for me. I know you will repent it. I heard six weeks before you went, that you were trying to persuade him off--but we all liked you, and I was unwilling to believe it--however, I leave it in God's hands He will know what to do. Your mother says that I must tell you servant Jones is _dead_ and old _Mrs. Galt_. Kit is well, but we are very uneasy, losing your and _James' hire_, I fear poor little fellow, that he will be obliged to go, as I am compelled to live, and it will be your fault. I am quite unwell, but of course, you don't care. Yours, L.E. WHITE. If you choose to come back you could. I would do a very good part by you, Toler and Cooke has none. This touching epistle was given by the disobedient William to a member of the Vigilant Committee, when on a visit to Canada, in 1855, and it was thought to be of too much value to be lost. It was put away with other valuable U.G.R.R. documents for future reference. Touching the "rascality" of William and James and the unfortunate predicament in which it placed the kind-hearted widow, Mrs. Louisa White, the following editorial clipped from the wide-awake Richmond Despatch, was also highly appreciated, and preserved as conclusive testimony to the successful working of the U.G.R.R. in the Old Dominion. It reads thus-- "RASCALITY SOMEWHERE.--We called attention yesterday to the advertisement of two negroes belonging to Mrs. Louisa White, by Toler & Cook, and in the call we expressed the opinion that they were still lurking about the city, preparatory to going off. Mr. Toler, we find, is of a different opinion. He believes that they have already cleared themselves--have escaped to a Free State, and we think it extremely probable that he is in the right. They were both of them uncommonly intelligent negroes. One of them, the one hired to Mr. White, was a tip-top baker. He had been all about the country, and had been in the habit of supplying the U.S. Pennsylvania with bread; Mr. W. having the contract. In his visits for this purpose, of course, he formed acquaintances with all sorts of sea-faring characters; and there is every reason to believe that he has been assisted to get off in that way, along with the other boy, hired to the Messrs. Williams. That the two acted in concert, can admit of no doubt. The question is now to find out how they got off. They must undoubtedly have had white men in the secret. Have we then a nest of Abolition scoundrels among us? There ought to be a law to put a police officer on board every vessel as soon as she lands at the wharf. There is one, we believe for inspecting vessels before they leave. If there is not there ought to be one. "These negroes belong to a widow lady and constitute all the property she has on earth. They have both been raised with the greatest indulgence. Had it been otherwise, they would never have had an opportunity to escape, as they have done. Their flight has left her penniless. Either of them would readily have sold for $1200; and Mr. Toler advised their owner to sell them at the commencement of the year, probably anticipating the very thing that has happened. She refused to do so, because she felt too much attachment to them. They have made a fine return, truly." No comment is necessary on the above editorial except simply to express the hope that the editor and his friends who seemed to be utterly befogged as to how these "uncommonly intelligent negroes" made their escape, will find the problem satisfactorily solved in this book. However, in order to do even-handed justice to all concerned, it seems but proper that William and James should be heard from, and hence a letter from each is here appended for what they are worth. True they were intended only for private use, but since the "True light" (Freedom) has come, all things may be made manifest. LETTER FROM WILLIAM HENRY GILLIAM. ST. CATHARINES, C.W., MAY 15th, 1854. My Dear Friend:--I receaved yours, Dated the 10th and the papers on the 13th, I also saw the pice that was in Miss Shadd's paper About me. I think Tolar is right About my being in A free State, I am and think A great del of it. Also I have no compassion on the penniless widow lady, I have Served her 25 yers 2 months, I think that is long Enough for me to live A Slave. Dear Sir, I am very sorry to hear of the Accadent that happened to our Friend Mr. Meakins, I have read the letter to all that lives in St. Catharines, that came from old Virginia, and then I Sented to Toronto to Mercer & Clayton to see, and to Farman to read fur themselves. Sir, you must write to me soon and let me know how Meakins gets on with his tryal, and you must pray for him, I have told all here to do the same for him. May God bless and protect him from prison, I have heard A great del of old Richmond and Norfolk. Dear Sir, if you see Mr. or Mrs. Gilbert Give my love to them and tell them to write to me, also give my respect to your Family and A part for yourself, love from the friends to you Soloman Brown, H. Atkins, Was. Johnson, Mrs. Brooks, Mr. Dykes. Mr. Smith is better at presant. And do not forget to write the News of Meakin's tryal. I cannot say any more at this time; but remain yours and A true Friend ontell Death. W.H. GILLIAM, the widow's Mite. "Our friend Minkins," in whose behalf William asks the united prayers of his friends, was one of the "scoundrels" who assisted him and his two companions to escape on the steamer. Being suspected of "rascality" in this direction, he was arrested and put in jail, but as no evidence could be found against him he was soon released. JAMES MERCER'S LETTER. TORONTO, MARCH 17th, 1854. My dear friend Still:--I take this method of informing you that I am well, and when this comes to hand it may find you and your family enjoying good health. Sir, my particular for writing is that I wish to hear from you, and to hear all the news from down South. I wish to know if all things are working Right for the Rest of my Brotheran whom in bondage. I will also Say that I am very much please with Toronto, So also the friends that came over with. It is true that we have not been Employed as yet; but we are in hopes of be'en so in a few days. We happen here in good time jest about time the people in this country are going work. I am in good health and good Spirits, and feeles Rejoiced in the Lord for my liberty. I Received cople of paper from you to-day. I wish you see James Morris whom or Abram George the first and second on the Ship Penn., give my respects to them, and ask James if he will call at Henry W. Quarles on May street oppisit the Jews synagogue and call for Marena Mercer, give my love to her ask her of all the times about Richmond, tell her to Send me all the news. Tell Mr. Morris that there will be no danger in going to that place. You will also tell M. to make himself known to her as she may know who sent him. And I wish to get a letter from you. JAMES M. MERCER. JOHN H. HILL'S LETTER. My friend, I would like to hear from you, I have been looking for a letter from you for Several days as the last was very interesting to me, please to write Right away. Yours most Respectfully, JOHN H. HILL. Instead of weeping over the sad situation of his "penniless" mistress and showing any signs of contrition for having wronged the man who held the mortgage of seven hundred and fifty dollars on him, James actually "feels rejoiced in the Lord for his liberty," and is "very much pleased with Toronto;" but is not satisfied yet, he is even concocting a plan by which his wife might be run off from Richmond, which would be the cause of her owner (Henry W. Quarles, Esq.) losing at least one thousand dollars, ST. CATHARINE, CANADA, JUNE 8th, 1854. MR. STILL, DEAR FRIEND:--I received a letter from the poor old widow, Mrs. L.E. White, and she says I may come back if I choose and she will do a good part by me. Yes, yes I am choosing the western side of the South for my home. She is smart, but cannot bung my eye, so she shall have to die in the poor house at last, so she says, and Mercer and myself will be the cause of it. That is all right. I am getting even with her now for I was in the poor house for twenty-five years and have just got out. And she said she knew I was coming away six weeks before I started, so you may know my chance was slim. But Mr. John Wright said I came off like a gentleman and he did not blame me for coming for I was a great boy. Yes I here him enough he is all gas. I am in Canada, and they cannot help themselves. About that subject I will not say anything more. You must write to me as soon as you can and let me here the news and how the Family is and yourself. Let me know how the times is with the U.G.R.R. Co. Is it doing good business? Mr. Dykes sends his respects to you. Give mine to your family. Your true friend, W.H. GILLIAM. John Clayton, the companion in tribulation of William and James, must not be lost sight of any longer. He was owned by the Widow Clayton, and was white enough to have been nearly related to her, being a mulatto. He was about thirty-five years of age, a man of fine appearance, and quite intelligent. Several years previous he had made an attempt to escape, but failed. Prior to escaping in this instance, he had been laboring in a tobacco factory at $150 a year. It is needless to say that he did not approve of the "peculiar institution." He left a wife and one child behind to mourn after him. Of his views of Canada and Freedom, the following frank and sensible letter, penned shortly after his arrival, speaks for itself-- TORONTO, March 6th, 1854. DEAR MR. STILL:--I take this method of informing you that I am well both in health and mind. You may rest assured that I fells myself a free man and do not fell as I did when I was in Virginia thanks be to God I have no master into Canada but I am my own man. I arrived safe into Canada on friday last. I must request of you to write a few lines to my wife and jest state to her that her friend arrived safe into this glorious land of liberty and I am well and she will make very short her time in Virginia. tell her that I likes here very well and hopes to like it better when I gets to work I don't meane for you to write the same words that are written above but I wish you give her a clear understanding where I am and Shall Remain here untel She comes or I hears from her. Nothing more at present but remain yours most respectfully, JOHN CLAYTON. You will please to direct the to Petersburg Luenena Johns or Clayton John is best. CLARISSA DAVIS. ARRIVED DRESSED IN MALE ATTIRE. Clarissa fled from Portsmouth, Va., in May, 1854, with two of her brothers. Two months and a half before she succeeded in getting off, Clarissa had made a desperate effort, but failed. The brothers succeeded, but she was left. She had not given up all hope of escape, however, and therefore sought "a safe hiding-place until an opportunity might offer," by which she could follow her brothers on the U.G.R.R. Clarissa was owned by Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Burkley, of Portsmouth, under whom she had always served. Of them she spoke favorably, saying that she "had not been used as hard as many others were." At this period, Clarissa was about twenty-two years of age, of a bright brown complexion, with handsome features, exceedingly respectful and modest, and possessed all the characteristics of a well-bred young lady. For one so little acquainted with books as she was, the correctness of her speech was perfectly astonishing. For Clarissa and her two brothers a "reward of one thousand dollars" was kept standing in the papers for a length of time, as these (articles) were considered very rare and valuable; the best that could be produced in Virginia. In the meanwhile the brothers had passed safely on to New Bedford, but Clarissa remained secluded, "waiting for the storm to subside." Keeping up courage day by day, for seventy-five days, with the fear of being detected and severely punished, and then sold, after all her hopes and struggles, required the faith of a martyr. Time after time, when she hoped to succeed in making her escape, ill luck seemed to disappoint her, and nothing but intense suffering appeared to be in store. Like many others, under the crushing weight of oppression, she thought she "should have to die" ere she tasted liberty. In this state of mind, one day, word was conveyed to her that the steamship, City of Richmond, had arrived from Philadelphia, and that the steward on board (with whom she was acquainted), had consented to secrete her this trip, if she could manage to reach the ship safely, which was to start the next day. This news to Clarissa was both cheering and painful. She had been "praying all the time while waiting," but now she felt "that if it would only rain right hard the next morning about three o'clock, to drive the police officers off the street, then she could safely make her way to the boat." Therefore she prayed anxiously all that day that it would rain, "but no sign of rain appeared till towards midnight." The prospect looked horribly discouraging; but she prayed on, and at the appointed hour (three o'clock--before day), the rain descended in torrents. Dressed in male attire, Clarissa left the miserable coop where she had been almost without light or air for two and a half months, and unmolested, reached the boat safely, and was secreted in a box by Wm. Bagnal, a clever young man who sincerely sympathized with the slave, having a wife in slavery himself; and by him she was safely delivered into the hands of the Vigilance Committee. Clarissa Davis here, by advice of the Committee, dropped her old name, and was straightway christened "Mary D. Armstead." Desiring to join her brothers and sister in New Bedford, she was duly furnished with her U.G.R.R. passport and directed thitherward. Her father, who was left behind when she got off, soon after made his way on North, and joined his children. He was too old and infirm probably to be worth anything, and had been allowed to go free, or to purchase himself for a mere nominal sum. Slaveholders would, on some such occasions, show wonderful liberality in letting their old slaves go free, when they could work no more. After reaching New Bedford, Clarissa manifested her gratitude in writing to her friends in Philadelphia repeatedly, and evinced a very lively interest in the U.G.R.R. The appended letter indicates her sincere feelings of gratitude and deep interest in the cause-- NEW BEDFORD, August 26, 1855. MR. STILL:--I avail my self to write you thes few lines hopeing they may find you and your family well as they leaves me very well and all the family well except my father he seams to be improveing with his shoulder he has been able to work a little I received the papers I was highly delighted to receive them I was very glad to hear from you in the wheler case I was very glad to hear that the persons ware safe I was very sory to hear that mr Williamson was put in prison but I know if the praying part of the people will pray for him and if he will put his trust in the lord he will bring him out more than conquer please remember my Dear old farther and sisters and brothers to your family kiss the children for me I hear that the yellow fever is very bad down south now if the underground railroad could have free course the emergrant would cross the river of gordan rapidly I hope it may continue to run and I hope the wheels of the car may be greesed with more substantial greese so they may run over swiftly I would have wrote before but circumstances would not permit me Miss Sanders and all the friends desired to be remembered to you and your family I shall be pleased to hear from the underground rail road often. Yours respectfully, MARY D. ARMSTEAD. * * * * * ANTHONY BLOW, ALIAS HENRY LEVISON. SECRETED TEN MONTHS BEFORE STARTING--EIGHT DAYS STOWED AWAY ON A STEAMER BOUND FOR PHILADELPHIA. Arrived from Norfolk, about the 1st of November, 1854. Ten months before starting, Anthony had been closely concealed. He belonged to the estate of Mrs. Peters, a widow, who had been dead about one year before his concealment. On the settlement of his old mistress' estate, which was to take place one year after her death, Anthony was to be transferred to Mrs. Lewis, a daughter of Mrs. Peters (the wife of James Lewis, Esq.). Anthony felt well satisfied that he was not the slave to please the "tyrannical whims" of his anticipated master, young Lewis, and of course he hated the idea of having to come under his yoke. And what made it still more unpleasant for Anthony was that Mr. Lewis would frequently remind him that it was his intention to "sell him as soon as he got possession--the first day of January." "I can get fifteen hundred dollars for you easily, and I will do it." This contemptuous threat had caused Anthony's blood to boil time and again. But Anthony had to take the matter as calmly as possible, which, however, he was not always able to do. At any rate, Anthony concluded that his "young master had counted the chickens before they were hatched." Indeed here Anthony began to be a deep thinker. He thought, for instance, that he had already been shot three times, at the instance of slave-holders. The first time he was shot was for refusing a flogging when only eighteen years of age. The second time, he was shot in the head with squirrel shot by the sheriff, who was attempting to arrest him for having resisted three "young white ruffians," who wished to have the pleasure of beating him, but got beaten themselves. And in addition to being shot this time, Anthony was still further "broke in" by a terrible flogging from the Sheriff. The third time Anthony was shot he was about twenty-one years of age. In this instance he was punished for his old offence--he "would not be whipped." This time his injury from being shot was light, compared with the two preceding attacks. Also in connection with these murderous conflicts, he could not forget that he had been sold on the auction block. But he had still deeper thinking to do yet. He determined that his young master should never get "fifteen hundred dollars for him on the 1st of January," unless he got them while he (Anthony) was running. For Anthony had fully made up his mind that when the last day of December ended, his bondage should end also, even if he should have to accept death as a substitute. He then began to think of the Underground Rail Road and of Canada; but who the agents were, or how to find the depot, was a serious puzzle to him. But his time was getting so short he was convinced that whatever he did would have to be done quickly. In this frame of mind he found a man who professed to know something about the Underground Rail Road, and for "thirty dollars" promised to aid him in the matter. The thirty dollars were raised by the hardest effort and passed over to the pretended friend, with the expectation that it would avail greatly in the emergency. But Anthony found himself sold for thirty dollars, as nothing was done for him. However, the 1st day of January arrived, but Anthony was not to be found to answer to his name at roll call. He had "took out" very early in the morning. Daily he prayed in his place of concealment how to find the U.G.R.R. Ten months passed away, during which time he suffered almost death, but persuaded himself to believe that even that was better than slavery. With Anthony, as it has been with thousands of others similarly situated, just as everything was looking the most hopeless, word came to him in his place of concealment that a friend named Minkins, employed on the steamship City of Richmond, would undertake to conceal him on the boat, if he could be crowded in a certain place, which was about the only spot that would be perfectly safe. This was glorious news to Anthony; but it was well for him that he was ignorant of the situation that awaited him on the boat, or his heart might have failed him. He was willing, however, to risk his life for freedom, and, therefore, went joyfully. The hiding-place was small and he was large. A sitting attitude was the only way he could possibly occupy it. He was contented. This place was "near the range, directly over the boiler," and of course, was very warm. Nevertheless, Anthony felt that he would not murmur, as he knew what suffering was pretty well, and especially as he took it for granted that he would be free in about a day and a half--the usual time it took the steamer to make her trip. At the appointed hour the steamer left Norfolk for Philadelphia, with Anthony sitting flat down in his U.G.R.R. berth, thoughtful and hopeful. But before the steamer had made half her distance the storm was tossing the ship hither and thither fearfully. Head winds blew terribly, and for a number of days the elements seemed perfectly mad. In addition to the extraordinary state of the weather, when the storm subsided the fog took its place and held the mastery of the ship with equal despotism until the end of over seven days, when finally the storm, wind, and fog all disappeared, and on the eighth day of her boisterous passage the steamship City of Richmond landed at the wharf of Philadelphia, with this giant and hero on board who had suffered for ten months in his concealment on land and for eight days on the ship. Anthony was of very powerful physical proportions, being six feet three inches in height, quite black, very intelligent, and of a temperament that would not submit to slavery. For some years his master, Col. Cunnagan, had hired him out in Washington, where he was accused of being in the schooner Pearl, with Capt. Drayton's memorable "seventy fugitives on board, bound for Canada." At this time he was stoker in a machine shop, and was at work on an anchor weighing "ten thousand pounds." In the excitement over the attempt to escape in the Pearl, many were arrested, and the officers with irons visited Anthony at the machine shop to arrest him, but he declined to let them put the hand-cuffs on him, but consented to go with them, if permitted to do so without being ironed. The officers yielded, and Anthony went willingly to the jail. Passing unnoticed other interesting conflicts in his hard life, suffice it to say, he left his wife, Ann, and three children, Benjamin, John and Alfred, all owned by Col. Cunnagan. In this brave-hearted man, the Committee felt a deep interest, and accorded him their usual hospitalities. PERRY JOHNSON, OF ELKTON, MARYLAND. EYE KNOCKED OUT, ETC. Perry's exit was in November, 1853. He was owned by Charles Johnson, who lived at Elkton. The infliction of a severe "flogging" from the hand of his master awakened Perry to consider the importance of the U.G.R.R. Perry had the misfortune to let a "load of fodder upset," about which his master became exasperated, and in his agitated state of mind he succeeded in affixing a number of very ugly stationary marks on Perry's back. However, this was no new thing. Indeed he had suffered at the hands of his mistress even far more keenly than from these "ugly marks." He had but one eye; the other he had been deprived of by a terrible stroke with a cowhide in the "hand of his mistress." This lady he pronounced to be a "perfect savage," and added that "she was in the habit of cowhiding any of her slaves whenever she felt like it, which was quite often." Perry was about twenty-eight years of age and a man of promise. The Committee attended to his wants and forwarded him on North. * * * * * ISAAC FORMAN, WILLIAM DAVIS, AND WILLIS REDICK. HEARTS FULL OF JOY FOR FREEDOM--VERY ANXIOUS FOR WIVES IN SLAVERY. These passengers all arrived together, concealed, per steamship City of Richmond, December, 1853. Isaac Forman, the youngest of the party--twenty-three years of age and a dark mulatto--would be considered by a Southerner capable of judging as "very likely." He fled from a widow by the name of Mrs. Sanders, who had been in the habit of hiring him out for "one hundred and twenty dollars a year." She belonged in Norfolk, Va.; so did Isaac. For four years Isaac had served in the capacity of steward on the steamship Augusta. He stated that he had a wife living in Richmond, and that she was confined the morning he took the U.G.R.R. Of course he could not see her. The privilege of living in Richmond with his wife "had been denied him." Thus, fearing to render her unhappy, he was obliged to conceal from her his intention to escape. "Once or twice in the year was all the privilege allowed" him to visit her. This only added "insult to injury," in Isaac's opinion; wherefore he concluded that he would make one less to have to suffer thus, and common sense said he was wise in the matter. No particular charges are found recorded on the U.G.R.R. books against the mistress. He went to Canada. In the subjoined letters (about his wife) is clearly revealed the sincere gratitude he felt towards those who aided him: at the same time it may be seen how the thought of his wife being in bondage grieved his heart. It would have required men with stone hearts to have turned deaf ears to such appeals. Extract from letter soon after reaching Canada--hopeful and happy-- EXTRACT OF LETTER FROM ISAAC FORMAN. TORONTO, Feb. 20th, 1854. MR. WILLIAM STILL:--_Sir_--Your kind letter arrived safe at hand on the 18th, and I was very happy to receive it. I now feel that I should return you some thanks for your kindness. Dear sir I do pray from the bottom of my heart, that the high heavens may bless you for your kindness; give my love to Mr. Bagnel and Mr. Minkins, ask them if they have heard anything from my brother, tell Mr. Bagnel to give my love to my sister-in-law and mother and all the family. I am now living at Russell's Hotel; it is the first situation I have had since I have been here and I like it very well. Sir you would oblige me by letting me know if Mr. Minkins has seen my wife; you will please let me know as soon as possible. I wonder if Mr. Minkins has thought of any way that he can get my wife away. I should like to know in a few days. Your well wisher, ISAAC FORMAN. Another letter from Isaac. He is very gloomy and his heart is almost breaking about his wife. SECOND LETTER. TORONTO, May 7,1854. MR. W. STILL:--_Dear Sir_--I take this opportunity of writing you these few lines and hope when they reach you they will find you well. I would have written you before, but I was waiting to hear from my friend, Mr. Brown. I judge his business has been of importance as the occasion why he has not written before. Dear sir, nothing would have prevented me from writing, in a case of this kind, except death. My soul is vexed, my troubles are inexpressible. I often feel as if I were willing to die. I must see my wife in short, if not, I will die. What would I not give no tongue can utter. Just to gaze on her sweet lips one moment I would be willing to die the next. I am determined to see her some time or other. The thought of being a slave again is miserable. I hope heaven will smile upon me again, before I am one again. I will leave Canada again shortly, but I don't name the place that I go, it may be in the bottom of the ocean. If I had known as much before I left, as I do now, I would never have left until I could have found means to have brought her with me. You have never suffered from being absent from a wife, as I have. I consider that to be nearly superior to death, and hope you will do all you can for me, and inquire from your friends if nothing can be done for me. Please write to me immediately on receipt of this, and say something that will cheer up my drooping spirits. You will oblige me by seeing Mr. Brown and ask him if he would oblige me by going to Richmond and see my wife, and see what arrangements he could make with her, and I would be willing to pay all his expenses there and back. Please to see both Mr. Bagnel and Mr. Minkins, and ask them if they have seen my wife. I am determined to see her, if I die the next moment. I can say I was once happy, but never will be again, until I see her; because what is freedom to me, when I know that my wife is in slavery? Those persons that you shipped a few weeks ago, remained at St. Catherine, instead of coming over to Toronto. I sent you two letters last week and I hope you will please attend to them. The post-office is shut, so I enclose the money to pay the post, and please write me in haste. I remain evermore your obedient servant, I. FORMAN. WILLIS REDICK. He was owned by S.J. Wilson, a merchant, living in Portsmouth, Va. Willis was of a very dark hue, thick set, thirty-two years of age, and possessed of a fair share of mind. The owner had been accustomed to hire Willis out for "one hundred dollars a year." Willis thought his lot "pretty hard," and his master rather increased this notion by his severity, and especially by "threatening" to sell him. He had enjoyed, as far as it was expected for a slave to do, "five months of married life," but he loved slavery no less on this account. In fact he had just begun to consider what it was to have a wife and children that he "could not own or protect," and who were claimed as another's property. Consequently he became quite restive under these reflections and his master's ill-usage, and concluded to "look out," without consulting either the master or the young wife. This step looked exceedingly hard, but what else could the poor fellow do? Slavery existed expressly for the purpose of crushing souls and breaking tender hearts. * * * * * WILLIAM DAVIS. William might be described as a good-looking mulatto, thirty-one years of age, and capable of thinking for himself. He made no grave complaints of ill-usage under his master, "Joseph Reynolds," who lived at Newton, Portsmouth, Va. However, his owner had occasionally "threatened to sell him." As this was too much for William's sensitive feelings, he took umbrage at it and made a hasty and hazardous move, which resulted in finding himself on the U.G.R.R. The most serious regret William had to report to the Committee was, that he was compelled to "leave" his "wife," Catharine, and his little daughter, Louisa, two years and one month, and an infant son seven months old. He evidently loved them very tenderly, but saw no way by which he could aid them, as long as he was daily liable to be put on the auction block and sold far South. This argument was regarded by the Committee as logical and unanswerable; consequently they readily endorsed his course, while they deeply sympathized with his poor wife and little ones. "Before escaping," he "dared not" even apprise his wife and child, whom he had to leave behind in the prison house. * * * * * JOSEPH HENRY CAMP. THE AUCTION BLOCK IS DEFEATED AND A SLAVE TRADER LOSES FOURTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS. In November, 1853, in the twentieth year of his age, Camp was held to "service or labor" in the City of Richmond, Va., by Dr. K. Clark. Being uncommonly smart and quite good-looking at the same time, he was a saleable piece of merchandise. Without consulting his view of the matter or making the least intimation of any change, the master one day struck up a bargain with a trader for Joseph, and received _Fourteen Hundred Dollars cash_ in consideration thereof. Mr. Robert Parrett, of Parson & King's Express office, happened to have a knowledge of what had transpired, and thinking pretty well of Joseph, confidentially put him in full possession of all the facts in the case. For reflection he hardly had five minutes. But he at once resolved to strike that day for freedom--not to go home that evening to be delivered into the hands of his new master. In putting into execution his bold resolve, he secreted himself, and so remained for three weeks. In the meantime his mother, who was a slave, resolved to escape also, but after one week's gloomy foreboding, she became "faint-hearted and gave the struggle over." But Joseph did not know what surrender meant. His sole thought was to procure a ticket on the U.G.R.R. for Canada, which by persistent effort he succeeded in doing. He hid himself in a steamer, and by this way reached Philadelphia, where he received every accommodation at the usual depot, was provided with a free ticket, and sent off rejoicing for Canada. The unfortunate mother was "detected and sold South." * * * * * SHERIDAN FORD. SECRETED IN THE WOODS--ESCAPES IN A STEAMER. About the twenty-ninth of January, 1855, Sheridan arrived from the Old Dominion and a life of bondage, and was welcomed cordially by the Vigilance Committee. Miss Elizabeth Brown of Portsmouth, Va. claimed Sheridan as her property. He spoke rather kindly of her, and felt that he "had not been used very hard" as a general thing, although, he wisely added, "the best usage was bad enough." Sheridan had nearly reached his twenty-eighth year, was tall and well made, and possessed of a considerable share of intelligence. Not a great while before making up his mind to escape, for some trifling offence he had been "stretched up with a rope by his hands," and "whipped unmercifully." In addition to this he had "got wind of the fact," that he was to be auctioneered off; soon these things brought serious reflections to Sheridan's mind, and among other questions, he began to ponder how he could get a ticket on the U.G.R.R., and get out of this "place of torment," to where he might have the benefit of his own labor. In this state of mind, about the fourteenth day of November, he took his first and daring step. He went not, however, to learned lawyers or able ministers of the Gospel in his distress and trouble, but wended his way "directly to the woods," where he felt that he would be safer with the wild animals and reptiles, in solitude, than with the barbarous civilization that existed in Portsmouth. The first day in the woods he passed in prayer incessantly, all alone. In this particular place of seclusion he remained "four days and nights," "two days suffered severely from hunger, cold and thirst." However, one who was a "friend" to him, and knew of his whereabouts, managed to get some food to him and consoling words; but at the end of the four days this friend got into some difficulty and thus Sheridan was left to "wade through deep waters and head winds" in an almost hopeless state. There he could not consent to stay and starve to death. Accordingly he left and found another place of seclusion--with a friend in the town--for a pecuniary consideration. A secret passage was procured for him on one of the steamers running between Philadelphia and Richmond, Va. When he left his poor wife, Julia, she was then "lying in prison to be sold," on the simple charge of having been suspected of conniving at her husband's escape. As a woman she had known something of the "barbarism of slavery", from every-day experience, which the large scars about her head indicated--according to Sheridan's testimony. She was the mother of two children, but had never been allowed to have the care of either of them. The husband, utterly powerless to offer her the least sympathy in word or deed, left this dark habitation of cruelty, as above referred to, with no hope of ever seeing wife or child again in this world. The Committee afforded him the usual aid and comfort, and passed him on to the next station, with his face set towards Boston. He had heard the slaveholders "curse" Boston so much, that he concluded it must be a pretty safe place for the fugitive. * * * * * JOSEPH KNEELAND, ALIAS JOSEPH HULSON. Joseph Kneeland arrived November 25, 1853. He was a prepossessing man of twenty-six, dark complexion, and intelligent. At the time of Joseph's escape, he was owned by Jacob Kneeland, who had fallen heir to him as a part of his father's estate. Joseph spoke of his old master as having treated him "pretty well," but he had an idea that his young master had a very "malignant spirit;" for even before the death of his old master, the heir wanted him, "Joe," sold, and after the old man died, matters appeared to be coming to a crisis very fast. Even as early as November, the young despot had distinctly given "Joe" to understand, that he was not to be hired out another year, intimating that he was to "go somewhere," but as to particulars, it was time enough for Joe to know them. Of course "Joe" looked at his master "right good" and saw right through him, and at the same time, saw the U.G.R.R., "darkly." Daily slavery grew awfully mean, but on the other hand, Canada was looked upon as a very desirable country to emigrate to, and he concluded to make his way there, as speedily as the U.G.R.R. could safely convey him. Accordingly he soon carried his design into practice, and on his arrival, the Committee regarded him as a very good subject for her British Majesty's possessions in Canada. * * * * * EX-PRESIDENT TYLER'S HOUSEHOLD LOSES AN ARISTOCRATIC "ARTICLE." James Hambleton Christian is a remarkable specimen of the "well fed, &c." In talking with him relative to his life as a slave, he said very promptly, "I have always been treated well; if I only have half as good times in the North as I have had in the South, I shall be perfectly satisfied. Any time I desired spending money, five or ten dollars were no object." At times, James had borrowed of his master, one, two, and three hundred dollars, to loan out to some of his friends. With regard to apparel and jewelry, he had worn the best, as an every-day adornment. With regard to food also, he had fared as well as heart could wish, with abundance of leisure time at his command. His deportment was certainly very refined and gentlemanly. About fifty per cent. of Anglo-Saxon blood was visible in his features and his hair, which gave him no inconsiderable claim to sympathy and care. He had been to William and Mary's College in his younger days, to wait on young master James B.C., where, through the kindness of some of the students he had picked up a trifling amount of book learning. To be brief, this man was born the slave of old Major Christian, on the Glen Plantation, Charles City county, Va. The Christians were wealthy and owned many slaves, and belonged in reality to the F.F.V's. On the death of the old Major, James fell into the hands of his son, Judge Christian, who was executor to his father's estate. Subsequently he fell into the hands of one of the Judge's sisters, Mrs. John Tyler (wife of Ex-President Tyler), and then he became a member of the President's domestic household, was at the White House, under the President, from 1841 to 1845. Though but very young at that time, James was only fit for training in the arts, science, and mystery of waiting, in which profession, much pains were taken to qualify him completely for his calling. After a lapse of time; his mistress died. According to her request, after this event, James and his old mother were handed over to her nephew, William H. Christian, Esq., a merchant of Richmond. From this gentleman, James had the folly to flee. Passing hurriedly over interesting details, received from him respecting his remarkable history, two or three more incidents too good to omit must suffice. "How did you like Mr. Tyler?" said an inquisitive member of the Vigilance Committee. "I didn't like Mr. Tyler much," was the reply. "Why?" again inquired the member of the Committee. "Because Mr. Tyler was a poor man. I never did like poor people. I didn't like his marrying into our family, who were considered very far Tyler's superiors." "On the plantation," he said, "Tyler was a very cross man, and treated the servants very cruelly; but the house servants were treated much better, owing to their having belonged to his wife, who protected them from persecution, as they had been favorite servants in her father's family." James estimated that "Tyler got about thirty-five thousand dollars and twenty-nine slaves, young and old, by his wife." What prompted James to leave such pleasant quarters? It was this: He had become enamored of a young and respectable free girl in Richmond, with whom he could not be united in marriage solely because he was a slave, and did not own himself. The frequent sad separations of such married couples (where one or the other was a slave) could not be overlooked; consequently, the poor fellow concluded that he would stand a better chance of gaining his object in Canada than by remaining in Virginia. So he began to feel that he might himself be sold some day, and thus the resolution came home to him very forcibly to make tracks for Canada. In speaking of the good treatment he had always met with, a member of the Committee remarked, "You must be akin to some one of your master's family?" To which he replied, "I am Christian's son." Unquestionably this passenger was one of that happy class so commonly referred to by apologists for the "Patriarchal Institution." The Committee, feeling a deep interest in his story, and desiring great success to him in his Underground efforts to get rid of slavery, and at the same time possess himself of his affianced, made him heartily welcome, feeling assured that the struggles and hardships he had submitted to in escaping, as well as the luxuries he was leaving behind, were nothing to be compared with the blessings of liberty and a free wife in Canada. * * * * * EDWARD MORGAN, HENRY JOHNSON, JAMES AND STEPHEN BUTLER. "TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD.--The above Reward will be paid for the apprehension of two blacks, who escaped on Sunday last. It is supposed they have made their way to Pennsylvania. $500 will be paid for the apprehension of either, so that we can get them again. The oldest is named Edward Morgan, about five feet six or seven inches, heavily made--is a dark black, has rather a down look when spoken to, and is about 21 years of age. "Henry Johnson is a colored negro, about five feet seven or eight inches, heavily made, aged nineteen years, has a pleasant countenance, and has a mark on his neck below the ear. "Stephen Butler is a dark-complexioned negro, about five feet seven inches; has a pleasant countenance, with a scar above his eye; plays on the violin; about twenty-two years old. "Jim Butler is a dark-complexioned negro, five feet eight or nine inches; is rather sullen when spoken to; face rough; aged about twenty-one years. The clothing not recollected. They had black frock coats and slouch hats with them. Any information of them address Elizabeth Brown, Sandy Hook P.O., or of Thomas Johnson, Abingdon P.O., Harford county, Md. "ELIZABETH BROWN. "THOMAS JOHNSON." FROM THE UNDERGROUND RAIL ROAD RECORDS. The following memorandum is made, which, if not too late, may afford some light to "Elizabeth Brown and Thomas Johnson," if they have not already gone the way of the "lost cause"-- _June_ 4, 1857.--Edward is a hardy and firm-looking young man of twenty-four years of age, chestnut color, medium size, and "likely,"--would doubtless bring $1,400 in the market. He had been held as the property of the widow, "Betsy Brown," who resided near Mill Green P.O., in Harford county, Md. "She was a very bad woman; would go to church every Sunday, come home and go to fighting amongst the colored people; was never satisfied; she treated my mother very hard, (said Ed.); would beat her with a walking-stick, &c. She was an old woman and belonged to the Catholic Church. Over her slaves she kept an overseer, who was a very wicked man; very bad on colored people; his name was 'Bill Eddy;' Elizabeth Brown owned twelve head." Henry is of a brown skin, a good-looking young man, only nineteen years of age, whose prepossessing appearance would insure a high price for him in the market--perhaps $1,700. With Edward, he testifies to the meanness of Mrs. Betsy Brown, as well as to his own longing desire for freedom. Being a fellow-servant with Edward, Henry was a party to the plan of escape. In slavery he left his mother and three sisters, owned by the "old woman" from whom he escaped. James is about twenty-one years of age, full black, and medium size. As he had been worked hard on poor fare, he concluded to leave, in company with his brother and two cousins, leaving his parents in slavery, owned by the "Widow Pyle," who was also the owner of himself. "She was upwards of eighty, very passionate and ill-natured, although a member of the Presbyterian Church." James may be worth $1,400. Stephen is a brother of James', and is about the same size, though a year older. His experience differed in no material respect from his brother's; was owned by the same woman, whom he "hated for her bad treatment" of him. Would bring $1,400, perhaps. In substance, and to a considerable extent in the exact words, these facts are given as they came from the lips of the passengers, who, though having been kept in ignorance and bondage, seemed to have their eyes fully open to the wrongs that had been heaped upon them, and were singularly determined to reach free soil at all hazards. The Committee willingly attended to their financial and other wants, and cheered them on with encouraging advice. They were indebted to "The Baltimore Sun" for the advertisement information. And here it may be further added, that the "Sun" was quite famous for this kind of U.G.R.R. literature, and on that account alone the Committee subscribed for it daily, and never failed to scan closely certain columns, illustrated with a black man running away with a bundle on his back. Many of these popular illustrations and advertisements were preserved, many others were sent away to friends at a distance, who took a special interest in the U.G.R.R. matters. Friends and stockholders in England used to take a great interest in seeing how the fine arts, in these particulars, were encouraged in the South ("the land of chivalry"). * * * * * HENRY PREDO. BROKE JAIL, JUMPED OUT OF THE WINDOW AND MADE HIS ESCAPE. Henry fled from Buckstown, Dorchester Co., Md., March, 1857. Physically he is a giant. About 27 years of age, stout and well-made, quite black, and no fool, as will appear presently. Only a short time before he escaped, his master threatened to sell him south. To avoid that fate, therefore, he concluded to try his luck on the Underground Rail Road, and, in company with seven others--two of them females--he started for Canada. For two or three days and nights they managed to outgeneral all their adversaries, and succeeded bravely in making the best of their way to a Free State. In the meantime, however, a reward of $3,000 was offered for their arrest. This temptation was too great to be resisted, even by the man who had been intrusted with the care of them, and who had faithfully promised to pilot them to a safe place. One night, through the treachery of their pretended conductor, they were all taken into Dover Jail, where the Sheriff and several others, who had been notified beforehand by the betrayer, were in readiness to receive them. Up stairs they were taken, the betrayer remarking as they were going up, that they were "cold, but would soon have a good warming." On a light being lit they discovered the iron bars and the fact that they had been betrayed. Their liberty-loving spirits and purposes, however, did not quail. Though resisted brutally by the sheriff with revolver in hand, they made their way down one flight of stairs, and in the moment of excitement, as good luck would have it, plunged into the sheriff's private apartment, where his wife and children were sleeping. The wife cried murder lustily. A shovel full of fire, to the great danger of burning the premises, was scattered over the room; out of the window jumped two of the female fugitives. Our hero Henry, seizing a heavy andiron, smashed out the window entire, through which the others leaped a distance of twelve feet. The railing or wall around the jail, though at first it looked forbidding, was soon surmounted by a desperate effort. At this stage of the proceedings, Henry found himself without the walls, and also lost sight of his comrades at the same time. The last enemy he spied was the sheriff in his stockings without his shoes. He snapped his pistol at him, but it did not go off. Six of the others, however, marvellously got off safely together; where the eighth went, or how he got off, was not known. * * * * * DANIEL HUGHES. Daniel fled from Buckstown, Dorchester Co., also. His owner's name was Richard Meredith, a farmer. Daniel is one of the eight alluded to above. In features he is well made, dark chestnut color, and intelligent, possessing an ardent thirst for liberty. The cause of his escape was: "Worked hard in all sorts of weather--in rain and snow," so he thought he would "go where colored men are free." His master was considered the hardest man around. His mistress was "eighty-three years of age," "drank hard," was "very stormy," and a "member of the Methodist Church" (Airy's meeting-house). He left brothers and sisters, and uncles and aunts behind. In the combat at the prison he played his part manfully. * * * * * THOMAS ELLIOTT. Thomas is also one of the brave eight who broke out of Dover Jail. He was about twenty-three years of age, well made, wide awake, and of a superb black complexion. He too had been owned by Richard Meredith. Against the betrayer, who was a black man, he had vengeance in store if the opportunity should ever offer. Thomas left only one brother living; his "father and mother were dead." The excitement over the escape spread very rapidly next morning, and desperate efforts were made to recapture the fugitives, but a few friends there were who had sympathy and immediately rendered them the needed assistance. The appended note from the faithful Garrett to Samuel Rhoads, may throw light upon the occurrence to some extent. WILMINGTON, 3d mo. 13th, 1857. DEAR COUSIN, SAMUEL RHOADS:--I have a letter this day from an agent of the Underground Rail Road, near Dover, in this state, saying I must be on the look out for six brothers and two sisters, they were decoyed and betrayed, he says by a colored man named Thomas Otwell, who pretended to be their friend, and sent a _white scamp_ ahead to wait for them at Dover till they arrived; they were arrested and put in Jail there, with Tom's assistance, and some officers. On third day morning about four o'clock, they broke jail; six of them are secreted in the neighborhood, and the writer has not known what became of the other two. The six were to start last night for this place. I hear that their owners have persons stationed at several places on the road watching. I fear they will be taken. If they could lay quiet for ten days or two weeks, they might then get up safe. I shall have two men sent this evening some four or five miles below to keep them away from this town, and send them (if found to Chester County). Thee may show this to Still and McKim, and oblige thy cousin, THOMAS GARRETT. Further light about this exciting contest, may be gathered from a colored conductor on the Road, in Delaware, who wrote as follows to a member of the Vigilance Committee at Philadelphia. CAMDEN, DEL., March 23d, 1857. DEAR SIR;--I tak my pen in hand to write to you, to inform you what we have had to go throw for the last two weaks. Thir wir six men and two woman was betraid on the tenth of this month, thea had them in prison but thea got out was conveyed by a black man, he told them he wood bring them to my hows, as he wos told, he had ben ther Befor, he has com with Harrett, a woman that stops at my hous when she pases tow and throw yau. You don't no me I supos, the Rev. Thomas H. Kennard dos, or Peter Lowis. He Road Camden Circuit, this man led them in dover prisin and left them with a whit man; but tha tour out the winders and jump out, so cum back to camden. We put them throug, we hav to carry them 19 mils and cum back the sam night wich maks 38 mils. It is tou much for our littel horses. We must do the bes we can, ther is much Bisness dun on this Road. We hay to go throw dover and smerny, the two wors places this sid of mary land lin. If you have herd or sean them ples let me no. I will Com to Phila be for long and then I will call and se you. There is much to do her. Ples to wright, I Remain your frend, WILLIAM BRINKLY. Remember me to Thom. Kennard. The balance of these brave fugitives, although not named in this connection, succeeded in getting off safely. But how the betrayer, sheriff and hunters got out of their dilemma, the Committee was never fully posted. The Committee found great pleasure in assisting these passengers, for they had the true grit. Such were always doubly welcome. * * * * * MARY EPPS, ALIAS EMMA BROWN--JOSEPH AND ROBERT ROBINSON. A SLAVE MOTHER LOSES HER SPEECH AT THE SALE OF HER CHILD--BOB ESCAPES FROM HIS MASTER, A TRADER, WITH $1500 IN NORTH CAROLINA MONEY. Mary fled from Petersburg and the Robinsons from Richmond. A fugitive slave law-breaking captain by the name of B., who owned a schooner, and would bring any kind of freight that would pay the most, was the conductor in this instance. Quite a number of passengers at different times availed themselves of his accommodations and thus succeeded in reaching Canada. His risk was very great. On this account he claimed, as did certain others, that it was no more than fair to charge for his services--indeed he did not profess to bring persons for nothing, except in rare instances. In this matter the Committee did not feel disposed to interfere directly in any way, further than to suggest that whatever understanding was agreed upon by the parties themselves should be faithfully adhered to. Many slaves in cities could raise, "by hook or by crook," fifty or one hundred dollars to pay for a passage, providing they could find one who was willing to risk aiding them. Thus, while the Vigilance Committee of Philadelphia especially neither charged nor accepted anything for their services, it was not to be expected that any of the Southern agents could afford to do likewise. The husband of Mary had for a long time wanted his own freedom, but did not feel that he could go without his wife; in fact, he resolved to get her off first, then to try and escape himself, if possible. The first essential step towards success, he considered, was to save his money and make it an object to the captain to help him. So when he had managed to lay by one hundred dollars, he willingly offered this sum to Captain B., if he would engage to deliver his wife into the hands of the Vigilance Committee of Philadelphia. The captain agreed to the terms and fulfilled his engagement to the letter. About the 1st of March, 1855, Mary was presented to the Vigilance Committee. She was of agreeable manners, about forty-five years of age, dark complexion, round built, and intelligent. She had been the mother of fifteen children, four of whom had been sold away from her; one was still held in slavery in Petersburg; the others were all dead. At the sale of one of her children she was so affected with grief that she was thrown into violent convulsions, which caused the loss of her speech for one entire month. But this little episode was not a matter to excite sympathy in the breasts of the highly refined and tender-hearted Christian mothers of Petersburg. In the mercy of Providence, however, her reason and strength returned. She had formerly belonged to the late Littleton Reeves, whom she represented as having been "kind" to her, much more so than her mistress (Mrs. Reeves). Said Mary, "She being of a jealous disposition, caused me to be hired out with a hard family, where I was much abused, frequently flogged, and stinted for food," etc. But the sweets of freedom in the care of the Vigilance Committee now delighted her mind, and the hope that her husband would soon follow her to Canada, inspired her with expectations that she would one day "sit under her own vine and fig tree where none dared to molest or make her afraid." The Committee rendered her the usual assistance, and in due time, forwarded her on to Queen Victoria's free land in Canada. On her arrival she wrote back as follows-- TORONTO, March 14th, 1855. DEAR MR. STILL:--I take this opportunity of addressing you with these few lines to inform you that I arrived here to-day, and hope that this may find yourself and Mrs. Still well, as this leaves me at the present. I will also say to you, that I had no difficulty in getting along. the two young men that was with me left me at Suspension Bridge. they went another way. I cannot say much about the place as I have ben here but a short time but so far as I have seen I like very well. you will give my Respect to your lady, & Mr & Mrs Brown. If you have not written to Petersburg you will please to write as soon as can I have nothing More to Write at present but yours Respectfully EMMA BROWN (old name MARY EPPS). Now, Joseph and Robert (Mary's associate passengers from Richmond) must here be noticed. Joseph was of a dark orange color, medium size, very active and intelligent, and doubtless, well understood the art of behaving himself. He was well acquainted with the auction block--having been sold three times, and had had the misfortune to fall into the hands of a cruel master each time. Under these circumstances he had had but few privileges. Sundays and week days alike he was kept pretty severely bent down to duty. He had been beaten and knocked around shamefully. He had a wife, and spoke of her in most endearing language, although, on leaving, he did not feel at liberty to apprise her of his movements, "fearing that it would not be safe so to do." His four little children, to whom he appeared warmly attached, he left as he did his wife--in Slavery. He declared that he "stuck to them as long as he could." George E. Sadler, the keeper of an oyster house, held the deed for "Joe," and a most heartless wretch he was in Joe's estimation. The truth was, Joe could not stand the burdens and abuses which Sadler was inclined to heap upon him. So he concluded to join his brother and go off on the U.G.R.R. Robert, his younger brother, was owned by Robert Slater, Esq., a regular negro trader. Eight years this slave's duties had been at the slave prison, and among other daily offices he had to attend to, was to lock up the prison, prepare the slaves for sale, etc. Robert was a very intelligent young man, and from long and daily experience with the customs and usages of the slave prison, he was as familiar with the business as a Pennsylvania farmer with his barn-yard stock. His account of things was too harrowing for detail here, except in the briefest manner, and that only with reference to a few particulars. In order to prepare slaves for the market, it was usual to have them greased and rubbed to make them look bright and shining. And he went on further to state, that "females as well as males were not uncommonly stripped naked, lashed flat to a bench, and then held by two men, sometimes four, while the brutal trader would strap them with a broad leather strap." The strap being preferred to the cow-hide, as it would not break the skin, and damage the sale. "One hundred lashes would only be a common flogging." The separation of families was thought nothing of. "Often I have been flogged for refusing to flog others." While not yet twenty-three years of age, Robert expressed himself as having become so daily sick of the brutality and suffering he could not help witnessing, that he felt he could not possibly stand it any longer, let the cost be what it might. In this state of mind he met with Captain B. Only one obstacle stood in his way--material aid. It occurred to Robert that he had frequent access to the money drawer, and often it contained the proceeds of fresh sales of flesh and blood; and he reasoned that if some of that would help him and his brother to freedom, there could be no harm in helping himself the first opportunity. The captain was all ready, and provided he could get three passengers at $100 each he would set sail without much other freight. Of course he was too shrewd to get out papers for Philadelphia. That would betray him at once. Washington or Baltimore, or even Wilmington, Del., were names which stood fair in the eyes of Virginia. Consequently, being able to pack the fugitives away in a very private hole of his boat, and being only bound for a Southern port, the captain was willing to risk his share of the danger. "Very well," said Robert, "to-day I will please my master so well, that I will catch him at an unguarded moment, and will ask him for a pass to go to a ball to-night (slave-holders love to see their slaves fiddling and dancing of nights), and as I shall be leaving in a hurry, I will take a grab from the day's sale, and when Slater hears of me again, I will be in Canada." So after having attended to all his disagreeable duties, he made his "grab," and got a hand full. He did not know, however, how it would hold out. That evening, instead of participating with the gay dancers, he was just one degree lower down than the regular bottom of Captain B's. deck, with several hundred dollars in his pocket, after paying the worthy captain one hundred each for himself and his brother, besides making the captain an additional present of nearly one hundred. Wind and tide were now what they prayed for to speed on the U.G.R.R. schooner, until they might reach the depot at Philadelphia. The Richmond _Dispatch_, an enterprising paper in the interest of slaveholders, which came daily to the Committee, was received in advance of the passengers, when lo! and behold, in turning to the interesting column containing the elegant illustrations of "runaway negroes," it was seen that the unfortunate Slater had "lost $1500 in North Carolina money, and also his dark orange-colored, intelligent, and good-looking turnkey, Bob." "Served him right, it is no stealing for one piece of property to go off with another piece," reasoned a member of the Committee. In a couple of days after the Dispatch brought the news, the three U.G.R.R. passengers were safely landed at the usual place, and so accurate were the descriptions in the paper, that, on first seeing them, the Committee recognized them instantly, and, without any previous ceremonies, read to them the advertisement relative to the "$1500 in N.C. money, &c.," and put the question to them direct: "Are you the ones?" "We are," they owned up without hesitation. The Committee did not see a dollar of their money, but understood they had about $900, after paying the captain; while Bob considered he made a "very good grab," he did not admit that the amount advertised was correct. After a reasonable time for recruiting, having been so long in the hole of the vessel, they took their departure for Canada. From Joseph, the elder brother, is appended a short letter, announcing their arrival and condition under the British Lion-- SAINT CATHARINE, April 16, 1855. MR. WILLIAM STILL, DEAR SIR:--Your letter of date April 7th I have just got, it had been opened before it came to me. I have not received any other letter from you and can get no account of them in the Post Office in this place, I am well and have got a good situation in this city and intend staying here. I should be very glad to hear from you as soon as convenient and also from all of my friends near you. My Brother is also at work with me and doing well. There is nothing here that would interest you in the way of news. There is a Masonic Lodge of our people and two churches and societys here and some other institutions for our benefit. Be kind enough to send a few lines to the Lady spoken of for that mocking bird and much oblige me. Write me soon and believe me your obedient Serv't Love & respects to Lady and daughter JOSEPH ROBINSON. As well as writing to a member of the Committee, Joe and Bob had the assurance to write back to the trader and oyster-house keeper. In their letter they stated that they had arrived safely in Canada, and were having good times,--in the eating line had an abundance of the best,--also had very choice wines and brandies, which they supposed that they (trader and oyster-house keeper) would give a great deal to have a "smack at." And then they gave them a very cordial invitation to make them a visit, and suggested that the quickest way they could come, would be by telegraph, which they admitted was slightly dangerous, and without first greasing themselves, and then hanging on very fast, the journey might not prove altogether advantageous to them. This was wormwood and gall to the trader and oyster-house man. A most remarkable coincidence was that, about the time this letter was received in Richmond, the captain who brought away the three passengers, made it his business for some reason or other, to call at the oyster-house kept by the owner of Joe, and while there, this letter was read and commented on in torrents of Billingsgate phrases; and the trader told the captain that he would give him "two thousand dollars if he would get them;" finally he told him he would "give every cent they would bring, which would be much over $2000," as they were "so very likely." How far the captain talked approvingly, he did not exactly tell the Committee, but they guessed he talked strong Democratic doctrine to them under the frightful circumstances. But he was good at concealing his feelings, and obviously managed to avoid suspicion. * * * * * GEORGE SOLOMON, DANIEL NEALL, BENJAMIN R. FLETCHER AND MARIA DORSEY. The above representatives of the unrequited laborers of the South fled directly from Washington, D.C. Nothing remarkable was discovered in their stories of slave life; their narratives will therefore be brief. George Solomon was owned by Daniel Minor, of Moss Grove, Va. George was about thirty-three years of age; mulatto, intelligent, and of prepossessing appearance. His old master valued George's services very highly, and had often declared to others, as well as to George himself, that without him he should hardly know how to manage. And frequently George was told by the old master that at his "death he was not to be a slave any longer, as he would have provision made in his will for his freedom." For a long time this old story was clung to pretty faithfully by George, but his "old master hung on too long," consequently George's patience became exhausted. And as he had heard a good deal about Canada, U.G.R.R., and the Abolitionists, he concluded that it would do no harm to hint to a reliable friend or two the names of these hard places and bad people, to see what impression would be made on their minds; in short, to see if they were ready to second a motion to get rid of bondage. In thus opening his mind to his friends, he soon found a willing accord in each of their hearts, and they put their heads together to count up the cost and to fix a time for leaving Egypt and the host of Pharaoh to do their own "hewing of wood and drawing of water." Accordingly George, Daniel, Benjamin and Maria, all of one heart and mind, one "Saturday night" resolved that the next Sunday should find them on the U.G.R.R., with their faces towards Canada. Daniel was young, only twenty-three, good looking, and half white, with a fair share of intelligence. As regards his slave life, he acknowledged that he had not had it very rough as a general thing; nevertheless, he was fully persuaded that he had "as good a right to his freedom" as his "master had to his," and that it was his duty to contend for it. Benjamin was twenty-seven years of age, small of stature, dark complexion, of a pleasant countenance, and quite smart. He testified, that "ill-treatment from his master," Henry Martin, who would give him "no chance at all," was the cause of his leaving. He left a brother and sister, belonging to Martin, besides he left two other sisters in bondage, Louisa and Letty, but his father and mother were both dead. Therefore, the land of slave-whips and auction-blocks had no charms for him. He loved his sisters, but he knew if he could not protect himself, much less could he protect them. So he concluded to bid them adieu forever in this world. Turning from the three male companions for the purpose of finding a brief space for Maria, it will be well to state here that females in attempting to escape from a life of bondage undertook three times the risk of failure that males were liable to, not to mention the additional trials and struggles they had to contend with. In justice, therefore, to the heroic female who was willing to endure the most extreme suffering and hardship for freedom, double honors were due. Maria, the heroine of the party, was about forty years of age, chestnut color, medium size, and possessed of a good share of common sense. She was owned by George Parker. As was a common thing with slave-holders, Maria had found her owners hard to please, and quite often, without the slightest reason, they would threaten to "sell or make a change." These threats only made matters worse, or rather it only served to nerve Maria for the conflict. The party walked almost the entire distance from Washington to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. In the meantime George Parker, the so-called owner of Daniel and Maria, hurriedly rushed their good names into the "Baltimore Sun," after the following manner-- "FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.--Ranaway from my house on Saturday night, August 30, my negro man 'Daniel,' twenty-five years of age, bright yellow mulatto, thick set and stout made. Also, my negro woman, 'Maria,' forty years of age, bright mulatto. The above reward will be paid if delivered in Washington city. GEORGE PARKER." While this advertisement was in the Baltimore papers, doubtless these noble passengers were enjoying the hospitalities of the Vigilance Committee, and finally a warm reception in Canada, by which they were greatly pleased. Of Benjamin and Daniel, the subjoined letter from Rev. H. Wilson is of importance in the way of throwing light upon their whereabouts in Canada: ST. CATHARINE, C.W., Sept. 15th, 1856. MR. WILLIAM STILL:--_Dear Sir_--Two young men arrived here on Friday evening last from Washington, viz: Benjamin R. Fletcher and Daniel Neall. Mr. Neall (or Neale) desires to have his box of clothing forwarded on to him. It is at Washington in the care of John Dade, a colored man, who lives at Doct. W.H. Gilman's, who keeps an Apothecary store on the corner of 4-1/2 and Pennsylvania Avenue. Mr. Dade is a slave, but a free dealer. You will please write to John Dade, in the care of Doct. W.H. Gilman, on behalf of Daniel Neale, but make use of the name of George Harrison, instead of Neale, and Dade will understand it. Please have John Dade direct the box by express to you in Philadelphia; he has the means of paying the charges on it in advance, as far as Philadelphia; and as soon as it comes, you will please forward it on to my care at St. Catherine. Say to John Dade, that George Harrison sends his love to his sister and Uncle Allen Sims, and all inquiring friends. Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Neale both send their respects to you, and I may add mine. Yours truly, HIRAM WILSON. P.S.--Mr. Benjamin R. Fletcher wishes to have Mr. Dade call on his brother James, and communicate to him his affectionate regards, and make known to him that he is safe, and cheerful and happy. He desires his friends to know, through Dade, that he found Mrs. Starke here, his brother Alfred's wife's sister; that she is well, and living in St. Catharine, C.W., near Niagara Palls. H.W. * * * * * HENRY BOX BROWN. ARRIVED BY ADAMS' EXPRESS. Although the name of Henry Box Brown has been echoed over the land for a number of years, and the simple facts connected with his marvelous escape from slavery in a box published widely through the medium of anti-slavery papers, nevertheless it is not unreasonable to suppose that very little is generally known in relation to this case. Briefly, the facts are these, which doubtless have never before been fully published-- Brown was a man of invention as well as a hero. In point of interest, however, his case is no more remarkable than many others. Indeed, neither before nor after escaping did he suffer one-half what many others have experienced. He was decidedly an unhappy piece of property in the city of Richmond, Va. In the condition of a slave he felt that it would be impossible for him to remain. Full well did he know, however, that it was no holiday task to escape the vigilance of Virginia slave-hunters, or the wrath of an enraged master for committing the unpardonable sin of attempting to escape to a land of liberty. So Brown counted well the cost before venturing upon this hazardous undertaking. Ordinary modes of travel he concluded might prove disastrous to his hopes; he, therefore, hit upon a new invention altogether, which was to have himself boxed up and forwarded to Philadelphia direct by express. The size of the box and how it was to be made to fit him most comfortably, was of his own ordering. Two feet eight inches deep, two feet wide, and three feet long were the exact dimensions of the box, lined with baize. His resources with regard to food and water consisted of the following: One bladder of water and a few small biscuits. His mechanical implement to meet the death-struggle for fresh air, all told, was one large gimlet. Satisfied that it would be far better to peril his life for freedom in this way than to remain under the galling yoke of Slavery, he entered his box, which was safely nailed up and hooped with five hickory hoops, and was then addressed by his next friend, James A. Smith, a shoe dealer, to Wm. H. Johnson, Arch street, Philadelphia, marked, "This side up with care." In this condition he was sent to Adams' Express office in a dray, and thence by overland express to Philadelphia. It was twenty-six hours from the time he left Richmond until his arrival in the City of Brotherly Love. The notice, "This side up, &c.," did not avail with the different expressmen, who hesitated not to handle the box in the usual rough manner common to this class of men. For a while they actually had the box upside down, and had him on his head for miles. A few days before he was expected, certain intimation was conveyed to a member of the Vigilance Committee that a box might be expected by the three o'clock morning train from the South, which might contain a man. One of the most serious walks he ever took--and they had not been a few--to meet and accompany passengers, he took at half past two o'clock that morning to the depot. Not once, but for more than a score of times, he fancied the slave would be dead. He anxiously looked while the freight was being unloaded from the cars, to see if he could recognize a box that might contain a man; one alone had that appearance, and he confessed it really seemed as if there was the scent of death about it. But on inquiry, he soon learned that it was not the one he was looking after, and he was free to say he experienced a marked sense of relief. That same afternoon, however, he received from Richmond a telegram, which read thus, "Your case of goods is shipped and will arrive to-morrow morning." At this exciting juncture of affairs, Mr. McKim, who had been engineering this important undertaking, deemed it expedient to change the programme slightly in one particular at least to insure greater safety. Instead of having a member of the Committee go again to the depot for the box, which might excite suspicion, it was decided that it would be safest to have the express bring it direct to the Anti-Slavery Office. But all apprehension of danger did not now disappear, for there was no room to suppose that Adams' Express office had any sympathy with the Abolitionist or the fugitive, consequently for Mr. McKim to appear personally at the express office to give directions with reference to the coming of a box from Richmond which would be directed to Arch street, and yet not intended for that street, but for the Anti-Slavery office at 107 North Fifth street, it needed of course no great discernment to foresee that a step of this kind was wholly impracticable and that a more indirect and covert method would have to be adopted. In this dreadful crisis Mr. McKim, with his usual good judgment and remarkably quick, strategical mind, especially in matters pertaining to the U.G.R.R., hit upon the following plan, namely, to go to his friend, E.M. Davis,[A] who was then extensively engaged in mercantile business, and relate the circumstances. Having daily intercourse with said Adams' Express office, and being well acquainted with the firm and some of the drivers, Mr. Davis could, as Mr. McKim thought, talk about "boxes, freight, etc.," from any part of the country without risk. Mr. Davis heard Mr. McKim's plan and instantly approved of it, and was heartily at his service. [Footnote A: E.M. Davis was a member of the Executive Committee of the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society and a long-tried Abolitionist, son-in-law of James and Lucretia Mott.] [Illustration: RESURRECTION OF HENRY BOX BROWN.] "Dan, an Irishman, one of Adams' Express drivers, is just the fellow to go to the depot after the box," said Davis. "He drinks a little too much whiskey sometimes, but he will do anything I ask him to do, promptly and obligingly. I'll trust Dan, for I believe he is the very man." The difficulty which Mr. McKim had been so anxious to overcome was thus pretty well settled. It was agreed that Dan should go after the box next morning before daylight and bring it to the Anti-Slavery office direct, and to make it all the more agreeable for Dan to get up out of his warm bed and go on this errand before day, it was decided that he should have a five dollar gold piece for himself. Thus these preliminaries having been satisfactorily arranged, it only remained for Mr. Davis to see Dan and give him instructions accordingly, etc. Next morning, according to arrangement, the box was at the Anti-Slavery office in due time. The witnesses present to behold the resurrection were J.M. McKim, Professor C.D. Cleveland, Lewis Thompson, and the writer. Mr. McKim was deeply interested; but having been long identified with the Anti-Slavery cause as one of its oldest and ablest advocates in the darkest days of slavery and mobs, and always found by the side of the fugitive to counsel and succor, he was on this occasion perfectly composed. Professor Cleveland, however, was greatly moved. His zeal and earnestness in the cause of freedom, especially in rendering aid to passengers, knew no limit. Ordinarily he could not too often visit these travelers, shake them too warmly by the hand, or impart to them too freely of his substance to aid them on their journey. But now his emotion was overpowering. Mr. Thompson, of the firm of Merrihew & Thompson--about the only printers in the city who for many years dared to print such incendiary documents as anti-slavery papers and pamphlets--one of the truest friends of the slave, was composed and prepared to witness the scene. All was quiet. The door had been safely locked. The proceedings commenced. Mr. McKim rapped quietly on the lid of the box and called out, "All right!" Instantly came the answer from within, "All right, sir!" The witnesses will never forget that moment. Saw and hatchet quickly had the five hickory hoops cut and the lid off, and the marvellous resurrection of Brown ensued. Rising up in his box, he reached out his hand, saying, "How do you do, gentlemen?" The little assemblage hardly knew what to think or do at the moment. He was about as wet as if he had come up out of the Delaware. Very soon he remarked that, before leaving Richmond he had selected for his arrival-hymn (if he lived) the Psalm beginning with these words: "_I waited patiently for the Lord, and He heard my prayer_." And most touchingly did he sing the psalm, much to his own relief, as well as to the delight of his small audience. He was then christened Henry Box Brown, and soon afterwards was sent to the hospitable residence of James Mott and E.M. Davis, on Ninth street, where, it is needless to say, he met a most cordial reception from Mrs. Lucretia Mott and her household. Clothing and creature comforts were furnished in abundance, and delight and joy filled all hearts in that stronghold of philanthropy. As he had been so long doubled up in the box he needed to promenade considerably in the fresh air, so James Mott put one of his broad-brim hats on his head and tendered him the hospitalities of his yard as well as his house, and while Brown promenaded the yard flushed with victory, great was the joy of his friends. After his visit at Mr. Mott's, he spent two days with the writer, and then took his departure for Boston, evidently feeling quite conscious of the wonderful feat he had performed, and at the same time it may be safely said that those who witnessed this strange resurrection were not only elated at his success, but were made to sympathize more deeply than ever before with the slave. Also the noble-hearted Smith who boxed him up was made to rejoice over Brown's victory, and was thereby encouraged to render similar service to two other young bondmen, who appealed to him for deliverance. But, unfortunately, in this attempt the undertaking proved a failure. Two boxes containing the young men alluded to above, after having been duly expressed and some distance on the road, were, through the agency of the telegraph, betrayed, and the heroic young fugitives were captured in their boxes and dragged back to hopeless bondage. Consequently, through this deplorable failure, Samuel A. Smith was arrested, imprisoned, and was called upon to suffer severely, as may be seen from the subjoined correspondence, taken from the New York Tribune soon after his release from the penitentiary. THE DELIVERER OF BOX BROWN--MEETING OF THE COLORED CITIZENS OF PHILADELPHIA. [Correspondence of the N.Y. Tribune.] PHILADELPHIA, Saturday, July 5, 1856. Samuel A. Smith, who boxed up Henry Box Brown in Richmond, Va., and forwarded him by overland express to Philadelphia, and who was arrested and convicted, eight years ago, for boxing up two other slaves, also directed to Philadelphia, having served out his imprisonment in the Penitentiary, was released on the 18th ultimo, and arrived in this city on the 21st. Though he lost all his property; though he was refused witnesses on his trial (no officer could be found, who would serve a summons on a witness); though for five long months, in hot weather, he was kept heavily chained in a cell four by eight feet in dimensions; though he received five dreadful stabs, aimed at his heart, by a bribed assassin, nevertheless he still rejoices in the motives which prompted him to "undo the heavy burdens, and let the oppressed go free." Having resided nearly all his life in the South, where he had traveled and seen much of the "peculiar institution," and had witnessed the most horrid enormities inflicted upon the slave, whose cries were ever ringing in his ears, and for whom he had the warmest sympathy, Mr. Smith could not refrain from believing that the black man, as well as the white, had God-given rights. Consequently, he was not accustomed to shed tears when a poor creature escaped ftom his "kind master;" nor was he willing to turn a deaf ear to his appeals and groans, when he knew he was thirsting for freedom. From 1828 up to the day he was incarcerated, many had sought his aid and counsel, nor had they sought in vain. In various places he operated with success. In Richmond, however, it seemed expedient to invent a new plan for certain emergencies, hence the Box and Express plan was devised, at the instance of a few heroic slaves, who had manifested their willingness to die in a box, on the road to liberty, rather than continue longer under the yoke. But these heroes fell into the power of their enemies. Mr. Smith had not been long in the Penitentiary before he had fully gained the esteem and confidence of the Superintendent and other officers. Finding him to be humane and generous-hearted--showing kindness toward all, especially in buying bread, &c., for the starving prisoners, and by a timely note of warning, which had saved the life of one of the keepers, for whose destruction a bold plot had been arranged--the officers felt disposed to show him such favors as the law would allow. But their good intentions were soon frustrated. The Inquisition (commonly called the Legislature), being in session in Richmond, hearing that the Superintendent had been speaking well of Smith, and circulating a petition for his pardon, indignantly demanded to know if the rumor was well founded. Two weeks were spent by the Inquisition, and many witnesses were placed upon oath, to solemnly testify in the matter. One of the keepers swore that his life had been saved by Smith. Col. Morgan, the Superintendent, frequently testified in writing and verbally to Smith's good deportment; acknowledging that he had circulated petitions, &c.; and took the position, that he sincerely believed, that it would be to the interest of the institution to pardon him; calling the attention of the Inquisition, at the same time, to the fact, that not unfrequently pardons had been granted to criminals, under sentence of death, for the most cold-blooded murder, to say nothing of other gross crimes. The effort for pardon was soon abandoned, for the following reason given by the Governor: "I can't, and I won't pardon him!" In view of the unparalleled injustice which Mr. S. had suffered, as well as on account of the aid he had rendered to the slaves, on his arrival in this city the colored citizens of Philadelphia felt that he was entitled to sympathy and aid, and straightway invited him to remain a few days, until arrangements could be made for a mass meeting to receive him. Accordingly, on last Monday evening, a mass meeting convened in the Israel church, and the Rev. Wm. T. Catto was called to the chair, and Wm. Still was appointed secretary. The chairman briefly stated the object of the meeting. Having lived in the South, he claimed to know something of the workings of the oppressive system of slavery generally, and declared that, notwithstanding the many exposures of the evil which came under his own observation, the most vivid descriptions fell far short of the realities his own eyes had witnessed. He then introduced Mr. Smith, who arose and in a plain manner briefly told his story, assuring the audience that he had always hated slavery, and had taken great pleasure in helping many out of it, and though he had suffered much physically and pecuniarily for the cause' sake, yet he murmured not, but rejoiced in what he had done. After taking his seat, addresses were made by the Rev. S. Smith, Messrs. Kinnard, Brunner, Bradway, and others. The following preamble and resolutions were adopted-- WHEREAS, We, the colored citizens of Philadelphia, have among us Samuel A. Smith, who was incarcerated over seven years in the Richmond Penitentiary, for doing an act that was honorable to his feelings and his sense of justice and humanity, therefore, _Resolved_, That we welcome him to this city as a martyr to the cause of Freedom. _Resolved_, That we heartily tender him our gratitude for the good he has done to our suffering race. _Resolved_, That we sympathize with him in his losses and sufferings in the cause of the poor, down-trodden slave. W.S. During his stay in Philadelphia, on this occasion, he stopped for about a fortnight with the writer, and it was most gratifying to learn from him that he was no new worker on the U.G.R.R. But that he had long hated slavery thoroughly, and although surrounded with perils on every side, he had not failed to help a poor slave whenever the opportunity was presented. Pecuniary aid, to some extent, was rendered him in this city, for which he was grateful, and after being united in marriage, by Wm. H. Furness, D.D., to a lady who had remained faithful to him through all his sore trials and sufferings, he took his departure for Western New York, with a good conscience and an unshaken faith in the belief that in aiding his fellow-man to freedom he had but simply obeyed the word of Him who taught man to do unto others as he would be done by. * * * * * TRIAL OF THE EMANCIPATORS OF COL. J.H. WHEELER'S SLAVES, JANE JOHNSON AND HER TWO LITTLE BOYS. Among other duties devolving on the Vigilance Committee when hearing of slaves brought into the State by their owners, was immediately to inform such persons that as they were not fugitives, but were brought into the State by their masters, they were entitled to their freedom without another moment's service, and that they could have the assistance of the Committee and the advice of counsel without charge, by simply availing themselves of these proffered favors. Many slave-holders fully understood the law in this particular, and were also equally posted with regard to the vigilance of abolitionists. Consequently they avoided bringing slaves beyond Mason and Dixon's Line in traveling North. But some slave-holders were not thus mindful of the laws, or were too arrogant to take heed, as may be seen in the case of Colonel John H. Wheeler, of North Carolina, the United States Minister to Nicaragua. In passing through Philadelphia from Washington, one very warm July day in 1855, accompanied by three of his slaves, his high official equilibrium, as well as his assumed rights under the Constitution, received a terrible shock at the hands of the Committee. Therefore, for the readers of these pages, and in order to completely illustrate the various phases of the work of the Committee in the days of Slavery, this case, selected from many others, is a fitting one. However, for more than a brief recital of some of the more prominent incidents, it will not be possible to find room in this volume. And, indeed, the necessity of so doing is precluded by the fact that Mr. Williamson in justice to himself and the cause of freedom, with great pains and singular ability, gathered the most important facts bearing on his memorable trial and imprisonment, and published them in a neat volume for historical reference. In order to bring fully before the reader the beginning of this interesting and exciting case, it seems only necessary to publish the subjoined letter, written by one of the actors in the drama, and addressed to the New York Tribune, and an additional paragraph which may be requisite to throw light on a special point, which Judge Kane decided was concealed in the "obstinate" breast of Passmore Williamson, as said Williamson persistently refused before the said Judge's court, to own that he had a knowledge of the mystery in question. After which, a brief glance at some of the more important points of the case must suffice. LETTER COPIED FROM THE NEW YORK TRIBUNE. [Correspondence of The N.Y. Tribune.] PHILADELPHIA, Monday, July 30, 1855. As the public have not been made acquainted with the facts and particulars respecting the agency of Mr. Passmore Williamson and others, in relation to the slave case now agitating this city, and especially as the poor slave mother and her two sons have been so grossly misrepresented, I deem it my duty to lay the facts before you, for publication or otherwise, as you may think proper. On Wednesday afternoon, week, at 4-1/2 o'clock, the following note was placed in my hands by a colored boy whom I had never before seen, to my recollection: "MR. STILL--_Sir_: Will you come down to Bloodgood's Hotel as soon as possible--as there are three fugitive slaves here and they want liberty. Their master is here with them, on his way to New York." The note was without date, and the signature so indistinctly written as not to be understood by me, having evidently been penned in a moment of haste. Without delay I ran with the note to Mr. P. Williamson's office, Seventh and Arch, found him at his desk, and gave it to him, and after reading it, he remarked that he could not go down, as he had to go to Harrisburg that night on business--but he advised me to go, and to get the names of the slave-holder and the slaves, in order to telegraph to New York to have them arrested there, as no time remained to procure a writ of habeas corpus here. I could not have been two minutes in Mr. W.'s office before starting in haste for the wharf. To my surprise, however, when I reached the wharf, there I found Mr. W., his mind having undergone a sudden change; he was soon on the spot. I saw three or four colored persons in the hall at Bloodgood's, none of whom I recognized except the boy who brought me the note. Before having time for making inquiry some one said they had gone on board the boat. "Get their description," said Mr. W. I instantly inquired of one of the colored persons for the desired description, and was told that she was "a tall, dark woman, with two little boys." Mr. W. and myself ran on board of the boat, looked among the passengers on the first deck, but saw them not. "They are up on the second deck," an unknown voice uttered. In a second we were in their presence. We approached the anxious-looking slave-mother with her two boys on her left-hand; close on her right sat an ill-favored white man having a cane in his hand which I took to be a sword-cane. (As to its being a sword-cane, however, I might have been mistaken.) The first words to the mother were: "Are you traveling?" "Yes," was the prompt answer. "With whom?" She nodded her head toward the ill-favored man, signifying with him. Fidgeting on his seat, he said something, exactly what I do not now recollect. In reply I remarked: "Do they belong to you, Sir?" "Yes, they are in my charge," was his answer. Turning from him to the mother and her sons, in substance, and word for word, as near as I can remember, the following remarks were earnestly though calmly addressed by the individuals who rejoiced to meet them on free soil, and who felt unmistakably assured that they were justified by the laws of Pennsylvania as well as the Law of God, in informing them of their rights: "You are entitled to your freedom according to the laws of Pennsylvania, having been brought into the State by your owner. If you prefer freedom to slavery, as we suppose everybody does, you have the chance to accept it now. Act calmly--don't be frightened by your master--you are as much entitled to your freedom as we are, or as he is--be determined and you need have no fears but that you will be protected by the law. Judges have time and again decided cases in this city and State similar to yours in favor of freedom! Of course, if you want to remain a slave with your master, we cannot force you to leave; we only want to make you sensible of your rights. _Remember, if you lose this chance you may never get such another," etc_. [Illustration: RESCUE OF JANE JOHNSON AND HER CHILDREN.] This advice to the woman was made in the hearing of a number of persons present, white and colored; and one elderly white gentleman of genteel address, who seemed to take much interest in what was going on, remarked that they would have the same chance for their freedom in New Jersey and New York as they then had--seeming to sympathize with the woman, etc. During the few moments in which the above remarks were made, the slaveholder frequently interrupted--said she understood all about the laws making her free, and her right to leave if she wanted to; but contended that she did not want to leave--that she was on a visit to New York to see her friends--afterward _wished to return to her three children whom she left in Virginia, from whom it would be_ HARD _to separate her_. Furthermore, he diligently tried to constrain her to say that she did not want to be interfered with--that she wanted to go with him--that she was on a visit to New York--had children in the South, etc.; but the woman's desire to be free was altogether too strong to allow her to make a single acknowledgment favorable to his wishes in the matter. On the contrary, she repeatedly said, distinctly and firmly, "_I am not free, but I want my freedom_--ALWAYS _wanted to be free!! but he holds me_." While the slaveholder claimed that she belonged to him, he said _that she was free_! Again he said that he was _going to give her her freedom_, etc. When his eyes would be off of hers, such eagerness as her looks expressed, indicative of her entreaty that we would not forsake her and her little ones in their weakness, it had never been my lot to witness before, under any circumstances. The last bell tolled! The last moment for further delay passed! The arm of the woman being slightly touched, accompanied with the word, "Come!" she instantly arose. "Go along--go along!" said some, who sympathized, to the boys, at the same time taking hold of their arms. By this time the parties were fairly moving toward the stairway leading to the deck below. Instantly on their starting, the slave-holder rushed at the woman and her children, to prevent their leaving; and, if I am not mistaken, he simultaneously took hold of the woman and Mr. Williamson, which resistance on his part caused Mr. W. to take hold of him and set him aside quickly. The passengers were looking on all around, but none interfered in behalf of the slaveholder except one man, whom I took to be another slaveholder. He said harshly, "Let them alone; they are his _property_!'" The youngest boy, about 7 years of age--too young to know what these things meant--cried "Massa John! Massa John!" The elder boy, 11 years of age, took the matter more dispassionately, and the mother _quite calmly_. The mother and her sympathizers all moved down the stairs together in the presence of quite a number of spectators on the first deck and on the wharf, all of whom, as far as I was able to discern, seemed to look upon the whole affair with the greatest indifference. The woman and children were assisted, but not forced to leave. Nor were there any violence or threatenings as I saw or heard. The only words that I heard from any one of an objectionable character, were: "Knock him down; knock him down!" but who uttered it or who was meant I knew not, nor have I since been informed. However, if it was uttered by a colored man, I regret it, as there was not the slightest cause for such language, especially as the sympathies of the spectators and citizens seemed to justify the course pursued. While passing off of the wharf and down Delaware-avenue to Dock st., and up Dock to Front, where a carriage was procured, the slaveholder and one police officer were of the party, if no more. The youngest boy on being put in the carriage was told that he was "a fool for crying so after 'Massa John,' who would sell him if he ever caught him." Not another whine was heard on the subject. The carriage drove down town slowly, the horses being fatigued and the weather intensely hot; the inmates were put out on Tenth street--not at any house--after which they soon found hospitable friends and quietude. The excitement of the moment having passed by, the mother _seemed very cheerful, and rejoiced greatly that herself and boys had been, as she thought, so "providentially delivered from the house of bondage_!" For the first time in her life she could look upon herself and children and feel free! Having felt the iron in her heart for the best half of her days--having been sold with her children on the auction block--having had one of her children sold far away from her without hope of her seeing him again--she very naturally and wisely concluded to go to Canada, fearing if she remained in this city--as some assured her she could do with entire safety--that she might again find herself in the clutches of the tyrant from whom she had fled. A few items of what she related concerning the character of her master may be interesting to the reader-- Within the last two years he had sold all his slaves--between thirty and forty in number--having purchased the present ones in that space of time. She said that before leaving Washington, coming on the cars, and at his father-in-law's in this city, a number of persons had told him that in bringing his slaves into Pennsylvania they would be free. When told at his father-in-law's, as she overheard it, that he "could not have done a worse thing," &c., he replied that "Jane would not leave him." As much, however, as he affected to have such implicit confidence in Jane, he scarcely allowed her to be out of his presence a moment while in this city. To use Jane's own language, he was "on her heels every minute," fearing that some one might get to her ears the sweet music of freedom. By the way, Jane had it deep in her heart before leaving the South, and was bent on succeeding in New York, if disappointed in Philadelphia. At Bloodgood's, after having been belated and left by the 2 o'clock train, while waiting for the 5 o'clock line, his appetite tempted her "master" to take a hasty dinner. So after placing Jane where he thought she would be pretty secure from "evil communications" from the colored waiters, and after giving her a double counselling, he made his way to the table; remained but a little while, however, before leaving to look after Jane; finding her composed, looking over a bannister near where he left her, he returned to the table again and finished his meal. But, alas, for the slave-holder! Jane had her "top eye open," and in that brief space had appealed to the sympathies of a person whom she ventured to trust, saying, "I and my children are slaves, and we want liberty!" I am not certain, but suppose that person, in the goodness of his heart, was the cause of the note being sent to the Anti-Slavery office, and hence the result. As to her going on to New York to see her friends, and wishing to return to her three children in the South, and his going to free her, &c., Jane declared repeatedly and very positively, that there was not a particle of truth in what her master said on these points. The truth is she had not the slightest hope of freedom through any act of his. She had only left one boy in the South, who had been sold far away, where she scarcely ever heard from him, indeed never expected to see him any more. In appearance Jane is tall and well formed, high and large forehead, of genteel manners, chestnut color, and seems to possess, naturally, uncommon good sense, though of course she has never been allowed to read. Thus I have given as truthful a report as I am capable of doing, of Jane and the circumstances connected with her deliverance. W. STILL. P.S.--Of the five colored porters who promptly appeared, with warm hearts throbbing in sympathy with the mother and her children, too much cannot be said in commendation. In the present case they acted nobly, whatever may be said of their general character, of which I know nothing. How human beings, who have ever tasted oppression, could have acted differently under the circumstances I cannot conceive. The mystery alluded to, which the above letter did not contain, and which the court failed to make Mr. Williamson reveal, might have been truthfully explained in these words. The carriage was procured at the wharf, while Col. Wheeler and Mr. Williamson were debating the question relative to the action of the Committee, and at that instant, Jane and her two boys were invited into it and accompanied by the writer, who procured it, were driven down town, and on Tenth Street, below Lombard, the inmates were invited out of it, and the said conductor paid the driver and discharged him. For prudential reasons he took them to a temporary resting-place, where they could tarry until after dark; then they were invited to his own residence, where they were made welcome, and in due time forwarded East. Now, what disposition was made of them after they had left the wharf, while Williamson and Wheeler were discussing matters--(as was clearly sworn to by Passmore, in his answer to the writ of Habeas Corpus)--he Williamson did not know. That evening, before seeing the member of the Committee, with whom he acted in concert on the boat, and who had entire charge of Jane and her boys, he left for Harrisburg, to fulfill business engagements. The next morning his father (Thomas Williamson) brought the writ of Habeas Corpus (which had been served at Passmore's office after he left) to the Anti-Slavery Office. In his calm manner he handed it to the writer, at the same time remarking that "Passmore had gone to Harrisburg," and added, "thee had better attend to it" (the writ). Edward Hopper, Esq., was applied to with the writ, and in the absence of Mr. Williamson, appeared before the court, and stated "that the writ had not been served, as Mr. W. was out of town," etc. After this statement, the Judge postponed further action until the next day. In the meanwhile, Mr. Williamson returned and found the writ awaiting him, and an agitated state of feeling throughout the city besides. Now it is very certain, that he did not seek to know from those in the secret, where Jane Johnson and her boys were taken after they left the wharf, or as to what disposition had been made of them, in any way; except to ask simply, "are they safe?" (and when told "yes," he smiled) consequently, he might have been examined for a week, by the most skillful lawyer, at the Philadelphia bar, but he could not have answered other than he did in making his return to the writ, before Judge Kane, namely: "_That the persons named in the writ, nor either of them, are now nor was at the time of issuing of the writ, or the original writ, or at any other time in the custody, power, or possession of the respondent, nor by him confined or restrained; wherefore he cannot have the bodies," etc._. Thus, while Mr. W. was subjected to the severest trial of his devotion to Freedom, his noble bearing throughout, won for him the admiration and sympathy of the friends of humanity and liberty throughout the entire land, and in proof of his fidelity, he most cheerfully submitted to imprisonment rather than desert his principles. But the truth was not wanted in this instance by the enemies of Freedom; obedience to Slavery was demanded to satisfy the South. The opportunity seemed favorable for teaching abolitionists and negroes, that they had no right to interfere with a "chivalrous southern gentleman," while passing through Philadelphia with his slaves. Thus, to make an effective blow, all the pro-slavery elements of Philadelphia were brought into action, and matters looked for a time as though Slavery in this instance would have everything its own way. Passmore was locked up in prison on the flimsy pretext of contempt of court, and true bills were found against him and half a dozen colored men, charging them with "riot," "forcible abduction," and "assault and battery," and there was no lack of hard swearing on the part of Col. Wheeler and his pro-slavery sympathizers in substantiation of these grave charges. But the pro-slaveryites had counted without their host--Passmore would not yield an inch, but stood as firmly by his principles in prison, as he did on the boat. Indeed, it was soon evident, that his resolute course was bringing floods of sympathy from the ablest and best minds throughout the North. On the other hand, the occasion was rapidly awakening thousands daily, who had hitherto manifested little or no interest at all on the subject, to the wrongs of the slave. It was soon discovered by the "chivalry" that keeping Mr. Williamson in prison would indirectly greatly aid the cause of Freedom--that every day he remained would make numerous converts to the cause of liberty; that Mr. Williamson was doing ten-fold more in prison for the cause of universal liberty than he could possibly do while pursuing his ordinary vocation. With regard to the colored men under bonds, Col. Wheeler and his satellites felt very confident that there was no room for them to escape. They must have had reason so to think, judging from the hard swearing they did, before the committing magistrate. Consequently, in the order of events, while Passmore was still in prison, receiving visits from hosts of friends, and letters of sympathy from all parts of the North, William Still, William Curtis, James P. Braddock, John Ballard, James Martin and Isaiah Moore, were brought into court for trial. The first name on the list in the proceedings of the court was called up first. Against this individual, it was pretty well understood by the friends of the slave, that no lack of pains and false swearing would be resorted to on the part of Wheeler and his witnesses, to gain a verdict. Mr. McKim and other noted abolitionists managing the defense, were equally alive to the importance of overwhelming the enemy in this particular issue. The Hon. Charles Gibbons, was engaged to defend William Still, and William S. Pierce, Esq., and William B. Birney, Esq., the other five colored defendants. In order to make the victory complete, the anti-slavery friends deemed it of the highest importance to have Jane Johnson in court, to face her master, and under oath to sweep away his "refuge of lies," with regard to her being "abducted," and her unwillingness to "leave her master," etc. So Mr. McKim and the friends very privately arranged to have Jane Johnson on hand at the opening of the defense. Mrs. Lucretia Mott, Mrs. McKim, Miss Sarah Pugh and Mrs. Plumly, volunteered to accompany this poor slave mother to the court-house and to occupy seats by her side, while she should face her master, and boldly, on oath, contradict all his hard swearing. A better subject for the occasion than Jane, could not have been desired. She entered the court room veiled, and of course was not known by the crowd, as pains had been taken to keep the public in ignorance of the fact, that she was to be brought on to bear witness. So that, at the conclusion of the second witness on the part of the defense, "Jane Johnson" was called for, in a shrill voice. Deliberately, Jane arose and answered, in a lady-like manner to her name, and was then the observed of all observers. Never before had such a scene been witnessed in Philadelphia. It was indescribable. Substantially, her testimony on this occasion, was in keeping with the subjoined affidavit, which was as follows-- "_State of New York, City and County of New York_. "Jane Johnson being sworn, makes oath and says-- "My name is Jane--Jane Johnson; I was the slave of Mr. Wheeler of Washington; he bought me and my two children, about two years ago, of Mr. Cornelius Crew, of Richmond, Va.; my youngest child is between six and seven years old, the other between ten and eleven; I have one other child only, and he is in Richmond; I have not seen him for about two years; never expect to see him again; Mr. Wheeler brought me and my two children to Philadelphia, on the way to Nicaragua, to wait on his wife; I didn't want to go without my two children, and he consented to take them; we came to Philadelphia by the cars; stopped at Mr. Sully's, Mr. Wheeler's father-in-law, a few moments; then went to the steamboat for New York at 2 o'clock, but were too late; we went into Bloodgood's Hotel; Mr. Wheeler went to dinner; Mr. Wheeler had told me in Washington to have nothing to say to colored persons, and if any of them spoke to me, to say I was a free woman traveling with a minister; we staid at Bloodgood's till 5 o'clock; Mr. Wheeler kept his eye on me all the time except when he was at dinner; he left his dinner to come and see if I was safe, and then went back again; while he was at dinner, I saw a colored woman and told her I was a slave woman, that my master had told me not to speak to colored people, and that if any of them spoke to me to say that I was free; but I am not free; but I want to be free; she said: 'poor thing, I pity you;' after that I saw a colored man and said the same thing to him, he said he would telegraph to New York, and two men would meet me at 9 o'clock and take me with them; after that we went on board the boat, Mr. Wheeler sat beside me on the deck; I saw a colored gentleman come on board, he beckoned to me; I nodded my head, and could not go; Mr. Wheeler was beside me and I was afraid; a white gentleman then came and said to Mr. Wheeler, 'I want to speak to your servant, and tell her of her rights;' Mr. Wheeler rose and said, 'If you have anything to say, say it to me--she knows her rights;' the white gentleman asked me if I wanted to be free; I said 'I do, but I belong to this gentleman and I can't have it;' he replied, 'Yes, you can, come with us, you are as free as your master, if you want your freedom come now; if you go back to Washington you may never get it;' I rose to go, Mr. Wheeler spoke, and said, 'I will give you your freedom,' but he had never promised it before, and I knew he would never give it to me; the white gentleman held out his hand and I went toward him; I was ready for the word before it was given me; I took the children by the hands, who both cried, for they were frightened, but both stopped when they got on shore; a colored man carried the little one, I led the other by the hand. We walked down the street till we got to a hack; nobody forced me away; nobody pulled me, and nobody led me; I went away of my own free will; I always wished to be free and meant to be free when I came North; I hardly expected it in Philadelphia, but I thought I should get free in New York; I have been comfortable and happy since I left Mr. Wheeler, and so are the children; I don't want to go back; I could have gone in Philadelphia if I had wanted to; I could go now; but I had rather die than go back. I wish to make this statement before a magistrate, because I understand that Mr. Williamson is in prison on my account, and I hope the truth may be of benefit to him." [Illustration: JANE JOHNSON] [Illustration: PASSMORE WILLIAMSON.] JANE [her X mark.] JOHNSON. It might have been supposed that her honest and straightforward testimony would have been sufficient to cause even the most relentless slaveholder to abandon at once a pursuit so monstrous and utterly hopeless as Wheeler's was. But although he was sadly confused and put to shame, he hung on to the "lost cause" tenaciously. And his counsel, David Webster, Esq., and the United States District Attorney, Vandyke, completely imbued with the pro-slavery spirit, were equally as unyielding. And thus, with a zeal befitting the most worthy object imaginable, they labored with untiring effort to convict the colored men. By this policy, however, the counsel for the defense was doubly aroused. Mr. Gibbons, in the most eloquent and indignant strains, perfectly annihilated the "distinguished Colonel John H. Wheeler, United States Minister Plenipotentiary near the Island of Nicaragua," taking special pains to ring the changes repeatedly on his long appellations. Mr. Gibbons appeared to be precisely in the right mood to make himself surpassingly forcible and eloquent, on whatever point of law he chose to touch bearing on the case; or in whatever direction he chose to glance at the injustice and cruelty of the South. Most vividly did he draw the contrast between the States of "Georgia" and "Pennsylvania," with regard to the atrocious laws of Georgia. Scarcely less vivid is the impression after a lapse of sixteen years, than when this eloquent speech was made. With the District Attorney, Wm. B. Mann, Esq., and his Honor, Judge Kelley, the defendants had no cause to complain. Throughout the entire proceedings, they had reason to feel, that neither of these officials sympathized in the least with Wheeler or Slavery. Indeed in the Judge's charge and also in the District Attorney's closing speech the ring of freedom could be distinctly heard--much more so than was agreeable to Wheeler and his Pro-Slavery sympathizers. The case of Wm. Still ended in his acquittal; the other five colored men were taken up in order. And it is scarcely necessary to say that Messrs. Peirce and Birney did full justice to all concerned. Mr. Peirce, especially, was one of the oldest, ablest and most faithful lawyers to the slave of the Philadelphia Bar. He never was known, it may safely be said, to hesitate in the darkest days of Slavery to give his time and talents to the fugitive, even in the most hopeless cases, and when, from the unpopularity of such a course, serious sacrifices would be likely to result. Consequently he was but at home in this case, and most nobly did he defend his clients, with the same earnestness that a man would defend his fireside against the approach of burglars. At the conclusion of the trial, the jury returned a verdict of "not guilty," as to all the persons in the first count, charging them with riot. In the second count, charging them with "Assault and Battery" (on Col. Wheeler) Ballard and Curtis were found "guilty," the rest "not guilty." The guilty were given about a week in jail. Thus ended this act in the Wheeler drama. The following extract is taken from the correspondence of the New York Tribune touching Jane Johnson's presence in the court, and will be interesting on that account: "But it was a bold and perilous move on the part of her friends, and the deepest apprehensions were felt for a while, for the result. The United States Marshal was there with his warrant and an extra force to execute it. The officers of the court and other State officers were there to protect the witness and vindicate the laws of the State. Vandyke, the United States District Attorney, swore he would take her. The State officers swore he should not, and for a while it seemed that nothing could avert a bloody scene. It was expected that the conflict would take place at the door, when she should leave the room, so that when she and her friends went out, and for some time after, the most intense suspense pervaded the court-room. She was, however, allowed to enter the carriage that awaited her without disturbance. She was accompanied by Mr. McKim, Secretary of the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society, Lucretia Mott and George Corson, one of our most manly and intrepid police officers. The carriage was followed by another filled with officers as a guard; and thus escorted she was taken back in safety to the house from which she had been brought. Her title to Freedom under the laws of the State will hardly again be brought into question." Mr. Williamson was committed to prison by Judge Kane for contempt of Court, on the 27th day of July, 1855, and was released on the 3d day of November the same year, having gained, in the estimation of the friends of Freedom every where, a triumph and a fame which but few men in the great moral battle for Freedom could claim. * * * * * THE ARRIVALS OF A SINGLE MONTH. SIXTY PASSENGERS CAME IN ONE MONTH--TWENTY-EIGHT IN ONE ARRIVAL--GREAT PANIC AND INDIGNATION MEETING--INTERESTING CORRESPONDENCE FROM MASTERS AND FUGITIVES. The great number of cases to be here noticed forbids more than a brief reference to each passenger. As they arrived in parties, their narratives will be given in due order as found on the book of records: William Griffen, Henry Moor, James Camper, Noah Ennells and Levin Parker. This party came from Cambridge, Md. William is thirty-four years of age, of medium size and substantial appearance. He fled from James Waters, Esq., a lawyer, living in Cambridge. He was "wealthy, close, and stingy," and owned nine head of slaves and a farm, on which William served. He was used very hard, which was the cause of his escape, though the idea that he was entitled to his freedom had been entertained for the previous twelve years. On preparing to take the Underground, he armed himself with a big butcher-knife, and resolved, if attacked, to make his enemies stand back. His master was a member of the Methodist Church. Henry is tall, copper-colored, and about thirty years of age. He complained not so much of bad usage as of the utter distaste he had to working all the time for the "white people for nothing." He was also decidedly of the opinion that every man should have his liberty. Four years ago his wife was "sold away to Georgia" by her young master; since which time not a word had he heard of her. She left three children, and he, in escaping, also had to leave them in the same hands that sold their mother. He was owned by Levin Dale, a farmer near Cambridge. Henry was armed with a six-barreled revolver, a large knife, and a determined mind. James is twenty-four years of age, quite black, small size, keen look, and full of hope for the "best part of Canada." He fled from Henry Hooper, "a dashing young man and a member of the Episcopal Church." Left because he "did not enjoy privileges" as he wished to do. He was armed with two pistols and a dirk to defend himself. Noah is only nineteen, quite dark, well-proportioned, and possessed of a fair average of common sense. He was owned by "Black-head Bill LeCount," who "followed drinking, chewing tobacco, catching 'runaways,' and hanging around the court-house." However, he owned six head of slaves, and had a "rough wife," who belonged to the Methodist Church. Left because he "expected every day to be sold"--his master being largely in "debt." Brought with him a butcher-knife. Levin is twenty-two, rather short built, medium size and well colored. He fled from Lawrence G. Colson, "a very bad man, fond of drinking, great to fight and swear, and hard to please." His mistress was "real rough; very bad, worse than he was as 'fur' as she could be." Having been stinted with food and clothing and worked hard, was the apology offered by Levin for running off. Stebney Swan, John Stinger, Robert Emerson, Anthony Pugh and Isabella ----. This company came from Portsmouth, Va. Stebney is thirty-four years of age, medium size, mulatto, and quite wide awake. He was owned by an oysterman by the name of Jos. Carter, who lived near Portsmouth. Naturally enough his master "drank hard, gambled" extensively, and in every other respect was a very ordinary man. Nevertheless, he "owned twenty-five head," and had a wife and six children. Stebney testified that he had not been used hard, though he had been on the "auction-block three times." Left because he was "tired of being a servant." Armed with a broad-axe and hatchet, he started, joined by the above-named companions, and came in a skiff, by sea. Robert Lee was the brave Captain engaged to pilot this Slavery-sick party from the prison-house of bondage. And although every rod of rowing was attended with inconceivable peril, the desired haven was safely reached, and the overjoyed voyagers conducted to the Vigilance Committee. John is about forty years of age, and so near white that a microscope would be required to discern his colored origin. His father was white, and his mother nearly so. He also had been owned by the oysterman alluded to above; had been captain of one of his oyster-boats, until recently. And but for his attempt some months back to make his escape, he might have been this day in the care of his kind-hearted master. But, because of this wayward step on the part of John, his master felt called upon to humble him. Accordingly, the captaincy was taken from him, and he was compelled to struggle on in a less honorable position. Occasionally John's mind would be refreshed by his master relating the hard times in the North, the great starvation among the blacks, etc. He would also tell John how much better off he was as a "slave with a kind master to provide for all his wants," etc. Notwithstanding all this counsel, John did not rest contented until he was on the Underground Rail Road. Robert was only nineteen, with an intelligent face and prepossessing manners; reads, writes and ciphers; and is about half Anglo-Saxon. He fled from Wm. H. Wilson, Esq., Cashier of the Virginia Bank. Until within the four years previous to Robert's escape, the cashier was spoken of as a "very good man;" but in consequence of speculations in a large Hotel in Portsmouth, and the then financial embarrassments, "he had become seriously involved," and decidedly changed in his manners. Robert noticed this, and concluded he had "better get out of danger as soon as possible." Anthony and Isabella were an engaged couple, and desired to cast their lot where husband and wife could not be separated on the auction-block. The following are of the Cambridge party, above alluded to. All left together, but for prudential reasons separated before reaching Philadelphia. The company that left Cambridge on the 24th of October may be thus recognized: Aaron Cornish and wife, with their six children; Solomon, George Anthony, Joseph, Edward James, Perry Lake, and a nameless babe, all very likely; Kit Anthony and wife Leah, and three children, Adam, Mary, and Murray; Joseph Hill and wife Alice, and their son Henry; also Joseph's sister. Add to the above, Marshall Button and George Light, both single young men, and we have twenty-eight in one arrival, as hearty-looking, brave and interesting specimens of Slavery as could well be produced from Maryland. Before setting out they counted well the cost. Being aware that fifteen had left their neighborhood only a few days ahead of them, and that every slave-holder and slave-catcher throughout the community, were on the alert, and raging furiously against the inroads of the Underground Rail Road, they provided themselves with the following weapons of defense: three revolvers, three double-barreled pistols, three single-barreled pistols, three sword-canes, four butcher knives, one bowie-knife, and one paw.[A] Thus, fully resolved upon freedom or death, with scarcely provisions enough for a single day, while the rain and storm was piteously descending, fathers and mothers with children in their arms (Aaron Cornish had two)--the entire party started. Of course, their provisions gave out before they were fairly on the way, but not so with the storm. It continued to pour upon them for nearly three days. With nothing to appease the gnawings of hunger but parched corn and a few dry crackers, wet and cold, with several of the children sick, some of their feet bare and worn, and one of the mothers with an infant in her arms, incapable of partaking of the diet,--it is impossible to imagine the ordeal they were passing. It was enough to cause the bravest hearts to falter. But not for a moment did they allow themselves to look back. It was exceedingly agreeable to hear even the little children testify that in the most trying hour on the road, not for a moment did they want to go back. The following advertisement, taken from _The Cambridge Democrat_ of November 4, shows how the Rev. Levi Traverse felt about Aaron-- [Footnote A: A paw is a weapon with iron prongs, four inches long, to be grasped with the hand and used in close encounter.] $300 Reward.--Ran away from the subscriber, from the neighborhood of Town Point, on Saturday night, the 24th inst., my negro man, AARON CORNISH, about 35 years old. He is about five feet ten inches high, black, good-looking, rather pleasant countenance, and carries himself with a confident manner. He went off with his wife, DAFFNEY, a negro woman belonging to Reuben E. Phillips. I will give the above reward if taken out of the county, and $200 if taken in the county; in either case to be lodged in Cambridge Jail. [Illustration: Runaway] October 25, 1857. Levi D. Traverse. To fully understand the Rev. Mr. Traverse's authority for taking the liberty he did with Aaron's good name, it may not be amiss to give briefly a paragraph of private information from Aaron, relative to his master. The Rev. Mr. Traverse belonged to the Methodist Church, and was described by Aaron as a "bad young man; rattle-brained; with the appearance of not having good sense,--not enough to manage the great amount of property (he had been left wealthy) in his possession." Aaron's servitude commenced under this spiritual protector in May prior to the escape, immediately after the death of his old master. His deceased master, William D. Traverse, by the way, was the father-in-law, and at the same time own uncle of Aaron's reverend owner. Though the young master, for marrying his own cousin and uncle's daughter, had been for years the subject of the old gentleman's wrath, and was not allowed to come near his house, or to entertain any reasonable hope of getting any of his father-in-law's estate, nevertheless, scarcely had the old man breathed his last, ere the young preacher seized upon the inheritance, slaves and all; at least he claimed two-thirds, allowing for the widow one-third. Unhesitatingly he had taken possession of all the slaves (some thirty head), and was making them feel his power to the fullest extent. To Aaron this increased oppression was exceedingly crushing, as he had been hoping at the death of his old master to be free. Indeed, it was understood that the old man had his will made, and freedom provided for the slaves. But, strangely enough, at his death no will could be found. Aaron was firmly of the conviction that the Rev. Mr. Traverse knew what became of it. Between the widow and the son-in-law, in consequence of his aggressive steps, existed much hostility, which strongly indicated the approach of a law-suit; therefore, except by escaping, Aaron could not see the faintest hope of freedom. Under his old master, the favor of hiring his time had been granted him. He had also been allowed by his wife's mistress (Miss Jane Carter, of Baltimore), to have his wife and children home with him--that is, until his children would grow to the age of eight and ten years, then they would be taken away and hired out at twelve or fifteen dollars a year at first. Her oldest boy, sixteen, hired the year he left for forty dollars. They had had ten children; two had died, two they were compelled to leave in chains; the rest they brought away. Not one dollar's expense had they been to their mistress. The industrious Aaron not only had to pay his own hire, but was obliged to do enough over-work to support his large family. Though he said he had no special complaint to make against his old master, through whom he, with the rest of the slaves, hoped to obtain freedom, Aaron, nevertheless, spoke of him as a man of violent temper, severe on his slaves, drinking hard, etc., though he was a man of wealth and stood high in the community. One of Aaron's brothers, and others, had been sold South by him. It was on account of his inveterate hatred of his son-in-law, who, he declared, should never have his property (having no other heir but his niece, except his widow), that the slaves relied on his promise to free them. Thus, in view of the facts referred to, Aaron was led to commit the unpardonable sin of running away with his wife Daffney, who, by the way, looked like a woman fully capable of taking care of herself and children, instead of having them stolen away from her, as though they were pigs. Joseph Viney and family--Joseph was "held to service or labor," by Charles Bryant, of Alexandria, Va. Joseph had very nearly finished paying for himself. His wife and children were held by Samuel Pattison, Esq., a member of the Methodist Church, "a great big man," "with red eyes, bald head, drank pretty freely," and in the language of Joseph, "wouldn't bear nothing." Two of Joseph's brothers-in-law had been sold by his master. Against Mrs. Pattison his complaint was, that "she was mean, sneaking, and did not want to give half enough to eat." For the enlightenment of all Christendom, and coming posterity especially, the following advertisement and letter are recorded, with the hope that they will have an important historical value. The writer was at great pains to obtain these interesting documents, directly after the arrival of the memorable Twenty-Eight; and shortly afterwards furnished to the New York _Tribune_, in a prudential manner, a brief sketch of these very passengers, including the advertisements, but not the letter. It was safely laid away for history-- $2,000 REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber on Saturday night, the 24th inst, FOURTEEN HEAD OF NEGROES, viz: Four men, two women, one boy and seven children. KIT is about 35 years of age, five feet six or seven inches high, dark chestnut color, and has a scar on one of his thumbs. JOE is about 30 years old, very black, his teeth are very white, and is about five feet eight inches high. HENRY is about 22 years old, five feet ten inches high, of dark chestnut color and large front teeth. JOE is about 20 years old, about five feet six inches high, heavy built and black. TOM is about 16 years old, about five feet high, light chestnut color. SUSAN is about 35 years old, dark chestnut color, and rather stout built; speaks rather slow, and has with her FOUR CHILDREN, varying from one to seven years of age. LEAH is about 28 years old, about five feet high, dark chestnut color, with THREE CHILDREN, two boys and one girl, from one to eight years old. [Illustration: Runaway] I will give $1,000 if taken in the county, $1,500 if taken out of the county and in the State, and $2,000 if taken out of the State; in either case to be lodged in Cambridge (Md.) Jail, so that I can get them again; or I will give a fair proportion of the above reward if any part be secured. SAMUEL PATTISON, October 26, 1857. Near Cambridge, Md. P.S.--Since writing the above, I have discovered that my negro woman, SARAH JANE, 25 years old, stout built and chestnut color, has also run off. [Illustration: ] S.P. SAMUEL PATTISON'S LETTER. CAMBRIDGE, Nov. 16th, 1857. L.W. THOMPSON:--SIR, this morning I received your letter wishing an accurate description of my Negroes which ran away on the 24th of last month and the amt of reward offered &c &c. The description is as follows. _Kit_ is about 35 years old, five feet, six or seven inches high, dark chestnut color and has a scar on one of his thumbs, he has a very quick step and walks very straight, and can read and write. _Joe_, is about 30 years old, very black and about five feet eight inches high, has a very pleasing appearance, he has a free wife who left with him she is a light molatoo, she has a child not over one year old. _Henry_ is about 22 years old, five feet, ten inches high, of dark chestnut coller and large front teeth, he stoops a little in his walk and has a downward look. _Joe_ is about 20 years old, about five feet six inches high, heavy built, and has a grum look and voice dull, and black. _Tom_ is about 16 years old about five feet high light chestnut coller, smart active boy, and swagers in his walk. Susan is about 35 years old, dark chesnut coller and stout built, speaks rather slow and has with her _four children, three boys_ and one _girl_--the girl has a thumb or finger on her left hand (part of it) cut off, the children are from 9 months to 8 years old. (the youngest a boy 9 months and the oldest whose name is Lloyd is about 8 years old) The husband of Susan (Joe Viney) started off with her, he is a slave, belonging to a gentleman in Alexandria D.C. he is about 40 years old and dark chesnut coller rather slender built and about five feet seven or eight inches high, he is also the Father of Henry, Joe and Tom. A _reward_ of $400. will be given for his apprehension. _Leah_ is about 28 years old about five feet high dark chesnut coller, with three children. 2 Boys and 1 girl, they are from one to eight years old, the oldest boy is called Adam, Leah is the wife of Kit, the first named man in the list. _Sarah Jane_ is about 25 years old, stout built and chesnut coller, quick and active in her walk. Making in all 15 head, men, women and children belonging to me, or 16 head including Joe Viney, the husband of my woman Susan. _A Reward_ of $2250. will be given for my negroes if taken out of the State of Maryland and lodged in Cambridge or Baltimore Jail, so that I can get them or a fair proportion for any part of them. And including Joe Viney's reward $2650.00. At the same time eight other negroes belonging to a neighbor of mine ran off, for which a reward of $1400.00 has been offered for them. If you should want any information, witnesses to prove or indentify the negroes, write immediately on to me. Or if you should need any information with regard to proving the negroes, before I could reach Philadelphia, you can call on Mr. Burroughs at Martin & Smith's store, Market Street, No 308. Phila and he can refer you to a gentleman who knows the negroes. Yours &c SAML. PATTISON. This letter was in answer to one written in Philadelphia and signed, "L.W. Thompson." It is not improbable that Mr. Pattison's loss had produced such a high state of mental excitement that he was hardly in a condition for cool reflection, or he would have weighed the matter a little more carefully before exposing himself to the U.G.R.R. agents. But the letter possesses two commendable features, nevertheless. It was tolerably well written and prompt. Here is a wonderful exhibition of affection for his contented and happy negroes. Whether Mr. Pattison suspended on suddenly learning that he was minus fifteen head, the writer cannot say. But that there was a great slave hunt in every direction there is no room to doubt. Though much more might be said about the parties concerned, it must suffice to add that they came to the Vigilance Committee in a very sad plight--in tattered garments, hungry, sick, and penniless; but they were kindly clothed, fed, doctored, and sent on their way rejoicing. Daniel Stanly, Nat Amby, John Scott, Hannah Peters, Henrietta Dobson, Elizabeth Amby, Josiah Stanly, Caroline Stanly, Daniel Stanly, jr., John Stanly and Miller Stanly (arrival from Cambridge.) Daniel is about 35, well-made and wide-awake. Fortunately, in emancipating himself, he also, through great perseverance, secured the freedom of his wife and six children; one child he was compelled to leave behind. Daniel belonged to Robert Calender, a farmer, and, "except when in a passion," said to be "pretty clever." However, considering as a father, that it was his "duty to do all he could" for his children, and that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, Daniel felt bound to seek refuge in Canada. His wife and children were owned by "Samuel Count, an old, bald-headed, bad man," who "had of late years been selling and buying slaves as a business," though he stood high and was a "big bug in Cambridge." The children were truly likely-looking. Nat is no ordinary man. Like a certain other Nat known to history, his honest and independent bearing in every respect was that of a natural hero. He was full black, and about six feet high; of powerful physical proportions, and of more than ordinary intellectual capacities. With the strongest desire to make the Port of Canada safely, he had resolved to be "carried back," if attacked by the slave hunters, "only as a dead man." He was held to service by John Muir, a wealthy farmer, and the owner of 40 or 50 slaves. "Muir would drink and was generally devilish." Two of Nat's sisters and one of his brothers had been "sold away to Georgia by him." Therefore, admonished by threats and fears of having to pass through the same fiery furnace, Nat was led to consider the U.G.R.R. scheme. It was through the marriage of Nat's mistress to his present owner that he came into Muir's hands. "Up to the time of her death," he had been encouraged to "hope" that he would be "free;" indeed, he was assured by her "dying testimony that the slaves were not to be sold." But regardless of the promises and will of his departed wife, Muir soon extinguished all hopes of freedom from that quarter. But not believing that God had put one man here to "be the servant of another--to work," and get none of the benefit of his labor, Nat armed himself with a good pistol and a big knife, and taking his wife with him, bade adieu forever to bondage. Observing that Lizzie (Nat's wife) looked pretty decided and resolute, a member of the committee remarked, "Would your wife fight for freedom?" "I have heard her say she would wade through blood and tears for her freedom," said Nat, in the most serious mood. The following advertisement from _The Cambridge Democrat_ of Nov. 4, speaks for itself-- $300 REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, on Saturday night last, 17th inst., my negro woman Lizzie, about 28 years old. She is medium sized, dark complexion, good-looking, with rather a down look. When spoken to, replies quickly. She was well dressed, wearing a red and green blanket shawl, and carried with her a variety of clothing. She ran off in company with her husband, Nat Amby (belonging to John Muir, Esq.), who is about 6 feet in height, with slight impediment in his speech, dark chestnut color, and a large scar on the side of his neck. [Illustration: ] I will give the above reward if taken in this County, or one-half of what she sells for if taken out of the County or State. In either ease to be lodged in Cambridge Jail. Cambridge, Oct. 21, 1857. ALEXANDER H. BAYLY. P.S.--For the apprehension of the above-named negro man Nat, and delivery in Cambridge Jail, I will give $500 reward. JOHN MUIR. Now since Nat's master has been introduced in the above order, it seems but appropriate that Nat should be heard too; consequently the following letter is inserted for what it is worth: Auburn, June 10th, 1858. Mr. William Still:--Sir, will you be so Kind as to write a letter to affey White in straw berry alley in Baltimore city on the point. Say to her at nat Ambey that I wish to Know from her the Last Letar that Joseph Ambie and Henry Ambie two Brothers and Ann Warfield a couisin of them two boys I state above. I would like to hear from my mother sichy Ambie you will Please write to my mother and tell her that I am well and doing well and state to her that I perform my Relissius dutys and I would like to hear from her and want to know if she is performing her Relissius dutys yet and send me word from all her children I left behind say to affey White that I wish her to write me a Letter in Hast my wife is well and doing well and my nephew is doing well. Please tell affey White when she writes to me to Let me know where Joseph and Henry Ambie is. Mr. Still Please Look on your Book and you will find my name on your Book. They was eleven of us children and all when we came through and I feal interrested about my Brothers. I have never heard from them since I Left home you will Please Be Kind annough to attend to this Letter. When you send the answer to this Letter you will Please send it to P.R. Freeman Auburn City Cayuga County New York. Yours Truly NAT AMBIE. William is 25, complexion brown, intellect naturally good, with no favorable notions of the peculiar institution. He was armed with a formidable dirk-knife, and declared he would use it if attacked, rather than be dragged back to bondage. Hannah is a hearty-looking young woman of 23 or 24, with a countenance that indicated that liberty was what she wanted and was contending for, and that she could not willingly submit to the yoke. Though she came with the Cambridge party, she did not come from Cambridge, but from Marshall Hope, Caroline County, where she had been owned by Charles Peters, a man who had distinguished himself by getting "drunk, scratching and fighting, etc.," not unfrequently in his own family even. She had no parents that she knew of. Left because they used her "so bad, beat and knocked" her about. "Jack Scott." Jack is about thirty-six years of age, substantially built, dark color, and of quiet and prepossessing manners. He was owned by David B. Turner, Esq., a dry goods merchant of New York. By birth, Turner was a Virginian, and a regular slave-holder. His slaves were kept hired out by the year. As Jack had had but slight acquaintance with his New York owner, he says but very little about him. He was moved to leave simply because he had got tired of working for the "white people for nothing." Fled from Richmond, Va. Jack went to Canada direct. The following letter furnishes a clew to his whereabouts, plans, etc. MONTREAL, September 1st 1859. DEAR SIR:--It is with extreme pleasure that I set down to inclose you a few lines to let you know that I am well & I hope when these few lines come to hand they may find you & your family in good health and prosperity I left your house Nov. 3d, 1857, for Canada I Received a letter here from James Carter in Peters burg, saying that my wife would leave there about the 28th or the first September and that he would send her on by way of Philadelphia to you to send on to Montreal if she come on you be please to send her on and as there is so many boats coming here all times a day I may not know what time she will. So you be please to give her this direction, she can get a cab and go to the Donegana Hotel and Edmund Turner is there he will take you where I lives and if he is not there cabman take you to Mr Taylors on Durham St. nearly opposite to the Methodist Church. Nothing more at present but Remain your well wisher JOHN SCOTT. C. Hitchens.--This individual took his departure from Milford, Del., where he was owned by Wm. Hill, a farmer, who took special delight in having "fighting done on the place." This passenger was one of our least intelligent travelers. He was about 22. Major Ross.--Major fled from John Jay, a farmer residing in the neighborhood of Havre de Grace, Md. But for the mean treatment received from Mr. Jay, Major might have been foolish enough to have remained all his days in chains. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good." Henry Oberne.--Henry was to be free at 28, but preferred having it at 21, especially as he was not certain that 28 would ever come. He is of chestnut color, well made, &c., and came from Seaford, Md. Perry Burton.--Perry is about twenty-seven years of age, decidedly colored, medium size, and only of ordinary intellect. He acknowledged John R. Burton, a farmer on Indian River, as his master, and escaped because he wanted "some day for himself." Alfred Hubert, Israel Whitney and John Thompson. Alfred is of powerful muscular appearance and naturally of a good intellect. He is full dark chestnut color, and would doubtless fetch a high price. He was owned by Mrs. Matilda Niles, from whom he had hired his time, paying $110 yearly. He had no fault to find with his mistress, except he observed she had a young family growing up, into whose hands he feared he might unluckily fall some day, and saw no way of avoiding it but by flight. Being only twenty-eight, he may yet make his mark. Israel was owned by Elijah Money. All that he could say in favor of his master was, that he treated him "respectfully," though he "drank hard." Israel was about thirty-six, and another excellent specimen of an able-bodied and wide-awake man. He hired his time at the rate of $120 a year, and had to find his wife and child in the bargain. He came from Alexandria, Va. INTERESTING LETTER FROM ISRAEL. HAMILTON, Oct. 16, 1858. WILLIAM STILL--_My Dear Friend_:--I saw Carter and his friend a few days ago, and they told me, that you was well. On the seventh of October my wife came to Hamilton. Mr. A. Hurberd, who came from Virginia with me, is going to get married the 20th of November, next. I wish you would write to me how many of my friends you have seen since October, 1857. Montgomery Green keeps a barber shop in Cayuga, in the State of New York. I have not heard of Oscar Ball but once since I came here, and then he was well and doing well. George Carroll is in Hamilton. The times are very dull at present, and have been ever since I came here. Please write soon. Nothing more at present, only I still remain in Hamilton, C.W. ISRAEL WHITNEY. John is nineteen years of age, mulatto, spare made, but not lacking in courage, mother wit or perseverance. He was born in Fauquier county, Va., and, after experiencing Slavery for a number of years there--being sold two or three times to the "highest bidder"--he was finally purchased by a cotton planter named Hezekiah Thompson, residing at Huntsville, Alabama. Immediately after the sale Hezekiah bundled his new "purchase" off to Alabama, where he succeeded in keeping him only about two years, for at the end of that time John determined to strike a blow for liberty. The incentive to this step was the inhuman treatment he was subjected to. Cruel indeed did he find it there. His master was a young man, "fond of drinking and carousing, and always ready for a fight or a knock-down." A short time before John left his master whipped him so severely with the "bull whip" that he could not use his arm for three or four days. Seeing but one way of escape (and that more perilous than the way William and Ellen Craft, or Henry Box Brown traveled), he resolved to try it. It was to get on the top of the car, instead of inside of it, and thus ride of nights, till nearly daylight, when, at a stopping-place on the road, he would slip off the car, and conceal himself in the woods until under cover of the next night he could manage to get on the top of another car. By this most hazardous mode of travel he reached Virginia. It may be best not to attempt to describe how he suffered at the hands of his owners in Alabama; or how severely he was pinched with hunger in traveling; or how, when he reached his old neighborhood in Virginia, he could not venture to inquire for his mother, brothers or sisters, to receive from them an affectionate word, an encouraging smile, a crust of bread, or a drink of water. Success attended his efforts for more than two weeks; but alas, after having got back north of Richmond, on his way home to Alexandria, he was captured and put in prison; his master being informed of the fact, came on and took possession of him again. At first he refused to sell him; said he "had money enough and owned about thirty slaves;" therefore wished to "take him back to make an example of him." However, through the persuasion of an uncle of his, he consented to sell. Accordingly, John was put on the auction-block and bought for $1,300 by Green McMurray, a regular trader in Richmond. McMurray again offered him for sale, but in consequence of hard times and the high price demanded, John did not go off, at least not in the way the trader desired to dispose of him, but did, nevertheless, succeed in going off on the Underground Rail Road. Thus once more he reached his old home, Alexandria. His mother was in one place, and his six brothers and sisters evidently scattered, where he knew not. Since he was five years of age, not one of them had he seen. If such sufferings and trials were not entitled to claim for the sufferer the honor of a hero, where in all Christendom could one be found who could prove a better title to that appellation? It is needless to say that the Committee extended to him brotherly kindness, sympathized with him deeply, and sent him on his way rejoicing. Of his subsequent career the following extract from a letter written at London shows that he found no rest for the soles of his feet under the Stars and Stripes in New York: I hope that you will remember John Thompson, who passed through your hands, I think, in October, 1857, at the same time that Mr. Cooper, from Charleston, South Carolina, came on. I was engaged at New York, in the barber business, with a friend, and was doing very well, when I was betrayed and obliged to sail for England very suddenly, my master being in the city to arrest me. (LONDON, December 21st, 1860.) [Illustration: Escaping from Alabama on top of a car.] JEREMIAH COLBURN.--Jeremiah is a bright mulatto, of prepossessing appearance, reads and writes, and is quite intelligent. He fled from Charleston, where he had been owned by Mrs. E. Williamson, an old lady about seventy-five, a member of the Episcopal Church, and opposed to Freedom. As far as he was concerned, however, he said, she had treated him well; but, knowing that the old lady would not be long here, he judged it was best to look out in time. Consequently, he availed himself of an Underground Rail Road ticket, and bade adieu to that hot-bed of secession, South Carolina. Indeed, he was fair enough to pass for white, and actually came the entire journey from Charleston to this city under the garb of a white gentleman. With regard to gentlemanly bearing, however, he was all right in this particular. Nevertheless, as he had been a slave all his days, he found that it required no small amount of nerve to succeed in running the gauntlet with slave-holders and slave-catchers for so long a journey. The following pointed epistle, from Jeremiah Colburn alias William Cooper, beautifully illustrates the effects of Freedom on many a passenger who received hospitalities at the Philadelphia depot-- SYRACUSE, June 9th, 1858. MR. STILL:--_Dear Sir_:--One of your Underground R.R. Passenger Drop you these few Lines to let you see that he have not forgoten you one who have Done so much for him well sir I am still in Syracuse, well in regard to what I am Doing for a Living I no you would like to hear, I am in the Painting Business, and have as much at that as I can do, and enough to Last me all the Summer, I had a knolledge of Painting Before I Left the South, the Hotell where I was working Last winter the Proprietor fail & shot up in the Spring and I Loose evry thing that I was working for all Last winter. I have Ritten a Letter to my Friend P. Christianson some time a goo & have never Received an Answer, I hope this wont Be the case with this one, I have an idea sir, next winter iff I can this summer make Enough to Pay Expenses, to goo to that school at McGrowville & spend my winter their. I am going sir to try to Prepair myself for a Lectuer, I am going sir By the Help of god to try and Do something for the Caus to help my Poor Breathern that are suffering under the yoke. Do give my Respect to Mrs Stills & Perticular to Miss Julia Kelly, I supose she is still with you yet, I am in great hast you must excuse my short letter. I hope these few Lines may fine you as they Leave me quite well. It will afford me much Pleasure to hear from you. yours Truly, WILLIAM COOPER. John Thompson is still here and Doing well. It will be seen that this young Charlestonian had rather exalted notions in his head. He was contemplating going to McGrawville College, for the purpose of preparing himself for the lecturing field. Was it not rather strange that he did not want to return to his "kind-hearted old mistress?" THOMAS HENRY, NATHAN COLLINS AND HIS WIFE MARY ELLEN.--Thomas is about twenty-six, quite dark, rather of a raw-boned make, indicating that times with him had been other than smooth. A certain Josiah Wilson owned Thomas. He was a cross, rugged man, allowing not half enough to eat, and worked his slaves late and early. Especially within the last two or three months previous to the escape, he had been intensely savage, in consequence of having lost, not long before, two of his servants. Ever since that misfortune, he had frequently talked of "putting the rest in his pocket." This distressing threat made the rest love him none the more; but, to make assurances doubly sure, after giving them their supper every evening, which consisted of delicious "skimmed milk, corn cake and a herring each," he would very carefully send them up in the loft over the kitchen, and there "lock them up," to remain until called the next morning at three or four o'clock to go to work again. Destitute of money, clothing, and a knowledge of the way, situated as they were they concluded to make an effort for Canada. NATHAN was also a fellow-servant with Thomas, and of course owned by Wilson. Nathan's wife, however, was owned by Wilson's son, Abram. Nathan was about twenty-five years of age, not very dark. He had a remarkably large head on his shoulders and was the picture of determination, and apparently was exactly the kind of a subject that might be desirable in the British possessions, in the forest or on the farm. His wife, Mary Ellen, is a brown-skinned, country-looking young woman, about twenty years of age. In escaping, they had to break jail, in the dead of night, while all were asleep in the big house; and thus they succeeded. What Mr. Wilson did, said or thought about these "shiftless" creatures we are not prepared to say; we may, notwithstanding, reasonably infer that the Underground has come in for a liberal share of his indignation and wrath. The above travelers came from near New Market, Md. The few rags they were clad in were not really worth the price that a woman would ask for washing them, yet they brought with them about all they had. Thus they had to be newly rigged at the expense of the Vigilance Committee. _The Cambridge Democrat_, of Nov. 4, 1857, from which the advertisements were cut, said-- "At a meeting of the people of this county, held in Cambridge, on the 2d of November, to take into consideration the better protection of the interests of the slave-owners; among other things that were done, it was resolved to enforce the various acts of Assembly * * * * relating to servants and slaves. "The act of 1715, chap. 44, sec. 2, provides 'that from and after the publication thereof no servant or servants whatsoever, within this province, whether by indenture or by the custom of the counties, or hired for wages shall travel by land or water ten miles from the house of his, her or their master, mistress or dame, without a note under their hands, or under the hands of his, her or their overseer, if any be, under the penalty of being taken for a runaway, and to suffer such penalties as hereafter provided against runaways.' The Act of 1806, chap. 81, sec. 5, provides, 'That any person taking up such runaway, shall have and receive $6,' to be paid by the master or owner. It was also determined to have put in force the act of 1825, chap. 161, and the act of 1839, chap. 320, relative to idle, vagabond, free negroes, providing for their sale or banishment from the State. All persons interested, are hereby notified that the aforesaid laws, in particular, will be enforced, and all officers failing to enforce them will be presented to the Grand Jury, and those who desire to avoid the penalties of the aforesaid statutes are requested to conform to these provisions." As to the modus operandi by which so many men, women and children were delivered and safely forwarded to Canada, despite slave-hunters and the fugitive slave law, the subjoined letters, from different agents and depots, will throw important light on the question. Men and women aided in this cause who were influenced by no oath of secresy, who received not a farthing for their labors, who believed that God had put it into the hearts of all mankind to love liberty, and had commanded men to "feel for those in bonds as bound with them," "to break every yoke and let the oppressed go free." But here are the letters, bearing at least on some of the travelers: WILMINGTON, 10th Mo. 31st, 1857. ESTEEMED FRIEND WILLIAM STILL:--I write to inform thee that we have either 17 or 27, I am not certain which, of that large Gang of God's poor, and I hope they are safe. The man who has them in charge informed me there were 27 safe and one boy lost during last night, about 14 years of age, without shoes; we have felt some anxiety about him, for fear he may be taken up and betray the rest. I have since been informed there are but 17 so that I cannot at present tell which is correct. I have several looking out for the lad; they will be kept from Phila. for the present. My principal object in writing thee at this time is to inform thee of what one of our constables told me this morning; he told me that a colored man in Phila. who professed to be a great friend of the colored people was a traitor; that he had been written to by an Abolitionist in Baltimore, to keep a look out for those slaves that left Cambridge this night week, told him they would be likely to pass through Wilmington on 6th day or 7th day night, and the colored man in Phila. had written to the master of part of them telling him the above, and the master arrived here yesterday in consequence of the information, and told one of our constables the above; the man told the name of the Baltimore writer, which he had forgotten, but declined telling the name of the colored man in Phila. I hope you will be able to find out who he is, and should I be able to learn the name of the Baltimore friend, I will put him on his Guard, respecting his Phila. correspondents. As ever thy friend, and the friend of Humanity, without regard to color or clime. THOS. GARRETT. How much truth there was in the "constable's" story to the effect, "that a colored man in Philadelphia, who professed to be a great friend of the colored people, was a traitor, etc.," the Committee never learned. As a general thing, colored people were true to the fugitive slave; but now and then some unprincipled individuals, under various pretenses, would cause us great anxiety. LETTER FROM JOHN AUGUSTA. NORRISTOWN Oct 18th 1857 2 o'clock PM DEAR SIR:--There is Six men and women and Five children making Eleven Persons. If you are willing to Receve them write to me imediately and I will bring them to your To morrow Evening I would not Have wrote this But the Times are so much worse Financialy that I thought It best to hear From you Before I Brought such a Crowd Down Pleas Answer this and Oblige JOHN AUGUSTA. This document has somewhat of a military appearance about it. It is short and to the point. Friend Augusta was well known in Norristown as a first-rate hair-dresser and a prompt and trustworthy Underground Rail Road agent. Of course a speedy answer was returned to his note, and he was instructed to bring the eleven passengers on to the Committee in Brotherly Love. LETTER FROM MISS G. LEWIS ABOUT A PORTION OF THE SAME "MEMORABLE TWENTY-EIGHT." SUNNYSIDE, Nov. 6th, 1857. DEAR FRIEND:--Eight more of the large company reached our place last night, direct from Ercildown. The eight constitute one family of them, the husband and wife with four children under eight years of age, wish tickets for Elmira. Three sons, nearly grown, will be forwarded to Phila., probably by the train which passes Phoenixville at seven o'clock of to-morrow evening the seventh. It would be safest to meet them there. We shall send them to Elijah with the request for them to be sent there. And I presume they will be. If they should not arrive you may suppose it did not suit Elijah to send them. We will send the money for the tickets by C.C. Burleigh, who will be in Phila. on second day morning. If you please, you will forward the tickets by to-morrow's mail as we do not have a mail again till third day. Yours hastily, Q. LEWIS. Please give directions for forwarding to Elmira and name the price of tickets. At first Miss Lewis thought of forwarding only a part of her fugitive guests to the Committee in Philadelphia, but on further consideration, all were safely sent along in due time, and the Committee took great pains to have them made as comfortable as possible, as the cases of these mothers and children especially called forth the deepest sympathy. In this connection it seems but fitting to allude to Captain Lee's sufferings on account of his having brought away in a skiff, by sea, a party of four, alluded to in the beginning of this single month's report. Unfortunately he was suspected, arrested, tried, convicted, and torn from his wife and two little children, and sent to the Richmond Penitentiary for twenty-five years. Before being sent away from Portsmouth, Va., where he was tried, for ten days in succession in the prison five lashes a day were laid heavily on his bare back. The further sufferings of poor Lee and his heart-broken wife, and his little daughter and son, are too painful for minute recital. In this city the friends of Freedom did all in their power to comfort Mrs. Lee, and administered aid to her and her children; but she broke down under her mournful fate, and went to that bourne from whence no traveler ever returns. Captain Lee suffered untold misery in prison, until he, also, not a great while before the Union forces took possession of Richmond, sank beneath the severity of his treatment, and went likewise to the grave. The two children for a long time were under the care of Mr. Wm. Ingram of Philadelphia, who voluntarily, from pure benevolence, proved himself to be a father and a friend to them. To their poor mother also he had been a true friend. The way in which Captain Lee came to be convicted, if the Committee were correctly informed and they think they were, was substantially in this wise: In the darkness of the night, four men, two of them constables, one of the other two, the owner of one of the slaves who had been aided away by Lee, seized the wife of one of the fugitives and took her to the woods, where the fiends stripped every particle of clothing from her person, tied her to a tree, and armed with knives, cowhides and a shovel, swore vengeance against her, declaring they would kill her if she did not testify against Lee. At first she refused to reveal the secret; indeed she knew but little to reveal; but her savage tormentors beat her almost to death. Under this barbarous infliction she was constrained to implicate Captain Lee, which was about all the evidence the prosecution had against him. And in reality her evidence, for two reasons, should not have weighed a straw, as it was contrary to the laws of the State of Virginia, to admit the testimony of colored persons against white; then again for the reason that this testimony was obtained wholly by brute force. But in this instance, this woman on whom the murderous attack had been made, was brought into court on Lee's trial and was bid to simply make her statement with regard to Lee's connection with the escape of her husband. This she did of course. And in the eyes of this chivalric court, this procedure "was all right." But thank God the events since those dark and dreadful days, afford abundant proof that the All-seeing Eye was not asleep to the daily sufferings of the poor bondman. * * * * * A SLAVE GIRL'S NARRATIVE. CORDELIA LONEY, SLAVE OF MRS. JOSEPH CAHELL (WIDOW OF THE LATE HON. JOSEPH CAHELL, OF VA.), OF FREDERICKSBURG, VA.--CORDELIA'S ESCAPE FROM HER MISTRESS IN PHILADELPHIA. Rarely did the peculiar institution present the relations of mistress and maid-servant in a light so apparently favorable as in the case of Mrs. Joseph Cahell (widow of the late Hon. Jos Cahell, of Va.), and her slave, Cordelia. The Vigilance Committee's first knowledge of either of these memorable personages was brought about in the following manner. About the 30th of March, in the year 1859, a member of the Vigilance Committee was notified by a colored servant, living at a fashionable boarding-house on Chestnut street that a lady with a slave woman from Fredericksburg, Va., was boarding at said house, and, that said slave woman desired to receive counsel and aid from the Committee, as she was anxious to secure her freedom, before her mistress returned to the South. On further consultation about the matter, a suitable hour was named for the meeting of the Committee and the Slave at the above named boarding-house. Finding that the woman was thoroughly reliable, the Committee told her "that two modes of deliverance were open before her. One was to take her trunk and all her clothing and quietly retire." The other was to "sue out a writ of habeas corpus; and bring the mistress before the Court, where she would be required, under the laws of Pennsylvania, to show cause why she restrained this woman of her freedom." Cordelia concluded to adopt the former expedient, provided the Committee would protect her. Without hesitation the Committee answered her, that to the extent of their ability, she should have their aid with pleasure, without delay. Consequently a member of the Committee was directed to be on hand at a given hour that evening, as Cordelia would certainly be ready to leave her mistress to take care of herself. Thus, at the appointed hour, Cordelia, very deliberately, accompanied the Committee away from her "kind hearted old mistress." In the quiet and security of the Vigilance Committee Room, Cordelia related substantially the following brief story touching her relationship as a slave to Mrs. Joseph Cahell. In this case, as with thousands and tens of thousands of others, as the old adage fitly expresses it, "All is not gold that glitters." Under this apparently pious and noble-minded lady, it will be seen, that Cordelia had known naught but misery and sorrow. Mrs. Cahell, having engaged board for a month at a fashionable private boarding-house on Chestnut street, took an early opportunity to caution Cordelia against going into the streets, and against having anything to say or do with "free niggers in particular"; withal, she appeared unusually kind, so much so, that before retiring to bed in the evening, she would call Cordelia to her chamber, and by her side would take her Prayer-book and Bible, and go through the forms of devotional service. She stood very high both as a church communicant and a lady in society. For a fortnight it seemed as though her prayers were to be answered, for Cordelia apparently bore herself as submissively as ever, and Madame received calls and accepted invitations from some of the _elite_ of the city, without suspecting any intention on the part of Cordelia to escape. But Cordelia could not forget how her children had all been sold by her mistress! Cordelia was about fifty-seven years of age, with about an equal proportion of colored and white blood in her veins; very neat, respectful and prepossessing in manner. From her birth to the hour of her escape she had worn the yoke under Mrs. C., as her most efficient and reliable maid-servant. She had been at her mistress' beck and call as seamstress, dressing-maid, nurse in the sickroom, etc., etc., under circumstances that might appear to the casual observer uncommonly favorable for a slave. Indeed, on his first interview with her, the Committee man was so forcibly impressed with the belief, that her condition in Virginia had been favorable, that he hesitated to ask her if she did not desire her liberty. A few moments' conversation with her, however, convinced him of her good sense and decision of purpose with regard to this matter. For, in answer to the first question he put to her, she answered, that, "As many creature comforts and religious privileges as she had been the recipient of under her 'kind mistress,' still she 'wanted to be free,' and 'was bound to leave,' that she had been 'treated very cruelly,' that her children had 'all been sold away' from her; that she had been threatened with sale herself 'on the first insult,'" etc. She was willing to take the entire responsibility of taking care of herself. On the suggestion of a friend, before leaving her mistress, she was disposed to sue for her freedom, but, upon a reconsideration of the matter, she chose rather to accept the hospitality of the Underground Rail Road, and leave in a quiet way and go to Canada, where she would be free indeed. Accordingly she left her mistress and was soon a free woman. The following sad experience she related calmly, in the presence of several friends, an evening or two after she left her mistress: Two sons and two daughters had been sold from her by her mistress, within the last three years, since the death of her master. Three of her children had been sold to the Richmond market and the other in Nelson county. Paulina was the first sold, two years ago last May. Nat was the next; he was sold to Abram Warrick, of Richmond. Paulina was sold before it was named to her mother that it had entered her mistress's mind to dispose of her. Nancy, from infancy, had been in poor health. Nevertheless, she had been obliged to take her place in the field with the rest of the slaves, of more rugged constitution, until she had passed her twentieth year, and had become a mother. Under these circumstances, the overseer and his wife complained to the mistress that her health was really too bad for a field hand and begged that she might be taken where her duties would be less oppressive. Accordingly, she was withdrawn from the field, and was set to spinning and weaving. When too sick to work her mistress invariably took the ground, that "nothing was the matter," notwithstanding the fact, that her family physician, Dr. Ellsom, had pronounced her "quite weakly and sick." In an angry mood one day, Mrs. Cahell declared she would cure her; and again sent her to the field, "with orders to the overseer, to whip her every day, and make her work or kill her." Again the overseer said it was "no use to try, for her health would not stand it," and she was forthwith returned. The mistress then concluded to sell her. One Sabbath evening a nephew of hers, who resided in New Orleans, happened to be on a visit to his aunt, when it occurred to her, that she had "better get Nancy off if possible." Accordingly, Nancy was called in for examination. Being dressed in her "Sunday best" and "before a poor candle-light," she appeared to good advantage; and the nephew concluded to start with her on the following Tuesday morning. However, the next morning, he happened to see her by the light of the sun, and in her working garments, which satisfied him that he had been grossly deceived; that she would barely live to reach New Orleans; he positively refused to carry out the previous evening's contract, thus leaving her in the hands of her mistress, with the advice, that she should "doctor her up." The mistress, not disposed to be defeated, obviated the difficulty by selecting a little boy, made a lot of the two, and thus made it an inducement to a purchaser to buy the sick woman; the boy and the woman brought $700. In the sale of her children, Cordelia was as little regarded as if she had been a cow. "I felt wretched," she said, with emphasis, "when I heard that Nancy had been sold," which was not until after she had been removed. "But," she continued, "I was not at liberty to make my grief known to a single white soul. I wept and couldn't help it." But remembering that she was liable, "on the first insult," to be sold herself, she sought no sympathy from her mistress, whom she describes as "a woman who shows as little kindness towards her servants as any woman in the States of America. She neither likes to feed nor clothe well." With regard to flogging, however, in days past, she had been up to the mark. "A many a slap and blow" had Cordelia received since she arrived at womanhood, directly from the madam's own hand. One day smarting under cruel treatment, she appealed to her mistress in the following strain: "I stood by your mother in all her sickness and nursed her till she died!" "I waited on your niece, night and day for months, till she died." "I waited upon your husband all my life--in his sickness especially, and shrouded him in death, etc., yet I am treated cruelly." It was of no avail. Her mistress, at one time, was the owner of about five hundred slaves, but within the last few years she had greatly lessened the number by sales. She stood very high as a lady, and was a member of the Episcopal Church. To punish Cordelia, on several occasions, she had been sent to one of the plantations to work as a field hand. Fortunately, however, she found the overseers more compassionate than her mistress, though she received no particular favors from any of them. Asking her to name the overseers, etc., she did so. The first was "Marks, a thin-visaged, poor-looking man, great for swearing." The second was "Gilbert Brower, a very rash, portly man." The third was "Buck Young, a stout man, and very sharp." The fourth was "Lynn Powell, a tall man with red whiskers, very contrary and spiteful." There was also a fifth one, but his name was lost. Thus Cordelia's experience, though chiefly confined to the "great house," extended occasionally over the corn and tobacco fields, among the overseers and field hands generally. But under no circumstances could she find it in her heart to be thankful for the privileges of Slavery. After leaving her mistress she learned, with no little degree of pleasure, that a perplexed state of things existed at the boarding-house; that her mistress was seriously puzzled to imagine how she would get her shoes and stockings on and off; how she would get her head combed, get dressed, be attended to in sickness, etc., as she (Cordelia), had been compelled to discharge these offices all her life. Most of the boarders, being slave-holders, naturally sympathized in her affliction; and some of them went so far as to offer a reward to some of the colored servants to gain a knowledge of her whereabouts. Some charged the servants with having a hand in her leaving, but all agreed that "she had left a very kind and indulgent mistress," and had acted very foolishly in running out of Slavery into Freedom. A certain Doctor of Divinity, the pastor of an Episcopal church in this city and a friend of the mistress, hearing of her distress, by request or voluntarily, undertook to find out Cordelia's place of seclusion. Hailing on the street a certain colored man with a familiar face, who he thought knew nearly all the colored people about town, he related to him the predicament of his lady friend from the South, remarked how kindly she had always treated her servants, signified that Cordelia would rue the change, and be left to suffer among the "miserable blacks down town," that she would not be able to take care of herself; quoted Scripture justifying Slavery, and finally suggested that he (the colored man) would be doing a duty and a kindness to the fugitive by using his influence to "find her and prevail upon her to return." It so happened that the colored man thus addressed, was Thomas Dorsey, the well-known fashionable caterer of Philadelphia, who had had the experience of quite a number of years as a slave at the South,--had himself once been pursued as a fugitive, and having, by his industry in the condition of Freedom, acquired a handsome estate, he felt entirely qualified to reply to the reverend gentleman, which he did, though in not very respectful phrases, telling him that Cordelia had as good a right to her liberty as he had, or her mistress either; that God had never intended one man to be the slave of another; that it was all false about the slaves being better off than the free colored people; that he would find as many "poor, miserably degraded," of his own color "down-town," as among the "degraded blacks"; and concluded by telling him that he would "rather give her a hundred dollars to help her off, than to do aught to make known her whereabouts, if he knew ever so much about her." What further steps were taken by the discomfited divine, the mistress, or her boarding-house sympathizers, the Committee was not informed. But with regard to Cordelia: she took her departure for Canada, in the midst of the Daniel Webster (fugitive) trial, with the hope of being permitted to enjoy the remainder of her life in Freedom and peace. Being a member of the Baptist Church, and professing to be a Christian, she was persuaded that, by industry and assistance of the Lord, a way would be opened to the seeker of Freedom even in a strange land and among strangers. This story appeared in part in the _N.Y. Evening Post_, having been furnished by the writer, without his name to it. It is certainly none the less interesting now, as it may be read in the light of Universal Emancipation. * * * * * ARRIVAL OF JACKSON, ISAAC AND EDMONDSON TURNER FROM PETERSBURG. TOUCHING SCENE ON MEETING THEIR OLD BLIND FATHER AT THE U.G.R.R. DEPOT. LETTERS AND WARNING TO SLAVEHOLDERS. About the latter part of December, 1857, Isaac and Edmondson, brothers, succeeded in making their escape together from Petersburg, Va. They barely escaped the auction block, as their mistress, Mrs. Ann Colley, a widow, had just completed arrangements for their sale on the coming first day of January. In this kind of property, however, Mrs. Colley had not largely invested. In the days of her prosperity, while all was happy and contented, she could only boast of "four head:" these brothers, Jackson, Isaac and Edmondson and one other. In May, 1857, Jackson had fled and was received by the Vigilance Committee, who placed him upon their books briefly in the following light: "RUNAWAY--_Fifty Dollars Reward_,--Ran away some time in May last, my _Servant-man_, who calls himself _Jackson Turner_. He is about 27 years of age, and has one of his front teeth out. He is quite black, with thick lips, a little bow-legged, and looks down when spoken to. I will give a reward of Fifty dollars if taken out of the city, and twenty five Dollars if taken within the city. I forewarn all masters of vessels from harboring or employing the said slave; all persons who disregard this Notice will be punished as the law directs. ANN COLLEY. Petersburg, June 8th, 1857." JACKSON is quite dark, medium size, and well informed for one in his condition. In Slavery, he had been "pressed hard." His hire, "ten dollars per month" he was obliged to produce at the end of each month, no matter how much he had been called upon to expend for "doctor bills, &c." The woman he called mistress went by the name of Ann Colley, a widow, living near Petersburg. "She was very quarrelsome," although a "member of the Methodist Church." Jackson seeing that his mistress was yearly growing "harder and harder," concluded to try and better his condition "if possible." Having a free wife in the North, who was in the habit of communicating with him, he was kept fully awake to the love of Freedom. The Underground Rail Road expense the Committee gladly bore. No further record of Jackson was made. Jackson found his poor old father here, where he had resided for a number of years in a state of almost total blindness, and of course in much parental anxiety about his boys in chains. On the arrival of Jackson, his heart overflowed with joy and gratitude not easily described, as the old man had hardly been able to muster faith enough to believe that he should ever look with his dim eyes upon one of his sons in Freedom. After a day or two's tarrying, Jackson took his departure for safer and more healthful localities,--her "British Majesty's possessions." The old man remained only to feel more keenly than ever, the pang of having sons still toiling in hopeless servitude. In less than seven months after Jackson had shaken off the yoke, to the unspeakable joy of the father, Isaac and Edmondson succeeded in following their brother's example, and were made happy partakers of the benefits and blessings of the Vigilance Committee of Philadelphia. On first meeting his two boys, at the Underground Rail Road Depot, the old man took each one in his arms, and as looking through a glass darkly, straining every nerve of his almost lost sight, exclaiming, whilst hugging them closer and closer to his bosom for some minutes, in tears of joy and wonder, "My son Isaac, is this you? my son Isaac, is this you, &c.?" The scene was calculated to awaken the deepest emotion and to bring tears to eyes not accustomed to weep. Little had the old man dreamed in his days of sadness, that he should share such a feast of joy over the deliverance of his sons. But it is in vain to attempt to picture the affecting scene at this reunion, for that would be impossible. Of their slave life, the records contain but a short notice, simply as follows: "Isaac is twenty-eight years of age, hearty-looking, well made, dark color and intelligent. He was owned by Mrs. Ann Colley, a widow, residing near Petersburg, Va. Isaac and Edmondson were to have been sold, on New Year's day; a few days hence. How sad her disappointment must have been on finding them gone, may be more easily imagined than described." Edmondson is about twenty-five, a brother of Isaac, and a smart, good-looking young man, was owned by Mrs. Colley also. "This is just the class of fugitives to make good subjects for John Bull," thought the Committee, feeling pretty well assured that they would make good reports after having enjoyed free air in Canada for a short time. Of course, the Committee enjoined upon them very earnestly "not to forget their brethren left behind groaning in fetters; but to prove by their industry, uprightness, economy, sobriety and thrift, by the remembrance of their former days of oppression and their obligations to their God, that they were worthy of the country to which they were going, and so to help break the bands of the oppressors, and undo the heavy burdens of the oppressed." Similar advice was impressed upon the minds of all travelers passing over this branch of the Underground Rail Road. From hundreds thus admonished, letters came affording the most gratifying evidence that the counsel of the Committee was not in vain. The appended letter from the youngest brother, written with his own hand, will indicate his feelings and views in Canada: HAMILTON, CANADA WEST Mar. 1, 1858. MR. STILL, DEAR SIR:--I have taken the oppertunity to enform you yur letter came to hand 27th I ware glad to hear from you and yer famly i hope this letter May fine you and the famly Well i am Well my self My Brother join me in Love to you and all the frend. I ware sorry to hear of the death of Mrs freaman. We all must die sune or Late this a date we all must pay we must Perpar for the time she ware a nise lady dear sir the all is well and san thar love to you Emerline have Ben sick But is better at this time. I saw the hills the war well and san thar Love to you. I war sory to hear that My brother war sol i am glad that i did come away when i did god works all the things for the Best he is young he may get a long in the wole May god Bless hem ef you have any News from Petersburg Va Plas Rite me a word when you anser this Letter and ef any person came form home Letter Me know. Please sen me one of your Paper that had the under grands R wrod give My Love to Mr Careter and his family I am Seving with a barber at this time he have promust to give me the trad ef i can lane it he is much of a gentman. Mr Still sir i have writing a letter to Mr Brown of Petersburg Va Pleas reed it and ef you think it right Plas sen it by the Mail or by hand you wall see how i have writen it the will know how sent it by the way this writing ef the ancer it you can sen it to Me i have tol them direc to yor care for Ed. t. Smith Philadelphia i hope it may be right i promorst to rite to hear Please rite to me sune and let me know ef you do sen it on write wit you did with that ma a bught the cappet Bage do not fergit to rite tal John he mite rite to Me. I am doing as well is i can at this time but i get no wagges But my Bord but is satfid at that thes hard time and glad that i am Hear and in good helth. Northing More at this time yor truly EDMUND TURNER. The same writer sent to the Corresponding Secretary the following "Warning to Slave-holders." At the time these documents were received, Slaveholders were never more defiant. The right to trample on the weak in oppression was indisputable. "Cinnamon and odors, and ointments, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and fine flour and wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and slaves, and souls of men," slave-holders believed doubtless were theirs by Divine Right. Little dreaming that in less than three short years--"Therefore shall her plagues come in one day, death, and mourning, and famine." In view of the marvelous changes which have been wrought by the hand of the Almighty, this warning to slave-holders from one who felt the sting of Slavery, as evincing a particular phase of simple faith and Christian charity is entitled to a place in these records. A WARNING TO SLAVE-HOLDERS. Well may the Southern slaveholder say, that holding their Fellow men in Bondage is no sin, because it is their delight as the Egyptians, so do they; but nevertheless God in his own good time will bring them out by a mighty hand, as it is recorded in the sacred oracles of truth, that Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands to God, speaking in the positive (shall). And my prayer is to you, oh, slaveholder, in the name of that God who in the beginning said, Let there be light, and there was light. Let my People go that they may serve me; thereby good may come unto thee and to thy children's children. Slave-holder have you seriously thought upon the condition yourselves, family and slaves; have you read where Christ has enjoined upon all his creatures to read his word, thereby that they may have no excuse when coming before his judgment seat? But you say he shall not read his word, consequently his sin will be upon your head. I think every man has as much as he can do to answer for his own sins. And now my dear-slave-holder, who with you are bound and fast hastening to judgment? As one that loves your soul repent ye, therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out when the time of refreshing shall come from the presence of the Lord. In the language of the poet: Stop, poor sinner, stop and think, Before you further go; Think upon the brink of death Of everlasting woe. Say, have you an arm like God, That you his will oppose? Fear you not that iron rod With which he breaks his foes? Is the prayer of one that loves your souls. EDMUND TURNER. N.B. The signature bears the name of one who knows and felt the sting of Slavery; but now, thanks be to God, I am now where the poisonous breath taints not our air, but every one is sitting under his own vine and fig tree, where none dare to make him ashamed or afraid. EDMUND TURNER, formerly of Petersburg, Va. HAMILTON, June 22d, 1858, C.W. To MR. WM. STILL, DEAR SIR:--A favorable opportunity affords the pleasure of acknowledging the receipt of letters and papers; certainly in this region they were highly appreciated, and I hope the time may come that your kindness will be reciprocated we are al well at present, but times continue dull. I also deeply regret the excitement recently on the account of those slaves, you will favor me by keeping me posted upon the subject. Those words written to slaveholder is the thought of one who had sufferd, and now I thought it a duty incumbent upon me to cry aloud and spare not, &c., by sending these few lines where the slaveholder may hear. You will still further oblige your humble servant also, to correct any inaccuracy. My respects to you and your family and all inquiring friends. Your friend and well wisher, EDMUND TURNER. The then impending judgments seen by an eye of faith as set forth in this "Warning," soon fell with crushing weight upon the oppressor, and Slavery died. But the old blind father of Jackson, Isaac and Edmondson, still lives and may be seen daily on the streets of Philadelphia; and though "halt, and lame, and blind, and poor," doubtless resulting from his early oppression, he can thank God and rejoice that he has lived to see Slavery abolished. ROBERT BROWN, ALIAS THOMAS JONES. CROSSING THE RIVER ON HORSEBACK IN THE NIGHT. In very desperate straits many new inventions were sought after by deep-thinking and resolute slaves, determined to be free at any cost. But it must here be admitted, that, in looking carefully over the more perilous methods resorted to, Robert Brown, alias Thomas Jones, stands second to none, with regard to deeds of bold daring. This hero escaped from Martinsburg, Va., in 1856. He was a man of medium size, mulatto, about thirty-eight years of age, could read and write, and was naturally sharp-witted. He had formerly been owned by Col. John F. Franie, whom Robert charged with various offences of a serious domestic character. Furthermore, he also alleged, that his "mistress was cruel to all the slaves," declaring that "they (the slaves), could not live with her," that "she had to hire servants," etc. In order to effect his escape, Robert was obliged to swim the Potomac river on horseback, on Christmas night, while the cold, wind, storm, and darkness were indescribably dismal. This daring bondman, rather than submit to his oppressor any longer, perilled his life as above stated. Where he crossed the river was about a half a mile wide. Where could be found in history a more noble and daring struggle for Freedom? The wife of his bosom and his four children, only five days before he fled, were sold to a trader in Richmond, Va., for no other offence than simply "because she had resisted" the lustful designs of her master, being "true to her own companion." After this poor slave mother and her children were cast into prison for sale, the husband and some of his friends tried hard to find a purchaser in the neighborhood; but the malicious and brutal master refused to sell her--wishing to gratify his malice to the utmost, and to punish his victims all that lay in his power, he sent them to the place above named. In this trying hour, the severed and bleeding heart of the husband resolved to escape at all hazards, taking with him a daguerreotype likeness of his wife which he happened to have on hand, and a lock of hair from her head, and from each of the children, as mementoes of his unbounded (though sundered) affection for them. After crossing the river, his wet clothing freezing to him, he rode all night, a distance of about forty miles. In the morning he left his faithful horse tied to a fence, quite broken down. He then commenced his dreary journey on foot--cold and hungry--in a strange place, where it was quite unsafe to make known his condition and wants. Thus for a day or two, without food or shelter, he traveled until his feet were literally worn out, and in this condition he arrived at Harrisburg, where he found friends. Passing over many of the interesting incidents on the road, suffice it to say, he arrived safely in this city, on New Year's night, 1857, about two hours before day break (the telegraph having announced his coming from Harrisburg), having been a week on the way. The night he arrived was very cold; besides, the Underground train, that morning, was about three hours behind time; in waiting for it, entirely out in the cold, a member of the Vigilance Committee thought he was frosted. But when he came to listen to the story of the Fugitive's sufferings, his mind changed. Scarcely had Robert entered the house of one of the Committee, where he was kindly received, when he took from his pocket his wife's likeness, speaking very touchingly while gazing upon it and showing it. Subsequently, in speaking of his family, he showed the locks of hair referred to, which he had carefully rolled up in paper separately. Unrolling them, he said, "this is my wife's;" "this is from my oldest daughter, eleven years old;" "and this is from my next oldest;" "and this from the next," "and this from my infant, only eight weeks old." These mementoes he cherished with the utmost care as the last remains of his affectionate family. At the sight of these locks of hair so tenderly preserved, the member of the Committee could fully appreciate the resolution of the fugitive in plunging into the Potomac, on the back of a dumb beast, in order to flee from a place and people who had made such barbarous havoc in his household. His wife, as represented by the likeness, was of fair complexion, prepossessing, and good looking--perhaps not over thirty-three years of age. * * * * * ANTHONY LONEY, ALIAS WILLIAM ARMSTEAD. Anthony had been serving under the yoke of Warring Talvert, of Richmond, Va. Anthony was of a rich black complexion, medium size, about twenty-five years of age. He was intelligent, and a member of the Baptist Church. His master was a member of the Presbyterian Church and held family prayers with the servants. But Anthony believed seriously, that his master was no more than a "whitened sepulchre," one who was fond of saying, "Lord, Lord," but did not do what the Lord bade him, consequently Anthony felt, that before the Great Judge his "master's many prayers" would not benefit him, as long as he continued to hold his fellow-men in bondage. He left a father, Samuel Loney, and mother, Rebecca also, one sister and four brothers. His old father had bought himself and was free; likewise his mother, being very old, had been allowed to go free. Anthony escaped in May, 1857. * * * * * CORNELIUS SCOTT. Cornelius took passage _per_ the Underground Rail Road, in March, 1857, from the neighborhood of Salvington, Stafford county, Va. He stated that he had been claimed by Henry L. Brooke, whom he declared to be a "hard drinker and a hard swearer." Cornelius had been very much bleached by the Patriarchal Institution, and he was shrewd enough to take advantage of this circumstance. In regions of country where men were less critical and less experienced than Southerners, as to how the bleaching process was brought about, Cornelius Scott would have had no difficulty whatever in passing for a white man of the most improved Anglo-Saxon type. Although a young man only twenty-three years of age, and quite stout, his fair complexion was decidedly against him. He concluded, that for this very reason, he would not have been valued at more than five hundred dollars in the market. He left his mother (Ann Stubbs, and half brother, Isaiah), and traveled as a white man. * * * * * SAMUEL WILLIAMS, ALIAS JOHN WILLIAMS. This candidate for Canada had the good fortune to escape the clutches of his mistress, Mrs. Elvina Duncans, widow of the late Rev. James Duncans, who lived near Cumberland, Md. He had very serious complaints to allege against his mistress, "who was a member of the Presbyterian Church." To use his own language, "the servants in the house were treated worse than dogs." John was thirty-two years of age, dark chestnut color, well made, prepossessing in appearance, and he "fled to keep from being sold." With the Underground Rail Road he was "highly delighted." Nor was he less pleased with the thought, that he had caused his mistress, who was "one of the worst women who ever lived," to lose twelve hundred dollars by him. He escaped in March, 1857. He did not admit that he loved slavery any the better for the reason that his master was a preacher, or that his mistress was the wife of a preacher. Although a common farm hand, Samuel had common sense, and for a long time previous had been watching closely the conduct of his mistress, and at the same time had been laying his plans for escaping on the Underground Rail Road the first chance. $100 REWARD!--My negro man Richard has been missing since Sunday night, March 22d. I will give $100 to any one who will secure him or deliver him to me. Richard is thirty years old, but looks older; very short legs, dark, but rather bright color, broad cheek bones, a respectful and serious manner, generally looks away when spoken to, small moustache and beard (but he may have them off). He is a remarkably intelligent man, and can turn his hand to anything. He took with him a bag made of Brussels carpet, with my name written in large, rough letters on the bottom, and a good stock of coarse and fine clothes, among them a navy cap and a low-crowned hat. He has been seen about New Kent C.H., and on the Pamunky river, and is no doubt trying to get off in some vessel bound North. [Illustration: ] April 18th, 1857. J.W. RANDOLPH, Richmond, Va. Even at this late date, it may perhaps afford Mr. R. a degree of satisfaction to know what became of Richard; but if this should not be the case, Richard's children, or mother, or father, if they are living, may possibly see these pages, and thereby be made glad by learning of Richard's wisdom as a traveler, in the terrible days of slave-hunting. Consequently here is what was recorded of him, April 3d, 1857, at the Underground Rail Road Station, just before a free ticket was tendered him for Canada. "Richard is thirty-three years of age, small of stature, dark color, smart and resolute. He was owned by Captain Tucker, of the United States Navy, from whom he fled." He was "tired of serving, and wanted to marry," was the cause of his escape. He had no complaint of bad treatment to make against his owner; indeed he said, that he had been "used well all his life." Nevertheless, Richard felt that this Underground Rail Road was the "greatest road he ever saw." When the war broke out, Richard girded on his knapsack and went to help Uncle Sam humble Richmond and break the yoke. * * * * * BARNABY GRIGBY, ALIAS JOHN BOYER, AND MARY ELIZABETH, HIS WIFE; FRANK WANZER, ALIAS ROBERT SCOTT; EMILY FOSTER, ALIAS ANN WOOD. (TWO OTHERS WHO STARTED WITH THEM WERE CAPTURED.) All these persons journeyed together from Loudon Co., Va. on horseback and in a carriage for more than one hundred miles. Availing themselves of a holiday and their master's horses and carriage, they as deliberately started for Canada, as though they had never been taught that it was their duty, as servants, to "obey their masters." In this particular showing a most utter disregard of the interest of their "kind-hearted and indulgent owners." They left home on Monday, Christmas Eve, 1855, under the leadership of Frank Wanzer, and arrived in Columbia the following Wednesday at one o'clock. As willfully as they had thus made their way along, they had not found it smooth sailing by any means. The biting frost and snow rendered their travel anything but agreeable. Nor did they escape the gnawings of hunger, traveling day and night. And whilst these "articles" were in the very act of running away with themselves and their kind master's best horses and carriage--when about one hundred miles from home, in the neighborhood of Cheat river, Maryland, they were attacked by "six white men, and a boy," who, doubtless, supposing that their intentions were of a "wicked and unlawful character" felt it to be their duty in kindness to their masters, if not to the travelers to demand of them an account of themselves. In other words, the assailants positively commanded the fugitives to "show what right" they possessed, to be found in a condition apparently so unwarranted. The _spokesman_ amongst the fugitives, affecting no ordinary amount of dignity, told their assailants plainly, that "no gentleman would interfere with persons riding along civilly"--not allowing it to be supposed that they were slaves, of course. These "gentlemen," however, were not willing to accept this account of the travelers, as their very decided steps indicated. Having the law on their side, they were for compelling the fugitives to surrender without further parley. At this juncture, the fugitives verily believing that the time had arrived for the practical use of their pistols and dirks, pulled them out of their concealment--the young women as well as the young men--and declared they would not be "taken!" One of the white men raised his gun, pointing the muzzle directly towards one of the young women, with the threat that he would "shoot," etc. "Shoot! shoot!! shoot!!!" she exclaimed, with a double barrelled pistol in one hand and a long dirk knife in the other, utterly unterrified and fully ready for a death struggle. The male _leader_ of the fugitives by this time had "pulled back the hammers" of his "pistols," and was about to fire! Their adversaries seeing the weapons, and the unflinching determination on the part of the _runaways_ to stand their ground, "spill blood, kill, or die," rather than be "taken," very prudently "sidled over to the other side of the road," leaving at least four of the victors to travel on their way. At this moment the four in the carriage lost sight of the two on horseback. Soon after the separation they heard firing, but what the result was, they knew not. They were fearful, however, that their companions had been captured. The following paragraph, which was shortly afterwards taken from a Southern paper, leaves no room to doubt, as to the fate of the two. Six fugitive slaves from Virginia were arrested at the Maryland line, near Hood's Mill, on Christmas day, but, after a severe fight, four of them escaped and have not since been heard of. They came from Loudoun and Fauquier counties. [Illustration: ] Though the four who were successful, saw no "severe fight," it is not unreasonable to suppose, that there was a fight, nevertheless; but not till after the number of the fugitives had been reduced to two, instead of six. As chivalrous as slave-holders and slave-catchers were, they knew the value of their precious lives and the fearful risk of attempting a capture, when the numbers were equal. The party in the carriage, after the conflict, went on their way rejoicing. The young men, one cold night, when they were compelled to take rest in the woods and snow, in vain strove to keep the feet of their female companions from freezing by lying on them; but the frost was merciless and bit them severely, as their feet very plainly showed. The following disjointed report was cut from the _Frederick (Md.) Examiner_, soon after the occurrence took place: "Six slaves, four men and two women, fugitives from Virginia, having with them two spring wagons and four horses, came to Hood's Mill, on the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, near the dividing line between Frederick and Carroll counties, on Christmas day. After feeding their animals, one of them told a Mr. Dixon whence they came; believing them to be fugitives, he spread the alarm, and some eight or ten persons gathered round to arrest them; but the negroes drawing revolvers and bowie-knives, kept their assailants at bay, until five of the party succeeded in escaping in one of the wagons, and as the last one jumped on a horse to flee, he was fired at, the load taking effect in the small of the back. The prisoner says he belongs to Charles W. Simpson, Esq., of Fauquier county, Va., and ran away with the others on the preceding evening." This report from the _Examiner_, while it is not wholly correct, evidently relates to the fugitives above described. Why the reporter made such glaring mistakes, may be accounted for on the ground that the bold stand made by the fugitives was so bewildering and alarming, that the "assailants" were not in a proper condition to make correct statements. Nevertheless the _Examiner's_ report was preserved with other records, and is here given for what it is worth. These victors were individually noted on the Record thus: Barnaby was owned by William Rogers, a farmer, who was considered a "moderate slaveholder," although of late "addicted to intemperance." He was the owner of about one "dozen head of slaves," and had besides a wife and two children. Barnaby's chances for making extra "change" for himself were never favorable; sometimes of "nights" he would manage to earn a "trifle." He was prompted to escape because he "wanted to live by the sweat of his own brow," believing that all men ought so to live. This was the only reason he gave for fleeing. Mary Elizabeth had been owned by Townsend McVee (likewise a farmer), and in Mary's judgment, he was "severe," but she added, "his wife made him so." McVee owned about twenty-five slaves; "he hardly allowed them to talk--would not allow them to raise chickens," and "only allowed Mary three dresses a year;" the rest she had to get as she could. Sometimes McVee would sell slaves--last year he sold two. Mary said that she could not say anything good of her mistress. On the contrary, she declared that her mistress "knew no mercy nor showed any favor." It was on account of this "domineering spirit," that Mary was induced to escape. Frank was owned by Luther Sullivan, "the meanest man in Virginia," he said; he treated his people just as bad as he could in every respect. "Sullivan," added Frank, "would 'lowance the slaves and stint them to save food and get rich," and "would sell and whip," etc. To Frank's knowledge, he had sold some twenty-five head. "He sold my mother and her two children to Georgia some four years previous." But the motive which hurried Frank to make his flight was his laboring under the apprehension that his master had some "pretty heavy creditors who might come on him at any time." Frank, therefore, wanted to be from home in Canada when these gentry should make their visit. My poor mother has been often flogged by master, said Frank. As to his mistress, he said she was "tolerably good." Ann Wood was owned by McVee also, and was own sister to Elizabeth. Ann very fully sustained her sister Elizabeth's statement respecting the character of her master. The above-mentioned four, were all young and likely. Barnaby was twenty-six years of age, mulatto, medium size, and intelligent--his wife was about twenty-four years of age, quite dark, good-looking, and of pleasant appearance. Frank was twenty-five years of age, mulatto, and very smart; Ann was twenty-two, good-looking, and smart. After their pressing wants had been met by the Vigilance Committee, and after partial recuperation from their hard travel, etc., they were forwarded on to the Vigilance Committee in New York. In Syracuse, Frank (the leader), who was engaged to Emily, concluded that the knot might as well be tied on the U.G.R.R., although penniless, as to delay the matter a single day longer. Doubtless, the bravery, struggles, and trials of Emily throughout the journey, had, in his estimation, added not a little to her charms. Thus after consulting with her on the matter, her approval was soon obtained, she being too prudent and wise to refuse the hand of one who had proved himself so true a friend to Freedom, as well as so devoted to her. The twain were accordingly made one at the U.G.R.R. Station, in Syracuse, by Superintendent--Rev. J.W. Loguen. After this joyful event, they proceeded to Toronto, and were there gladly received by the Ladies' Society for aiding colored refugees. The following letter from Mrs. Agnes Willis, wife of the distinguished Rev. Dr. Willis, brought the gratifying intelligence that these brave young adventurers, fell into the hands of distinguished characters and warm friends of Freedom: TORONTO, 28th January, Monday evening, 1856. MR. STILL, DEAR SIR:--I have very great pleasure in making you aware that the following respectable persons have arrived here in safety without being annoyed in any way after you saw them. The women, two of them, viz: Mrs. Greegsby and Mrs. Graham, have been rather ailing, but we hope they will very soon be well. They have been attended to by the Ladies' Society, and are most grateful for any attention they have received. The solitary person, Mrs. Graves, has also been attended to; also her box will be looked after. She is pretty well, but rather dull; however, she will get friends and feel more at home by and bye. Mrs. Wanzer is quite well; and also young William Henry Sanderson. They are all of them in pretty good spirits, and I have no doubt they will succeed in whatever business they take up. In the mean time the men are chopping wood, and the ladies are getting plenty sewing. We are always glad to see our colored refugees safe here. I remain, dear sir, yours respectfully, AGNES WILLIS, Treasurer to the Ladies' Society to aid colored refugees. For a time Frank enjoyed his newly won freedom and happy bride with bright prospects all around; but the thought of having left sisters and other relatives in bondage was a source of sadness in the midst of his joy. He was not long, however, in making up his mind that he would deliver them or "die in the attempt." Deliberately forming his plans to go South, he resolved to take upon himself the entire responsibility of all the risks to be encountered. Not a word did he reveal to a living soul of what he was about to undertake. With "twenty-two dollars" in cash and "three pistols" in his pockets, he started in the lightning train from Toronto for Virginia. On reaching Columbia in this State, he deemed it not safe to go any further by public conveyance, consequently he commenced his long journey on foot, and as he neared the slave territory he traveled by night altogether. For two weeks, night and day, he avoided trusting himself in any house, consequently was compelled to lodge in the woods. Nevertheless, during that space of time he succeeded in delivering one of his sisters and her husband, and another friend in the bargain. You can scarcely imagine the Committee's amazement on his return, as they looked upon him and listened to his "noble deeds of daring" and his triumph. A more brave and self-possessed man they had never seen. He knew what Slavery was and the dangers surrounding him on his mission, but possessing true courage unlike most men, he pictured no alarming difficulties in a distance of nearly one thousand miles by the mail route, through the enemy's country, where he might have in truth said, "I could not pass without running the gauntlet of mobs and assassins, prisons and penitentiaries, bailiffs and constables, &c." If this hero had dwelt upon and magnified the obstacles in his way he would most assuredly have kept off the enemy's country, and his sister and friends would have remained in chains. The following were the persons delivered by Frank Wanzer. They were his trophies, and this noble act of Frank's should ever be held as a memorial and honor. The Committee's brief record made on their arrival runs thus: "August 18, 1856. Frank Wanzer, Robert Stewart, alias Gasberry Robison, Vincent Smith, alias John Jackson, Betsey Smith, wife of Vincent Smith, alias Fanny Jackson. They all came from Alder, Loudon county, Virginia." Robert is about thirty years of age, medium size, dark chestnut color, intelligent and resolute. He was held by the widow Hutchinson, who was also the owner of about one hundred others. Robert regarded her as a "very hard mistress" until the death of her husband, which took place the Fall previous to his escape. That sad affliction, he thought, was the cause of a considerable change in her treatment of her slaves. But yet "nothing was said about freedom," on her part. This reticence Robert understood to mean, that she was still unconverted on this great cardinal principle at least. As he could see no prospect of freedom through her agency, when Frank approached him with a good report from Canada and his friends there, he could scarcely wait to listen to the glorious news; he was so willing and anxious to get out of slavery. His dear old mother, Sarah Davis, and four brothers and two sisters, William, Thomas, Frederick and Samuel, Violet and Ellen, were all owned by Mrs. Hutchinson. Dear as they were to him, he saw no way to take them with him, nor was he prepared to remain a day longer under the yoke; so he decided to accompany Frank, let the cost be what it might. Vincent is about twenty-three years of age, very "likely-looking," dark color, and more than ordinarily intelligent for one having only the common chances of slaves. He was owned by the estate of Nathan Skinner, who was "looked upon," by those who knew him, "as a good slave-holder." In slave property, however, he was only interested to the number of twelve head. Skinner "neither sold nor emancipated." A year and a half before Vincent escaped, his master was called to give an account of his stewardship, and there in the spirit land Vincent was willing to let him remain, without much more to add about him. Vincent left his mother, Judah Smith, and brothers and sisters, Edwin, Angeline, Sina Ann, Adaline Susan, George, John and Lewis, all belonging to the estate of Skinner. Vincent was fortunate enough to bring his wife along with him. She was about twenty-seven years of age, of a brown color, and smart, and was owned by the daughter of the widow Hutchinson. This mistress was said to be a "clever woman." * * * * * WILLIAM JORDON, ALIAS WILLIAM PRICE Under Governor Badger, of North Carolina, William had experienced Slavery in its most hateful form. True, he had only been twelve months under the yoke of this high functionary. But William's experience in this short space of time, was of a nature very painful. Previous to coming into the governor's hands, William was held as the property of Mrs. Mary Jordon, who owned large numbers of slaves. Whether the governor was moved by this consideration, or by the fascinating charms of Mrs. Jordon, or both, William was not able to decide. But the governor offered her his hand, and they became united in wedlock. By this circumstance, William was brought into his unhappy relations with the Chief Magistrate of the State of North Carolina. This was the third time the governor had been married. Thus it may be seen, that the governor was a firm believer in wives as well as slaves. Commonly he was regarded as a man of wealth. William being an intelligent piece of property, his knowledge of the governor's rules and customs was quite complete, as he readily answered such questions as were propounded to him. In this way a great amount of interesting information was learned from William respecting the governor, slaves, on the plantation, in the swamps, etc. The governor owned large plantations, and was interested in raising cotton, corn, and peas, and was also a practical planter. He was willing to trust neither overseers nor slaves any further than he could help. The governor and his wife were both equally severe towards them; would stint them shamefully in clothing and food, though they did not get flogged quite as often as some others on neighboring plantations. Frequently, the governor would be out on the plantation from early in the morning till noon, inspecting the operations of the overseers and slaves. In order to serve the governor, William had been separated from his wife by sale, which was the cause of his escape. He parted not with his companion willingly. At the time, however, he was promised that he should have some favors shown him;--could make over-work, and earn a little money, and once or twice in the year, have the opportunity of making visits to her. Two hundred miles was the distance between them. He had not been long on the governor's plantation before his honor gave him distinctly to understand that the idea of his going two hundred miles to see his wife was all nonsense, and entirely out of the question. "If I said so, I did not mean it," said his honor, when the slave, on a certain occasion, alluded to the conditions on which he consented to leave home, etc. Against this cruel decision of the governor, William's heart revolted, for he was warmly attached to his wife, and so he made up his mind, if he could not see her "once or twice a year even," as he had been promised, he had rather "die," or live in a "cave in the wood," than to remain all his life under the governor's yoke. Obeying the dictates of his feelings, he went to the woods. For ten months before he was successful in finding the Underground Road, this brave-hearted young fugitive abode in the swamps--three months in a cave--surrounded with bears, wild cats, rattle-snakes and the like. While in the swamps and cave, he was not troubled, however, about ferocious animals and venomous reptiles. He feared only man! From his own story there was no escaping the conclusion, that if the choice had been left to him, he would have preferred at any time to have encountered at the mouth of his cave a ferocious bear than his master, the governor of North Carolina. How he managed to subsist, and ultimately effected his escape, was listened to with the deepest interest, though the recital of these incidents must here be very brief. After night he would come out of his cave, and, in some instances, would succeed in making his way to a plantation, and if he could get nothing else, he would help himself to a "pig," or anything else he could conveniently convert into food. Also, as opportunity would offer, a friend of his would favor him with some meal, etc. With this mode of living he labored to content himself until he could do better. During these ten months he suffered indescribable hardships, but he felt that his condition in the cave was far preferable to that on the plantation, under the control of his Excellency, the Governor. All this time, however, William had a true friend, with whom he could communicate; one who was wide awake, and was on the alert to find a reliable captain from the North, who would consent to take this "property," or "freight," for a consideration. He heard at last of a certain Captain, who was then doing quite a successful business in an Underground way. This good news was conveyed to William, and afforded him a ray of hope in the wilderness. As Providence would have it, his hope did not meet with disappointment; nor did his ten months' trial, warring against the barbarism of Slavery, seem too great to endure for Freedom. He was about to leave his cave and his animal and reptile neighbors,--his heart swelling with gladness,--but the thought of soon being beyond the reach of his mistress and master thrilled him with inexpressible delight. He was brought away by Captain F., and turned over to the Committee, who were made to rejoice with him over the signal victory he had gained in his martyr-like endeavors to throw off the yoke, and of course they took much pleasure in aiding him. William was of a dark color, stout made physically, and well knew the value of Freedom, and how to hate and combat Slavery. It will be seen by the appended letter of Thomas Garrett, that William had the good luck to fall into the hands of this tried friend, by whom he was aided to Philadelphia: WILMINGTON, 12th mo., 19th, 1855. DEAR FRIEND, WILLIAM STILL:--The bearer of this is one of the twenty-one that I thought had all gone North; he left home on Christmas day, one year since, wandered about the forests of North Carolina for about ten months, and then came here with those forwarded to New Bedford, where he is anxious to go. I have furnished him with a pretty good pair of boots, and gave him money to pay his passage to Philadelphia. He has been at work in the country near here for some three weeks, till taken sick; he is, by no means, well, but thinks he had better try to get farther North, which I hope his friends in Philadelphia will aid him to do. I handed this morning Captain Lambson's[A] wife twenty dollars to help fee a lawyer to defend him. She leaves this morning, with her child, for Norfolk, to be at the trial before the Commissioner on the 24th instant. Passmore Williamson agreed to raise fifty dollars for him. As none came to hand, and a good chance to send it by his wife, I thought best to advance that much. [Footnote A: Captain Lambson had been suspected of having aided in the escape of slaves from the neighborhood of Norfolk, and was in prison awaiting his trial.] Thy friend, THOS. GARRETT. JOSEPH GRANT AND JOHN SPEAKS. TWO PASSENGERS ON THE UNDERGROUND RAIL ROAD, VIA LIVERPOOL. It is to be regretted that, owing to circumstances, the account of these persons has not been fully preserved. Could justice be done them, probably their narratives would not be surpassed in interest by any other in the history of fugitives. In 1857, when these remarkable travelers came under the notice of the Vigilance Committee, as Slavery seemed likely to last for generations, and there was but little expectation that these records would ever have the historical value which they now possess, care was not always taken to prepare and preserve them. Besides, the cases coming under the notice of the Committee, were so numerous and so interesting, that it seemed almost impossible to do them anything like justice. In many instances the rapt attention paid by friends, when listening to the sad recitals of such passengers, would unavoidably consume so much time that but little opportunity was afforded to make any record of them. Particularly was this the case with regard to the above-mentioned individuals. The story of each was so long and sad, that a member of the Committee in attempting to write it out, found that the two narratives would take volumes. That all traces, of these heroes might not be lost, a mere fragment is all that was preserved. The original names of these adventurers, were Joseph Grant and John Speaks. Between two and three years before escaping, they were sold from Maryland to John B. Campbell a negro trader, living in Baltimore, and thence to Campbell's brother, another trader in New Orleans, and subsequently to Daniel McBeans and Mr. Henry, of Harrison county, Mississippi. Though both had to pass through nearly the same trial, and belonged to the same masters, this recital must be confined chiefly to the incidents in the career of Joseph. He was about twenty-seven years of age, well made, quite black, intelligent and self-possessed in his manner. He was owned in Maryland by Mrs. Mary Gibson, who resided at St. Michael's on the Eastern Shore. She was a _nice woman_ he said, but her property was under mortgage and had to be sold, and he was in danger of sharing the same fate. Joseph was a married man, and spoke tenderly of his wife. She "promised" him when he was sold that she would "never marry," and earnestly entreated him, if he "ever met with the luck, to come and see her." She was unaware perhaps at that time of the great distance that was to divide them; his feelings on being thus sundered need not be stated. However, he had scarcely been in Mississippi three weeks, ere his desire to return to his wife, and the place of his nativity constrained him to attempt to return; accordingly he set off, crossing a lake eighty miles wide in a small boat, he reached Kent Island. There he was captured by the watchman on the Island, who with _pistols, dirk and cutlass_ in hand, threatened if he resisted that death would be his instant doom. Of course he was returned to his master. He remained there a few months, but could content himself no longer to endure the ills of his condition. So he again started for home, walked to Mobile, and thence he succeeded in stowing himself away in a steamboat and was thus conveyed to Montgomery, a distance of five hundred and fifty miles through solid slave territory. Again he was captured and returned to his owners; one of whom always went for immediate punishment, the other being mild thought persuasion the better plan in such cases. On the whole, Joseph thus far had been pretty fortunate, considering the magnitude of his offence. A third time he summoned courage and steered his course homewards towards Maryland, but as in the preceding attempts, he was again unsuccessful. In this instance Mr. Henry, the harsh owner, was exasperated, and the mild one's patience so exhausted that they concluded that nothing short of stern measures would cause Joe to reform. Said Mr. Henry; "_I had rather lose my right arm than for him to get off without being punished, after having put us to so much trouble_." _Joseph_ will now speak for himself. "He (master) sent the overseer to tie me. I told him I would not be tied. I ran and stayed away four days, which made Mr. Henry very anxious. Mr. Beans told the servants if they saw me, to tell me to come back and I should not be hurt. Thinking that Mr. Beans had always stood to his word, I was over persuaded and came back. He sent for me in his parlor, talked the matter over, sent me to the steamboat (perhaps the one he tried to escape on.) After getting cleverly on board the captain told me, I am sorry to tell you, you have to be tied. I was tied and Mr. Henry was sent for. He came; 'Well, I have got you at last, beg my pardon and promise you will never run away again and I will not be so hard on you.' I could not do it. He then gave me three hundred lashes well laid on. I was stripped entirely naked, and my flesh was as raw as a piece of beef. He made John (the companion who escaped with him) hold one of my feet which I broke loose while being whipped, and when done made him bathe me in salt and water. "Then I resolved to 'go or die' in the attempt. Before starting, one week, I could not work. On getting better we went to Ship Island; the sailors, who were Englishmen, were very sorry to hear of the treatment we had received, and counselled us how we might get free." The counsel was heeded, and in due time they found themselves in Liverpool. There their stay was brief. Utterly destitute of money, education, and in a strange land, they very naturally turned their eyes again in the direction of their native land. Accordingly their host, the keeper of a sailor's boarding-house, shipped them to Philadelphia. But to go back, Joseph saw many things in New Orleans and Mississippi of a nature too horrible to relate, among which were the following: I have seen Mr. Beans whip one of his slaves to death, at the tree to which he was tied. Mr. Henry would make them lie down across a log, stripped naked, and with every stroke would lay the flesh open. Being used to it, some would lie on the log without being tied. In New Orleans, I have seen women stretched out just as naked as my hand, on boxes, and given one hundred and fifty lashes, four men holding them. I have helped hold them myself: when released they could hardly sit or walk. This whipping was at the "_Fancy House_." The "chain-gangs" he also saw in constant operation. Four and five slaves chained together and at work on the streets, cleaning, &c., was a common sight. He could hardly tell Sunday from Monday in New Orleans, the slaves were kept so constantly going. * * * * * WILLIAM N. TAYLOR. ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.--Ran away from Richmond City on Tuesday, the 2d of June, a negro man named WM. N. TAYLOR, belonging to Mrs. Margaret Tyler of Hanover county. [Illustration: ] Said negro was hired to Fitzhugh Mayo, Tobacconist; is quite black, of genteel and easy manners, about five feet ten or eleven inches high, has one front tooth broken, and is about 35 years old. He is supposed either to have made his escape North, or attempted to do so. The above reward will be paid for his delivery to Messrs. Hill and Rawlings, in Richmond, or secured in jail, so that I get him again. JAS. G. TYLER, Trustee for Margaret Tyler. June 8th &c2t-- _Richmond Enquirer, June 9, 57_. William unquestionably possessed a fair share of common sense, and just enough distaste to Slavery to arouse him most resolutely to seek his freedom. The advertisement of James G. Tyler was not altogether accurate with regard to his description of William; but notwithstanding, in handing William down to posterity, the description of Tyler has been adopted instead of the one engrossed in the records by the Committee. But as a simple matter of fair play, it seems fitting, that the description given by William, while on the Underground Rail Road, of his master, &c., should come in just here. William acknowledged that he was the property of Walter H. Tyler, brother of EX-PRESIDENT TYLER, who was described as follows: "He (master) was about sixty-five years of age; was a barbarous man, very intemperate, horse racer, chicken-cock fighter and gambler. He had owned as high as forty head of slaves, but he had gambled them all away. He was a doctor, circulated high amongst southerners, though he never lived agreeably with his wife, would curse her and call her all kinds of names that he should not call a lady. From a boy of nine up to the time I was fifteen or sixteen, I don't reckon he whipped me less than a hundred times. He shot at me once with a double-barrelled gun. "What made me leave was because I worked for him all my life-time and he never gave me but two dollars and fifteen cents in all his life. I was hired out this year for two hundred dollars, but when I would go to him to make complaints of hard treatment from the man I was hired to, he would say: "G----d d----n it, don't come to me, all I want is my money." "Mr. Tyler was a thin raw-boned man, with a long nose, the picture of the president. His wife was a tolerably well-disposed woman in some instances--she was a tall, thin-visaged woman, and stood high in the community. Through her I fell into the hands of Tyler. At present she owns about fifty slaves. His own slaves, spoken of as having been gambled away, came by his father--he has been married the second time." Twice William had been sold and bought in, on account of his master's creditors, and for many months had been expecting to be sold again, to meet pressing claims in the hands of the sheriff against Tyler. He, by the way, "now lives in Hanover county, about eighteen miles from Richmond, and for fear of the sheriff, makes himself very scarce in that city." At fourteen years of age, William was sold for eight hundred dollars; he would have brought in 1857, probably twelve hundred and fifty dollars; he was a member of the Baptist Church in good and regular standing. * * * * * LOUISA BROWN. Louisa is a good-looking, well-grown, intelligent mulatto girl of sixteen years of age, and was owned by a widow woman of Baltimore, Md. To keep from being sold, she was prompted to try her fortune on the U.G.R.R., for Freedom in Canada, under the protection of the British Lion. * * * * * JACOB WATERS AND ALFRED GOULDEN. Jacob is twenty-one years of age, dark chestnut color, medium size, and of prepossessing manners. Fled from near Frederick, Md., from the clutches of a farmer by the name of William Dorsey, who was described as a severe master, and had sold two of Jacob's sisters, South, only three years prior to his escape. Jacob left three brothers in chains. Alfred is twenty-three years of age, in stature quite small, full black, and bears the marks of ill usage. Though a member of the Methodist Church, his master, Fletcher Jackson, "thought nothing of taking the shovel to Alfred's head; or of knocking him, and stamping his head with the heels of his boots." Repeatedly, of late, he had been shockingly beaten. To escape those terrible visitations, therefore, he made up his mind to seek a refuge in Canada. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM BALTIMORE. JEFFERSON PIPKINS, ALIAS DAVID JONES, LOUISA PIPKINS, ELIZABETH BRIT, HARRIET BROWN, ALIAS JANE WOOTON, GRACY MURRY, ALIAS SOPHIA SIMS, EDWARD WILLIAMS, ALIAS HENRY JOHNSON, CHAS. LEE, ALIAS THOMAS BUSHIER. Six very clever-looking passengers, all in one party from Baltimore, Md., the first Sunday in April, 1853. Baltimore used to be in the days of Slavery one of the most difficult places in the South for even free colored people to get away from, much more for slaves. The rule forbade any colored person leaving there by rail road or steamboat, without such applicant had been weighed, measured, and then given a bond signed by unquestionable signatures, well known. Baltimore was rigid in the extreme, and was a never-failing source of annoyance, trouble and expense to colored people generally, and not unfrequently to slave-holders too, when they were traveling North with "colored servants." Just as they were ready to start, the "Rules" would forbid colored servants until the law was complied with. Parties hurrying on would on account of this obstruction "have to wait until their hurry was over." As this was all done in the interest of Slavery, the matter was not very loudly condemned. But, notwithstanding all this weighing, measuring and requiring of bonds, many travelers by the Underground Rail Road took passage from Baltimore. The enterprising individual, whose name stands at the head of this narrative, came directly from this stronghold of Slavery. The widow Pipkins held the title deed for Jefferson. She was unfortunate in losing him, as she was living in ease and luxury off of Jefferson's sweat and labor. Louisa, Harriet and Grace owed service to Geo. Stewart of Baltimore; Edward was owned by Chas. Moondo, and Chas. Lee by the above Stewart. Those who would have taken this party for stupid, or for know-nothings, would have found themselves very much mistaken. Indeed they were far from being dull or sleepy on the subject of Slavery at any rate. They had considered pretty thoroughly how wrongfully they, with all others in similar circumstances, had been year in and year out subjected to unrequited toil so resolved to leave masters and mistresses to shift for themselves, while they would try their fortunes in Canada. Four of the party ranged in age from twenty to twenty-eight years of age, and the other two from thirty-seven to forty. The Committee on whom they called, rendered them due aid and advice, and forwarded them to the Committee in New York. The following letter from Jefferson, appealing for assistance on behalf of his children in Slavery, was peculiarly touching, as were all similar letters. But the mournful thought that these appeals, sighs, tears and prayers would continue in most cases to be made till death, that nothing could be done directly for the deliverance of such sufferers was often as painful as the escape from the auction block was gratifying. LETTER FROM JEFFERSON PIPKINS. Sept. 28, 1856. To WM. STILL. SIR:--I take the liberty of writing to you a few lines concerning my children, for I am very anxious to get them and I wish you to please try what you can do for me. Their names are Charles and Patrick and are living with Mrs. Joseph G. Wray Murphysborough Hartford county, North Carolina; Emma lives with a Lawyer Baker in Gatesville North Carolina and Susan lives in Portsmouth Virginia and is stopping with Dr. Collins sister a Mrs. Nash you can find her out by enquiring for Dr. Collins at the ferry boat at Portsmouth, and Rose a coloured woman at the Crawford House can tell where she is. And I trust you will try what you think will be the best way. And you will do me a great favour. Yours Respectfully, JEFFERSON PIPKINS. P.S. I am living at Yorkville near Toronto Canada West. My wife sends her best respects to Mrs. Still. * * * * * SEVERAL ARRIVALS FROM DIFFERENT PLACES. In order to economize time and space, with a view to giving an account of as many of the travelers as possible, it seems expedient, where a number of arrivals come in close proximity to each other, to report them briefly, under one head. Henry Anderson, _alias_ WILLIAM ANDERSON. In outward appearance Henry was uninteresting. As he asserted, and as his appearance indicated, he had experienced a large share of "rugged" usage. Being far in the South, and in the hands of a brutal "Captain of a small boat," chances of freedom or of moderate treatment, had rarely ever presented themselves in any aspect. On the 3d of the preceding March he was sold to a negro trader--the thought of having to live under a trader was so terrible, he was moved to escape, leaving his wife, to whom he had only been married three months. Henry was twenty-five years of age, quite black and a little below the medium size. He fled from Beaufort, North Carolina. The system of slavery in all the region of country whence Henry came, exhibited generally great brutality and cruelty. CHARLES CONGO AND WIFE, MARGARET. Charles and his wife were fortunate in managing to flee together. Their attachment to each other was evidently true. They were both owned by a farmer, who went by the name of David Stewart, and resided in Maryland. As Charles' owner did not require their services at home, as he had more of that kind of stock than he had use for--he hired them out to another farmer--Charles for $105 per annum; how much for the wife they could not tell. She, however, was not blessed with good health, though she was not favored any more on that account. Charles' affection for his wife, on seeing how hard she had to labor when not well, aroused him to seek their freedom by flight. He resolved to spare no pains, to give himself no rest until they were both free. Accordingly the Underground Rail Road was sought and found. Charles was twenty-eight, with a good head and striking face, as well as otherwise well made; chestnut color and intelligent, though unable to read. Left two sisters in bondage. Margaret was about the same age as her husband, a nice-looking brown-skinned woman; worth $500. Charles was valued at $1200. The atmosphere throughout the neighborhood where Charles and Margaret had lived and breathed, and had their existence, was heavily oppressed with slavery. No education for the freeman of color, much less for the slave. The order of the day was literally, as far as colored men were concerned: "No rights which white men were bound to respect." Chaskey Brown, Wm. Henry Washington, James Alfred Frisley, and Charles Henry Salter. Chaskey is about twenty-four years of age, quite black, medium size, sound body and intelligent appearance, nevertheless he resembled a "farm hand" in every particular. His master was known by the name of Major James H. Gales, and he was the owner of a farm with eighteen men, women and children, slaves to toil for him. The Major in disposition was very abusive and profane, though old and grey-headed. His wife was pretty much the same kind of a woman as he was a man; one who delighted in making the slaves tremble at her bidding. Chaskey was a member of the "Still Pond church," of Kent county, Md. Often Chaskey was made to feel the lash on his back, notwithstanding his good standing in the church. He had a wife and one child. In escaping, he was obliged to leave them both. Chaskey was valued at $1200. William Henry was about 20 years of age, and belonged to Doctor B. Grain, of Baltimore, who hired him out to a farmer. Not relishing the idea of having to work all his life in bondage, destitute of all privileges, he resolved to seek a refuge in Canada. He left his mother, four sisters and two brothers. James is twenty-four years of age, well made, quite black and pretty shrewd. He too was unable to see how it was that he should be worked, and flogged, and sold, at the pleasure of his master and "getting nothing;" he "had rather work for himself." His master was a "_speckled-faced--pretty large stomach man_, but was not very abuseful." He only owned one other. Charles Henry is about thirty years of age, of good proportion, nice-looking and intelligent; but to rough usage he was no stranger. To select his own master was a privilege not allowed; privileges of all kinds were rare with him. So he resolved to flee. Left his mother, three sisters and five brothers in slavery. He was a member of "Albany Chapel," at Massey's Cross Roads, and a slave of Dr. B. Crain. Charles left his wife Anna, living near the head of Sassafras, Md. The separation was painful, as was everything belonging to the system of Slavery. These were all gladly received by the Vigilance Committee, and the hand of friendship warmly extended to them; and the best of counsel and encouragement was offered; material aid, food and clothing were also furnished as they had need, and they were sent on their way rejoicing to Canada. Stephen Taylor, Charles Brown, Charles Henry Hollis, and Luther Dorsey. Stephen was a fine young man, of twenty years of age; he fled to keep from being sold. He "supposed his master wanted money." His master was a "tall, spare-faced man, with long whiskers, very wicked and very quick-tempered," and was known by the name of James Smithen, of Sandy Hook, Harford county, Md. His wife was also a very "close woman." They had four children growing up to occupy their places as oppressors. Stephen was not satisfied to serve either old or young masters any longer, and made up his mind to leave the first opportunity. Before this watchful and resolute purpose the way opened, and he soon found it comparatively easy to find his way from Maryland to Pennsylvania, and likewise into the hands of the Vigilance Committee, to whom he made known fully the character of the place and people whence he had fled, the dangers he was exposed to from slave-hunters, and the strong hope he cherished of reaching free land soon. Being a young man of promise, Stephen was advised earnestly to apply his mind to seek an education, and to use every possible endeavor to raise himself in the scale of manhood, morally, religiously and intellectually; and he seemed to drink in the admonitions thus given with a relish. After recruiting, and all necessary arrangements had been made for his comfort and passage to Canada, he was duly forwarded. "One more slave-holder is minus another slave worth at least $1200, which is something to rejoice over," said Committee. Stephen's parents were dead; one brother was the only near relative he left in chains. Charles Brown was about twenty-five years of age, quite black, and bore the marks of having been used hard, though his stout and hearty appearance would have rendered him very desirable to a trader. He fled from William Wheeling, of Sandy Hook, Md. He spoke of his master as a "pretty bad man," who was "always quarreling," and "would drink, swear and lie." Left simply because he "never got anything for his labor." On taking his departure for Canada, he was called upon to bid adieu to his mother and three brothers, all under the yoke. His master he describes thus-- "His face was long, cheek-bones high, middling tall, and about twenty-six years of age." With this specimen of humanity, Charles was very much dissatisfied, and he made up his mind not to stand the burdens of Slavery a day longer than he could safely make his way to the North. And in making an effort to reach Canada, he was quite willing to suffer many things. So the first chance Charles got, he started, and Providence smiled upon his resolution; he found himself a joyful passenger on the Underground Rail Road, being entertained free, and receiving attentions from the Company all along the line through to her British Majesty's boundlessly free territory in the Canadas. True, the thought of his mother and brothers, left in the prison house, largely marred his joy, as it did also the Committee's, still the Committee felt that Charles had gained his Freedom honorably, and at the same time, had left his master a poorer, if not a wiser man, by at least $1200. Charles Henry was a good-looking young man, only twenty years of age, and appeared to possess double as much natural sense as he would require to take care of himself. John Webster of Sandy Hook, claimed Charles' time, body and mind, and this was what made Charles unhappy. Uneducated as he was, he was too sensible to believe that Webster had any God-given right to his manhood. Consequently, he left because his master "did not treat him right." Webster was a tall man, with large black whiskers, about forty years of age, and owned Charles' two sisters. Charles was sorry for the fate of his sisters, but he could not help them if he remained. Staying to wear the yoke, he felt would rather make it worse instead of better for all concerned. Luther Dorsey is about nineteen years of age, rather smart, black, well made and well calculated for a Canadian. He was prompted to escape purely from the desire to be "_free_." He fled from a "very insulting man," by the name of Edward Schriner, from the neighborhood of Sairsville Mills, Frederick Co., Md. This Schriner was described as a "low chunky man, with grum look, big mouth, etc.," and was a member of the German Reformed Church. "Don't swear, though might as well; he was so bad other ways." Luther was a member of the Methodist church at Jones Hill. Left his father in chains; his mother had wisely escaped to Canada years back, when he was but a boy. Where she was then, he could not tell, but hoped to meet her in Canada. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND. JEREMIAH W. SMITH AND WIFE JULIA. Richmond was a city noted for its activity and enterprise in slave trade. Several slave pens and prisons were constantly kept up to accommodate the trade. And slave auctions were as common in Richmond as dress goods auctions in Philadelphia; notwithstanding this fact, strange as it may seem, the Underground Rail Road brought away large numbers of passengers from Richmond, Petersburg and Norfolk, and not a few of them lived comparatively within a hair's breadth of the auction block. Many of those from these localities were amongst the most intelligent and respectable slaves in the South, and except at times when disheartened by some grave disaster which had befallen the road, as, for instance, when some friendly captain or conductor was discovered in aiding fugitives, many of the thinking bondmen were daily manoeuvering and watching for opportunities to escape or aid their friends so to do. This state of things of course made the naturally hot blood of Virginians fairly boil. They had preached long and loudly about the contented and happy condition of the slaves,--that the chief end of the black man was to worship and serve the white man, with joy and delight, with more willingness and obedience indeed than he would be expected to serve his Maker. So the slave-holders were utterly at a loss to account for the unnatural desire on the part of the slaves to escape to the North where they affirmed they would be far less happy in freedom than in the hands of those so "kind and indulgent towards them." Despite all this, daily the disposition increased, with the more intelligent slaves, to distrust the statements of their masters especially when they spoke against the North. For instance if the master was heard to curse Boston the slave was then satisfied that Boston was just the place he would like to go to; or if the master told the slave that the blacks in Canada were freezing and starving to death by hundreds, his hope of trying to reach Canada was made tenfold stronger; he was willing to risk all the starving and freezing that the country could afford; his eagerness to find a conductor then would become almost painful. The situations of Jeremiah and Julia Smith, however, were not considered very hard, indeed they had fared rather better than most slaves in Virginia, nevertheless it will be seen that they desired to better their condition, to keep off of the auction-block at least. Jeremiah could claim to have no mixture in his blood, as his color was of such a pure black; but with the way of the world, in respect to shrewdness and intelligence, he had evidently been actively conversant. He was about twenty-six years of age, and in stature only medium, with poor health. The name of James Kinnard, whom he was obliged to call master and serve, was disgusting to him. Kinnard, he said, was a "close and severe man." At the same time he was not considered by the community "a hard man." From the age of fifteen years Jeremiah had been hired out, for which his owner had received from $50 to $130 per annum. In consequence of his master's custom of thus letting out Jeremiah, the master had avoided doctors' bills, &c. For the last two years prior to his escape, however, Jeremiah's health had been very treacherous, in consequence of which the master had been compelled to receive only $50 a year, sick or well. About one month before Jeremiah left, he was to have been taken on his master's farm, with the hope that he could be made more profitable there than he was in being hired out. His owner had thought once of selling him, perhaps fearing that Jeremiah might unluckily die on his hands. So he put him in prison and advertised; but as he had the asthma pretty badly at that time, he was not saleable, the traders even declined to buy him. While these troubles were presenting themselves to Jeremiah, Julia, his wife, was still more seriously involved, which added to Jeremiah's perplexities, of course. Julia was of a dark brown color, of medium size, and thirty years of age. Fourteen years she had been the slave of A. Judson Crane, and under him she had performed the duties of nurse, chamber-maid, etc., "faithfully and satisfactorily," as the certificate furnished her by this owner witnessed. She actually possessing a certificate, which he, Crane, gave her to enable her to find a new master, as she was then about to be sold. Her master had experienced a failure in business. This was the reason why she was to be sold. Mrs. Crane, her mistress, had always promised Julia that she should be free at her death. But, unexpectedly, as Mrs. Crane was on her journey home from Cape May, where she had been for her health the summer before Julia escaped, she died suddenly in Philadelphia. Julia, however, had been sold twice before her mistress' death; once to the trader, Reed, and afterwards to John Freeland, and again was on the eve of being sold. Freeland, her last owner, thought she was unhappy because she was denied the privilege of going home of nights to her husband, instead of being on hand at the beck and call of her master and mistress day and night. So the very day Julia and her husband escaped, arrangements had been made to put her up at auction a third time. But both Julia and her husband had seen enough of Slavery to leave no room to hope that they could ever find peace or rest so long as they remained. So there and then, they resolved to strike for Canada, via the Underground Rail Road. By a little good management, berths were procured for them on one of the Richmond steamers (berths not known to the officers of the boat), and they were safely landed in the hands of the Vigilance Committee, and a most agreeable interview was had. The Committee extended to them the usual hospitalities, in the way of board, accommodations, and free tickets Canadaward, and wished them a safe and speedy passage. The passengers departed, exceedingly light-hearted, Feb. 1, 1854. * * * * * EIGHT ARRIVALS: JAMES MASSEY, PERRY HENRY TRUSTY, GEORGE RHOADS, JAMES RHOADS, GEORGE WASHINGTON, SARAH ELIZABETH RHOADS AND CHILD, MARY ELIZABETH STEVENSON. Doubtless there was a sensation in "the camp," when this gang was found missing. James was a likely-looking young man of twenty years of age, dark, tall, and sensible; and worth, if we may judge, about $1,600. He was owned by a farmer named James Pittman, a "crabid kind of a man," grey-headed, with a broken leg; drank very hard, at which times he would swear that he would "sell them all to Georgia;" this threat was always unpleasant to the ears of James, but it seemed to be a satisfaction to the master. Fearing that it would be put into execution, James thought he had better let no time be lost in getting on towards Canada, though he was entitled to his Freedom at the age of twenty-five. Left his father, four brothers and two sisters. Also left his wife, to whom he had been married the previous Christmas. His master's further stock of slaves consisted of two women, a young man and a child. The name of his old mistress was Amelia. She was "right nice," James admitted. One of James' brothers had been sold to Georgia by Pittman, although he was also entitled to his Freedom at the age of twenty-five. His near relatives left in bondage lived near Level Square, Queen Ann's county, Maryland. His wife's name was Henrietta. "She was free." Interesting letter from James Massey to his wife. It was forwarded to the corresponding secretary, to be sent to her, but no opportunity was afforded so to do, safely. ST. CATHARINES, C.W., April 24, 1857. Dear Wife--I take this opertunity to inform you that I have Arive in St Catharines this Eving. After Jorney of too weeks, and now find mysilf on free ground and wish that you was here with me But you are not here, when we parted I did not know that I should come away so soon as I did. But for that of causin you pain I left as I did, I hope that you will try to come. But if you cannot, write to me as soon as you can and tell me all that you can But don't be Desscuredged I was sory to leave you, and I could not help it for you know that I promest see you to sister, But I was persuaded By Another man go part with it grived mutch, you must not think that I did not care for you. I cannot tell how I come, for I was some times on the earth and some times under the earth Do not Bee afraid to come But start and keep trying, if you are afrid fitch your tow sister with you for compeny and I will take care of you and treat you like a lady so long as you live. The talk of cold in this place is all a humbug, it is wormer here than it was there when I left, your father and mother has allways treated me like their own child I have no fault to find in them. I send my Respects to them Both and I hope that they will remember me in Prayer, if you make a start come to Philidelpa tell father and mother that I am safe and hope that they will not morn after me I shall ever Remember them. No more at present But yours in Body and mind, and if we no meet on Earth I hope that we shall meet in heven. Your husbern. Good night. JAME MASEY. Perry was about thirty-one years of age, round-made, of dark complexion, and looked quite gratified with his expedition, and the prospect of becoming a British subject instead of a Maryland slave. He was not free, however, from the sad thought of having left his wife and three children in the "_prison house_," nor of the fact that his own dear mother was brutally stabbed to the heart with a butcher knife by her young master, while he (Perry) was a babe; nor of a more recent tragedy by which a fellow-servant, only a short while before he fled, was also murdered by a stab in the groin from another young master. "Powerful bad" treatment, and "no pay," was the only reward poor Perry had ever received for his life services. Perry could only remember his having received from his master, in all, eleven cents. Left a brother and sister in Slavery. Perry was worth $1200 perhaps. Perry was compelled to leave his wife and three children--namely, Hannah (wife), Perry Henry, William Thomas and Alexander, who were owned by John McGuire, of Caroline county, Maryland. Perry was a fellow-servant of James Massey, and was held by the same owner who held James. It is but just, to say, that it was not in the Pittman family that his mother and his fellow-servant had been so barbarously murdered. These occurrences took place before they came into the hands of Pittman. The provocation for which his fellow-servant was killed, was said to be very trifling. In a moment of rage, his young master, John Piper, plunged the blade of a small knife into Perry's groin, which resulted in his death twenty-six hours afterwards. For one day only the young master kept himself concealed, then he came forward and said he "did it in self-defense," and there the matter ended. The half will never be told of the barbarism of Slavery. Perry's letter subjoined, explains where he went, and how his mind was occupied with thoughts of his wife, children and friends. ST. CATHARINES, C.W. June 21, 1857. DEAR SIR.--I take this opportunity to inform you that I am well at present, and hope that these few lines may find you injoying the same Blessing, I have Been for some time now, But have not written to you Before, But you must Excuse me. I want you to give my Respects to all my inquiring friends and to my wife, I should have let you know But I was afraid and all three of my little children too, P.H. Trusty if he was mine Wm. T. Trusty and to Alexander I have been A man agge But was assurd nuthin, H. Trusty, a hard grand citt. I should lie know how times is, Henry Turner if you get this keep it and read it to yourself and not let any one else But yourself, tell ann Henry, Samuel Henry, Jacob Bryant, Wm Claton, Mr James at Almira Receved at Mr Jones house the Best I could I have Been healthy since I arrived here. My Best Respect to all and my thanks for past favours. No more at present But Remain youre obedented Servent &c. HENRY TRUSTY. Please send me an answer as son as you get this, and, oblige yours, MR TRUSTY. George Rhoads is a young man of twenty-five years of age, chestnut color, face round, and hating Slavery heartily. He had come from under the control of John P. Dellum a farmer, and a crabbed master, who "would swear very much when crossed, and would drink moderately every day," except sometimes he would "take a _spree_," and would then get pretty high. Withal he was a member of the Presbyterian church at Perryville, Maryland; he was a single man and followed farming. Within the last two or three years, he had sold a man and woman; hence, George thought it was time to take warning. Accordingly he felt it to be his duty to try for Canada, via Underground Rail Road. As his master had always declared that if one run off, he would sell the rest to Georgia, George very wisely concluded that as an effort would have to be made, they had better leave their master with as "few as possible to be troubled with selling." Consequently, a consultation was had between the brothers, which resulted in the exit of a party of eight. The market price for George would be about $1400. A horrid example professed Christians set before the world, while holding slaves and upholding Slavery. James Rhoads, brother of George, was twenty-three years of age, medium size, dark color, intelligent and manly, and would doubtless have brought, in the Richmond market, $1700. Fortunately he brought his wife and child with him. James was also held by the same task-master who held George. Often had he been visited with severe stripes, and had borne his full share of suffering from his master. George Washington, one of the same party, was only about fifteen years of age; he was tall enough, however, to pass for a young man of twenty. George was of an excellent, fast, dark color. Of course, mentally he was undeveloped, nevertheless, possessed of enough mother-wit to make good his escape. In the slave market he might have been valued at $800. George was claimed as the lawful property of Benjamin Sylves--a Presbyterian, who owned besides, two men, three girls, and a boy. He was "tolerable good" sometimes, and sometimes "bad." Some of the slaves supposed themselves to be on the eve of being emancipated about the time George left; but of this there was no certainty. George, however, was not among this hopeful number, consequently, he thought that he would start in time, and would be ready to shout for Freedom quite as soon as any other of his fellow-bondmen. George left a father and three sisters. Sarah Elizabeth Rhoads, wife of James Rhoads, was seventeen years of age, a tall, dark, young woman, who had had no chances for mental improvement, except such as were usual on a farm, stocked with slaves, where learning to read the Bible was against the "rules." Sarah was a young slave mother with a babe (of course a slave) only eight months old. She was regarded as having been exceedingly fortunate in having rescued herself and child from the horrid fate of slaves. MARY ELIZABETH STEPHENSON is a promising-looking young woman, of twenty years of age, chestnut color, and well made. Hard treatment had been her lot. Left her mother, two sisters and four brothers in bondage. Worth $1100. Although these travelers were of the "field hand" class, who had never been permitted to see much off of the farm, and had been deprived of hearing intelligent people talk, yet the spirit of Freedom, so natural to man, was quite uppermost with all of them. The members of the Committee who saw them, were abundantly satisfied that these candidates for Canada would prove that they were able to "take care of themselves." Their wants were attended to in the usual manner, and they were sent on their way rejoicing, the Committee feeling quite a deep interest in them. It looked like business to see so many passing over the Road. * * * * * CHARLES THOMPSON, CARRIER OF "THE NATIONAL AMERICAN," OFF FOR CANADA. The subjoined "pass" was brought to the Underground Rail Road station in Philadelphia by Charles, and while it was interesting as throwing light upon his escape, it is important also as a specimen of the way the "pass" system was carried on in the dark days of Slavery in Virginia: "NAT. AMERICAN OFFICE, Richmond, July 20th, 1857. Permit Charles to pass and repass from this office to the residence of Rev B. Manly's on Clay St., near 11th, at any hour of the night for one month. WM. W. HARDWICK." It is a very short document, but it used to be very unsafe for a slave in Richmond, or any other Southern city, to be found out in the evening without a legal paper of this description. The penalties for being found unprepared to face the police were fines, imprisonment and floggings. The satisfaction it seemed always to afford these guardians of the city to find either males or females trespassing in this particular, was unmistakable. It gave them (the police) the opportunity to prove to those they served (slaveholders), that they were the right men in the right place, guarding their interests. Then again they got the fine for pocket money, and likewise the still greater pleasure of administering the flogging. Who would want an office, if no opportunity should turn up whereby proof could be adduced of adequate qualifications to meet emergencies? But Charles was too wide awake to be caught without his pass day or night. Consequently he hung on to it, even after starting on his voyage to Canada. He, however, willingly surrendered it to a member of the Committee at his special request. But in every way Charles was quite a remarkable man. It afforded the Committee great pleasure to make his acquaintance, and much practical and useful information was gathered from his story, which was felt to be truthful. The Committee feeling assured that this "chattel" must have been the subject of much inquiry and anxiety from the nature of his former position, as a prominent piece of property, as a member of the Baptist church, as taking "first premiums" in making tobacco, and as a paper carrier in the National American office, felt called upon to note fully his movements before and after leaving Richmond. In stature he was medium size, color quite dark, hair long and bushy--rather of a raw-boned and rugged appearance, modest and self-possessed; with much more intelligence than would be supposed from first observation. On his arrival, ere he had "shaken hands with the (British) Lion's paw," (which he was desirous of doing), or changed the habiliments in which he escaped, having listened to the recital of his thrilling tale, and wishing to get it word for word as it flowed naturally from his brave lips, at a late hour of the night a member of the Committee remarked to him, with pencil in hand, that he wanted to take down some account of his life. "Now," said he, "we shall have to be brief. Please answer as correctly as you can the following questions:" "How old are you?" "Thirty-two years old the 1st day of last June." "Were you born a slave?" "Yes." "How have you been treated?" "Badly all the time for the last twelve years." "What do you mean by being treated badly?" "Have been whipped, and they never give me anything; some people give their servants at Christmas a dollar and a half and two dollars, and some five, but my master would never give me anything." "What was the name of your master?" "Fleming Bibbs." "Where did he live?" "In Caroline county, fifty miles above Richmond." "What did he do?" "He was a farmer." "Did you ever live with him?" "Never did; always hired me out, and then I couldn't please him." "What kind of a man was he?" "A man with a very severe temper; would drink at all times, though would do it slyly." "Was he a member of any church?" "Baptist church--would curse at his servants as if he wern't in any church." "Were his family members of church, too?" "Yes." "What kind of family had he?" "His wife was a tolerable fair woman, but his sons were dissipated, all of them _rowdies_ and _gamblers. His sons has had children by the servants. One of his daughters had a child by his grandson last April_. They are traders, buy and sell." "How many slaves did he own?" "Sam, Richmond, Henry, Dennis, Jesse, Addison, Hilliard, Jenny, Lucius, Julia, Charlotte, Easte, Joe, Taylor, Louisa, two more small children and Jim." Did any of them know that you were going to leave? "No, I saw my brother Tuesday, but never told him a word about it." "What put it into your head to leave?" "It was bad treatment; for being put in jail for sale the 7th of last January; was whipped in jail and after I came out the only thing they told me was that I had been selling newspapers about the streets, and was half free." "Where did you live then?" "In Richmond, Va.; for twenty-two years I have been living out." "How much did your master receive a year for your hire?" "From sixty-five to one hundred and fifty dollars." "Did you have to find yourself?" "The people who hired me found me. The general rule is in Richmond, for a week's board, seventy-five cents is allowed; if he gets any more than that he has got to find it himself." "How about Sunday clothing?" "Find them yourself?" "How about a house to live in?" "Have that to find yourself." "Suppose you have a wife and family." "It makes no difference, they don't allow you anything for that at all." "Suppose you are sick who pays your doctor's bill?" "He (master) pays that." "How do you manage to make a little extra money?" "By getting up before day and carrying out papers and doing other jobs, cleaning up single men's rooms and the like of that." "What have you been employed at in Richmond?" "Been working in tobacco factory in general; this year I was hired at a printing-office. The National American. I carried papers." "Had you a wife?" "I did, but her master was a very bad man and was opposed to me, and was against my coming to his place to see my wife, and he persuaded her to take another husband in preference to me; being in his hands she took his advice." "How long ago was that?" "Very near twelve months; she got married last fall." "Had you any children?" "Yes." "How many?" "Five." "Where are they?" "Three are with Joel Luck, her master, one with his sister Eliza, and the other belongs to Judge Hudgins, of Bowling Green Court House." "Do you ever expect to see them again?" "No, not till the day of the Great I am!" "Did you ever have any chance of schooling?" "Not a day in my life." "Can you read?" "No, sir, nor write my own name." "What do you think of Slavery any how?" "I think it's a great curse, and I think the _Baptists_ in _Richmond_ will go to the deepest hell, if there is any, for they are so wicked they will work you all day and part of the night, and _wear cloaks and long faces_, and try to get all the work out of you they can by telling you about Jesus Christ. All the extra money you make they think you will give to hear talk about Jesus Christ. Out of their extra money they have to pay a white man _Five hundred dollars a year for preaching_." "What kind of preaching does he give them?" "He tells them if they die in their sins they will go to hell; don't tell them any thing about their elevation; he would tell them obey their masters and mistresses, for good servants make good masters." "Did you belong to the Baptist Church?" "Yes, Second Baptist Church." "Did you feel that the preaching you heard was the true Gospel?" "One part of it, and one part burnt me as bad as ever insult did. They would tell us that we must take money out of our pockets to send it to Africa, to enlighten the African race. I think that we were about as blind in Richmond as the African race is in Africa. All they want you to know, is to have sense enough to say master and mistress, and _run_ like lightning, when they speak to you, to do exactly what they want you to do," "When you made up your mind to escape, where did you think you would go to?" "I made up my mind not to stop short of the British protection; to shake hands with the _Lion's_ paw." "Were you not afraid of being captured on the way, of being devoured by the abolitionists, or of freezing and starving in Canada?" "Well, I had often thought that I would be in a bad condition to come here, without money and clothes, but I made up my mind to come, live or die." "What are your impressions from what little you have seen of Freedom?" "I think it is intended for all men, and all men ought to have it." "Suppose your master was to appear before you, and offer you the privilege of returning to Slavery or death on the spot, which would be your choice?" "_Die right there_. I made up my mind before I started." "Do you think that many of the slaves are anxious about their Freedom?" "The third part of them ain't anxious about it, because the white people have _blinded_ them, telling about the North,--they _can't live here_; telling them that the people are worse off than they are there; they say that the 'niggers' in the North have no houses to live in, stand about freezing, dirty, no clothes to wear. They all would be very glad to get their time, but want to stay where they are." Just at this point of the interview, the hour of midnight admonished us that it was time to retire. Accordingly, said Mr. Thompson, "I guess we had better close," adding, if he "could only write, he could give seven volumes!" Also, said he, "give my best respects to Mr. W.W. Hardwicke, and Mr. Perry in the National American office, and tell them _I wish they will pay the two boys who carry the papers for me, for they are as ignorant of this matter as you are_." Charles was duly forwarded to Canada to shake hands with the Lion's paw, and from the accounts which came from him to the Committee, he was highly delighted. The following letter from him afforded gratifying evidence, that he neither forgot his God nor his friends in freedom: DETROIT, Sept. 17, 1862. DEAR BROTHER IN CHRIST--It affords me the greatest pleasure imaginable in the time I shall occupy in penning these few lines to you and your dear loving wife, not because I can write them to you myself, but for the love and regard I have for you, for I never can forget a man who will show kindness to his neighbor when in distress. I remember when I was in distress and out of doors, you took me in; I was hungry, and you fed me; for these things God will reward you, dear brother. I am getting along as well as I can expect. Since I have been out here, I have endeavored to make every day tell for itself, and I can say, no doubt, what a great many men cannot say, that I have made good use of all the time that God has given me, and not one week has been spent in idleness. Brother William, I expect to visit you some time next summer to sit and have a talk with you and Mrs. Still. I hope to see that time, if it is God's will. You will remember me, with my wife, to Mrs. Still. Give my best respects to all inquiring friends, and believe me to be yours forever. Well wishes both soul and body. Please write to me sometimes. C.W. THOMPSON. * * * * * BLOOD FLOWED FREELY. ABRAM GALLOWAY AND RICHARD EDEN, TWO PASSENGERS SECRETED IN A VESSEL LOADED WITH SPIRITS OF TURPENTINE. SHROUDS PREPARED TO PREVENT BEING SMOKED TO DEATH. The Philadelphia branch of the Underground Rail Road was not fortunate in having very frequent arrivals from North Carolina. Of course such of her slave population as managed to become initiated in the mysteries of traveling North by the Underground Rail Road were sensible enough to find out nearer and safer routes than through Pennsylvania. Nevertheless the Vigilance Committee of Philadelphia occasionally had the pleasure of receiving some heroes who were worthy to be classed among the bravest of the brave, no matter who they may be who have claims to this distinction. In proof of this bold assertion the two individuals whose names stand at the beginning of this chapter are presented. Abram was only twenty-one years of age, mulatto, five feet six inches high, intelligent and the picture of good health. "What was your master's name?" inquired a member of the Committee. "Milton Hawkins," answered Abram. "What business did Milton Hawkins follow?" again queried said member. "He was chief engineer on the Wilmington and Manchester Rail Road" (not a branch of the Underground Rail Road), responded Richard. "Describe him," said the member. "He was a slim built, tall man with whiskers. He was a man of very good disposition. I always belonged to him; he owned three. He always said he would sell before he would use a whip. His wife was a very mean woman; she would whip contrary to his orders." "Who was your father?" was further inquired. "John Wesley Galloway," was the prompt response. "Describe your father?" "He was captain of a government vessel; he recognized me as his son, and protected me as far as he was allowed so to do; he lived at Smithfield, North Carolina. Abram's master, Milton Hawkins, lived at Wilmington, N.C." "What prompted you to escape?" was next asked. "Because times were hard and I could not come up with my wages as I was required to do, so I thought I would try and do better." At this juncture Abram explained substantially in what sense times were hard, &c. In the first place he was not allowed to own himself; he, however, preferred hiring his time to serving in the usual way. This favor was granted Abram; but he was compelled to pay $15 per month for his time, besides finding himself in clothing, food, paying doctor bills, and a head tax of $15 a year. [Illustration: HON. ABRAM GALLOWAY] Even under this master, who was a man of very good disposition, Abram was not contented. In the second place, he "always thought Slavery was wrong," although he had "never suffered any personal abuse." Toiling month after month the year round to support his master and not himself, was the one intolerable thought. Abram and Richard were intimate friends, and lived near each other. Being similarly situated, they could venture to communicate the secret feelings of their hearts to each other. Richard was four years older than Abram, with not quite so much Anglo-Saxon blood in his veins, but was equally as intelligent, and was by trade, a "fashionable barber," well-known to the ladies and gentlemen of Wilmington. Richard owed service to Mrs. Mary Loren, a widow. "She was very kind and tender to all her slaves." "If I was sick," said Richard, "she would treat me the same as a mother would." She was the owner of twenty, men, women and children, who were all hired out, except the children too young for hire. Besides having his food, clothing and doctor's expenses to meet, he had to pay the "very kind and tender-hearted widow" $12.50 per month, and head tax to the State, amounting to twenty-five cents per month. It so happened, that Richard at this time, was involved in a matrimonial difficulty. Contrary to the laws of North Carolina, he had lately married a free girl, which was an indictable offence, and for which the penalty was then in soak for him--said penalty to consist of thirty-nine lashes, and imprisonment at the discretion of the judge. So Abram and Richard put their heads together, and resolved to try the Underground Rail Road. They concluded that liberty was worth dying for, and that it was their duty to strike for Freedom even if it should cost them their lives. The next thing needed, was information about the Underground Rail Road. Before a great while the captain of a schooner turned up, from Wilmington, Delaware. Learning that his voyage extended to Philadelphia, they sought to find out whether this captain was true to Freedom. To ascertain this fact required no little address. It had to be done in such a way, that even the captain would not really understand what they were up to, should he be found untrue. In this instance, however, he was the right man in the right place, and very well understood his business. Abram and Richard made arrangements with him to bring them away; they learned when the vessel would start, and that she was loaded with tar, rosin, and spirits of turpentine, amongst which the captain was to secrete them. But here came the difficulty. In order that slaves might not be secreted in vessels, the slave-holders of North Carolina had procured the enactment of a law requiring all vessels coming North to be smoked. To escape this dilemma, the inventive genius of Abram and Richard soon devised a safe-guard against the smoke. This safe-guard consisted in silk oil cloth shrouds, made large, with drawing strings, which, when pulled over their heads, might be drawn very tightly around their waists, whilst the process of smoking might be in operation. A bladder of water and towels were provided, the latter to be wet and held to their nostrils, should there be need. In this manner they had determined to struggle against death for liberty. The hour approached for being at the wharf. At the appointed time they were on hand ready to go on the boat; the captain secreted them, according to agreement. They were ready to run the risk of being smoked to death; but as good luck would have it, the law was not carried into effect in this instance, so that the "smell of smoke was not upon them." The effect of the turpentine, however, of the nature of which they were totally ignorant, was worse, if possible, than the smoke would have been. The blood was literally drawn from them at every pore in frightful quantities. But as heroes of the bravest type they resolved to continue steadfast as long as a pulse continued to beat, and thus they finally conquered. The invigorating northern air and the kind treatment of the Vigilance Committee acted like a charm upon them, and they improved very rapidly from their exhaustive and heavy loss of blood. Desiring to retain some memorial of them, a member of the Committee begged one of their silk shrouds, and likewise procured an artist to take the photograph of one of them; which keepsakes have been valued very highly. In the regular order of arrangements the wants of Abram and Richard were duly met by the Committee, financially and otherwise, and they were forwarded to Canada. After their safe arrival in Canada, Richard addressed a member of the Committee thus: KINGSTON, July 20, 1857. MR. WILLIAM STILL--_Dear Friend_:--I take the opertunity of wrighting a few lines to let you no that we air all in good health hoping thos few lines may find you and your family engoying the same blessing. We arived in King all saft Canada West Abram Galway gos to work this morning at $1.75 per day and John pediford is at work for mr george mink and i will opne a shop for my self in a few days My wif will send a daugretipe to your cair whitch you will pleas to send on to me Richard Edons to the cair of George Mink Kingston C W Yours with Respect, RICHARD EDONS. Abram, his comrade, allied himself faithfully to John Bull until Uncle Sam became involved in the contest with the rebels. In this hour of need Abram hastened back to North Carolina to help fight the battles of Freedom. How well he acted his part, we are not informed. We only know that, after the war was over, in the reconstruction of North Carolina, Abram was promoted to a seat in its Senate. He died in office only a few months since. The portrait is almost a "fac-simile." * * * * * JOHN PETTIFOOT. Anglo-African and Anglo-Saxon were about equally mixed in the organization of Mr. Pettifoot. His education, with regard to books, was quite limited. He had, however, managed to steal the art of reading and writing, to a certain extent. Notwithstanding the Patriarchal Institution of the South, he was to all intents and purposes a rebel at heart, consequently he resolved to take a trip on the Underground Rail Road to Canada. So, greatly to the surprise of those whom he was serving, he was one morning inquired for in vain. No one could tell what had become of Jack no more than if he had vanished like a ghost. Doubtless Messrs. McHenry and McCulloch were under the impression that newspapers and money possessed great power and could, under the circumstances, be used with entire effect. The following advertisement is evidence, that Jack was much needed at the tobacco factory. $100 REWARD--For the apprehension and delivery to us of a MULATTO MAN, named John Massenberg, or John Henry Pettifoot, who has been passing as free, under the name of Sydney. He is about 5 feet 6 or 8 inches high, spare made, bright, with a bushy head of hair, curled under and a small moustache. Absconded a few days ago from our Tobacco Factory. [Illustration: ] McHENRY & MCCULLOCH. ju 16 3t. Jack was aware that a trap of this kind would most likely be set for him, and that the large quantity of Anglo-Saxon blood in his veins would not save him. He was aware, too, that he was the reputed son of a white gentleman, who was a professional dentist, by the name of Dr. Peter Cards. The Doctor, however, had been called away by death, so Jack could see no hope or virtue in having a white father, although a "chivalric gentleman," while living, and a man of high standing amongst slave-holders. Jack was a member of the Baptist church, too, and hoped he was a good Christian; but he could look for no favors from the Church, or sympathy on the score of his being a Christian. He knew very well were it known, that he had the love of freedom in his heart, or the idea of the Underground Rail Road in his head, he would be regarded as having committed the "unpardonable sin." So Jack looked to none of these "broken reeds" in Richmond in the hour of his trial, but to Him above, whom he had not seen, and to the Underground Rail Road. He felt pretty well satisfied, that if Providence would aid him, and he could get a conductor to put him on the right road to Canada, he would be all right. Accordingly, he acted up to his best light, and thus he succeeded admirably, as the sequel shows. JOHN HENRY PETTIFOOT. John is a likely young man, quite bright in color and in intellect also. He was the son of Peter Cards, a dentist by profession, and a white man by complexion. As a general thing, he had been used 'very well;' had no fault to find, except this year, being hired to McHenry & McCulloch, tobacconists, of Petersburg, Va., whom he found rather more oppressive than he agreed for, and supposing that he had 'no right' to work for any body for nothing, he 'picked up his bed and walked.' His mistress had told him that he was '_willed_ free,' at her death, but John was not willing to wait her "motions to die." He had a wife in Richmond, but was not allowed to visit her. He left one sister and a step-father in bondage. Mr. Pettifoot reached Philadelphia by the Richmond line of steamers, stowed away among the pots and cooking utensils. On reaching the city, he at once surrendered himself into the hands of the Committee, and was duly looked after by the regular acting members. * * * * * EMANUEL T. WHITE. EMANUEL was about twenty-five years of age, with seven-eighths of white blood in his veins, medium size, and a very smart and likely-looking piece of property generally. He had the good fortune to escape from Edward H. Hubbert, a ship timber merchant of Norfolk, Va. Under Hubbert's yoke he had served only five years, having been bought by him from a certain Aldridge Mandrey, who was described as a "very cruel man," and would "rather fight than eat." "I have licks that will carry me to my grave, and will be there till the flesh rots off my bones," said Emanuel, adding that his master was a "_devil_," though a member of the Reformed Methodist Church. But his mistress, he said, was a "right nice little woman, and kept many licks off me." "If you said you were sick, he would whip it out of you." From Mandrey he once fled, and was gone two months, but was captured at Williamsburg, Va., and received a severe flogging, and carried home. Hubbert finally sold Emanuel to a Mr. Grigway of Norfolk; with Emanuel Mr. G. was pretty well suited, but his wife was not--he had "too much white blood in him" for her. Grigway and his wife were members of the Episcopal Church. In this unhappy condition Emanuel found a conductor of the Underground Rail Road. A secret passage was secured for him on one of the Richmond steamers, and thus he escaped from his servitude. The Committee attended to his wants, and forwarded him on as usual. From Syracuse, where he was breathing quite freely under the protection of the Rev. J.W. Loguen, he wrote the following letter: SYRACUSE, July 29, 1857. MY DEAR FRIEND, MR. STILL:--I got safe through to Syracuse, and found the house of our friend, Mr. J.W. Loguen. Many thanks to you for your kindness to me. I wish to say to you, dear sir, that I expect my clothes will be sent to Dr. Landa, and I wish, if you please, get them and send them to the care of Mr. Loguen, at Syracuse, for me He will be in possession of my whereabouts and will send them to me. Remember me to Mr. Landa and Miss Millen Jespan, and much to you and your family. Truly Yours, MANUAL T. WHITE. THE ESCAPE OF A CHILD FOURTEEN MONTHS OLD. There is found the following brief memorandum on the Records of the Underground Rail Road Book, dated July, 1857: "A little child of fourteen months old was conveyed to its mother, who had been compelled to flee without it nearly nine months ago." While the circumstances connected with the coming of this slave child were deeply interesting, no further particulars than the simple notice above were at that time recorded. Fortunately, however, letters from the good friends, who plucked this infant from the jaws of Slavery, have been preserved to throw light on this little one, and to show how true-hearted sympathizers with the Slave labored amid dangers and difficulties to save the helpless bondman from oppression. It will be observed, that both these friends wrote from Washington, D.C., the seat of Government, where, if Slavery was not seen in its worst aspects, the Government in its support of Slavery appeared in a most revolting light. LETTER FROM "J.B." WASHINGTON, D.C., July 12, 1857. DEAR SIR:--Some of our citizens, I am told, lately left here for Philadelphia, three of whom were arrested and brought back. I beg you will inform me whether two others--(I., whose wife is in Philadelphia, was one of them), ever reached your city. To-morrow morning Mrs. Weems, _with her baby_, will start for Philadelphia and see you probably over night. Yours Truly, J.B. "J.B." was not only a trusty and capable conductor of the Underground Rail Road in Washington, but was also a practical lawyer, at the same time. His lawyer-like letter, in view of the critical nature of the case, contained but few words, and those few naturally enough were susceptible of more than one construction. Doubtless those styled "our citizens,"--"three of whom were arrested and brought back,"--were causing great anxiety to this correspondent, not knowing how soon he might find himself implicated in the "running off," etc. So, while he felt it to be his duty, to still aid the child, he was determined, if the enemy intercepted his letter, he should not find much comfort or information. The cause was safe in such careful hands. The following letters, bearing on the same case, are also from another good conductor, who was then living in Washington. LETTERS FROM E.L. STEVENS. WASHINGTON, D.C., July 8,1857. MY DEAR SIR:--I write you now to let you know that the children of E. are yet well, and that Mrs. Arrah Weems will start with one of them for Philadelphia to-morrow or next day. She will be with you probably in the day train. She goes for the purpose of making an effort to redeem her last child, now in Slavery. The whole amount necessary is raised, except about $300. She will take her credentials with her, and you can place the most implicit reliance on her statements. The story in regard to the Weems' family was published in Frederick Douglass' paper two years ago. Since then the two middle boys have been redeemed and there is only one left in Slavery, and he is in Alabama. The master has agreed to take for him just what he gave, $1100. Mr. Lewis Tappan has his letter and the money, except the amount specified. There were about $5000 raised in England to redeem this family, and they are now all free except this one. And there never was a more excellent and worthy family than the Weems' family. I do hope, that Mrs. W. will find friends who can advance the amount required. Truly Yours, E.L. STEVENS. WASHINGTON, D.C., July 13th, 1857. MY FRIEND:--Your kind letter in reply to mine about Arrah was duly received. As she is doubtless with you before this, she will explain all. I propose that a second journey be made by her or some one else, in order to take the other. They have been a great burden to the good folks here and should have been _at home_ long ere this. Arrah will explain everything. I want, however, to say a word in her behalf. If there is a person in the world, that deserves the hearty co-operation of every friend of humanity, that person is Arrah Weems, who now, after a long series of self-sacrificing labor to aid others in their struggle for their God-given rights, solicits a small amount to redeem the last one of her own children in Slavery. Never have I had my sympathies so aroused in behalf of any object as in behalf of this most worthy family. She can tell you what I have done. And I do hope, that our friends in Philadelphia and New York will assist her to make up the full amount required for the purchase of the boy. After she does what she can in P., will you give her the proper direction about getting to New York and to Mr. Tappan's? Inform him of what she has done, &c. Please write me as soon as you can as to whether she arrived safely, &c. Give me your opinion, also, as to the proposal about the other. Had you not better keep the little one in P. till the other is taken there? Inform me also where E. is, how she is getting along, &c., who living with, &c. Yours Truly, E.L.S. In this instance, also, as in the case of "J.B.," the care and anxiety of other souls, besides this child, crying for deliverance, weighed heavily on the mind of Mr. Stevens, as may be inferred from certain references in his letters. Mr. Stevens' love of humanity, and impartial freedom, even in those dark days of Slavery, when it was both unpopular and unsafe to allow the cries of the bondman to awaken the feeling of humanity to assist the suffering, was constantly leading him to take sides with the oppressed, and as he appears in this correspondence, so it was his wont daily to aid the helpless, who were all around him. Arrah Weems, who had the care of the child, alluded to so touchingly by Mr. Stevens, had known, to her heart's sorrow, how intensely painful it was to a mother's feelings to have her children torn from her by a cruel master and sold. For Arrah had had a number of children sold, and was at that very time striving diligently to raise money to redeem the last one of them. And through such kind-hearted friends as Mr. Stevens, the peculiar hardships of this interesting family of Weems' were brought to the knowledge of thousands of philanthropists in this country and England, and liberal contributions had already been made by friends of the Slave on both sides of the ocean. It may now be seen, that while this child had not been a conscious sufferer from the wicked system of Slavery, it had been the object of very great anxiety and suffering to several persons, who had individually perilled their own freedom for its redemption. This child, however, was safely brought to the Vigilance Committee, in Philadelphia, and was duly forwarded, _viâ_ friends in New York, to its mother, in Syracuse, where she had stopped to work and wait for her little one, left behind at the time she escaped. * * * * * ESCAPE OF A YOUNG SLAVE MOTHER. LEFT HER LITTLE BABY-BOY, LITTLE GIRL AND HUSBAND BEHIND. She anxiously waits their coming in Syracuse, N.Y. Not until after the foregoing story headed, the "Escape of a Child," etc., had been put into the hands of the printer and was in type, was the story of the mother discovered, although it was among the records preserved. Under changed names, in many instances, it has been found to be no easy matter to cull from a great variety of letters, records and advertisements, just when wanted, all the particulars essential to complete many of these narratives. The case of the child, alluded to above, is a case in point. Thus, however, while it is impossible to introduce the mother's story in its proper place, yet, since it has been found, it is too important and interesting to be left out. It is here given as follows: $300 REWARD.--RAN AWAY from the subscriber on Saturday, the 30th of August, 1856, my SERVANT WOMAN, named EMELINE CHAPMAN, about 25 years of age; quite dark, slender built, speaks short, and stammers some; with two children, one a female about two and a half years old; the other a male, seven or eight months old, bright color. I will give the above reward if they are delivered to me in Washington. [Illustration: ] MRS. EMILY THOMPSON, s23-TU, Th&st& Capitol Hill, Washington, D.C. Emeline Chapman, so particularly described in the "Baltimore Sun" of the 23d of September, 1856, arrived by the regular Underground Rail Road train from Washington. In order to escape the responsibility attached to her original name, she adopted the name of Susan Bell. Thus for freedom she was willing to forego her name, her husband, and even her little children. It was a serious sacrifice; but she had been threatened with the auction block, and she well understood what that meant. With regard to usage, having lived away from her owner, Emeline did not complain of any very hard times. True, she had been kept at work very constantly, and her owner had very faithfully received all her hire. Emeline had not even been allowed enough of her hire to find herself in clothing, or anything for the support of her two children--for these non-essentials, her kind mistress allowed her to seek elsewhere, as best she could. Emeline's husband was named John Henry; her little girl she called Margaret Ann, and her babe she had named after its father, all with the brand of Slavery upon them. The love of freedom, in the breast of this spirited young Slave-wife and mother, did not extinguish the love she bore to her husband and children, however otherwise her course, in leaving them, as she did, might appear. For it was just this kind of heroic and self-sacrificing struggle, that appealed to the hearts of men and compelled attention. The letters of Biglow and Stevens, relative to the little child, prove this fact, and additional testimony found in the appended letter from Rev. J.W. Loguen conclusively confirms the same. Indeed, who could close his eyes and ears to the plaintive cries of such a mother? Who could refrain from aiding on to freedom children honored in such a heroic parent? SYRACUSE, Oct. 5, 1856. DEAR FRIEND STILL:--I write to you for Mrs. Susan Bell, who was at your city some time in September last. She is from Washington city. She left her dear little children behind (two children). She is stopping in our city, and wants to hear from her children very much indeed. She wishes to know if you have heard from Mr. Biglow, of Washington city. She will remain here until she can hear from you. She feels very anxious about her children, I will assure you. I should have written before this, but I have been from home much of the time since she came to our city. She wants to know if Mr. Biglow has heard anything about her husband. If you have not written to Mr. Biglow, she wishes you would. She sends her love to you and your dear family. She says that you were all kind to her, and she does not forget it. You will direct your letter to me, dear brother, and I will see that she gets it. Miss F.E. Watkins left our house yesterday for Ithaca, and other places in that part of the State. Frederick Douglass, Wm. J. Watkins and others were with us last week; Gerritt Smith with others. Miss Watkins is doing great good in our part of the State. We think much indeed of her. She is such a good and glorious speaker, that we are all charmed with her. We have had thirty-one fugitives in the last twenty-seven days; but you, no doubt, have had many more than that. I hope the good Lord may bless you and spare you long to do good to the hunted and outraged among our brethren. Yours truly, J.W. LOGUEN, Agent of the Underground Rail Road. * * * * * SAMUEL W. JOHNSON. ARRIVAL FROM THE "DAILY DISPATCH" OFFICE. "Sam" was doing Slave labor at the office of the Richmond "Daily Dispatch," as a carrier of that thoroughly pro-slavery sheet. "Sam" had possessed himself somehow of a knowledge of reading and writing a little, and for the news of the day he had quite an itching ear. Also with regard to his freedom he was quite solicitous. Being of an ambitious turn of mind, he hired his time, for which he paid his master $175 per annum in regular quarterly payments. Besides paying this amount, he had to find himself in board, clothing, and pay doctor's expenses. He had had more than one owner in his life. The last one, however, he spoke of thus: "His name is James B. Foster, of Richmond, a very hard man. He owns three more Slaves besides myself." In escaping, "Sam" was obliged to leave his wife, who was owned by Christian Bourdon. His attachment to her, judging from his frequent warm expressions of affection, was very strong. But, as strong as it was, he felt that he could not consent to remain in slavery any longer. "Sam" had luckily come across a copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin, and in perusing it, all his notions with regard to "Masters and Servants," soon underwent an entire change, and he began to cast his eyes around him to see how he might get his freedom. One who was thoroughly awake as he was to the idea of being free, with a fair share of courage, could now and then meet with the opportunity to escape by the steamers or schooners coming North. Thus Samuel found the way open and on one of the steamers came to Philadelphia. On arriving, he was put at once in the charge of the Committee. While in their hands he seemed filled with astonishment at his own achievements, and such spontaneous expressions as naturally flowed from his heart thrilled and amazed his new found friends, and abundant satisfaction was afforded, that Samuel Washington Johnson would do no discredit to his fugitive comrades in Canada. So the Committee gladly aided him on his journey. After arriving in Canada, Samuel wrote frequently and intelligently. The subjoined letter to his wife shows how deeply he was attached to her, and, at the same time, what his views were of Slavery. The member of the Committee to whom it was sent with the request, that it should be forwarded to her, did not meet with the opportunity of doing so. A copy of it was preserved with other Underground Rail Road documents. LETTER FROM SAMUEL W. JOHNSON TO HIS WIFE. My Dear Wife I now embrace this golden opportunity of writing a few Lines to inform you that I am well at present engoying good health and hope that these few lines may find you well also. My dearest wife I have Left you and now I am in a foreign land about fourteen hundred miles from you but though my wife my thoughts are upon you all the time. My dearest Frances I hope you will remember me now gust as same as you did when I were there with you because my mind are with you night and day the Love that I bear for you in my breast is greater than I thought it was if I had thought I had so much Love for you I dont think I ever could Left being I have escape I and has fled into a land of freedom. I can but stop and look over my past Life and say what a fool I was for staying in bondage as Long. My dear wife I dont want you to get married before you send me some letters because I never shall get married until I see you again. My mind dont deceive and it appears to me as if I shall see you again at my time of writing this letter I am desitute of money I have not got in no business yet but when I do get into business I shall write you and also remember you. Tell my Mother and Brother and all enquiring friends that I am now safe in free state. I cant tell where I am at present but Direct your Letters to Mr. William Still in Philadelphia and I will get them. Answer this as soon as you can if you please for if you write the same day you receive it it will take a fortnight to reach me. No more to relate at present but still remain your affectionate husband. Mr. Still please defore this piece out if you please SAMUEL WASHINGTON JOHNSON. Whether Samuel ever met with the opportunity of communicating with his wife, the writer cannot say. But of all the trials which Slaves had to endure, the separations of husbands and wives were the most difficult to bear up under. Although feeling keenly the loss of his wife, Samuel's breast swelled with the thought of freedom, as will be seen from the letter which he wrote immediately after landing in Canada: ST. CATHARINE, UPPER CANADA WEST. MR. WILLIAM STILL:--I am now in safety. I arrived at home safe on the 11th inst at 12 o'clock M. So I hope that you will now take it upon yourself to inform me something of that letter I left at your house that night when I left there and write me word how you are and how is your wife. I wish you may excuse this letter for I am so full that I cannot express my mind at all. I am only got $1.50 and I feel as if I had an independent fortune but I don't want you to think that I am going to be idle because I am on free ground and I shall always work though I am not got nothing to do at present. Direct your letter to the post office as soon as possible. SAMUEL W. JOHNSON. * * * * * FAMILY FROM BALTIMORE. STEPHEN AMOS, _alias_ HENRY JOHNSON, HARRIET, _alias_ MARY JANE JOHNSON (man and wife), and their four children, ANN REBECCA, WM. H., ELIZABETH and MARY ELLEN. Doubtless, in the eyes of a Slaveholder, a more "likely-looking" family could not readily be found in Baltimore, than the one to be now briefly noticed. The mother and her children were owned by a young slave-holder, who went by the name of William Giddings, and resided in Prince George's county, Md. Harriet acknowledged, that she had been treated "tolerably well in earlier days" for one in her condition; but, as in so many instances in the experience of Slaves, latterly, times had changed with her and she was compelled to serve under a new master who oft-times treated her "very severely." On one occasion, seven years previously, a brother of her owner for a trifling offence struck and kicked her so brutally, that she was immediately thrown into a fit of sickness, which lasted "all one summer"--from this she finally recovered. On another occasion, about one year previous to her escape, she was seized by her owner and thrust into prison to be sold. In this instance the interference of the Uncle of Harriet's master saved her from the auction block. The young master, was under age, and at the same time under the guardianship of his Uncle. The young master had early acquired an ardent taste for fast horses, gambling, etc. Harriet felt, that her chances for the future in the hands of such a brutal master could not be other than miserable. Her husband had formerly been owned by John S. Giddings, who was said to have been a "mild man." He had allowed Stephen (her husband) to buy himself, and for eighteen months prior to the flight, he had been what was called a free man. It should also be further stated in justice to Stephen's master, that he was so disgusted with the manner in which Stephen's wife was treated, that he went so far as to counsel Stephen to escape with his wife and children. Here at least is one instance where a Maryland slave-holder lends his influence to the Underground Rail Road cause. The counsel was accepted, and the family started on their perilous flight. And although they necessarily had manifest trials and difficulties to discourage and beset them, they battled bravely with all these odds and reached the Vigilance Committee safely. Harriet was a bright mulatto, with marked features of character, and well made, with good address and quite intelligent. She was about twenty-six years of age. The children also were remarkably fine-looking little creatures, but too young to know the horrors of Slavery. The Committee at once relieved them of their heavy load of anxiety by cheering words and administering to their necessities with regard to food, money, etc. After the family had somewhat recovered from the fatigue and travel-worn condition in which they arrived, and were prepared to resume their journey, the Committee gave them the strictest caution with regard to avoiding slave-hunters, and also in reference to such points on the road where they would be most in danger of going astray from a lack of knowledge of the way. Then, with indescribable feelings of sympathy, free tickets were tendered them, and they having been conducted to the depot, were sent on their way rejoicing. * * * * * ELIJAH HILTON. FROM RICHMOND. After many years of hard toiling for the support of others, the yoke pressed so heavily upon Elijah's shoulders, that he could not endure Slave life any longer. In the hope of getting rid of his bondage, by dexterous management and a resolute mind, which most determined and thoughtful men exercise when undertaking to accomplish great objects, he set about contriving to gain his freedom. In proof of Elijah's truthfulness, the advertisement of Mr. R.J. Christians is here offered, as taken from a Richmond paper, about the time that Elijah passed through Philadelphia on the Underground Rail Road, in 1857. RAN AWAY--$500 REWARD.--Left the Tobacco Factory of the subscriber on the 14th inst., on the pretence of being sick, a mulatto man, named ELIJAH, the property of Maj. Edward Johnson, of Chesterfield county. He is about 5 feet 8 or 10 inches high, spare made, bushy hair, and very genteel appearance; he is supposed to be making his way North. The above reward will be paid if delivered at my factory. [Illustration: ] Ro. J. CHRISTIANS. jy 21--ts. From his infancy up to the hour of his escape, not a breath of free air had he ever been permitted to breathe. He was first owned by Mrs. Caroline Johnson, "a stingy widow, the owner of about fifty slaves, and a member of Dr. Plummer's church." Elijah, at her death, was willed to her son, Major Johnson, who was in the United States service. Elijah spoke of him as a "favorable man," but added, "I'd rather be free. I believe I can treat myself better than he can or anybody else." For the last nineteen years he had been hired out, sometimes as waiter, sometimes in a tobacco factory, and for five years in the _Coal Mines_. At the mines he was treated very brutally, but at Cornelius Hall's Tobacco factory, the suffering he had to endure seems almost incredible. The poor fellow, with the scars upon his person and the unmistakable earnestness of his manner, only needed to be seen and heard to satisfy the most incredulous of the truth of his story. For refusing to be flogged, one time at Hall's Factory, the overseer, in a rage, "took up a hickory club" and laid his head "open on each side." Overpowered and wounded, he was stripped naked and compelled to receive THREE HUNDRED LASHES, by which he was literally excoriated from head to foot. For six months afterwards he was "laid up." Last year he was hired out for "one hundred and eighty dollars," out of which he "received but five dollars." This year he brought "one hundred and ninety dollars." Up to the time he escaped, he had received "two dollars," and the promise of "more at Christmas." Left brothers and sisters, all ignorant of his way of escape. The following pass brought away by Elijah speaks for itself, and will doubtless be interesting to some of our readers who are ignorant of what used to be Republican usages in the "land of the Free." RICHMOND, July 3d, 1857. Permit the Bearer _Elijah_ to pass to and from my FACTORY, to _Frederick Williams, In the Vallie_, for one month, untill 11 o'clock at night. By _A.B. Wells_, R.J. CHRISTIAN. [PINE APPLE FACTORY.] As usual, the Vigilance Committee tendered aid to Elijah, and forwarded him on to Canada, whence he wrote back as follows: TORONTO, Canada West, July 28. Dear friend in due respect to your humanity and nobility I now take my pen in hand to inform you of my health. I am enjoying a reasonable proportion of health at this time and hope when these few lines come to hand they may find you and family the same dear Sir I am in Toronto and are working at my ole branch of business with meny of my friends. I want you to send those to toronto to Mr Tueharts on Edward St what I have been talking about is my Clothes I came from Richmond Va and expect my things to come to you. So when they come to you then you will send them to Jesse Tuehart Edward St no 43. I must close by saying I have no more at present. I still remain your brother, ELIJAH HILTON. * * * * * SOLOMON BROWN. ARRIVED PER CITY OF RICHMOND. This candidate for Canada managed to secure a private berth on the steamship City of Richmond. He was thus enabled to leave his old mistress, Mary A. Ely, in Norfolk, the place of her abode, and the field of his servitude. Solomon was only twenty-two years of age, rather under the medium size, dark color, and of much natural ability. He viewed Slavery as a great hardship, and for a length of time had been watching for an opportunity to free himself. He had been in the habit of hiring his time of his mistress, for which he paid ten dollars per month. This amount failed to satisfy the mistress, as she was inclined to sell him to North Carolina, where Slave stock, at that time, was commanding high prices. The idea of North Carolina and a new master made Solomon rather nervous, and he was thereby prompted to escape. On reaching the Committee he manifested very high appreciation of the attention paid him, and after duly resting for a day, he was sent on his way rejoicing. Seven days after leaving Philadelphia, he wrote back from Canada as follows: ST. CATHARINES, Feb. 20th, 1854. MR. STILL--DEAR SIR:--It is with great pleasure that I have to inform you, that I have arrived safe in a land of freedom. Thanks to kind friends that helped me here. Thank God that I am treading on free soil. I expect to go to work to-morrow in a steam factory. I would like to have you, if it is not too much trouble, see Mr. Minhett, the steward on the boat that I came out on, when he gets to Norfolk, to go to the place where my clothes are, and bring them to you, and you direct them to the care of Rev. Hiram Wilson, St. Catharines, Niagara District, Canada West, by rail-road via Suspension Bridge. You mentioned if I saw Mr. Foreman. I was to deliver a message--he is not here. I saw two yesterday in church, from Norfolk, that I had known there. You will send my name, James Henry, as you knew me by that name; direct my things to James Henry. My love to your wife and children. Yours Respectfully, SOLOMON BROWN. * * * * * WILLIAM HOGG, ALIAS JOHN SMITH. TRAVELER FROM MARYLAND. William fled from Lewis Roberts, who followed farming in Baltimore county, Md. In speaking of him, William gave him the character of being a "fierce and rough man," who owned nine head of slaves. Two of William's sisters were held by Roberts, when he left. His excuse for running away was, "ill-treatment." In traveling North, he walked to Columbia (in Pennsylvania), and there took the cars for Philadelphia. The Committee took charge of him, and having given him the usual aid, sent him hopefully on his way. After safely reaching Canada, the thought of his wife in a land of bondage, pressed so deeply upon his mind, that he was prompted to make an effort to rescue her. The following letter, written on his behalf by the Rev. H. Wilson, indicates his feelings and wishes with regard to her: ST. CATHARINES, Canada West, 24th July, 1854. DEAR FRIEND, WILLIAM STILL:--Your encouraging letter, to John Smith, was duly received by him, and I am requested to write again on his behalf. His colored friend in Baltimore county, who would favor his designs, is Thomas Cook, whom he wishes you to address, Baltimore post-office, care of Mr. Thomas Spicer. He has received a letter from Thomas Cook, dated the 6th of June, but it was a long time reaching him. He wishes you to say to Cook, that he got his letter, and that he would like to have him call on his wife and make known to her, that he is in good health, doing well here, and would like to have her come on as soon as she can. As she is a free woman, there will, doubtless, be no difficulty in her coming right through. He is working in the neighborhood of St. Catharines, but twelve miles from Niagara Falls. You will please recollect to address Thomas Cook, in the care of Thomas Spicer, Baltimore Post-office. Smith's wife is at, or near the place he came from, and, doubtless, Thomas Cook knows all about her condition and circumstances. Please write again to John Smith, in my care, if you please, and request Thomas Cook to do the same. Very respectfully yours in the cause of philanthropy. HIRAM WILSON. * * * * * TWO FEMALE PASSENGERS FEOM MARYLAND. As the way of travel, _viâ_ the Underground Rail Road, under the most favorable circumstances, even for the sterner sex, was hard enough to test the strongest nerves, and to try the faith of the bravest of the brave, every woman, who won her freedom, by this perilous undertaking, deserves commemoration. It is, therefore, a pleasure to thus transfer from the old Record book the names of Ann Johnson and Lavina Woolfley, who fled from Maryland in 1857. Their lives, however, had not been in any way very remarkable. Ann was tall, and of a dark chestnut color, with an intelligent countenance, and about twenty-four years of age. She had filled various situations as a Slave. Sometimes she was required to serve in the kitchen, at other times she was required to toil in the field, with the plow, hoe, and the like. Samuel Harrington, of Cambridge District, Maryland, was the name of the man for whose benefit Ann labored during her younger days. She had no hesitation in saying, that he was a very "ill-natured man;" he however, was a member of the "old time Methodist Church." In Slave property he had invested only to the extent of some five or six head. About three years previous to Ann's escape, one of her brothers fled and went to Canada. This circumstance so enraged the owner, that he declared he would "sell all" he owned. Accordingly Ann was soon put on the auction block, and was bought by a man who went by the name of William Moore. Moore was a married man, who, with his wife, was addicted to intemperance and carousing. Ann found that she had simply got "out of the fire into the frying-pan." She was really at a loss to tell when her lot was the harder, whether under the "rum drinker," or the old time Methodist. In this state of mind she decided to leave all and go to Canada, the refuge for the fleeing bondman. Lavina, Ann's companion, was the wife of James Woolfley. She and her husband set out together, with six others, and were of the party of eight who were betrayed into Dover jail, as has already been described in these pages. After fighting their way out of the jail, they separated (for prudential reasons). The husband of Lavina, immediately after the conflict at the jail, passed on to Canada, leaving his wife under the protection of friends. Since that time several months had elapsed, but of each other nothing had been known, before she received information on her arrival at Philadelphia. The Committee was glad to inform her, that her husband had safely passed on to Canada, and that she would be aided on also, where they could enjoy freedom in a free country. * * * * * CAPTAIN F. AND THE MAYOR OF NORFOLK. TWENTY-ONE PASSENGERS SECRETED IN A BOAT. NOVEMBER, 1855. CAPTAIN F. was certainly no ordinary man. Although he had been living a sea-faring life for many years, and the marks of this calling were plainly enough visible in his manners and speech, he was, nevertheless, unlike the great mass of this class of men, not addicted to intemperance and profanity. On the contrary, he was a man of thought, and possessed, in a large measure, those humane traits of character which lead men to sympathize with suffering humanity wherever met with. It must be admitted, however, that the first impressions gathered from a hasty survey of his rough and rugged appearance, his large head, large mouth, large eyes, and heavy eye-brows, with a natural gift at keeping concealed the inner-workings of his mind and feelings, were not calculated to inspire the belief, that he was fitted to be entrusted with the lives of unprotected females, and helpless children; that he could take pleasure in risking his own life to rescue them from the hell of Slavery; that he could deliberately enter the enemy's domain, and with the faith of a martyr, face the dread slave-holder, with his Bowie-knives and revolvers--Slave-hunters, and blood-hounds, lynchings, and penitentiaries, for humanity's sake. But his deeds proved him to be a true friend of the Slave; whilst his skill, bravery, and success stamped him as one of the most daring and heroic Captains ever connected with the Underground Rail Road cause. At the time he was doing most for humanity in rescuing bondsmen from Slavery, Slave-laws were actually being the most rigidly executed. To show mercy, in any sense, to man or woman, who might be caught assisting a poor Slave to flee from the prison-house, was a matter not to be thought of in Virginia. This was perfectly well understood by Captain F.; indeed he did not hesitate to say, that his hazardous operations might any day result in the "sacrifice" of his life. But on this point he seemed to give himself no more concern than he would have done to know which way the wind would blow the next day. He had his own convictions about dying and the future, and he declared, that he had "no fear of death," however it might come. Still, he was not disposed to be reckless or needlessly to imperil his life, or the lives of those he undertook to aid. Nor was he averse to receiving compensation for his services. In Richmond, Norfolk, Petersburg, and other places where he traded, many slaves were fully awake to their condition. The great slave sales were the agencies that served to awaken a large number. Then the various mechanical trades were necessarily given to the Slaves, for the master had no taste for "greasy, northern mechanics." Then, again, the stores had to be supplied with porters, draymen, etc., from the slave population. In the hearts of many of the more intelligent amongst the slaves, the men, as mechanics, etc., the women, as dress-makers, chamber-maids, etc., notwithstanding all the opposition and hard laws, the spirit of Freedom was steadily burning. Many of the slaves were half brothers, and sisters, cousins, nephews, and nieces to their owners, and of course "blood would tell." It was only necessary for the fact to be made known to a single reliable and intelligent slave, that a man with a boat running North had the love of Freedom for all mankind in his bosom to make that man an object of the greatest interest. If an angel had appeared amongst them doubtless his presence would not have inspired greater anxiety and hope than did the presence of Captain F. The class most anxious to obtain freedom could generally manage to acquire some means which they would willingly offer to captains or conductors in the South for such assistance as was indispensable to their escape. Many of the slaves learned if they could manage to cross Mason and Dixon's line, even though they might be utterly destitute and penniless, that they would then receive aid and protection from the Vigilance Committee. Here it may be well to state that, whilst the Committee gladly received and aided all who might come or be brought to them, they never employed agents or captains to go into the South with a view of enticing or running off slaves. So when captains operated, they did so with the full understanding that they alone were responsible for any failures attending their movements. The way is now clear to present Captain F. with his schooner lying at the wharf in Norfolk, loading with wheat, and at the same time with twenty-one fugitives secreted therein. While the boat was thus lying at her mooring, the rumor was flying all over town that a number of slaves had escaped, which created a general excitement a degree less, perhaps, than if the citizens had been visited by an earthquake. The mayor of the city with a posse of officers with axes and long spears repaired to Captain F.'s boat. The fearless commander received his Honor very coolly, and as gracefully as the circumstances would admit. The mayor gave him to understand who he was, and by what authority he appeared on the boat, and what he meant to do. "Very well," replied Captain F., "here I am and this is my boat, go ahead and search." His Honor with his deputies looked quickly around, and then an order went forth from the mayor to "spear the wheat thoroughly." The deputies obeyed the command with alacrity. But the spears brought neither blood nor groans, and the sagacious mayor obviously concluded that he was "barking up the wrong tree." But the mayor was not there for nothing. "Take the axes and go to work," was the next order; and the axe was used with terrible effect by one of the deputies. The deck and other parts of the boat were chopped and split; no greater judgment being exercised when using the axe than when spearing the wheat; Captain F. all the while wearing an air of utter indifference or rather of entire composure. Indeed every step they took proved conclusively that they were wholly ignorant with regard to boat searching. At this point, with remarkable shrewdness, Captain F. saw wherein he could still further confuse them by a bold strategical move. As though about out of patience with the mayor's blunders, the captain instantly reminded his Honor that he had "stood still long enough" while his boat was being "damaged, chopped up," &c. "Now if you want to search," continued he, "give me the axe, and then point out the spot you want opened and I will open it for you very quick." While uttering these words he presented, as he was capable of doing, an indignant and defiant countenance, and intimated that it mattered not where or when a man died provided he was in the right, and as though he wished to give particularly strong emphasis to what he was saying, he raised the axe, and brought it down edge foremost on the deck with startling effect, at the same time causing the splinters to fly from the boards. The mayor and his posse seemed, if not dreadfully frightened, completely confounded, and by the time Captain F. had again brought down his axe with increased power, demanding where they would have him open, they looked as though it was time for them to retire, and in a few minutes after they actually gave up the search and left the boat without finding a soul. Daniel in the lions' den was not safer than were the twenty-one passengers secreted on Captain F.'s boat. The law had been carried out with a vengeance, but did not avail with this skilled captain. The "five dollars" were paid for being searched, the amount which was lawfully required of every captain sailing from Virginia. And the captain steered direct for the City of Brotherly Love. The wind of heaven favoring the good cause, he arrived safely in due time, and delivered his precious freight in the vicinity of Philadelphia within the reach of the Vigilance Committee. The names of the passengers were as follows: [Illustration: Mayor and Police of Norfolk on Capt. Fountain's schooner.] ALAN TATUM, DANIEL CARR, MICHAEL VAUGHN, THOMAS NIXON, FREDERICK NIXON, PETER PETTY, NATHANIEL GARDENER, JOHN BROWN, THOMAS FREEMAN, JAMES FOSTER, GODFREY SCOTT, WILLIS WILSON, NANCY LITTLE, JOHN SMITH, FRANCIS HAINES, DAVID JOHNSON, PHILLIS GAULT, ALICE JONES, NED WILSON, and SARAH C. WILSON, and one other, who subsequently passed on, having been detained on account of sickness. These passengers were most "likely-looking articles;" a number of them, doubtless, would have commanded the very highest prices in the Richmond market. Among them were some good mechanics--one excellent dress-maker, some "prime" waiters and chambermaids;--men and women with brains, some of them evincing remarkable intelligence and decided bravery, just the kind of passengers that gave the greatest satisfaction to the Vigilance Committee. The interview with these passengers was extremely interesting. Each one gave his or her experience of Slavery, the escape, etc., in his or her own way, deeply impressing those who had the privilege of seeing and hearing them, with the fact of the growing spirit of Liberty, and the wonderful perception and intelligence possessed by some of the sons of toil in the South. While all the names of these passengers were duly entered on the Underground Rail Road records, the number was too large, and the time they spent with the attempts to escape were made by Daniel, after being sold to North Carolina; for this offence, he was on one occasion stripped naked, and flogged severely. This did not cure him. Prior to his joining Captain F.'s party, he had fled to the swamps, and dwelt there for three months, surrounded with wild animals and reptiles, and it was this state of solitude that he left directly before finding Captain F. Daniel had a wife in Portsmouth, to whom he succeeded in paying a private visit, when, to his unspeakable joy, he made the acquaintance of the noble Captain F., whose big heart was delighted to give him a passage North. Daniel, after being sold, had been allowed, within the two years, only one opportunity of visiting his wife; being thus debarred he resolved to escape. His wife, whose name was Hannah, had three children--slaves--their names were Sam, Dan, and "baby." The name of the latter was unknown to him. MICHAEL VAUGHN. Michael was about thirty-one years of age, with superior physical proportions, and no lack of common sense. His color was without paleness--dark and unfading, and his manly appearance was quite striking. Michael belonged to a lady, whom he described as a "very disagreeable woman." "For all my life I have belonged to her, but for the last eight years I have hired my time. I paid my mistress $120 a year; a part of the time I had to find my board and all my clothing." This was the direct, and unequivocal testimony that Michael gave of his slave life, which was the foundation for alleging that his mistress was a "very disagreeable woman." Michael left a wife and one child in Slavery; but they were not owned by his mistress. Before escaping, he felt afraid to lead his companion into the secret of his contemplated movements, as he felt, that there was no possible way for him to do anything for her deliverance; on the other hand, any revelation of the matter might prove too exciting for the poor soul;--her name was Esther. That he did not lose his affection for her whom he was obliged to leave so unceremoniously, is shown by the appended letter: NEW BEDFORD, August 22d, 1855. DEAR SIR:--I send you this to inform you that I expect my wife to come that way. If she should, you will direct her to me. When I came through your city last Fall, you took my name in your office, which was then given you, Michael Vaughn; since then my name is William Brown, No. 130 Kempton street. Please give my wife and child's name to Dr. Lundy, and tell him to attend to it for me. Her name is Esther, and the child's name Louisa. Truly yours, WILLIAM BROWN. Michael worked in a foundry. In church fellowship he was connected with the Methodists--his mistress with the Baptists. THOMAS NIXON was about nineteen years of age, of a dark hue, and quite intelligent. He had not much excuse to make for leaving, except, that he was "tired of staying" with his "owner," as he "feared he might be sold some day," so he "thought" that he might as well save him the trouble. Thomas belonged to a Mr. Bockover, a wholesale grocer, No. 12 Brewer street. Thomas left behind him his mother and three brothers. His father was sold away when he was an infant, consequently he never saw him. Thomas was a member of the Methodist Church; his master was of the same persuasion. FREDERICK NIXON was about thirty-three years of age, and belonged truly to the wide-awake class of slaves, as his marked physical and mental appearance indicated. He had a more urgent excuse for escaping than Thomas; he declared that he fled because, his owner wanted "to work him hard without allowing him any chance, and had treated him rough." Frederick was also one of Mr. Bockover's chattels; he left his wife, Elizabeth, with four children in bondage. They were living in Eatontown, North Carolina. It had been almost one year since he had seen them. Had he remained in Norfolk he had not the slightest prospect of being reunited to his wife and children, as he had been already separated from them for about three years. This painful state of affairs only increased his desire to leave those who were brutal enough to make such havoc in his domestic relations. PETER PETTY was about twenty-four years of age, and wore a happy countenance; he was a person of agreeable manners, and withal pretty smart. He acknowledged, that he had been owned by Joseph Boukley, Hair Inspector. Peter did not give Mr. Boukley a very good character, however; he said, that Mr. B. was "rowdyish in his habits, was deceitful and sly, and would sell his slaves any time. Hard bondage--something like the children of Israel," was his simple excuse for fleeing. He hired his time of his master, for which he was compelled to pay $156 a year. When he lost time by sickness or rainy weather, he was required to make up the deficiency, also find his clothing. He left a wife--Lavinia--and one child, Eliza, both slaves. Peter communicated to his wife his secret intention to leave, and she acquiesced in his going. He left his parents also. All his sisters and brothers had been sold. Peter would have been sold too, but his owner was under the impression, that he was "too good a Christian" to violate the laws by running away. Peter's master was quite a devoted Methodist, and was attached to the same Church with Peter. While on the subject of religion, Peter was asked about the kind and character of preaching that he had been accustomed to hear; whereupon he gave the following graphic specimen: "Servants obey your masters; good servants make good masters; when your mistress speaks to you don't pout out your mouths; when you want to go to church ask your mistress and master," etc., etc. Peter declared, that he had never heard but one preacher speak against slavery, and that "one was obliged to leave suddenly for the North." He said, that a Quaker lady spoke in meeting against Slavery one day, which resulted in an outbreak, and final breaking up of the meeting. PHILLIS GAULT. Phillis was a widow, about thirty years of age; the blood of two races flowed in about equal proportions through her veins. Such was her personal appearance, refinement, manners, and intelligence, that had the facts of her slave life been unknown, she would have readily passed for one who had possessed superior advantages. But the facts in her history proved, that she had been made to feel very keenly the horrifying effects of Slavery; not in the field, for she had never worked there; nor as a common drudge, for she had always been required to fill higher spheres; she was a dress-maker--but not without fear of the auction block. This dreaded destiny was the motive which constrained her to escape with the twenty others; secreted in the hold of a vessel expressly arranged for bringing away slaves. Death had robbed her of her husband at the time that the fever raged so fearfully in Norfolk. This sad event deprived her of the hope she had of being purchased by her husband, as he had intended. She was haunted by the constant thought of again being sold, as she had once been, and as she had witnessed the sale of her sister's four children after the death of their mother. Phillis was, to use her own striking expression in a state of "great horror;" she felt, that nothing would relieve her but freedom. After having fully pondered the prospect of her freedom and the only mode offered by which she could escape, she consented to endure bravely whatever of suffering and trial might fall to her lot in the undertaking--and as was the case with thousands of others, she succeeded. She remained several days in the family of a member of the Committee in Philadelphia, favorably impressing all who saw her. As she had formed a very high opinion of Boston, from having heard it so thoroughly reviled in Norfolk, she desired to go there. The Committee made no objections, gave her a free ticket, etc. From that time to the present, she has ever sustained a good Christian character, and as an industrious, upright, and intelligent woman, she has been and is highly respected by all who know her. The following letter is characteristic of her: BOSTON, March 22, 1858. MY DEAR SIR--I received your photograph by Mr Cooper and it afforded me much pleasure to do so i hope that these few lines may find you and your family well as it leaves me and little Dicky at present i have no interesting news to tell you more than there is a great revival of religion through the land i all most forgoten to thank you for your kindness and our little Dick he is very wild and goes to school and it is my desire and prayer for him to grow up a useful man i wish you would try to gain some information from Norfolk and write me word how the times are there for i am afraid to write. i wish yoo would see the Doctor for me and ask him if he could carefully find out any way that we could steal little Johny for i think to raise nine or ten hundred dollars for such a child is outraigust. just at this time i feel as if i would rather steal him than to buy him. give my kinde regards to the Dr and his family tell Miss Margret and Mrs Landy that i would like to see them out here this summer again to have a nice time in Cambridge Miss Walker that spent the evening with me in Cambridge sens much love to yoo and Mrs. Landy give my kindes regards to Mrs Still and children and receive a portion for yoo self. i have no more to say at present but remain yoor respectfully. FLARECE P. GAULT. When you write direct yoo letters Mrs. Flarece P. Gault, No 62 Pinkney St. * * * * * ARRIVALS FROM DIFFERENT PLACES. MATILDA MAHONEY,--DR. J.W. PENNINGTON'S BROTHER AND SONS CAPTURED AND CARRIED BACK. While many sympathized with the slave in his chains, and freely wept over his destiny, or gave money to help buy his freedom, but few could be found who were willing to take the risk of going into the South, and standing face to face with Slavery, in order to conduct a panting slave to freedom. The undertaking was too fearful to think of in most cases. But there were instances when men and women too, moved by the love of freedom, would take their lives in their hands, beard the lion in his den, and nobly rescue the oppressed. Such an instance is found in the case of Matilda Mahoney, in Baltimore. The story of Matilda must be very brief, although it is full of thrilling interest. She was twenty-one years of age in 1854, when she escaped and came to Philadelphia, a handsome young woman, of a light complexion, quite refined in her manners, and in short, possessing great personal attractions. But her situation as a slave was critical, as will be seen. Her claimant was Wm. Rigard, of Frederick, Md., who hired her to a Mr. Reese, in Baltimore; in this situation her duties were general housework and nursing. With these labors, she was not, however, so much dissatisfied as she was with other circumstances of a more alarming nature: her old master was tottering on the verge of the grave, and his son, a trader in New Orleans. These facts kept Matilda in extreme anxiety. For two years prior to her escape, the young trader had been trying to influence his father to let him have her for the Southern market; but the old man had not consented. Of course the trader knew quite well, that an "article" of her appearance would command readily a very high price in the New Orleans market. But Matilda's attractions had won the heart of a young man in the North, one who had known her in Baltimore in earlier days, and this lover was willing to make desperate efforts to rescue her from her perilous situation. Whether or not he had nerve enough to venture down to Baltimore to accompany his intended away on the Underground Rail Road, his presence would not have aided in the case. He had, however, a friend who consented to go to Baltimore on this desperate mission. The friend was James Jefferson, of Providence, R.I. With the strategy of a skilled soldier, Mr. Jefferson hurried to the Monumental City, and almost under the eyes of the slave-holders, and slave-catchers, despite of pro slavery breastworks, seized his prize and speeded her away on the Underground Railway, before her owner was made acquainted with the fact of her intended escape. On Matilda's arrival at the station in Philadelphia, several other passengers from different points, happened to come to hand just at that time, and gave great solicitude and anxiety to the Committee. Among these were a man and his wife and their four children, (noticed elsewhere), from Maryland. Likewise an interesting and intelligent young girl who had been almost miraculously rescued from the prison-house at Norfolk, and in addition to these, the brother of J.W. Pennington, D.D., with his two sons. While it was a great gratification to have travelers coming along so fast, and especially to observe in every countenance, determination, rare manly and womanly bearing, with remarkable intelligence, it must be admitted, that the acting committee felt at the same time, a very lively dread of the slave-hunters, and were on their guard. Arrangements were made to send the fugitives on by different trains, and in various directions. Matilda and all the others with the exception of the father and two sons (relatives of Dr. Pennington) successfully escaped and reached their longed-for haven in a free land. The Penningtons, however, although pains had been taken to apprize the Doctor of the good news of the coming of his kin, whom he had not seen for many, many years, were captured after being in New York some twenty-four hours. In answer to an advisory letter from the secretary of the Committee the following from the Doctor is explicit, relative to his wishes and feelings with regard to their being sent on to New York. 29 6th AVENUE, NEW YORK, May 24th, 1854. MY DEAR MR. STILL:--Your kind letter of the 22d inst has come to hand and I have to thank you for your offices of benevolence to my bone and my flesh, I have had the pleasure of doing a little for your brother Peter, but I do not think it an offset. My burden has been great about these brethren. I hope they have started on to me. Many thanks, my good friend. Yours Truly. J.W.C. PENNINGTON. This letter only served to intensify the deep interest which had already been awakened for the safety of all concerned. At the same time also it made the duty of the Committee clear with regard to forwarding them to N.Y. Immediately, therefore, the Doctor's brother and sons were furnished with free tickets and were as carefully cautioned as possible with regard to slave-hunters, if encountered on the road. In company with several other Underground Rail Road passengers, under the care of an intelligent guide, all were sent off in due order, looking quite as well as the most respectable of their race from any part of the country. The Committee in New York, with the Doctor, were on the look out of course; thus without difficulty all arrived safely in the Empire City. It would seem that the coming of his brother and sons so overpowered the Doctor that he forgot how imminent their danger was. The meeting and interview was doubtless very joyous. Few perhaps could realize, even in imagination, the feelings that filled their hearts, as the Doctor and his brother reverted to their boyhood, when they were both slaves together in Maryland; the separation--the escape of the former many years previous--the contrast, one elevated to the dignity of a Doctor of Divinity, a scholar and noted clergyman, and as such well known in the United States, and Great Britain, whilst, at the same time, his brother and kin were held in chains, compelled to do unrequited labor, to come and go at the bidding of another. Were not these reflections enough to incapacitate the Doctor for the time being, for cool thought as to how he should best guard against the enemy? Indeed, in view of Slavery and its horrid features, the wonder is, not that more was not done, but that any thing was done, that the victims were not driven almost out of their senses. But time rolled on until nearly twenty-four hours had passed, and while reposing their fatigued and weary limbs in bed, just before day-break, hyena-like the slave-hunters pounced upon all three of them, and soon had them hand-cuffed and hurried off to a United States' Commissioner's office. Armed with the Fugitive Law, and a strong guard of officers to carry it out, resistance would have been simply useless. Ere the morning sun arose the sad news was borne by the telegraph wires to all parts of the country of this awful calamity on the Underground Rail Road. Scarcely less painful to the Committee was the news of this accident, than the news of a disaster, resulting in the loss of several lives, on the Camden and Amboy Road, would have been to its managers. This was the first accident that had ever taken place on the road after passengers had reached the Philadelphia Committee, although, in various instances, slave-hunters had been within a hair's breadth of their prey. All that was reported respecting the arrest and return of the Doctor's kin, so disgraceful to Christianity and civilization, is taken from the Liberator, as follows: THREE FUGITIVE SLAVES ARRESTED IN NEW YORK, AND GIVEN UP TO THEIR OWNERS. NEW YORK, May 25th. About three o'clock this morning, three colored men, father and two sons, known as Jake, Bob, and Stephen Pennington, were arrested at the instance of David Smith and Jacob Grove, of Washington Co., Md., who claimed them as their slaves. They were taken before Commissioner Morton, of the United States Court, and it was understood that they would be examined at 11 o'clock; instead of that, however, the case was heard at once, no persons being present, when the claimnants testified that they were the owners of said slaves and that they escaped from their service at Baltimore, on Sunday last. From what we can gather of the proceedings, the fugitives acknowledged themselves to be slaves of Smith and Grove. The commissioner considering the testimony sufficient, ordered their surrender, and they were accordingly given up to their claimants, who hurried them off at once, and they are now on their way to Baltimore. A telegraph despatch has been sent to Philadelphia, as it is understood an attempt will be made to rescue the parties, when the cars arrive. There was no excitement around the commissioner's office, owing to a misunderstanding as to the time of examination. The men were traced to this city by the claimants, who made application to the United States Court, when officers Horton and De Angeles were deputied by the marshal to effect their arrest, and those officers, with deputy Marshal Thompson scoured the city, and finally found them secreted in a house in Broome St. They were brought before Commissioner Morton this morning. No counsel appeared for the fugitives. The case being made out, the usual affidavits of fear of rescue were made, and the warrants thereupon issued, and the three fugitives were delivered over to the U.S. Marshal, and hurried off to Maryland. They were a father and his two sons, father about forty-five and sons eighteen or nineteen. The evidence shows them to have recently escaped. The father is the brother of the Rev. Dr. Pennington, a highly respected colored preacher of this city. NEW YORK, May 28. Last evening the church at the corner of Prince and Marion streets was filled with an intelligent audience of white and colored people, to hear Dr. Pennington relate the circumstance connected with the arrest of his brother and nephews. He showed, that he attempted to afford his brother the assistance of counsel, but was unable to do so, the officers at the Marshal's office having deceived him in relation to the time the trial was to take place before the Commissioners. Hon. E.F. Culver next addressed the audience, showing, that a great injustice had been done to the brother of Dr. Pennington, and though he, up to that time, had advocated peace, he now had the spirit to tear down the building over the Marshal's head. Intense interest was manifested during the proceedings, and much sympathy in behalf of Dr. Pennington. THE FUGITIVE SLAVES IN BALTIMORE. The U.S. Marshal, A.T. Hillyer, Esq., received a dispatch this morning from officers Horton and Dellugelis, at Baltimore, stating, that they had arrived there with the three slaves, arrested here yesterday (the Penningtons), the owners accompanying them. The officers will return to New York, this evening.--_N.Y. Express_, 27_th_. NEW YORK, May 30. The Rev. Dr. Pennington has received a letter from Mr. Grove, the claimant of his brother, who was recently taken back from this city, offering to sell him to Dr. Pennington, should he wish to buy him, and stating, that he would await a reply, before "selling him to the slave-drivers." Mr. Groce, who accompanied his "sweet heart," Matilda, in the same train which conveyed the Penningtons to New York, had reason to apprehend danger to all the Underground Rail Road passengers, as will appear from his subjoined letter: ELMIRA, May 28th. DEAR LUKE:--I arrived home safe with my precious charge, and found all well. I have just learned, that the Penningtons are taken. Had he done as I wished him he would never have been taken. Last night our tall friend from Baltimore came, and caused great excitement here by his information. The lady is perfectly safe now in Canada. I will write you and Mr. Still as soon as I get over the excitement. This letter was first intended for Mr. Gains, but I now send it to you. Please let me hear their movements. Yours truly, C.L. GROCE. But sadly as this blow was felt by the Vigilance Committee, it did not cause them to relax their efforts in the least. Indeed it only served to stir them up to renewed diligence and watchfulness, although for a length of time afterwards the Committee felt disposed, when sending, to avoid New York as much as possible, and in lieu thereof, to send _viâ_ Elmira, where there was a depot under the agency of John W. Jones. Mr. Jones was a true and prompt friend of the fugitive, and wide-awake with regard to Slavery and slave-holders, and slave hunters, for he had known from sad experience in Virginia every trait of character belonging to these classes. In the midst of the Doctor's grief, friends of the slave soon raised money to purchase his brother, about $1,000; but the unfortunate sons were doomed to the auction block and the far South, where, the writer has never exactly learned. "FLEEING GIRL OF FIFTEEN," IN MALE ATTIRE. PROFESSORS H. AND T. OFFER THEIR SERVICES--CAPTAINS B. ALSO ARE ENLISTED--SLAVE-TRADER GRASPING TIGHTLY HIS PREY, BUT SHE IS RESCUED--LONG CONFLICT, BUT GREAT TRIUMPH--ARRIVAL ON THANKSGIVING DAY, NOV. 25, 1855. It was the business of the Vigilance Committee, as it was clearly understood by the friends of the Slave, to assist all needy fugitives, who might in any way manage to reach Philadelphia, but, for various reasons, not to send agents South to incite slaves to run away, or to assist them in so doing. Sometimes, however, this rule could not altogether be conformed to. Cases, in some instances, would appeal so loudly and forcibly to humanity, civilization, and Christianity, that it would really seem as if the very stones would cry out, unless something was done. As an illustration of this point, the story of the young girl, which is now to be related, will afford the most striking proof. At the same time it may be seen how much anxiety, care, hazard, delay and material aid, were required in order to effect the deliverance of some who were in close places, and difficult of access. It will be necessary to present a considerable amount of correspondence in this case, to bring to light the hidden mysteries of this narrative. The first letter, in explanation, is the following: LETTER FROM J. BIGELOW, ESQ. WASHINGTON, D.C., June 27, 1854. MR. WM. STILL--_Dear Sir_:--I have to thank you for the prompt answer you had the kindness to give to my note of 22d inst. Having found a correspondence so quick and easy, and withal so very flattering, I address you again more fully. The liberal appropriation for _transportation_ has been made chiefly on account of a female child of ten or eleven years old, for whose purchase I have been authorized to offer $700 (refused), and for whose sister I have paid $1,600, and some $1,000 for their mother, &c. This child sleeps in the same apartment with its master and mistress, which adds to the difficulty of removal. She is some ten or twelve miles from the city, so that really the chief hazard will be in bringing her safely to town, and in secreting her until a few days of _storm_ shall have abated. All this, I think, is now provided for with entire safety. The child has two cousins in the immediate vicinity; a young man of some twenty-two years of age, and his sister, of perhaps seventeen--_both Slaves_, but bright and clear-headed as anybody. The young man I have seen often--the services of _both_ seem indispensable to the main object suggested; but having once rendered the service, they cannot, and ought not return to Slavery. They look for _freedom_ as the reward of what they shall now do. Out of the $300, cheerfully offered for the whole enterprise, I must pay some reasonable sum for transportation to the city and sustenance while here. It cannot be much; for the balance, I shall give a draft, which will be _promptly paid_ on their arrival in New York. If I have been understood to offer the whole $300, _it shall be paid_, though I have meant as above stated. Among the various ways that have been suggested, has been that of taking _all of them_ into the cars here; that, I think, will be found impracticable. I find so much vigilance at the depot, that I would not deem it safe, though, in any kind of carriage they might leave in safety at any time. All the rest I leave to the experience and sagacity of the gentleman who maps out the enterprise. Now I will thank you to reply to this and let me know that it reaches you in safety, and is not put in a careless place, whereby I may be endangered; and state also, whether all my propositions are understood and acceptable, and whether, (pretty quickly after I shall inform you that _all things are ready_), the gentleman will make his appearance? I live alone. My office and bed-room, &c., are at the corner of E. and 7th streets, opposite the east end of the General Post Office, where any one may call upon me. It would, of course, be imprudent, that this letter, or any other _written_ particulars, be in his pockets for fear of accident. Yours very respectfully, J. BIGELOW. While this letter clearly brought to light the situation of things, its author, however, had scarcely begun to conceive of the numberless difficulties which stood in the way of success before the work could be accomplished. The information which Mr. Bigelow's letter contained of the painful situation of this young girl was submitted to different parties who could be trusted, with a view of finding a person who might possess sufficient courage to undertake to bring her away. Amongst those consulted were two or three captains who had on former occasions done good service in the cause. One of these captains was known in Underground Rail-Road circles as the "powder boy."[A] He was willing to undertake the work, and immediately concluded to make a visit to Washington, to see how the "land lay." Accordingly in company with another Underground Rail Road captain, he reported himself one day to Mr. Bigelow with as much assurance as if he were on an errand for an office under the government. The impression made on Mr. Bigelow's mind may be seen from the following letter; it may also be seen that he was fully alive to the necessity of precautionary measures. [Footnote A: He had been engaged at different times in carrying powder in his boat from a powder magazine, and from this circumstance, was familiarly called the "Powder Boy."] SECOND LETTER FROM LAWYER BIGELOW. WASHINGTON, D.C., September 9th, 1855. MR. WM. STILL, DEAR SIR:--I strongly hope the little matter of business so long pending and about which I have written you so many times, will take a move now. I have the promise that the merchandize shall be delivered in this city to-night. Like so many other promises, this also may prove a failure, though I have reason to believe that it will not. I shall, however, know before I mail this note. In case the goods arrive here I shall hope to see your long-talked of "Professional gentleman" in Washington, as soon as possible. He will find me by the enclosed card, which shall be a satisfactory introduction for him. You have never given me his name, nor am I anxious to know it. But on a pleasant visit made last fall to friend Wm. Wright, in Adams Co., I suppose I accidentally learned it to be a certain Dr. H----. Well, let him come. I had an interesting call a week ago from two gentlemen, masters of vessels, and brothers, one of whom, I understand, you know as the "powder boy." I had a little light freight for them; but not finding enough other freight to ballast their craft, they went down the river looking for wheat, and promising to return soon. I hope to see them often. I hope this may find you returned from your northern trip,[A] as your time proposed was out two or three days ago. [Footnote A: Mr. Bigelow's correspondent had been on a visit to the fugitives to Canada.] I hope if the whole particulars of Jane Johnson's case[B] are printed, you will send me the copy as proposed. [Footnote B: Jane Johnson of the Passmore Williamson Slave Case.] I forwarded some of her things to Boston a few days ago, and had I known its importance in court, I could have sent you one or two witnesses who would prove that her freedom was intended by her before she left Washington, and that a man was _engaged_ here to go on to Philadelphia the same day with her to give notice there of her case, though I think he failed to do so. It was beyond all question her purpose, _before leaving Washington and provable too_, that if Wheeler should make her a free woman by taking her to a free state "_to use it rather_." Tuesday, 11th September. The attempt was made on Sunday to forward the merchandize, but failed through no fault of any of the parties that I now know of. It will be repeated soon, and you shall know the result. "Whorra for Judge Kane." I feel so indignant at the man, that it is not easy to write the foregoing sentence, and yet who is helping our cause like Kane and Douglas, not forgetting Stringfellow. I hope soon to know that this reaches you in safety. It often happens that light freight would be offered to Captain B., but the owners cannot by possibility _advance_ the amount of freight. I wish it were possible in some such extreme cases, that after advancing _all they have_, some public fund should be found to pay the balance or at least lend it. [I wish here to caution you against the supposition that I would do any act, or say a word towards helping servants to escape. Although I hate slavery so much, I keep my hands clear of any such wicked or illegal act.] Yours, very truly, J.B. Will you recollect, hereafter, that in any of my future letters, in which I may use [] whatever words may be within the brackets are intended to have no signification whatever to you, only to blind the eyes of the uninitiated. You will find an example at the close of my letter. Up to this time the chances seemed favorable of procuring the ready services of either of the above mentioned captains who visited Lawyer Bigelow for the removal of the merchandize to Philadelphia, providing the shipping master could have it in readiness to suit their convenience. But as these captains had a number of engagements at Richmond, Petersburg, &c., it was not deemed altogether safe to rely upon either of them, consequently in order to be prepared in case of an emergency, the matter was laid before two professional gentlemen who were each occupying chairs in one of the medical colleges of Philadelphia. They were known to be true friends of the slave, and had possessed withal some experience in Underground Rail Road matters. Either of these professors was willing to undertake the operation, provided arrangements could be completed in time to be carried out during the vacation. In this hopeful, although painfully indefinite position the matter remained for more than a year; but the correspondence and anxiety increased, and with them disappointments and difficulties multiplied. The hope of Freedom, however, buoyed up the heart of the young slave girl during the long months of anxious waiting and daily expectation for the hour of deliverance to come. Equally true and faithful also did Mr. Bigelow prove to the last; but at times he had some painfully dark seasons to encounter, as may be seen from the subjoined letter: WASHINGTON, D.C., October 6th, 1855. MR. STILL, DEAR SIR:--I regret exceedingly to learn by your favor of 4th instant, that all things are not ready. Although I cannot speak of any immediate and positive danger. [_Yet it is well known that the city is full of incendiaries_.] Perhaps you are aware that any colored citizen is liable at any hour of day or night without any show of authority to have his house ransacked by constables, and if others do it and commit the most outrageous depredations none but white witnesses can convict them. Such outrages are always common here, and no kind of property exposed to colored protection only, can be considered safe. [I don't say that _much liberty_ should not be given to constables on account of numerous runaways, but it don't always work for good.] Before advertising they go round and offer rewards to sharp colored men of perhaps _one or two hundred dollars_, to betray runaways, and having discovered their hiding-place, seize them and then cheat their informers out of the money. [_Although a law-abiding man_,] I am anxious in this case of _innocence_ to raise no conflict or suspicion. [_Be sure that the manumission is full and legal_.] And as I am _powerless_ without your aid, _I pray you_ don't lose a moment in giving me relief. The idea of waiting yet for weeks seems dreadful; do reduce it to days if possible, and give me notice of the _earliest possible time_. The property is not yet advertised, but will be, [and if we delay too long, may be sold and lost.] It was a great misunderstanding, though not your fault, that so much delay would be necessary. [I repeat again that I must have the thing done legally, therefore, please get a good lawyer to draw up the deed of manumission.] Yours Truly, J. BIGELOW. Great was the anxiety felt in Washington. It is certainly not too much to say, that an equal amount of anxiety existed in Philadelphia respecting the safety of the merchandise. At this juncture Mr. Bigelow had come to the conclusion that it was no longer safe to write over his own name, but that he would do well to henceforth adopt the name of the renowned Quaker, Wm. Penn, (he was worthy of it) as in the case of the following letter. WASHINGTON, D.C., November 10th, 1855. DEAR SIR:--Doctor T. presented my card last night about half past eight which I instantly recognized. I, however, soon became suspicious, and afterwards confounded, to find the doctor using your name and the well known names of Mr. McK. and Mr. W. and yet, neither he nor I, could conjecture the object of his visit. The doctor is agreeable and sensible, and doubtless a true-hearted man. He seemed to see the whole matter as I did, and was embarrassed. He had nothing to propose, no information to give of the "P. Boy," or of any substitute, and seemed to want no particular information from me concerning my anxieties and perils, though I stated them to him, but found him as powerless as myself to give me relief. I had an agreeable interview with the doctor till after ten, when he left, intending to take the cars at six, as I suppose he did do, this morning. This morning after eight, I got your letter of the 9th, but it gives me but little enlightenment or satisfaction. You simply say that the doctor is a _true man_, which I cannot doubt, that you thought it best we should have an interview, and that you supposed I would meet the expenses. You informed me also that the "P. Boy" left for Richmond, on Friday, the 2d, to be gone _the length of time named in your last_, I must infer that to be _ten days_ though in your last _you assured me_ that the "P. Boy" would certainly start for _this place_ (not Richmond) in two or three days, though the difficulty about freight might cause delay, and the whole enterprise might not be accomplished under ten days, &c., &c. That time having elapsed and I having agreed to an extra fifty dollars to ensure promptness. I have scarcely left my office since, except for my hasty meals, awaiting his arrival. You now inform me he has gone to Richmond, to be gone ten days, which will expire tomorrow, but you do not say he will return here or to Phila, or where, at the expiration of that time, and Dr. T. could tell me nothing whatever about him. Had he been able to tell me that this _best plan_, which I have so long rested upon, would fail, or was abandoned, I could then understand it, but he says no such thing, and you say, as you have twice before said, "ten days more." Now, my dear sir, after this recapitulation, can you not see that I have reason for great embarrassment? I have given assurances, both here and in New York, founded on your assurances to me, and caused my friends in the latter place great anxiety, so much that I have had no way to explain my own letters but by sending your last two to Mr. Tappan. I cannot doubt, I do not, but that you wish to help me, and the cause too, for which both of us have made many and large sacrifices with no hope of reward in this world. If in this case I have been very urgent since September Dr. T. can give you some of my reasons, they have not been selfish. The whole matter is in a nutshell. Can I, in your opinion, depend on the "P. Boy," and when? If he promises to come here next trip, will he come, or go to Richmond? This I think is the best way. Can I depend on it? Dr. T. promised to write me some explanation and give some advice, and at first I thought to await his letter, but on second thought concluded to tell you how I feel, as I have done. Will you answer my questions with some explicitness, and without delay? I forgot to inquire of Dr. T. who is the head of your Vigilance Committee, whom I may address concerning other and further operations? Yours very truly, WM. PENN. P.S. I ought to say, that I have no doubt but there were good reasons for the P. Boy's going to Richmond instead of W.; _but what can they be_? Whilst there are a score of other interesting letters, bearing on this case, the above must suffice, to give at least, an idea of the perplexities and dangers attending its early history. Having accomplished this end, a more encouraging and pleasant phase of the transaction may now be introduced. Here the difficulties, at least very many of them, vanish, yet in one respect, the danger became most imminent. The following letter shows that the girl had been successfully rescued from her master, and that a reward of five hundred dollars had been offered for her. WASHINGTON, D.C., October 12, 1855. MR. WM. STILL:--AS YOU PICK UP ALL THE NEWS THAT IS STIRRING, I CONTRIBUTE A FEW SCRAPS TO YOUR STOCK, GOING TO SHOW THAT THE POOR SLAVE-HOLDERS HAVE THEIR TROUBLES AS WELL AS OTHER PEOPLE. FOUR HEAVY LOSSES ON ONE SMALL SCRAP CUT FROM A SINGLE NUMBER OF THE "SUN!" HOW VEXATIOUS! HOW PROVOKING! ON THE OTHER HAND, THINK OF THE POOR, TIMID, BREATHLESS, FLYING CHILD OF FIFTEEN! FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD! OH, FOR SUCCOR! TO WHOM IN ALL THIS WIDE LAND OF FREEDOM SHALL SHE FLEE AND FIND SAFETY? ALAS!--ALAS!--THE LAW POINTS TO NO ONE! IS SHE STILL RUNNING WITH BLEEDING FEET?[A] OR HIDES SHE IN SOME COLD CAVE, TO REST AND STARVE? "$500 REWARD." YOURS, FOR THE WEAK AND THE POOR. PERISH THE REWARD. [Footnote A: At the time this letter was written, she was then under Mr. B.'s protection in Washington, and had to be so kept for six weeks. His question, therefore, "is she still running with bleeding feet," etc., was simply a precautionary step to blind any who might perchance investigate the matter.] J.B. Having thus succeeded in getting possession of, and secreting this fleeing child of fifteen, as best they could, in Washington, all concerned were compelled to "possess their souls in patience," until the storm had passed. Meanwhile, the "child of fifteen" was christened "Joe Wright," and dressed in male attire to prepare for traveling as a lad. As no opportunity had hitherto presented itself, whereby to prepare the "package" for shipment, from Washington, neither the "powder boy" nor Dr. T.[B] was prepared to attend to the removal, at this critical moment. The emergency of the case, however, cried loudly for aid. The other professional gentleman (Dr. H.), was now appealed to, but his engagements in the college forbade his absence before about Thanksgiving day, which was then six weeks off. This fact was communicated to Washington, and it being the only resource left, the time named was necessarily acquiesced in. In the interim, "Joe" was to perfect herself in the art of wearing pantaloons, and all other male rig. Soon the days and weeks slid by, although at first the time for waiting seemed long, when, according to promise, Dr. H. was in Washington, with his horse and buggy prepared for duty. The impressions made by Dr. H., on William Penn's mind, at his first interview, will doubtless be interesting to all concerned, as may be seen in the following letter: [Footnote B: Dr. T. was one of the professional gentlemen alluded to above, who had expressed a willingness to act as an agent in the matter.] WASHINGTON, D.C., November 26, 1855. MY DEAR SIR:--A recent letter from my friend, probably has led you to expect this from me. He was delighted to receive yours of the 23d, stating that the boy was _all right_. He found the "Prof. gentleman" a _perfect gentleman_; cool, quiet, thoughtful, and _perfectly competent to execute his undertaking_. At the first three minutes of their interview, he felt assured that all would be right. He, and all concerned, give you and that gentleman sincere thanks for what you have done. May the blessings of Him, who cares for the poor, be on your heads. The especial object of this, is to inform you that there is a half dozen or so of packages here, _pressing for transportation_; twice or thrice that number are also pressing, but less so than the others. Their aggregate means will average, say, $10 each; besides these, we know of a few, say three or four, _able and smart_, but utterly destitute, and kept so purposely by their oppressors. For all these, we feel deeply interested; $10 each would not be enough for the "powder boy." Is there any fund from which a pittance could be spared to help these poor creatures? I don't doubt but that they would honestly repay a small loan as soon as they could earn it. I know full well, that if you begin with such cases, there is no boundary at which you can stop. For years, one half at least, of my friend's time here has been gratuitously given to cases of distress among this class. He never expects or desires to do less; he literally has the _poor always with him_. He knows that it is so with you also, therefore, he only states the case, being especially anxious for at least those to whom I have referred. [Illustration: MARIA WEEMS ESCAPING IN MALE ATTIRE] I think a small lot of hard coal might always be sold here _from the vessel_ at a profit. Would not a like lot of Cumberland coal always sell in Philadelphia? My friend would be very glad to see the powder boy here again, and if he brings coal, there are those here, who would try to help him sell. Reply to your regular correspondent as usual. WM. PENN. By the presence of the Dr., confidence having been reassured that all would be right, as well as by the "inner light," William Penn experienced a great sense of relief. Everything having been duly arranged, the doctor's horse and carriage stood waiting before the White House (William Penn preferred this place as a starting point, rather than before his own office door). It being understood that "Joe" was to act as coachman in passing out of Washington, at this moment he was called for, and in the most polite and natural manner, with the fleetness of a young deer, he jumped into the carriage, took the reins and whip, whilst the doctor and William Penn were cordially shaking hands and bidding adieu. This done, the order was given to Joe, "drive on." Joe bravely obeyed. The faithful horse trotted off willingly, and the doctor sat in his carriage as composed as though he had succeeded in procuring an honorable and lucrative office from the White House, and was returning home to tell his wife the good news. The doctor had some knowledge of the roads, also some acquaintances in Maryland, through which State he had to travel; therefore, after leaving the suburbs of Washington, the doctor took the reins in his own hands, as he felt that he was more experienced as a driver than his young coachman. He was also mindful of the fact, that, before reaching Pennsylvania, his faithful beast would need feeding several times, and that they consequently would be obliged to pass one or two nights at least in Maryland, either at a tavern or farm-house. In reflecting upon the matter, it occurred to the doctor, that in earlier days, he had been quite intimately acquainted with a farmer and his family (who were slave-holders), in Maryland, and that he would about reach their house at the end of the first day's journey. He concluded that he could do no better than to renew his acquaintance with his old friends on this occasion. After a very successful day's travel, night came on, and the doctor was safely at the farmer's door with his carriage and waiter boy; the doctor was readily recognized by the farmer and his family, who seemed glad to see him; indeed, they made quite a "fuss" over him. As a matter of strategy, the doctor made quite a "fuss" over them in return; nevertheless, he did not fail to assume airs of importance, which were calculated to lead them to think that he had grown older and wiser than when they knew him in his younger days. In casually referring to the manner of his traveling, he alluded to the fact, that he was not very well, and as it had been a considerable length of time since he had been through that part of the country, he thought that the drive would do him good, and especially the sight of old familiar places and people. The farmer and his family felt themselves exceedingly honored by the visit from the distinguished doctor, and manifested a marked willingness to spare no pains to render his night's lodging in every way comfortable. The Dr. being an educated and intelligent gentleman, well posted on other questions besides medicine, could freely talk about farming in all its branches, and "niggers" too, in an emergency, so the evening passed off pleasantly with the Dr. in the parlor, and "Joe" in the kitchen. The Dr., however, had given "Joe" precept upon precept, "here a little, and there a little," as to how he should act in the presence of master white people, or slave colored people, and thus he was prepared to act his part with due exactness. Before the evening grew late, the Dr., fearing some accident, intimated, that he was feeling a "little languid," and therefore thought that he had better "retire." Furthermore he added, that he was "liable to vertigo," when not quite well, and for this reason he must have his boy "Joe" sleep in the room with him. "Simply give him a bed quilt and he will fare well enough in one corner of the room," said the Dr. The proposal was readily acceded to, and carried into effect by the accommodating host. The Dr. was soon in bed, sleeping soundly, and "Joe," in his new coat and pants, wrapped up in the bed quilt, in a corner of the room quite comfortably. The next morning the Dr. arose at as early an hour as was prudent for a gentleman of his position, and feeling refreshed, partook of a good breakfast, and was ready, with his boy, "Joe," to prosecute their journey. Face, eyes, hope, and steps, were set as flint, Pennsylvania-ward. What time the following day or night they crossed Mason and Dixon's line is not recorded on the Underground Rail Road books, but at four o'clock on Thanksgiving Day, the Dr. safely landed the "fleeing girl of fifteen" at the residence of the writer in Philadelphia. On delivering up his charge, the Dr. simply remarked to the writer's wife, "I wish to leave this young lad with you a short while, and I will call and see further about him." Without further explanation, he stepped into his carriage and hurried away, evidently anxious to report himself to his wife, in order to relieve her mind of a great weight of anxiety on his account. The writer, who happened to be absent from home when the Dr. called, returned soon afterwards. "The Dr. has been here" (he was the family physician), "and left this 'young lad,' and said, that he would call again and see about him," said Mrs. S. The "young lad" was sitting quite composedly in the dining-room, with his cap on. The writer turned to him and inquired, "I suppose you are the person that the Dr. went to Washington after, are you not?" "No," said "Joe." "Where are you from then?" was the next question. "From York, sir." "From York? Why then did the Dr. bring you here?" was the next query, "the Dr. went expressly to Washington after a young girl, who was to be brought away dressed up as a boy, and I took you to be the person." Without replying "the lad" arose and walked out of the house. The querist, somewhat mystified, followed him, and then when the two were alone, "the lad" said, "I am the one the Dr. went after." After congratulating her, the writer asked why she had said, that she was not from Washington, but from York. She explained, that the Dr. had strictly charged her not to own to any person, except the writer, that she was from Washington, but from York. As there were persons present (wife, hired girl, and a fugitive woman), when the questions were put to her, she felt that it would be a violation of her pledge to answer in the affirmative. Before this examination, neither of the individuals present for a moment entertained the slightest doubt but that she was a "lad," so well had she acted her part in every particular. She was dressed in a new suit, which fitted her quite nicely, and with her unusual amount of common sense, she appeared to be in no respect lacking. To send off a prize so rare and remarkable, as she was, without affording some of the stockholders and managers of the Road the pleasure of seeing her, was not to be thought of. In addition to the Vigilance Committee, quite a number of persons were invited to see her, and were greatly astonished. Indeed it was difficult to realize, that she was not a boy, even after becoming acquainted with the facts in the case. The following is an exact account of this case, as taken from the Underground Rail Road records: "THANKSGIVING DAY, Nov., 1855. Arrived, Ann Maria Weems, _alias_ 'Joe Wright,' _alias_ 'Ellen Capron,' from Washington, through the aid of Dr. H. She is about fifteen years of age, bright mulatto, well grown, smart and good-looking. For the last three years, or about that length of time, she has been owned by Charles M. Price, a negro trader, of Rockville, Maryland. Mr. P. was given to 'intemperance,' to a very great extent, and gross 'profanity.' He buys and sells many slaves in the course of the year. 'His wife is cross and peevish.' She used to take great pleasure in 'torturing' one 'little slave boy.' He was the son of his master (and was owned by him); this was the chief cause of the mistress' spite." Ann Maria had always desired her freedom from childhood, and although not thirteen, when first advised to escape, she received the suggestion without hesitation, and ever after that time waited almost daily, for more than two years, the chance to flee. Her friends were, of course, to aid her, and make arrangements for her escape. Her owner, fearing that she might escape, for a long time compelled her to sleep in the chamber with "her master and mistress;" indeed she was so kept until about three weeks before she fled. She left her parents living in Washington. Three of her brothers had been sold South from their parents. Her mother had been purchased for $1,000, and one of her sisters for $1,600 for freedom. Before Ann Maria was thirteen years of age $700 was offered for her by a friend, who desired to procure her freedom, but the offer was promptly refused, as were succeeding ones repeatedly made. The only chance of procuring her freedom, depended upon getting her away on the Underground Rail Road. She was neatly attired in male habiliments, and in that manner came all the way from Washington. After passing two or three days with her new friends in Philadelphia, she was sent on (in male attire) to Lewis Tappan, of New York, who had likewise been deeply interested in her case from the beginning, and who held himself ready, as was understood, to cash a draft for three hundred dollars to compensate the man who might risk his own liberty in bringing her on from Washington. After having arrived safely in New York, she found a home and kind friends in the family of the Rev. A.N. Freeman, and received quite an ovation characteristic of an Underground Rail Road. After having received many tokens of esteem and kindness from the friends of the slave in New York and Brooklyn, she was carefully forwarded on to Canada, to be educated at the "Buxton Settlement." An interesting letter, however, from the mother of Ann Maria, conveying the intelligence of her late great struggle and anxiety in laboring to free her last child from Slavery is too important to be omitted, and hence is inserted in connection with this narrative. LETTER FROM THE MOTHER. WASHINGTON, D.C., September 19th, 1857. WM. STILL, ESQ., Philadelphia, Pa. SIR:--I have just sent for my son Augustus, in Alabama. I have sent eleven hundred dollars which pays for his body and some thirty dollars to pay his fare to Washington. I borrowed one hundred and eighty dollars to make out the eleven hundred dollars. I was not very successful in Syracuse. I collected only twelve dollars, and in Rochester only two dollars. I did not know that the season was so unpropitious. The wealthy had all gone to the springs. They must have returned by this time. I hope you will exert yourself and help me get a part of the money I owe, at least. I am obliged to pay it by the 12th of next month. I was unwell when I returned through Philadelphia, or I should have called. I had been from home five weeks. My son Augustus is the last of the family in Slavery. I feel rejoiced that he is soon to be free and with me, and of course feel the greatest solicitude about raising the one hundred and eighty dollars I have borrowed of a kind friend, or who has borrowed it for me at bank. I hope and pray you will help me as far as possible. Tell Mr. Douglass to remember me, and if he can, to interest his friends for me. You will recollect that five hundred dollars of our money was taken to buy the sister of Henry H. Garnett's wife. Had I been able to command this I should not be necessitated to ask the favors and indulgences I do. I am expecting daily the return of Augustus, and may Heaven grant him a safe deliverance and smile propitiously upon you and all kind friends who have aided in his return to me. Be pleased to remember me to friends, and accept yourself the blessing and prayers of your dear friend, EARRO WEEMS. P.S. Direct your letter to E.L. Stevens, in Duff Green's Row, Capitol Hill, Washington, D.C. E.W. That William Penn who worked so faithfully for two years for the deliverance of Ann Maria may not appear to have been devoting all his time and sympathy towards this single object it seems expedient that two or three additional letters, proposing certain grand Underground Rail Road plans, should have a place here. For this purpose, therefore, the following letters are subjoined. LETTERS FROM WILLIAM PENN. WASHINGTON, D.C., Oct. 3, 1854 DEAR SIR:--I address you to-day chiefly at the suggestion of the Lady who will hand you my letter, and who is a resident of your city. After stating to you, that the case about which I have previously written, remains just as it was when I wrote last--full of difficulty--I thought I would call your attention to another enterprise; it is this: to find a man with a large heart for doing good to the oppressed, who will come to Washington to live, and who will _walk out to Penn'a., or a part of the way there, once or twice a week_. He will find parties who will _pay him for doing so_. Parties of say, two, three, five or so, who will pay him _at least_ $5 each, for the privilege of following him, but _will never speak to him_; but will keep just in sight of him and obey any sign he may give; say, he takes off his hat and scratches his head as a sign for them to go to some barn or wood to rest, &c. No living being shall be found to say he ever spoke to them. A white man would be best, and then even parties led out by him could not, if they would, testify to any _understanding_ or anything else against a white man. I think he might make a good living at it. Can it not be done? If one or two safe stopping-places could be found on the way--such as a barn or shed, they could walk quite safely all night and then sleep all day--about two, or _easily_ three nights would convey them to a place of safety. The traveler might be a peddler or huckster, with an old horse and cart, and bring us in eggs and butter if he pleases. Let him once plan out his route, and he might then take ten or a dozen at a time, and they are often able and willing to pay $10 a piece. I have a hard case now on hand; a brother and sister 23 to 25 years old, whose mother lives in your city. They are cruelly treated; they want to go, they _ought_ to go; but they are utterly destitute. Can nothing be done for such cases? If you can think of anything let me know it. I suppose you know me? WASHINGTON, D.C., April 3, 1856. DEAR SIR:--I sent you the recent law of Virginia, under which all vessels are to be searched for fugitives within the waters of that State. It was long ago suggested by a sagacious friend, that the "powder boy" might find a better port in the Chesapeake bay, or in the Patuxent river to communicate with this vicinity, than by entering the Potomac river, even were there no such law. Suppose he opens a trade with some place south-west of Annapolis, 25 or 30 miles from here, or less. He might carry wood, oysters, &c., and all his customers from this vicinity might travel in _that direction_ without any of the suspicions that might attend their journeyings _towards this city_. In this way, doubtless, a good business might be carried on without interruption or competition, and provided the plan was conducted without affecting the inhabitants along that shore, no suspicion would arise as to the manner or magnitude of his business operations. How does this strike you? What does the "powder boy" think of it? I heretofore intimated a _pressing necessity_ on the part of several females--they are variously situated--two have children, say a couple each; some have none--of the latter, one can raise $50, another, say 30 or 40 dollars--another who was gazetted last August (a copy sent you), can raise, through her friends, 20 or 30 dollars, &c., &c. None of these can walk so far or so fast as scores of _men_ that are constantly leaving. I cannot shake off my anxiety for these poor creatures. Can you think of anything for any of these? Address your other correspondent in answer to this at your leisure. Yours, WM. PENN. P.S.--April 3d. Since writing the above, I have received yours of 31st. I am rejoiced to hear that business is so successful and prosperous--may it continue till _the article_ shall cease to be merchandize. I spoke in my last letter of the departure of a "few friends." I have since heard of their good health in Penn'a. Probably you may have seen them. In reference to the expedition of which you think you can "hold out some little encouragement," I will barely remark, that I shall be glad, if it is undertaken, to have all the notice of the _time and manner_ that is possible, so as to make ready. A friend of mine says, anthracite coal will always pay here from Philadelphia, and thinks a small vessel might run often--that she never would be searched in the Potomac, unless she went outside. You advise caution towards Mr. P. I am precisely of your opinion about him, that he is a "queer stick," and while I advised him carefully in reference to his own undertakings, I took no counsel of him concerning mine. Yours, W.P. WASHINGTON, D.C., April 23d, 1856. DEAR SIR:--I have to thank you for your last two encouraging letters of 31st of March and 7th April. I have seen nothing in the papers to interest you, and having bad health and a press of other engagements, I have neglected to write you. Enclosed is a list of persons referred to in my last letter, all most anxious to travel--all meritorious. In some of these I feel an especial interest for what they have done to help others in distress. I suggest for yours and the "powder boy's" consideration the following plan: that he shall take in coal for Washington and come directly here--sell his coal and go to Georgetown for freight, and _wait_ for it. If any fancy articles are sent on board, _I understand he has a place_ to put them in, and _if he has_ I suggest that he lies still, still waiting for freight till the first anxiety is over. Vessels that have _just left_ are the ones that will be inquired after, and perhaps chased. If he lays still a day or two all suspicion will be prevented. If there shall be occasion to refer to any of them hereafter, it may be by their numbers in the list. The family--5 to 11--will be missed and inquired after soon and urgently; 12 and 13 will also be soon missed, but _none of the others_. If all this can be done, some little time or notice must be had to get them all ready. They tell me they can pay the sums marked to their names. The aggregate is small, but as I told you, they are poor. Let me hear from you when convenient. [Illustration: JOHN HENRY HILL] Truly Yours, WM. PENN. 1. A woman, may be 40 years old, $40.00 2. A woman, may be 40 years old, with 3 children, say 4, 6, and 8[A] 15.00 3. A sister of the above, younger 10.00 4. A very genteel mulatto girl about 22 25.00 5. A woman, say 45, These are all one 6. A daughter, 18, family, either of 7. A son, 16, them leaving 8. A son, 14, alone, they think, 50.00 9. A daughter, 12, would cause the 10. A son, say 22, balance to be sold. 11. A man, the Uncle, 40, 12. A very genteel mulatto girl, say 23 25.00 13. A very genteel mulatto girl, say 24 25.00 * * * * * FIVE YEARS AND ONE MONTH SECRETED. JOHN HENRY, HEZEKIAH, AND JAMES HILL.--JOHN MAKES A DESPERATE RESISTANCE AT THE SLAVE AUCTION AND ESCAPES AFTER BEING SECRETED NINE MONTHS. HEZEKIAH ESCAPED FROM A TRADER AND WAS SECEETED THIRTEEN MONTHS BEFORE HIS FINAL DELIVERANCE.--JAMES WAS SECRETED THREE YEARS IN A PLACE OF GREAT SUFFERING, AND ESCAPED. IN ALL FIVE YEARS AND ONE MONTH. Many letters from JOHN HENRY show how incessantly his mind ran out towards the oppressed, and the remarkable intelligence and ability he displayed with the pen, considering that he had no chance to acquire book knowledge. After having fled for refuge to Canada and having become a partaker of impartial freedom under the government of Great Britain, to many it seemed that the fugitive should be perfectly satisfied. Many appeared to think that the fugitive, having secured freedom, had but little occasion for anxiety or care, even for his nearest kin. "Change your name." "Never tell any one how you escaped." "Never let any one know where you came from." "Never think of writing back, not even to your wife; you can do your kin no good, but may do them harm by writing." "Take care of yourself." "You are free, well, be satisfied then." "It will do you no good to fret about your wife and children; that will not get them out of Slavery." Such was the advice often given to the fugitive. Men who had been slaves themselves, and some who had aided in the escape of individuals, sometimes urged these sentiments on men and women whose hearts were almost breaking over the thought that their dearest and best friends were in chains in the prison-house. Perhaps it was thoughtlessness on the part of some, and a wish to inspire due cautiousness on the part of others, that prompted this advice. Doubtless some did soon forget their friends. They saw no way by which they could readily communicate with them. Perhaps Slavery had dealt with them so cruelly, that little hope or aspiration was left in them. It was, however, one of the most gratifying facts connected with the fugitives, the strong love and attachment that they constantly expressed for their relatives left in the South; the undying faith they had in God as evinced by their touching appeals on behalf of their fellow-slaves. But few probably are aware how deeply these feelings were cherished in the breasts of this people. Forty, fifty, or sixty years, in some instances elapsed, but this ardent sympathy and love continued warm and unwavering as ever. Children left to the cruel mercy of slave-holders, could never be forgotten. Brothers and sisters could not refrain from weeping over the remembrance of their separation on the auction block: of having seen innocent children, feeble and defenceless women in the grasp of a merciless tyrant, pleading, groaning, and crying in vain for pity. Not to remember those thus bruised and mangled, it would seem alike unnatural, and impossible. Therefore it is a source of great satisfaction to be able, in relating these heroic escapes, to present the evidences of the strong affections of this greatly oppressed race. JOHN HENRY never forgot those with whom he had been a fellow-sufferer in Slavery; he was always fully awake to their wrongs, and longed to be doing something to aid and encourage such as were striving to get their Freedom. He wrote many letters in behalf of others, as well as for himself, the tone of which, was always marked by the most zealous devotion to the slave, a high sense of the value of Freedom, and unshaken confidence that God was on the side of the oppressed, and a strong hope, that the day was not far distant, when the slave power would be "suddenly broken and that without remedy." Notwithstanding the literary imperfections of these letters, they are deemed well suited to these pages. Of course, slaves were not allowed book learning. Virginia even imprisoned white women for teaching free colored children the alphabet. Who has forgotten the imprisonment of Mrs. Douglass for this offense? In view of these facts, no apology is needed on account of Hill's grammar and spelling. In these letters, may be seen, how much liberty was valued, how the taste of Freedom moved the pen of the slave; how the thought of fellow-bondmen, under the heel of the slave-holder, aroused the spirit of indignation and wrath; how importunately appeals were made for help from man and from God; how much joy was felt at the arrival of a fugitive, and the intense sadness experienced over the news of a failure or capture of a slave. Not only are the feelings of John Henry Hill represented in these epistles, but the feelings of very many others amongst the intelligent fugitives all over the country are also represented to the letter. It is more with a view of doing justice to a brave, intelligent class, whom the public are ignorant of, than merely to give special prominence to John and his relatives as individuals, that these letters are given. ESCAPE OF JOHN HENRY HILL FROM THE SLAVE AUCTION IN RICHMOND, ON THE FIRST DAY OF JANUARY, 1853. JOHN HENRY at that time, was a little turned of twenty-five years of age, full six feet high, and remarkably well proportioned in every respect. He was rather of a brown color, with marked intellectual features. John was by trade, a carpenter, and was considered a competent workman. The year previous to his escape, he hired his time, for which he paid his owner $150. This amount John had fully settled up the last day of the year. As he was a young man of steady habits, a husband and father, and withal an ardent lover of Liberty; his owner, John Mitchell, evidently observed these traits in his character, and concluded that he was a dangerous piece of property to keep; that his worth in money could be more easily managed than the man. Consequently, his master unceremoniously, without intimating in any way to John, that he was to be sold, took him to Richmond, on the first day of January (the great annual sale day), and directly to the slave-auction. Just as John was being taken into the building, he was invited to submit to hand-cuffs. As the thought flashed upon his mind that he was about to be sold on the auction-block, he grew terribly desperate. "Liberty or death" was the watchword of that awful moment. In the twinkling of an eye, he turned on his enemies, with his fist, knife, and feet, so tiger-like, that he actually put four or five men to flight, his master among the number. His enemies thus suddenly baffled, John wheeled, and, as if assisted by an angel, strange as it may appear, was soon out of sight of his pursuers, and securely hid away. This was the last hour of John Henry's slave life, but not, however, of his struggles and sufferings for freedom, for before a final chance to escape presented itself, nine months elapsed. The mystery as to where, and how he fared, the following account, in his own words, must explain-- Nine months I was trying to get away. I was secreted for a long time in a kitchen of a merchant near the corner of Franklyn and 7th streets, at Richmond, where I was well taken care of, by a lady friend of my mother. When I got Tired of staying in that place, I wrote myself a pass to pass myself to Petersburg, here I stopped with a very prominent Colored person, who was a friend to Freedom stayed here until two white friends told other friends if I was in the city to tell me to go at once, and stand not upon the order of going, because they had hard a plot. I wrot a pass, started for Richmond, Reached Manchester, got off the Cars walked into Richmond, once more got back into the same old Den, Stayed here from the 16th of Aug. to 12th Sept. On the 11th of Sept. 8 o'clock P.M. a message came to me that there had been a State Room taken on the steamer City of Richmond for my benefit, and I assured the party that it would be occupied if God be willing. Before 10 o'clock the next morning, on the 12th, a beautiful Sept. day, I arose early, wrote my pass for Norfolk left my old Den with a many a good bye, turned out the back way to 7th St., thence to Main, down Main behind 4 night waich to old Rockett's and after about 20 minutes of delay I succeed in Reaching the State Room. My Conductor was very much Excited, but I felt as Composed as I do at this moment, for I had started from my Den that morning for Liberty or for Death providing myself with a Brace of Pistels. Yours truly J.H. HILL. A private berth was procured for him on the steamship City of Richmond, for the amount of $125, and thus he was brought on safely to Philadelphia. While in the city, he enjoyed the hospitalities of the Vigilance Committee, and the greetings of a number of friends, during the several days of his sojourn. The thought of his wife, and two children, left in Petersburg, however, naturally caused him much anxiety. Fortunately, they were free, therefore, he was not without hope of getting them; moreover, his wife's father (Jack McCraey), was a free man, well known, and very well to do in the world, and would not be likely to see his daughter and grandchildren suffer. In this particular, Hill's lot was of a favorable character, compared with that of most slaves leaving their wives and children. FIRST LETTER ON ARRIVING IN CANADA. TORONTO, October 4th, 1853. DEAR SIR:--I take this method of informing you that I am well, and that I got to this city all safe and sound, though I did not get here as soon as I expect. I left your city on Saterday and I was on the way untel the Friday following. I got to New York the same day that I left Philadelphia, but I had to stay there untel Monday evening. I left that place at six o'clock. I got to Albany next morning in time to take the half past six o'clock train for Rochester, here I stay untel Wensday night. The reason I stay there so long Mr. Gibbs given me a letter to Mr Morris at Rochester. I left that place Wensday, but I only got five miles from that city that night. I got to Lewiston on Thurday afternoon, but too late for the boat to this city. I left Lewiston on Friday at one o'clock, got to this city at five. Sir I found this to be a very handsome city. I like it better than any city I ever saw. It are not as large as the city that you live in, but it is very large place much more so than I expect to find it. I seen the gentleman that you given me letter to. I think him much of a gentleman. I got into work on Monday. The man whom I am working for is name Myers; but I expect to go to work for another man by name of Tinsly, who is a master workman in this city. He says that he will give me work next week and everybody advises me to work for Mr. Tinsly as there more surity in him. Mr. Still, I have been looking and looking for my friends for several days, but have not seen nor heard of them. I hope and trust in the Lord Almighty that all things are well with them. My dear sir I could feel so much better sattisfied if I could hear from my wife. Since I reached this city I have talagraphed to friend Brown to send my thing to me, but I cannot hear a word from no one at all. I have written to Mr. Brown two or three times since I left the city. I trust that he has gotten my wife's letters, that is if she has written. Please direct your letters to me, near the corner Sarah and Edward street, until I give you further notice. You will tell friend B. how to direct his letters, as I forgotten it when I writt to him, and ask him if he has heard anything from Virginia. Please to let me hear from him without delay for my very soul is trubled about my friends whom I expected to of seen here before this hour. Whatever you do please to write. I shall look for you paper shortly. Believe me sir to be your well wisher. JOHN H. HILL. SECOND LETTER. _Expressions of gratitude_--_The Custom House refuses to charge him duty_--_He is greatly concerned for his wife_ TORONTO, October 30th, 1853. MY DEAR FRIEND:--I now write to inform you that I have received my things all safe and sound, and also have shuck hand with the friend that you send on to this place one of them is stopping with me. His name is Chas. Stuert, he seemes to be a tolerable smart fellow. I Rec'd my letters. I have taken this friend to see Mr. Smith. However will give him a place to board untell he can get to work. I shall do every thing I can for them all that I see the gentleman wish you to see his wife and let her know that he arrived safe, and present his love to her and to all the friend. Mr. Still, I am under ten thousand obligation to you for your kindness when shall I ever repay? S. speek very highly of you. I will state to you what Custom house master said to me. He ask me when he Presented my efects are these your efects. I answered yes. He then ask me was I going to settle in Canada. I told him I was. He then ask me of my case. I told all about it. He said I am happy to see you and all that will come. He ask me how much I had to pay for my Paper. I told him half dollar. He then told me that I should have my money again. He a Rose from his seat and got my money. So my friend you can see the people and tell them all this is a land of liberty and believe they will find friends here. My best love to all. My friend I must call upon you once more to do more kindness for me that is to write to my wife as soon as you get this, and tell her when she gets ready to come she will pack and consign her things to you. You will give her some instruction, but not to your expenses but to her own. When you write direct your letter to Phillip Ubank, Petersburg, Va. My Box arrived here the 27th. My dear sir I am in a hurry to take this friend to church, so I must close by saying I am your humble servant in the cause of liberty and humanity. JOHN H. HILL. THIRD LETTER. _Canada is highly praised_--_The Vigilance Committee is implored to send all the Fugitives there_--"_Farmers and Mechanics wanted_"--"_No living in Canada for Negroes," as argued by_ "_Masters," flatly denied, &c., &c., &c._ So I ask you to send the fugitives to Canada. I don't know much of this Province but I beleaves that there is Rome enough for the colored and whites of the United States. We wants farmers mechanic men of all qualification &c., if they are not made we will make them, if we cannot make the old, we will make our children. Now concerning the city toronto this city is Beautiful and Prosperous Levele city. Great many wooden codages more than what should be but I am in hopes there will be more of the Brick and Stonn. But I am not done about your Republicanism. Our masters have told us that there was no living in Canada for a Negro but if it may Please your gentlemanship to publish these facts that we are here able to earn our bread and money enough to make us comftable. But I say give me freedom, and the United States may have all her money and her Luxtures, yeas give Liberty or Death. I'm in America, but not under Such a Government that I cannot express myself, speak, think or write So as I am able, and if my master had allowed me to have an education I would make them American Slave-holders feel me, Yeas I would make them tremble when I spoke, and when I take my Pen in hand their knees smote together. My Dear Sir suppose I was an educated man. I could write you something worth reading, but you know we poor fugitives whom has just come over from the South are not able to write much on no subject whatever, but I hope by the aid of my God I will try to use my midnight lamp, untel I can have some influence upon the American Slavery. If some one would say to me, that they would give my wife bread untel I could be Educated I would stoop my trade this day and take up my books. But a crisis is approaching when assential requisite to the American Slaveholders when blood Death or Liberty will be required at their hands. I think our people have depened too long and too much on false legislator let us now look for ourselves. It is true that England however the Englishman is our best friend but we as men ought not to depened upon her Remonstrace with the Americans because she loves her commercial trade as any Nations do. But I must say, while we look up and acknowledge the Power greatness and honor of old England, and believe that while we sit beneath the Silken folds of her flag of Perfect Liberty, we are secure, beyond the reach of the aggressions of the Blood hounds and free from the despotism that would wrap around our limbs by the damable Slaveholder. Yet we would not like spoiled childeren depend upon her, but upon ourselves and as one means of strengthening ourselves, we should agitate the emigration to Canada. I here send you a paragraph which I clipted from the weekly Glob. I hope you will publish so that Mr. Williamson may know that men are not chattel here but reather they are men and if he wants his chattle let him come here after it or his thing. I wants you to let the whole United States know we are satisfied here because I have seen more Pleasure since I came here then I saw in the U.S. the 24 years that I served my master. Come Poor distress men women and come to Canada where colored men are free. Oh how sweet the word do sound to me yeas when I contemplate of these things, my very flesh creaps my heart thrub when I think of my beloved friends whom I left in that cursid hole. Oh my God what can I do for them or shall I do for them. Lord help them. Suffer them to be no longer depressed beneath the Bruat Creation but may they be looked upon as men made of the Bone and Blood as the Anglo-Americans. May God in his mercy Give Liberty to all this world. I must close as it am late hour at night. I Remain your friend in the cause of Liberty and humanity, JOHN H. HILL, a fugitive. If you know any one who would give me an education write and let me know for I am in want of it very much. Your with Respect, J.H.H. If the sentiments in the above letter do not indicate an uncommon degree of natural intelligence, a clear perception of the wrongs of Slavery, and a just appreciation of freedom, where shall we look for the signs of intellect and manhood? FOURTH LETTER. _Longs for his wife--In hearing of the return of a Fugitive from Philadelphia is made sorrowful--His love of Freedom increases, &c., &c._ TORONTO, November 12th, 1853. MY DEAR STILL:--Your letter of the 3th came to hand thursday and also three copes all of which I was glad to Received they have taken my attention all together Every Time I got them. I also Rec'd. a letter from my friend Brown. Mr. Brown stated to me that he had heard from my wife but he did not say what way he heard. I am looking for my wife every day. Yes I want her to come then I will be better satisfied. My friend I am a free man and feeles alright about that matter. I am doing tolrable well in my line of business, and think I will do better after little. I hope you all will never stop any of our Brotheran that makes their Escep from the South but send them on to this Place where they can be free man and woman. We want them here and not in your State where they can be taken away at any hour. Nay but let him come here where he can Enjoy the Rights of a human being and not to be trodden under the feet of men like themselves. All the People that comes here does well. Thanks be to God that I came to this place. I would like very well to see you all but never do I expect to see you in the United States. I want you all to come to this land of Liberty where the bondman can be free. Come one come all come to this place, and I hope my dear friend you will send on here. I shall do for them as you all done for me when I came on here however I will do the best I can for them if they can they shall do if they will do, but some comes here that can't do well because they make no efford. I hope my friend you will teach them such lessons as Mrs. Moore Give me before I left your city. I hope she may live a hundred years longer and enjoy good health. May God bless her for the good cause which she are working in. Mr. Still you ask me to remember you to Nelson. I will do so when I see him, he are on the lake so is Stewart. I received a letter to-day for Stewart from your city which letter I will take to him when he comes to the city. He are not stoping with us at this time. I was very sorry a few days ago when I heard that a man was taken from your city. Send them over here, then let him come here and take them away and I will try to have a finger in the Pie myself. You said that you had written to my wife ten thousand thanks for what you have done and what you are willing to do. My friend whenever you hear from my wife please write to me. Whenever she come to your city please give instruction how to travel. I wants her to come the faster way. I wish she was here now. I wish she could get a ticket through to this place. I have mail a paper for you to day. We have had snow but not to last long. Let me hear from you. My Respect friend Brown. I will write more when I have the opportunity. Yours with Respect, JOHN H. HILL. P.S. My dear Sir. Last night after I had written the above, and had gone to bed, I heard a strange voice in the house, Saying to Mr. Myers to come quickly to one of our colod Brotheran out of the street. We went and found a man a Carpenter laying on the side walk woltun in his Blood. Done by some unknown Person as yet but if they stay on the earth the law will deteck them. It is said that party of colord people done it, which party was seen to come out an infame house. Mr. Myers have been down to see him and Brought the Sad news that the Poor fellow was dead. Mr. Scott for Henry Scott was the name, he was a fugitive from Virginia he came here from Pittsburg Pa. Oh, when I went where he laid what a shock, it taken my Sleep altogether night. When I got to Sopt his Body was surrounded by the Policeman. The law has taken the woman in cusidy. I write and also send you a paper of the case when it comes out. J.H. HILL. FIFTH LETTER. _He rejoices over the arrival of his wife_--_but at the same time, his heart is bleeding over a dear friend whom he had promised to help before he left Slavery_. TORONTO, December 29th, 1853. MY DEAR FRIEND:--It affords me a good deel of Pleasure to say that my wife and the Children have arrived safe in this City. But my wife had very bad luck. She lost her money and the money that was belonging to the children, the whole amount was 35 dollars. She had to go to the Niagara falls and Telegraph to me come after her. She got to the falls on Sat'dy and I went after her on Monday. We saw each other once again after so long an Abstance, you may know what sort of metting it was, joyful times of corst. My wife are well Satisfied here, and she was well Pleased during her stay in your city. My Trip to the falls cost Ten Eighty Seven and half. The things that friend Brown Shiped to me by the Express costed $24-1/4. So you can see fiting out a house Niagara falls and the cost for bringing my things to this place, have got me out of money, but for all I am a free man. The weather are very cold at Present, the snow continue to fall though not as deep here as it is in Boston. The people haves their own Amousements, the weather as it is now, they don't care for the snow nor ice, but they are going from Ten A.M. until Twelve P.M., the hous that we have open don't take well because we don't Sell Spirits, which we are trying to avoid if we can. Mr. Still, I hold in my hand A letter from a friend of South, who calls me to promise that I made to him before I left. My dear Sir, this letter have made my heart Bleed, since I Received it, he also desires of me to remember him to his beloved Brethren and then to Pray for him and his dear friends who are in Slavery. I shall Present his letter to the churches of this city. I forward to your care for Mrs. Moore, a few weeks ago. Mrs. Hill sends her love to your wife and yourself. Please to write, I Sincerely hope that our friends from Petersburg have reached your city before this letter is dated. I must close by saying, that I Sir, remain humble and obedient Servant, J.H.H. SIXTH LETTER. _He is now earnestly appealing in behalf of a friend in Slavery, with a view to procuring aid and assistance from certain parties, by which this particular friend in bondage might be rescued_. Toranto, March 8th, 1854. My Dear Friend Still:--We will once more truble you opon this great cause of freedom, as we know that you are a man, that are never fatuged in Such a glorious cause. Sir, what I wish to Say is this. Mr. Forman has Received a letter from his wife dated the 29th ult. She States to him that She was Ready at any time, and that Everything was Right with her, and she hoped that he would lose no time in sending for her for she was Ready and awaiting for him. Well friend Still, we learnt that Mr. Minkens could not bring her the account of her child. We are very sorry to hear Such News, however, you will please to read this letter with care, as we have learnt that Minkens Cannot do what we wishes to be done; we perpose another way. There is a white man that Sale from Richmond to Boston, that man are very Safe, he will bring F's wife with her child. So you will do us a favour will take it upon yourself to transcribe from this letter what we shall write. I.E. this there is a Colored gen. that workes on the basin in R---- this man's name is Esue Poster, he can tell Mrs. forman all about this Saleor. So you can place the letter in the hands of M. to take to forman's wife, She can read it for herself. She will find Foster at ladlum's warehouse on the Basin, and when you write call my name to him and he will trust it. this foster are a member of the old Baptist Church. When you have done all you can do let us know what you have done, if you hears anything of my uncle let me know. SEVENTH LETTER. _He laments over his uncle's fate, who was suffering in a dungeon-like place of concealment daily waiting for the opportunity to escape_. Toronto, March 18th, 1864. My Dear Still:--Yours of the 15th Reached on the 11th, found myself and family very well, and not to delay no time in replying to you, as there was an article in your letter which article Roused me very much when I read it; that was you praying to me to be cautious how I write down South. Be so kind as to tell me in your next letter whether you have at any time apprehended any danger in my letters however, in those bond southward; if there have been, allow me to beg ten thousand pardon before God and man, for I am not design to throw any obstacle in the way of those whom I left in South, but to aide them in every possible way. I have done as you Requested, that to warn the friends of the dager of writing South. I have told all you said in yours that Mr. Minkins would be in your city very soon, and you would see what you could do for me, do you mean or do speak in reference to my dear uncle. I am hopes that you will use every ifford to get him from the position in which he now stand. I know how he feels at this time, for I have felt the same when I was a runway. I was bereft of all participation with my family for nearly nine months, and now that poor fellow are place in same position. Oh God help I pray, what a pitty it is that I cannot do him no good, but I sincerely hope that you will not get fatigued at doing good in such cases, nay, I think other wises of you, however, I Say no more on this subject at present, but leave it for you to judge. On the 13th inst. you made Some Remarks concerning friend Forman's wife, I am Satisfied that you will do all you can for her Release from Slavery, but as you said you feels for them, so do I, and Mr. Foreman comes to me very often to know if I have heard anything from you concerning his wife, they all comes to for the same. God Save the Queen. All my letters Southward have passed through your hands with an exception of one. JOHN H. HILL. EIGHTH LETTER. _Death has snatched away one of his children and he has cause to mourn. In his grief he recounts his struggles for freedom, and his having to leave his wife and children. He acknowledges that he had to "work very hard for comforts," but he declares that he would not "exchange with the comforts of ten thousand slaves_." TORONTO Sept 14th 1854 MY DEAR FRIEND STILL:--this are the first oppertunity that I have had to write you since I Reed your letter of the 20th July, there have been sickness and Death in my family since your letter was Reed, our dear little Child have been taken from us one whom we loved so very Dear, but the almighty God knows what are best for us all. Louis Henry Hill, was born in Petersburg Va May 7th 1852. and Died Toronto August 19th 1854 at five o'clock P.M. Dear Still I could say much about the times and insidince that have taken place since the coming of that dear little angle jest spoken of. it was 12 months and 3 days from the time that I took departure of my wife and child to proceed to Richmond to awaite a conveyance up to the day of his death. it was thursday the 13th that I lift Richmond, it was Saturday the 15th that I land to my great joy in the city of Phila. then I put out for Canada. I arrived in this city on Friday the 30th and to my great satisfaction. I found myself upon Briton's free land, not only free for the white man bot for all. this day 12 months I was not out of the reach the slaveholders, but this 14th day of Sept. I am as Free as your President Pearce. only I have not been free so long However the 30th of the month I will have been free only 12 months. It is true that I have to work very hard for comfort but I would not exchange with ten thousand slave that are equel with their masters. I am Happy, Happy. Give love to Mrs. Still. My wife laments her child's death too much, wil you be so kind as to see Mr. Brown and ask him to write to me, and if he have heard from Petersburg Va. Yours truely J.H. HILL. NINTH LETTER. _He is anxiously waiting for the arrival of friends from the South. Hints that slaveholders would be very unsafe in Canada, should they be foolish enough to visit that country for the purpose of enticing slaves back_. TORONTO, Jan. 19th 1854. MY DEAR STILL:--Your letter of the 16th came to hand just in time for my perpose I perceivs by your statement that the money have not been to Petersburg at all done just what was right and I would of sent the money to you at first, but my dear friend I have called upon you for so many times that I have been ashamed of myself to call any more So you may perceive by the above written my obligations to you, you said that you had written on to Petersburg, you have done Right which I believes is your general way of doing your business, the money are all right I only had to pay a 6d on the Ten dollars. this money was given to by a friend in the city N. york, the friend was from Richmond Virginia (a white man) the amount was fifteen dollars, I forward a letter to you yesterday which letter I forgot to date. my friend I wants to hear from virginia the worst of all things. you know that we expect some freneds on and we cannot hear any thing from them which makes us uneasy for fear that they have attempt to come away and been detected. I have ears open at all times, listen at all hours expecting to hear from them Please to see friend Brown and know from him if he has heard anything from our friends, if he have not. tell him write and inquiare into the matter why it is that they have not come over, then let me hear from you all. We are going to have a grand concert &c I mean the Abolisnous Socity. I will attend myself and also my wife if the Lord be willing you will perceive in previous letter that I mension something concerning Mr Forman's wife if there be any chance whatever please to proceed, Mr Foreman sends his love to you Requested you to do all you can to get his wife away from Slavery. Our best respects to your wife. You promisted me that you would write somthing concerning our arrival in Canada but I suppose you have not had the time as yet, I would be very glad to read your opinion on that matter I have notice several articles in the freeman one of the Canada weaklys concerning the Christiana prisoners respecting Castnor Hanway and also Mr. Rauffman. if I had one hundred dollars to day I would give them five each, however I hope that I may be able to subscribe something for their Relefe. in Regards to the letters have been written from Canada to the South the letters was not what they thought them to be and if the slave-holders know when they are doing well they had better keep their side for if they comes over this side of the lake I am under the impression they will not go back with somethin that their mother boned them with whether thiar slaves written for them or not. I know some one here that have written his master to come after him, but not because he expect to go with him home but because he wants to retaleate upon his persecutor, but I would be sorry for man that have written for his master expecting to return with him because the people here would kill them. Sir I cannot write enough to express myself so I must close by saying I Remain yours. JOHN H. HILL. TENTH LETTER. _Great joy over an arrival--Twelve months praying for the deliverance of an Uncle groaning in a hiding-place, while the Slave-hunters are daily expected--Strong appeals for aid, &c., &c._ TORONTO, January 7th, 1855. MY DEAR FRIEND:--It is with much pleasure that I take this opportunity of addressing you with these few lines hoping when they reeches you they may find yourself and family enjoying good health as they leaves us at present. And it is with much happiness that I can say to you that Mrs. Mercer arrived in this city on yesterday. Mr. Mercer was at my house late in the evening, and I told him that when he went home if hear anything from Virginia, that he must let me know as soon as possible. He told me that if he went home and found any news there he would come right back and inform me thereof. But little did he expect to find his dearest there. You may judge what a meeting there was with them, and may God grant that there may be some more meetings with our wives and friends. I had been looking for some one from the old sod for several days, but I was in good hopes that it would be my poor Uncle. But poor fellow he are yet groaning under the sufferings of a horrid sytam, Expecting every day to Receive his Doom. Oh, God, what shall I do, or what can I do for him? I have prayed for him more than 12 months, yet he is in that horrid condition. I can never hear anything Directly from him or any of my people. Once more I appeal to your Humanity. Will you act for him, as if you was in slavery yourself, and I sincerely believe that he will come out of that condition? Mrs. M. have told me that she given some directions how he could be goten at, but friend Still, if this conductor should not be successfull this time, will you mind him of the Poor Slave again. I hope you will as Mrs. Mercer have told the friend what to do I cannot do more, therefore I must leve it to the Mercy of God and your Exertion. The weather have been very mile Ever since the 23rd of Dec. I have thought considerable about our condition in this country Seeing that the weather was so very faverable to us. I was thinking a few days ago, that nature had giving us A country & adopted all things Sutable. You will do me the kindness of telling me in your next whether or not the ten slaves have been Brought out from N.C. I have not hard from Brown for Nine month he have done some very Bad letting me alone, for what cause I cannot tell. Give my Best Respect to Mr. B. when you see him. I wish very much to hear from himself and family. You will please to let me hear from you. My wife Joines me in love to yourself and family. Yours most Respectfully, JOHN H. HILL. P.S. Every fugitive Regreated to hear of the Death of Mrs. Moore. I myself think that there are no other to take her Place. yours J.H.H. ELEVENTH LETTER. [EXTRACT.] _Rejoices at hearing of the success of the Underground Rail Road--Inquires particularly after the "fellow" who "cut off the Patrol's head in Maryland_." HAMILTON, August 15th, 1856. DEAR FRIEND:--I am very glad to hear that the Underground Rail Road is doing such good business, but tell me in your next letter if you have seen the heroic fellow that cut off the head of the Patrol in Maryland. We wants that fellow here, as John Bull has a great deal of fighting to do, and as there is a colored Captain in this city, I would seek to have that fellow Promoted, Provided he became a soldier. Great respect, JOHN H. HILL. P.S.--Please forward the enclosed to Mr. McCray. TWELFTH LETTER. [EXTRACT.] _Believes in praying for the Slave--but thinks "fire and sword" would be more effective with Slave-holders_. HAMILTON, Jan. 5th, 1857. MR. STILL:--Our Pappers contains long details of insurrectionary movements among the slaves at the South and one paper adds that a great Nomber of Generals, Captains with other officers had being arrested. At this day four years ago I left Petersburg for Richmond to meet the man whom called himself my master, but he wanted money worser that day than I do this day, he took me to sell me, he could not have done a better thing for me for I intended to leave any how by the first convaiance. I hard some good Prayers put up for the suffers on last Sunday evening in the Baptist Church. Now friend still I beleve that Prayers affects great good, but I beleve that the fire and sword would affect more good in this case. Perhaps this is not your thoughts, but I must acknowledge this to be my Polacy. The world are being turned upside down, and I think we might as well take an active part in it as not. We must have something to do as other people, and I hope this moment among the Slaves are the beginning. I wants to see something go on while I live. Yours truly, JOHN H. HILL. THIRTEENTH LETTER. _Sad tidings from Richmond--Of the arrest of a Captain with Slaves on board as Underground Rail Road passengers_. HAMILTON, June 5th, 1858. DEAR FRIEND STILL:--I have just heard that our friend Capt. B. have being taken Prisoner in Virginia with slaves on board of his vessel. I hard this about an hour ago. the Person told me of this said he read it in the newspaper, if this be so it is awfull. You will be so kind as to send me some information. Send me one of the Virginia Papers. Poor fellow if they have got him, I am sorry, sorry to my heart. I have not heard from my Uncle for a long time if have heard or do hear anything from him at any time you will oblige me by writing. I wish you to inquire of Mr. Anderson's friends (if you know any of them), if they have heard anything from him since he was in your city. I have written to him twice since he was here according to his own directions, but never received an answer. I wants to hear from my mother very much, but cannot hear one word. You will present my best regards to the friend. Mrs. Hill is quite sick. Yours truly, J.H. HILL. P.S.--I have not received the Anti-Slavery Standard for several weeks. Please forward any news relative to the Capt. J.H.H. * * * * * THE ESCAPE OF HEZEKIAH HILL. (UNCLE OF JOHN HENRY HILL.) Impelled by the love of freedom Hezekiah resolved that he would work no longer for nothing; that he would never be sold on the auction block: that he no longer would obey the bidding of a master, and that he would die rather than be a slave. This decision, however, had only been entertained by him a short time prior to his escape. For a number of years Hezekiah had been laboring under the pleasing thought that he should succeed in obtaining freedom through purchase, having had an understanding with his owner with this object in view. At different times he had paid on account for himself nineteen hundred dollars, six hundred dollars more than he was to have paid according to the first agreement. Although so shamefully defrauded in the first instance, he concluded to bear the disappointment as patiently as possible and get out of the lion's mouth as best he could. He continued to work on and save his money until he had actually come within one hundred dollars of paying two thousand. At this point instead of getting his free papers, as he firmly believed that he should, to his surprise one day he saw a notorious trader approaching the shop where he was at work. The errand of the trader was soon made known. Hezekiah simply requested time to go back to the other end of the shop to get his coat, which he seized and ran. He was pursued but not captured. This occurrence took place in Petersburg, Va., about the first of December, 1854. On the night of the same day of his escape from the trader, Hezekiah walked to Richmond and was there secreted under a floor by a friend. He was a tall man, of powerful muscular strength, about thirty years of age just in the prime of his manhood with enough pluck for two men. A heavy reward was offered for him, but the hunters failed to find him in this hiding-place under the floor. He strongly hoped to get away soon; on several occasions he made efforts, but only to be disappointed. At different times at least two captains had consented to afford him a private passage to Philadelphia, but like the impotent man at the pool, some one always got ahead of him. Two or three times he even managed to reach the boat upon the river, but had to return to his horrible place under the floor. Some were under the impression that he was an exceedingly unlucky man, and for a time captains feared to bring him. But his courage sustained him unwaveringly. Finally at the expiration of thirteen months, a private passage was procured for him on the steamship Pennsylvania, and with a little slave boy, seven years of age, (the son of the man who had secreted him) though placed in a very hard berth, he came safely to Philadelphia, greatly to the astonishment of the Vigilance Committee, who had waited for him so long that they had despaired of his ever coming. The joy that filled Hezekiah's bosom may be imagined but never described. None but one who had been in similar straits could enter into his feelings. He had left his wife Louisa, and two little boys, Henry and Manuel. His passage cost one hundred dollars. Hezekiah being a noted character, a number of the true friends were invited to take him by the hand and to rejoice with him over his noble struggles and his triumph; needing rest and recruiting, he was made welcome to stay, at the expense of the committee, as long as he might feel disposed so to do. He remained several days, and then went on to Canada rejoicing. After arriving there he returned his acknowledgment for favors received, &c., in the following letter: TORONTO Jan 24th 1856. MR. STILL:--this is to inform you that Myself and little boy, arrived safely in this city this day the 24th, at ten o'clock after a very long and pleasant trip. I had a great deal of attention paid to me while on the way. I owes a great deel of thanks to yourself and friends. I will just say hare that when I arrived at New York, I found Mr. Gibbs sick and could not be attended to there. However, I have arrived alright. You will please to give my respects to your friend that writes in the office with you, and to Mr Smith, also Mr Brown, and the friends, Mrs Still in particular. Friend Still you will please to send the enclosed to John Hill Petersburg I want him to send some things to me you will be so kind as to send your direction to them, so that the things to your care. if you do not see a convenient way to send it by hands, you will please direct your letter to Phillip Ubank Petersburg. Yours Respectfully H HILL. * * * * * JAMES--(BROTHER OF JOHN HENRY HILL). For three years James suffered in a place of concealment, before he found the way opened to escape. When he resolved on having his freedom he was much under twenty-one years of age, a brave young man, for three years, with unfailing spirit, making resistance in the city of Richmond to the slave Power! Such heroes in the days of Slavery, did much to make the infernal system insecure, and to keep alive the spirit of freedom in liberty-loving hearts the world over, wherever such deeds of noble daring were made known. But of his heroism, but little can be reported here, from the fact, that such accounts as were in the possession of the Committee, were never transferred from the loose slips of paper on which they were first written, to the regular record book. But an important letter from the friend with whom he was secreted, written a short while before he escaped (on a boat), gives some idea of his condition: RICHMOND, VA., February 16th, 1861. DEAR BROTHER STILL:--I received a message from brother Julius anderson, asking me to send the bundle on but I has no way to send it, I have been waiting and truly hopeing that you would make some arrangement with some person, and send for the parcel. I have no way to send it, and I cannot communicate the subject to a stranger there is a Way by the N.y. line, but they are all strangers to me, and of course I could not approach them With this subject for I would be indangered myself greatly. this business is left to you and to you alone to attend to in providing the way for me to send on the parcel, if you only make an arrangement with some person and let me know the said person and the article which they is to be sent on then I can send the parcel. unless you do make an arrangement with some person, and assure them that they will receive the funs for delivering the parcel this Business cannot be accomplished. it is in your power to try to make some provision for the article to be sent but it is not in my power to do so, the bundle has been on my hands now going on 3 years, and I have suffered a great deal of danger, and is still suffering the same. I have understood Sir that there were no difficul about the mone that you had it in your possession Ready for the bundle whenever it is delivered. But Sir as I have said I can do nothing now. Sir I ask you please through sympathy and feelings on my part & his try to provide a way for the bundle to be sent and relieve me of the danger in which I am in. you might succeed in making an arrangement with those on the New york Steamers for they dose such things but please let me know the man that the arrangement is made with--please give me an answer by the bearer. yours truly friend C.A. At last, the long, dark night passed away, and this young slave safely made his way to freedom, and proceeded to Boston, where he now resides. While the Committee was looked to for aid in the deliverance of this poor fellow, it was painful to feel that it was not in their power to answer his prayers--not until after his escape, was it possible so to do. But his escape to freedom gave them a satisfaction which no words can well express. At present, John Henry Hill is a justice of the peace in Petersburg. Hezekiah resides at West Point, and James in Boston, rejoicing that all men are free in the United States, at last. * * * * * FROM VIRGINIA, MARYLAND AND DELAWARE. ARCHER BARLOW, ALIAS EMIT ROBINS. This passenger arrived from Norfolk, Va. in 1853. For the last four years previous to escaping, he had been under the yoke of Dr. George Wilson. Archer declared that he had been "very badly treated" by the Doctor, which he urged as his reason for leaving. True, the doctor had been good enough to allow him to hire his time, for which he required Archer to pay the moderate sum of $120 per annum. As Archer had been "sickly" most of the time, during the last year, he complained that there was "no reduction" in his hire on this account. Upon reflection, therefore, Archer thought, if he had justice done him, he would be in possession of this "one hundred and twenty" himself, and all his other rights, instead of having to toil for another without pay; so he looked seriously into the matter of master and slave, and pretty soon resolved, that if others chose to make no effort to get away, for himself he would never be contented, until he was free. When a slave reached this decision, he was in a very hopeful state. He was near the Underground Rail Road, and was sure to find it, sooner or later. At this thoughtful period, Archer was thirty-one years of age, a man of medium size, and belonged to the two leading branches of southern humanity, _i.e._, he _was_ half white and half colored--a dark mulatto. His arrival in Philadelphia, per one of the Richmond steamers, was greeted with joy by the Vigilance Committee, who extended to him the usual aid and care, and forwarded him on to freedom. For a number of years, he has been a citizen of Boston. * * * * * SAMUEL BUSH, ALIAS WILLIAM OBLEBEE. This "piece of property" fled in the fall of 1853. As a specimen of this article of commerce, he evinced considerable intelligence. He was a man of dark color, although not totally free from the admixture of the "superior" southern blood in his veins; in stature, he was only ordinary. For leaving, he gave the following reasons: "I found that I was working for my master, for his advantage, and when I was sick, I had to pay just as much as if I were well--$7 a month. But my master was cross, and said that he intended to sell me--to do better by me another year. Times grew worse and worse, constantly. I thought, as I had heard, that if I could raise thirty dollars I could come away." He at once saw the value of money. To his mind it meant liberty from that moment. Thenceforth he decided to treasure up every dollar he could get hold of until he could accumulate at least enough to get out of "Old Virginia." He was a married man, and thought he had a wife and one child, but on reflection, he found out that they did not actually belong to him, but to a carpenter, by the name of Bailey. The man whom Samuel was compelled to call master was named Hoyle. The Committee's interview with Samuel was quite satisfactory, and they cheerfully accorded to him brotherly kindness and material aid at the same time. * * * * * JOHN SPENCER AND HIS SON WILLIAM, AND JAMES ALBERT. These individuals escaped from the eastern shore of Maryland, in the Spring of 1853, but were led to conclude that they could enjoy the freedom they had aimed to find, in New Jersey. They procured employment in the neighborhood of Haddonfield, some six or eight miles from Camden, New Jersey, and were succeeding, as they thought, very well. Things went on favorably for about three months, when to their alarm "slave-hunters were discovered in the neighborhood," and sufficient evidence was obtained to make it quite plain that, John, William and James were the identical persons, for whom the hunters were in "hot pursuit." When brought to the Committee, they were pretty thoroughly alarmed and felt very anxious to be safely off to Canada. While the Committee always rendered in such cases immediate protection and aid, they nevertheless, felt, in view of the imminent dangers existing under the fugitive slave law, that persons disposed to thus stop by the way, should be very plainly given to understand, that if they were captured they would have themselves the most to blame. But the dread of Slavery was strong in the minds of these fugitives, and they very fully realized their folly in stopping in New Jersey. The Committee procured their tickets, helped them to disguise themselves as much as possible, and admonished them not to stop short of Canada. * * * * * HETTY SCOTT ALIAS MARGARET DUNCANS AND DAUGHTER PRISCILLA. This mother and daughter had been the "chattels personal" of Daniel Coolby of Harvard, Md. Their lot had been that of ordinary slaves in the country, on farms, &c. The motive which prompted them to escape was the fact that their master had "threatened to sell" them. He had a right to do so; but Hetty was a little squeamish on this point and took great umbrage at her "kind master." In this "disobedient" state of mind, she determined, if hard struggling would enable her, to defeat the threats of Mr. Daniel Coolby, that he should not much longer have the satisfaction of enjoying the fruit of the toil of herself and offspring. She at once began to prepare for her journey. She had three children of her own to bring, besides she was intimately acquainted with a young man and a young woman, both slaves, to whom she felt that it would be safe to confide her plans with a view of inviting them to accompany her. The young couple were ready converts to the eloquent speech delivered to them by Hetty on Freedom, and were quite willing to accept her as their leader in the emergency. Up to the hour of setting out on their lonely and fatiguing journey, arrangements were being carefully completed, so that there should be no delay of any kind. At the appointed hour they were all moving northward in good order. Arriving at Quakertown, Pa., they found friends of the slave, who welcomed them to their homes and sympathy, gladdening the hearts of all concerned. For prudential reasons it was deemed desirable to separate the party, to send some one way and some another. Thus safely, through the kind offices and aid of the friends at Quakertown, they were duly forwarded on to the Committee in Philadelphia. Here similar acts of charity were extended to them, and they were directed on to Canada. * * * * * ROBERT FISHER. THIS PASSENGER AVAILS HIMSELF OF HOLIDAY WEEK, BETWEEN CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR'S, TO MAKE HIS NORTHERN TRIP. Robert was about thirty years of age, dark color, quite tall, and in talking with him a little while, it was soon discovered that Slavery had not crushed all the brains out of his head by a good deal. Nor was he so much attached to his "kind-hearted master," John Edward Jackson, of Anne Arundel, Md., or his old fiddle, that he was contented and happy while in bondage. Far from it. The fact was, that he hated Slavery so decidedly and had such a clear common sense-like view of the evils and misery of the system, that he declared he had as a matter of principle refrained from marrying, in order that he might have no reason to grieve over having added to the woes of slaves. Nor did he wish to be encumbered, if the opportunity offered to escape. According to law he was entitled to his freedom at the age of twenty-five. But what right had a negro, which white slave-holders were "bound to respect?" Many who had been willed free, were held just as firmly in Slavery, as if no will had ever been made. Robert had too much sense to suppose that he could gain anything by seeking legal redress. This method, therefore, was considered out of the question. But in the meantime he was growing very naturally in favor of the Underground Rail Road. From his experience Robert did not hesitate to say that his master was "mean," "a very hard man," who would work his servants early and late, without allowing them food and clothing sufficient to shield them from the cold and hunger. Robert certainly had unmistakable marks about him, of having been used roughly. He thought very well of Nathan Harris, a fellow-servant belonging to the same owner, and he made up his mind, if Nathan would join him, neither the length of the journey, the loneliness of night travel, the coldness of the weather, the fear of the slave-hunter, nor the scantiness of their means should deter him from making his way to freedom. Nathan listened to the proposal, and was suddenly converted to freedom, and the two united during Christmas week, 1854, and set out on the Underground Rail Road. It is needless to say that they had trying difficulties to encounter. These they expected, but all were overcome, and they reached the Vigilance Committee, in Philadelphia safely, and were cordially welcomed. During the interview, a full interchange of thought resulted, the fugitives were well cared for, and in due time both were forwarded on, free of cost. * * * * * HANSEL WAPLES. This traveler arrived from Millsboro, Indian River, Delaware, where he was owned by Wm. E. Burton. While Hansel did not really own himself, he had the reputation of having a wife and six children. In June, some six months prior to her husband's arrival, Hansel's wife had been allowed by her mistress to go out on a begging expedition, to raise money to buy herself; but contrary to the expectation of her mistress she never returned. Doubtless the mistress looked upon this course as a piece of the most highhanded stealing. Hansel did not speak of his owner as being a hard man, but on the contrary he thought that he was about as "good" as the best that he was acquainted with. While this was true, however, Hansel had quite good ground for believing that his master was about to sell him. Dreading this fate he made up his mind to go in pursuit of his wife to a Free state. Exactly where to look or how to find her he could not tell. The Committee advised him to "search in Canada." And in order to enable him to get on quickly and safely, the Committee aided him with money, &c., in 1853. * * * * * ROSE ANNA TONNELL ALIAS MARIA HYDE. She fled from Isaac Tonnell of Georgetown, Delaware, in Christmas week, 1853. A young woman with a little boy of seven years of age accompanied Rose Anna. Further than the simple fact of their having thus safely arrived, except the expense incurred by the Committee, no other particulars appear on the records. * * * * * MARY ENNIS ALIAS LICIA HEMMIN. Mary arrived with her two children in the early Spring of 1854. The mother was a woman of about thirty-three years of age, quite tall, with a countenance and general appearance well fitted to awaken sympathy at first sight. Her oldest child was a little girl seven years of age, named Lydia; the other was named Louisa Caroline, three years of age, both promising in appearance. They were the so called property of John Ennis, of Georgetown, Delaware. For their flight they chose the dead of Winter. After leaving they made their way to West Chester, and there found friends and security for several weeks, up to the time they reached Philadelphia. Probably the friends with whom they stopped thought the weather too inclement for a woman with children dependent on her support to travel. Long before this mother escaped, thoughts of liberty filled her heart. She was ever watching for an opportunity, that would encourage her to hope for safety, when once the attempt should be made. Until, however, she was convinced that her two children were to be sold, she could not quite muster courage to set out on the journey. This threat to sell proved in multitudes of instances, "the last straw on the camel's back." When nothing else would start them this would. Mary and her children were the only slaves owned by this Ennis, consequently her duties were that of "Jack of all trades;" sometimes in the field and sometimes in the barn, as well as in the kitchen, by which, it is needless to say, that her life was rendered servile to the last degree. To bind up the broken heart of such a poor slave mother, and to aid such tender plants as were these little girls, from such a wretched state of barbarism as existed in poor little Delaware, was doubly gratifying to the Committee. * * * * * "SAM," "ISAAC," "PERRY," "CHARLES," AND "GREEN." ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD.--Ran away on Saturday night, the 20th September, 1856, from the subscriber, living in the ninth district of Carroll county, Maryland, two Negro Men, SAM and ISAAC. Sam calls himself Samuel Sims; he is very black; shows his teeth very much when he laughs; no perceptible marks; he is 5 feet 8 inches high, and about thirty years of age, but has the appearance of being much older. [Illustration: ] Isaac calls himself Isaac Dotson he is about nineteen years of age, stout made, but rather chunky; broad across his shoulders, he is about five feet five or six inches high, always appears to be in a good humor; laughs a good deal, and runs on with a good deal of foolishness; he is of very light color, almost yellow, might be called a yellow boy; has no perceptible marks. They have such a variety of clothing that it is almost useless to say anything about them. No doubt they will change their names. I will give the above reward for them, of one thousand dollars, or five hundred dollars for either of them, if taken and lodged in any jail in Maryland, so that I get them again. Also two of Mr. Dade's, living in the neighborhood, went the same time; no doubt they are all in company together. THOMAS B. OWINGS. s24-6tWit*|| These passengers reached the Philadelphia station, about the 24th of September, 1856, five days after they escaped from Carroll county. They were in fine spirits, and had borne the fatigue and privation of travel bravely. A free and interesting interview took place, between these passengers and the Committee, eliciting much information, especially with regard to the workings of the system on the farms, from which they had the good luck to flee. Each of the party was thoroughly questioned, about how time had passed with them at home, or rather in the prison house, what kind of men their masters were, how they fed and clothed, if they whipped, bought or sold, whether they were members of church, or not, and many more questions needless to enumerate bearing on the domestic relation which had existed between themselves and their masters. These queries they answered in their own way, with intelligence. Upon the whole, their lot in Slavery had been rather more favorable than the average run of slaves. No record was made of any very severe treatment. In fact, the notices made of them were very brief, and, but for the elaborate way in which they were described in the "Baltimore Sun," by their owners, their narratives would hardly be considered of sufficient interest to record. The heavy rewards, beautiful descriptions, and elegant illustrations in the "Sun," were very attractive reading. The Vigilance Committee took the "Sun," for nothing else under the sun but for this special literature, and for this purpose they always considered the "Sun" a cheap and reliable paper. A slave man or woman, running for life, he with a bundle on his back or she with a babe in her arms, was always a very interesting sight, and should always be held in remembrance. Likewise the descriptions given by slave-holders, as a general rule, showed considerable artistic powers and a most thorough knowledge of the physical outlines of this peculiar property. Indeed, the art must have been studied attentively for practical purposes. When the advertisements were received in advance of arrivals, which was always the case, the descriptions generally were found so lifelike, that the Committee preferred to take them in preference to putting themselves to the labor of writing out new ones, for future reference. This we think, ought not to be complained of by any who were so unfortunate as to lose wayward servants, as it is but fair to give credit to all concerned. True, sometimes some of these beautiful advertisements were open to gentle criticism. The one at the head of this report, is clearly of this character. For instance, in describing Isaac, Mr. Thomas B. Owings, represents him as being of a "very light color," "almost yellow," "might be called a yellow boy." In the next breath he has no perceptible marks. Now, if he is "very light," that is a well-known southern mark, admitted everywhere. A hint to the wise is sufficient. However, judging from what was seen of Isaac in Philadelphia, there was more cunning than "foolishness" about him. Slaves sometimes, when wanting to get away, would make their owners believe that they were very happy and contented. And, in using this kind of foolishness, would keep up appearances until an opportunity offered for an escape. So Isaac might have possessed this sagacity, which appeared like nonsense to his master. That slave-holders, above all others, were in the habit of taking special pains to encourage foolishness, loud laughing, banjo playing, low dancing, etc., in the place of education, virtue, self-respect and manly carriage, slave-holders themselves are witnesses. As Mr. Robert Dade was also a loser, equally with Mr. Thomas B. Owings, and as his advertisement was of the same liberality and high tone, it seems but fitting that it should come in just here, to give weight and completeness to the story. Both Owings and Dade showed a considerable degree of southern chivalry in the liberality of their rewards. Doubtless, the large sums thus offered awakened a lively feeling in the breasts of old slave-hunters. But it is to be supposed that the artful fugitives safely reached Philadelphia before the hunters got even the first scent on their track. Up to the present hour, with the owners all may be profound mystery; if so, it is to be hoped, that they may feel some interest in the solution of these wonders. The articles so accurately described must now be permitted to testify in their own words, as taken from the records. Green Modock acknowledges that he was owned by William Dorsey, Perry by Robert Dade, Sam and Isaac by Thomas Owings, all farmers, and all "tough" and "pretty mean men." Sam and Isaac had other names with them, but not such a variety of clothing as their master might have supposed. Sam said he left because his master threatened to sell him to Georgia, and he believed that he meant so to do, as he had sold all his brothers and sisters to Georgia some time before he escaped. But this was not all. Sam declared his master had threatened to shoot him a short while before he left. This was the last straw on the camel's back. Sam's heart was in Canada ever after that. In traveling he resolved that nothing should stop him. Charles offered the same excuse as did Sam. He had been threatened with the auction-block. He left his mother free, but four sisters he left in chains. As these men spoke of their tough owners and bad treatment in Slavery, they expressed their indignation at the idea that Owings, Dade and Dorsey had dared to rob them of their God-given rights. They were only ignorant farm hands. As they drank in the free air, the thought of their wrongs aroused all their manhood. They were all young men, hale and stout, with strong resolutions to make Canada their future home. The Committee encouraged them in this, and aided them for humanity's sake.--Mr. Robert Dade's advertisement speaks for itself as follows: RAN AWAY--On Saturday night, 20th inst., from the subscriber, living near Mount Airy P.O., Carroll county, two Negro men, PERRY and CHARLES. Perry is quite dark, full face; is about 5 feet 8 or 9 inches high; has a scar on one of his hands, and one on his legs, caused by a cut from a scythe; 25 years old. Charles is of a copper color, about 5 feet 9 or 10 inches high; round shouldered, with small whiskers; has one crooked finger that he cannot straighten, and a scar on his right leg, caused by the cut of a scythe; 22 years old. I will give two hundred and fifty dollars each, if taken in the State and returned to me, or secured in some jail so that I can get them again, or a $1,000 for the two, or $500 each, if taken out of the State, and secured in some jail in this State so that I can get them again. ROBERT DADE. [Illustration: ] s23-3f. FROM RICHMOND AND NORFOLK, VA. WILLIAM B. WHITE, SUSAN BROOKS AND WILLIAM HENRY ATKINS.--STOWED AWAY IN THE STEAMSHIP CITY OF RICHMOND. But for their hope of liberty, their uncomfortable position could hardly have been endured by these fugitives. William had been compelled to dig and delve, to earn bread and butter, clothing and luxuries, houses and land, education and ease for H.B. Dickinson, of Richmond. William smarted frequently; but what could he do? Complaint from a slave was a crime of the deepest dye. So William dug away mutely, but continued to think, nevertheless. He was a man of about thirty-six years of age, of dark chestnut color, medium size, and of pleasant manners to say the least. His owner was a tobacco manufacturer, who held some thirty slaves in his own right, besides hiring a great many others. William was regularly employed by day in his master's tobacco factory. He was likewise employed, as one of the carriers of the Richmond Dispatch; the time allotted to fill the duties of this office, was however, before sunrise in the morning. It is but just to state, in favor of his master, that William was himself the receiver of a part of the pay for this night work. It was by this means William procured clothing and certain other necessaries. From William's report of his master, he was by no means among the worst of slave-holders in Richmond; he did not himself flog, but the overseer was allowed to conduct this business, when it was considered necessary. For a long time William had cherished a strong desire to be free, and had gone so far on several occasions as to make unsuccessful attempts to accomplish this end. At last he was only apprised of his opportunity to carry his wishes into practice a few moments before the hour for the starting of the Underground Rail Road train. Being on the watch, he hailed the privilege, and left without looking back. True he left his wife and two children, who were free, and a son also who was owned by Warner Toliver, of Gloucester county, Va. We leave the reader to decide for himself, whether William did right or wrong, and who was responsible for the sorrow of both husband and wife caused by the husband's course. The Committee received him as a true and honest friend of freedom, and as such aided him. * * * * * SUSAN BROOKS. Susan was also a passenger on the same ship that brought Wm. B. White. She was from Norfolk. Her toil, body and strength were claimed by Thomas Eckels, Esq., a man of wealth and likewise a man of intemperance. With those who regarded Slavery as a "divine institution," intemperance was scarcely a mote, in the eyes of such. For sixteen years, Susan had been in the habit of hiring her time, for which she was required to pay five dollars per month. As she had the reputation of being a good cook and chambermaid, she was employed steadily, sometimes on boats. This sum may therefore be considered reasonable. Owing to the death of her husband, about a year previous to her escape, she had suffered greatly, so much so, that on two or three occasions, she had fallen into alarming fits,--a fact by no means agreeable to her owner, as he feared that the traders on learning her failing health would underrate her on this account. But Susan was rather thankful for these signs of weakness, as she was thereby enabled to mature her plans and thus to elude detection. Her son having gone on ahead to Canada about six months in advance of her, she felt that she had strong ties in the goodly land. Every day she remained in bondage, the cords bound her more tightly, and "weeks seemed like months, and months like years," so abhorrent had the peculiar institution become to her in every particular. In this state of mind, she saw no other way, than by submitting to be secreted, until an opportunity should offer, via the Underground Rail Road. So for four months, like a true and earnest woman, she endured a great "fight of affliction," in this horrible place. But the thought of freedom enabled her to keep her courage up, until the glad news was conveyed to her that all things were ready, providing that she could get safely to the boat, on which she was to be secreted. How she succeeded in so doing the record book fails to explain. One of the methods, which used to succeed very well, in skillful and brave hands, was this: In order to avoid suspicion, the woman intending to be secreted, approached the boat with a clean ironed shirt on her arm, bare headed and in her usual working dress, looking good-natured of course, and as if she were simply conveying the shirt to one of the men on the boat. The attention of the officer on the watch would not for a moment be attracted by a custom so common as this. Thus safely on the boat, the man whose business it was to put this piece of property in the most safe Underground Rail Road place, if he saw that every thing looked favorable, would quickly arrange matters without being missed from his duties. In numerous instances, officers were outwitted in this way. As to what Susan had seen in the way of hardships, whether in relation to herself or others, her story was most interesting; but it may here be passed in order to make room for others. She left one sister, named Mary Ann Tharagood, who was wanting to come away very much. Susan was a woman of dark color, round built, medium height, and about forty years of age when she escaped in 1854. * * * * * WILLIAM HENRY ATKINS. William Henry was also a fellow-passenger on the same boat with William B. White and Susan Cooke. These might be set down, as first-class Underground Rail Road travelers. Henry was a very likely-looking article. He was quite smart, about six feet high, a dark mulatto, and was owned by a Baptist minister. For some cause not stated on the books, not long before leaving, Henry had received a notice from his owner, (the Baptist Minister) that he might hunt himself a new master as soon as possible. This was a business that Henry had no relish for. The owner he already had, he concluded bad enough in all conscience, and it did not occur to him that hunting another would mend the matter much. So in thinking over the situation, he was "taken sick." He felt the need of a little time to reflect upon matters of very weighty moment involving his freedom. So when he was called upon one day to go to his regular toil, the answer was, "I am sick, I am not able to budge hardly." The excuse took and Henry attended faithfully to his "sick business," for the time being, while on the other hand, the Baptist Minister waited patiently all the while for William to get well enough for hunting a new master. What had to be done, needed to be done quickly, before his master's patience was exhausted. William soon had matters arranged for traveling North. He had a wife, Eliza, for whom he felt the greatest affection; but as he viewed matters at that time, he concluded that he could really do more for her in Canada than he could in Norfolk. He saw no chance, either under the Baptist minister, or under a new master. His wife was owned by Susan Langely. When the hour arrived to start, as brave men usually do, Henry, having counted all the cost, was in his place on the boat with his face towards Canada. How he looked at matters on John Bull's side of the house, letters from Henry will abundantly reveal as follows: ST. CATHARINES, August 4, 1854. MY DEAR SIR:--It is with plesure that I now take my pen to inform you that I am well at present and I hope that these few lines may find you injoying good health, and will you plese to be so kind as to send a leter down home for me if you plese to my wife, the reason that I beg the favor of you I have written to you several times and never recieve no answer, she don't no whar I am at I would like her to no, if it is posible elizeran Actkins, and when you write will you plese to send me all the news, give my respect to all the fambley and allso to Mr lundey and his fambley and tell him plese to send me those books if you plese the first chance you can git. Mrs. Wood sends her love to Mr. Still answer this as soon as on hand, the boys all send their love to all, the reason why i sends for a answer write away i expect to live this and go up west nex mounth not to stay to git some land, i have no more at present, i remain your friend. W.H. ACTKINS. ST. CATHARINES, C.W., October 5th, 1854. MR. WILLIAM STILL:--_Dear Friend_:--I take the liberty to address to you a few lines in behalf of my wife, who is still at Norfolk, Va. I have heard by my friend Richmond Bohm, who arrived lately, that she was in the hands of my friend Henry Lovey (the same who had me in hand at the time I started). I understood that she was about to make her start this month, and that she was only waiting for me to send her some means. I would like for you to communicate the substance of this letter to my wife, through my friend Henry Lovey, and for her to come on as soon as she can. I would like to have my wife write to me a few lines by the first opportunity. She could write to you in Philadelphia, 31 North Fifth street. I wish to send my love to you & your family & would like for you to answer this letter with the least possible delay in the care of Hiram Wilson. Very respectfully yours, W.H. ATKINS. P.S. I would like for my friend Henry Lovey to send my wife right on to Philadelphia; not to stop for want of means, for I will forward means on to my friend Wm Still. My love to my father & mother, my friend Lovey & to all my inquiring friends. If you cannot find it convenient to write, please forward this by the Boat. H.W.A. * * * * * FOUR ARRIVALS. CHARLOTTE AND HARRIET ESCAPE IN DEEP MOURNING--MASTER IN THE SAME CAR HUNTING FOR THEM, SEES THEM, BUT DOES NOT KNOW THEM--WHITE LADY AND CHILD WITH A COLORED COACHMAN, TRAVELING--AT CHAMBERSBUEG AT A HOTEL, THE PROPRIETOR DETECTS THEM AS U.G.R.R. PASSENGERS--THREE "LIKELY" YOUNG MEN FROM BALTIMORE--"FOUR LARGE AND TWO SMALL HAMS"--POLICE OFFICES IMPARTING INFORMATION AT THE ANTI-SLAVERY OFFICE--U.G.R.R. PASSENGERS TRAVELING WITH THEIR MASTERS' HORSES AND CARRIAGES--"BREAK DOWN"--CONFLICT WITH WHITE MEN--SIX PASSENGERS RIDING TWO HORSES, &c. About the 31st of May, 1856, an exceedingly anxious state of feeling existed with the active Committee in Philadelphia. In the course of twenty-four hours four arrivals had come to hand from different localities. The circumstances connected with the escape of each party, being so unusual, there was scarcely ground for any other conclusion than that disaster was imminent, if not impossible to be averted. It was a day long to be remembered. Aside from the danger, however, a more encouraging hour had never presented itself in the history of the Road. The courage, which had so often been shown in the face of great danger, satisfied the Committee that there were heroes and heroines among these passengers, fully entitled to the applause of the liberty-loving citizens of Brotherly Love. The very idea of having to walk for days and nights in succession, over strange roads, through by-ways, and valleys, over mountains, and marshes, was fitted to appal the bravest hearts, especially where women and children were concerned. Being familiar with such cases, the Committee was delighted beyond measure to observe how wisely and successfully each of these parties had managed to overcome these difficulties. [Illustration: ] Party No. 1 consisted of Charlotte Giles and Harriet Eglin, owned by Capt. Wm. Applegarth and John Delahay. Neither of these girls had any great complaint to make on the score of ill-treatment endured. So they contrived each to get a suit of mourning, with heavy black veils, and thus dressed, apparently absorbed with grief, with a friend to pass them to the Baltimore depot (hard place to pass, except aided by an individual well known to the R.R. company), they took a direct course for Philadelphia. While seated in the car, before leaving Baltimore (where slaves and masters both belonged), who should enter but the master of one of the girls! In a very excited manner, he hurriedly approached Charlotte and Harriet, who were apparently weeping. Peeping under their veils, "What is your name," exclaimed the excited gentleman. "Mary, sir," sobbed Charlotte. "What is your name?" (to the other mourner) "Lizzie, sir," was the faint reply. On rushed the excited gentleman as if moved by steam--through the cars, looking for his property; not finding it, he passed out of the cars, and to the delight of Charlotte and Harriet soon disappeared. Fair business men would be likely to look at this conduct on the part of the two girls in the light of a "sharp practice." In military parlance it might be regarded as excellent strategy. Be this as it may, the Underground Rail Road passengers arrived safely at the Philadelphia station and were gladly received. A brief stay in the city was thought prudent lest the hunters might be on the pursuit. They were, therefore, retained in safe quarters. In the meantime, Arrival No. 2 reached the Committee. It consisted of a colored man, a white woman and a child, ten years old. This case created no little surprise. Not that quite a number of passengers, fair enough to pass for white, with just a slight tinge of colored blood in their veins, even sons and daughters of some of the F.F.V., had not on various occasions come over the U.G.R.R. But this party was peculiar. An explanation was sought, which resulted in ascertaining that the party was from Leesburg, Virginia; that David, the colored man, was about twenty-seven years of age, intelligent, and was owned, or claimed by Joshua Pusey. David had no taste for Slavery, indeed, felt that it would be impossible for him to adapt himself to a life of servitude for the special benefit of others; he had, already, as he thought, been dealt with very wrongfully by Pusey, who had deprived him of many years of the best part of his life, and would continue thus to wrong him, if he did not make a resolute effort to get away. So after thinking of various plans, he determined not to run off as a slave with his "budget on his back," but to "travel as a coachman," under the "protection of a white lady." In planning this pleasant scheme, David was not blind to the fact that neither himself nor the "white lady," with whom he proposed to travel, possessed either horse or carriage. But his master happened to have a vehicle that would answer for the occasion. David reasoned that as Joshua, his so called master, had deprived him of his just dues for so many years, he had a right to borrow, or take without borrowing, one of Joshua's horses for the expedition. The plan was submitted to the lady, and was approved, and a mutual understanding here entered into, that she should hire a carriage, and take also her little girl with them. The lady was to assume the proprietorship of the horse, carriage and coachman. In so doing all dangers would be, in their judgment, averted. The scheme being all ready for execution, the time for departure was fixed, the carriage hired, David having secured his master Joshua's horse, and off they started in the direction of Pennsylvania. White people being so accustomed to riding, and colored people to driving, the party looked all right. No one suspected them, that they were aware of, while passing through Virginia. [Illustration: ] On reaching Chambersburg, Pa., in the evening, they drove to a hotel, the lady alighted, holding by the hand her well dressed and nice-looking little daughter, bearing herself with as independent an air as if she had owned twenty such boys as accompanied her as coachman. She did not hesitate to enter and request accommodations for the night, for herself, daughter, coachman, and horse. Being politely told that they could be accommodated, all that was necessary was, that the lady should show off to the best advantage possible. The same duty also rested with weight upon the mind of David. The night passed safely and the morning was ushered in with bright hopes which were overcast but only for a moment, however. Breakfast having been ordered and partaken of, to the lady's surprise, just as she was in the act of paying the bill, the proprietor of the hotel intimated that he thought that matters "looked a little suspicious," in other words, he said plainly, that he "believed that it was an Underground Rail Road movement;" but being an obliging hotel-keeper, he assured her at the same time, that he "would not betray them." Just here it was with them as it would have been on any other rail road when things threaten to come to a stand; they could do nothing more than make their way out of the peril as best they could. One thing they decided to do immediately, namely, to "leave the horse and carriage," and try other modes of travel. They concluded to take the regular passenger cars. In this way they reached Philadelphia. In Harrisburg, they had sought and received instructions how to find the Committee in Philadelphia. What relations had previously existed between David and this lady in Virginia, the Committee knew not. It looked more like the time spoken of in Isaiah, where it is said, "And a little child shall lead them," than any thing that had ever been previously witnessed on the Underground Rail Road. The Underground Rail Road never practised the proscription governing other roads, on account of race, color, or previous condition. All were welcome to its immunities, white or colored, when the object to be gained favored freedom, or weakened Slavery. As the sole aim apparent in this case was freedom for the slave the Committee received these travellers as Underground Rail Road passengers. Arrival No. 3. Charles H. Ringold, Robert Smith, and John Henry Richards, all from Baltimore. Their ages ranged from twenty to twenty-four years. They were in appearance of the class most inviting to men who were in the business of buying and selling slaves. Charles and John were owned by James Hodges, and Robert by Wm. H. Normis, living in Baltimore. This is all that the records contain of them. The exciting and hurrying times when they were in charge of the Committee probably forbade the writing out of a more detailed account of them, as was often the case. With the above three arrivals on hand, it may be seen how great was the danger to which all concerned were exposed on account of the bold and open manner in which these parties had escaped from the land of the peculiar institution. Notwithstanding, a feeling of very great gratification existed in view of the success attending the new and adventurous modes of traveling. Indulging in reflections of this sort, the writer on going from his dinner that day to the anti-slavery office, to his surprise found an officer awaiting his coming. Said officer was of the mayor's police force. Before many moments had been allowed to pass, in which to conjecture his errand, the officer, evidently burdened with the importance of his mission, began to state his business substantially as follows: "I have just received a telegraphic despatch from a slave-holder living in Maryland, informing me that six slaves had escaped from him, and that he had reason to believe that they were on their way to Philadelphia, and would come in the regular train direct from Harrisburg; furthermore I am requested to be at the depot on the arrival of the train to arrest the whole party, for whom a reward of $1300 is offered. Now I am not the man for this business. I would have nothing to do with the contemptible work of arresting fugitives. I'd rather help them off. What I am telling you is confidential. My object in coming to the office is simply to notify the Vigilance Committee so that they may be on the look-out for them at the depot this evening and get them out of danger as soon as possible. This is the way I feel about them; but I shall telegraph back that I will be on the look-out." While the officer was giving this information he was listened to most attentively, and every word he uttered was carefully weighed. An air of truthfulness, however, was apparent; nevertheless he was a stranger and there was cause for great cautiousness. During the interview an unopened telegraphic despatch which had come to hand during the writer's absence, lay on the desk. Impressed with the belief that it might shed light on the officer's story, the first opportunity that offered, it was seized, opened, and it read as follows: (Copied from the original.) HARRISBURG, May 31st, 1856. WM. STILL, N. 5th St.:--I have sent via at two o'clock four large and two small hams. JOS. C. BUSTILL. Here there was no room for further doubt, but much need for vigilance. Although the despatch was not read to the officer, not that his story was doubted, but purely for prudential reasons, he was nevertheless given to understand, that it was about the same party, and that they would be duly looked after. It would hardly have been understood by the officer, had he been permitted to read it so guardedly was it worded, it was indeed dead language to all save the initiated. In one particular especially, relative to the depot where they were expected to arrive, the officer was in the dark, as his despatch pointed to the regular train, and of course to the depot at Eleventh and Market streets. The Underground Rail Road despatch on the contrary pointed to Broad and Callowhill streets "Via," _i.e._ Reading. As notified, that evening the "four large and two small hams" arrived, and turned out to be of the very finest quality, just such as any trader would have paid the highest market price for. Being mindful of the great danger of the hour, there was felt to be more occasion just then for anxiety and watchfulness, than for cheering and hurrahing over the brave passengers. To provide for them in the usual manner, in view of the threatening aspect of affairs, could not be thought of. In this critical hour it devolved upon a member of the Committee, for the safety of all parties, to find new and separate places of accommodation, especially for the six known to be pursued. To be stored in other than private families would not answer. Three or four such were visited at once; after learning of the danger much sympathy was expressed, but one after another made excuses and refused. This was painful, for the parties had plenty of house room, were identified with the oppressed race, and on public meeting occasions made loud professions of devotion to the cause of the fugitive, &c. The memory of the hour and circumstances is still fresh. Accommodations were finally procured for a number of the fugitives with a widow woman, (Ann Laws) whose opportunities for succor were far less than at the places where refusals had been met with. But Mrs. L. was kind-hearted, and nobly manifested a willingness to do all that she could for their safety. Of course the Committee felt bound to bear whatever expense might necessarily be incurred. Here some of the passengers were kept for several days, strictly private, long enough to give the slave-hunters full opportunity to tire themselves, and give up the chase in despair. Some belonging to the former arrivals had also to be similarly kept for the same reasons. Through careful management all were succored and cared for. Whilst much interesting information was obtained from these several arrivals: the incidents connected with their lives in Slavery, and when escaping were but briefly written out. Of this fourth arrival, however, the following intelligence will doubtless be highly gratifying to the friends of freedom, wherever the labors of the Underground Rail Road may be appreciated. The people round about Hagerstown, Maryland, may like to know how these "articles" got off so successfully, the circumstances of their escape having doubtless created some excitement in that region of the country. Arrival No. 4. Charles Bird, George Dorsey, Angeline Brown, Albert Brown, Charles Brown and Jane Scott. Charles was twenty-four years of age, quite dark, of quick motion, and ready speech, and in every way appearing as though he could take care of himself. He had occupied the condition of a farm laborer. This calling he concluded to forsake, not because he disliked farming, but simply to get rid of David Clargart, who professed to own him, and compelled him to work without pay, "for nothing." While Charles spoke favorably of Clargart as a man, to the extent, at all events, of testifying that he was not what was called a hard man, nevertheless Charles was so decidedly opposed to Slavery that he felt compelled to look out for himself. Serving another man on the no pay principle, at the same time liable to be flogged, and sold at the pleasure of another, Charles felt was worse than heathenish viewed in any light whatsoever. He was prepared therefore, to leave without delay. He had four sisters in the hands of Clargart, but what could he do for them but leave them to Providence. The next on the list was George Dorsey, a comrade of Charles. He was a young man, of medium size, mixed blood, intelligent, and a brave fellow as will appear presently. This party in order to get over the road as expeditiously as possible, availed themselves of their master's horses and wagon and moved off civilly and respectably. About nine miles from home on the road, a couple of white men, finding their carriage broken down approached them, unceremoniously seized the horses by the reins and were evidently about to assume authority, supposing that the boys would surrender at once. But instead of so doing, the boys struck away at them with all their might, with their large clubs, not even waiting to hear what these superior individuals wanted. The effect of the clubs brought them prostrate in the road, in an attitude resembling two men dreaming, (it was in the night.) The victorious passengers, seeing that the smashed up carriage could be of no further use to them, quickly conceived the idea of unhitching and attempting further pursuit on horseback. Each horse was required to carry three passengers. So up they mounted and off they galloped with the horses' heads turned directly towards Pennsylvania. No further difficulty presented itself until after they had traveled some forty miles. Here the poor horses broke down, and had to be abandoned. The fugitives were hopeful, but of the difficulties ahead they wot not; surely no flowery beds of ease awaited them. For one whole week they were obliged to fare as they could, out in the woods, over the mountains, &c. How they overcame the trials in this situation we cannot undertake to describe. Suffice it to say, at the end of the time above mentioned they managed to reach Harrisburg and found assistance as already intimated. [Illustration: ] George and Angeline, (who was his sister) with her two boys had a considerable amount of white blood in their veins, and belonged to a wealthy man by the name of George Schaeffer, who was in the milling business. They were of one mind in representing him as a hard man. "He would often threaten to sell, and was very hard to please." George and Angeline left their mother and ten brothers and sisters. Jane was a well-grown girl, smart, and not bad-looking, with a fine brown skin, and was also owned by Schaeffer. Letters from the enterprising Charlotte and Harriet (arrival No. 1), brought the gratifying intelligence, that they had found good homes in Western New York, and valued their freedom highly. Three out of quite a number of letters received from them from time to time are subjoined. SENNETT, June, 1856. MR. WILLIAM STILL:--_Dear Sir_:--I am happy to tell you that Charlotte Gildes and myself have got along thus far safely. We have had no trouble and found friends all the way along, for which we feel very thankful to you and to all our friends on the road since we left. We reached Mr. Loguen's in Syracuse, on last Tuesday evening & on Wednesday two gentlemen from this community called and we went with them to work in their families. What I wish you would do is to be so kind as to send our clothes to this place if they should fall into your hands. We hope our uncle in Baltimore will get the letter Charlotte wrote to him last Sabbath, while we were at your house, concerning the clothes. Perhaps the best would be to send them to Syracuse to the _care of Mr. Loguen_ and he will send them to us. This will more certainly ensure our getting them. If you hear anything that would be interesting to Charlotte or me from Baltimore, please direct a letter to us to this place, to the care of Revd. Chas. Anderson, Sennett, Cayuga Co., N.Y. Please give my love and Charlotte's to Mrs. Still and thank her for her kindness to us while at your house. Your affectionate friend, HARRIET EGLIN. SECOND LETTER. SENNETT, July 31st, 1856. MR. WM. STILL:--_My Dear Friend_:--I have just received your note of 29th inst. and allow me dear sir, to assure you that the only letter I have written, is the one you received, an answer to which you sent me. I never wrote to Baltimore, nor did any person write for me there, and it is with _indescribable grief_, that I hear what your letter communicates to me, of those who you say have gotten into difficulty on my account. My Cousin Charlotte who came with me, got into a good place in this vicinity, but she could not content herself to stay here but just _one week_--she then went to Canada--and she is the one who by writing (if any one), has brought this trouble upon those to whom you refer in Baltimore. She has written me two letters from Canada, and by neither of them can I ascertain _where she lives_--her letters are mailed at Suspension Bridge, but she does not live there as her letters show. In the first she does not even sign her name. She has evidently employed some person to write, who is nearly as ignorant as herself. If I knew where to find her I would find out _what_ she has written. I don't know but she has told where I live, and may yet get me and my friends here, in trouble too, as she has some in other places. I don't wish to have you trouble yourself about my clothes, I am in a place where I can get all the clothes I want or need. Will you please write me when convenient and tell me what you hear about those who I fear are suffering as the result of their kindness to me? May God, in some way, grant them deliverance. Oh the misery, the sorrow, which this cursed system of Slavery is constantly bringing upon millions in this land of boasted freedom! Can you tell me where Sarah King is, who was at your house when I was there? She was going to Canada to meet her husband. Give my love to Mrs. Still & accept the same yourself. Your much indebted & obliged friend, HARRIET EGLIN. The "difficulty" about which Harriet expressed so much regret in the above letter, had reference to a letter supposed to have been written by her friend Charlotte to Baltimore, about her clothing. It had been intercepted, and in this way, a clue was obtained by one of the owners as to how they escaped, who aided them, etc. On the strength of the information thus obtained, a well-known colored man, named Adams, was straightway arrested and put in prison at the instance of one of the owners, and also a suit was at the same time instituted against the Rail Road Company for damages--by which steps quite a huge excitement was created in Baltimore. As to the colored man Adams, the prospect looked simply hopeless. Many hearts were sad in view of the doom which they feared would fall upon him for obeying a humane impulse (he had put the girls on the cars). But with the Rail Road Company it was a different matter; they had money, power, friends, etc., and could defy the courts. In the course of a few months, when the suit against Adams and the Rail Road Company came up, the Rail Road Company proved in court, in defense, that the prosecutor entered the cars in search of his runaway, and went and spoke to the two young women in "mourning" the day they escaped, looking expressly for the identical parties, for which he was seeking damages before the court, and that he declared to the conductor, on leaving the cars, that the said "two girls in mourning, were not the ones he was looking after," or in other words, that "neither" belonged to him. This positive testimony satisfied the jury, and the Rail Road Company and poor James Adams escaped by the verdict not guilty. The owner of the lost property had the costs to pay of course, but whether he was made a wiser or better man by the operation was never ascertained. THIRD LETTER. SENNETT, October 28th, 1856. DEAR MR. STILL:--I am happy to tell you that I am well and happy. I still live with Rev. Mr. Anderson in this place, I am learning to read and write. I do not like to trouble you too much, but I would like to know if you have heard anything more about my friends in Baltimore who got into trouble on our account. Do be pleased to write me if you can give me any information about them. I feel bad that they should suffer for me. I wish all my brethren and sisters in bondage, were as well off as I am. The girl that came with me is in Canada, near the Suspension Bridge. I was glad to see Green Murdock, a colored young man, who stopped at your house about six weeks ago, he knew my folks at the South. He has got into a good place to work in this neighborhood. Give my love to Mrs Still, and believe me your obliged friend, HARRIET EGLIN. P.S. I would like to know what became of Johnson,[A] the man whose foot was smashed by jumping off the cars, he was at your house when I was there. [Footnote A: Johnson was an unfortunate young fugitive, who, while escaping, beheld his master or pursuer in the cars, and jumped therefrom, crushing his feet shockingly by the bold act.] H.E. FROM VIRGINIA, MARYLAND, DELAWARE, NORTH CAROLINA, WASHINGTON, D.C., AND SOUTH CAROLINA. JAMES BURRELL, DANIEL WIGGINS, WM. ROBINSON, EDWARD PEADEN, AND WIFE, ALEX BOGGS, SAMUEL STATER, HARRISON BELL AND DAUGHTER, HARRIET ANN,DANIEL DAVIS, _alias_ DAVID SMITH, JAMES STEWART, _alias_ WILLIAM JACKSON, HARRIET HALEY, _alias_ ANN RICHARDSON, BENJ. DUNCANS, _alias_ GEORGE SCOTT, MOSES WINES, SARAH SMITH, _alias_ MILDRETH PAGE, LUCY GARRETT, _alias_ JULIA WOOD, ELLEN FORMAN, _alias_ ELIZABETH YOUNG, WM. WOODEN, _alias_ WM. NELSON, JAMES EDWARD HANDY, _alias_ DENNIS CANNON, JAMES HENRY DELANY _alias_ SMART STANLEY, JAMES HENRY BLACKSON, GEORGE FREELAND, MILES WHITE, LOUISA CLAYTON, LEWIS SNOWDEN, _alias_ LEWIS WILLIAMS, WM. JOHNSON, JOHN HALL _alias_ JOHN SIMPSON. In order to keep this volume within due limits, in the cases to be noticed in this chapter, it will be impossible to state more than a few of the interesting particulars that make up these narratives. While some of these passengers might not have been made in the prison house to drink of the bitter cup as often as others, and in their flight might not have been called upon to pass through as severe perils as fell to the lot of others, nevertheless justice seems to require, that, as far as possible, all the passengers passing over the Philadelphia Underground Rail Road shall be noticed. James Burrell. James was certainly justifiable in making his escape, if for no other reason than on the score of being nearly related to the chivalry of the South. He was a mulatto (the son of a white man evidently), about thirty-two years of age, medium size, and of an agreeable appearance. He was owned by a maiden lady, who lived at Williamsburg, but not requiring his services in her own family, she hired him out by the year to a Mr. John Walker, a manufacturer of tobacco, for which she received $120 annually. This arrangement was not satisfactory to James. He could not see why he should be compelled to wear the yoke like an ox. The more he thought over his condition, the more unhappy was his lot, until at last he concluded, that he could not stand Slavery any longer. He had witnessed a great deal of the hardships of the system of Slavery, and he had quite enough intelligence to portray the horrors thereof in very vivid colors. It was the auction-block horror that first prompted him to seek freedom. While thinking how he would manage to get away safely, his wife and children were ever present in his mind. He felt as a husband should towards his "wife Betsy," and likewise loved his "children, Walter and Mary;" but these belonged to another man, who lived some distance in the country, where he had permission to see them only once a week. This had its pleasure, it also had its painful influence. The weekly partings were a never-failing source of unhappiness. So when James' mind was fully made up to escape from Slavery, he decided that it would not be best to break the secret to his poor wife and children, but to get off to Canada, and afterwards to try and see what he could do for their deliverance. The hour fixed to leave Virginia arrived, and he started and succeeded in reaching Philadelphia, and the Committee. On arriving he needed medicine, clothing, food, and a carriage for his accommodation, all which were furnished freely by the Committee, and he was duly forwarded to Canada. From Canada, with his name changed, he wrote as follows: TORONTO, March 28th, 1854. SIR, MR. STILL--It does me pleasure to forward you this letter hopeing when this comes to hand it may find your family well, as they leaves me at present. I will also say that the friends are well. Allow me to say to you that I arrived in this place on Friday last safe and sound, and feeles well under my safe arrival. Its true that I have not been employed as yet but I lives hopes to be at work very shortly. I likes this city very well, and I am in hopes that there a living here for me as much so as there for any one else. You will be please to write. I am bording at Mr. Phillip's Centre Street. I have nothing more at present. Yours most respectfull. W. BOURAL. DANIEL WIGGINS, _alias_ DANIEL ROBINSON. Daniel fled from Norfolk, Va., where he had been owned by the late Richard Scott. Only a few days before Daniel escaped, his so-called owner was summoned to his last account. While ill, just before the close of his career, he often promised D. his freedom and also promised, if restored, that he would make amends for the past, by changing his ways of living. His son, who was very reckless, he would frequently allude to and declared, "that he," the son, "should not have his 'property.'" These dying sentiments filled Daniel with great hopes that the day of his enslavement was nearly at an end. Unfortunately, however, death visited the old master, ere he had made provision for his slaves. At all events, no will was found. That he might not fall a prey to the reckless son, he felt, that he must nerve himself for a desperate struggle to obtain his freedom in some other way, by traveling on the Underground Rail Road. While he had always been debarred from book learning, he was, nevertheless, a man of some intelligence, and by trade was a practical Corker. He was called upon in this trying hour to leave his wife with three children, but they were, fortunately, free. Coming to the Committee in want, they cheerfully aided him, and forwarded him on to Canada. Thence, immediately on his arrival, he returned the following grateful letter: NEW BEDFORD, Mass., March 22d, 1854. DEAR SIR:--I am happy to inform you that I arrived in this place this morning well and cheerful. I am, sir, to you and others under more obligations for your kindly protection of me than I can in any way express at present. May the Lord preserve you unto eternal life. Remember my respects to Mr. Lundy and family. Should the boat lay up please let me know. Yours respectfully, DAVID ROBINSON. Please forward to Dr. H. Lundy, after you have gotten through. With respects, &c. D.R. WM. ROBINSON, _alias_ THOS. HARRED. William gave satisfactory evidence, at first sight, that he was opposed to the unrequited labor system _in toto_, and even hated still more the flogging practices of the chivalry. Although he had reached his twenty-eighth year, and was a truly fair specimen of his race, considering his opportunities, a few days before William left, the overseer on the plantation attempted to flog him, but did not succeed. William's manhood was aroused, and he flogged the overseer soundly, if what he averred was true. The name of William's owner was John G. Beale, Esq., of Fauquier county, Va. Beale was considered to be a man of wealth, and had invested in Slave stock to the number of seventy head. According to William's account of Beale, he was a "hard man and thought no more of his black people than he did of dogs." When William entered upon the undertaking of freeing himself from Beale's barbarism, he had but one dollar and twenty-five cents in his possession; but he had physical strength and a determined mind, and being heartily sick of Slavery, he was willing to make the trial, even at the cost of life. Thus hopeful, he prosecuted his journey with success through strange regions of country, with but little aid or encouragement before reaching Philadelphia. This feat, however, was not performed without getting lost by the way. On arriving, his shoes were gone, and his feet were severely travel-worn. The Committee rendered needed aid, etc., and sent William on to Canada to work for himself, and to be recognized as a subject of Great Britain. EDWARD PEADEN AND WIFE HARRIET, AND SISTER CELIA. This man and his wife and wife's sister were a nice-looking trio, but they brought quite a sad story with them: the sale of their children, six in number. The auction block had made such sad havoc among them, that no room was left to hope, that their situation would ever be improved by remaining. Indeed they had been under a very gloomy cloud for some time previous to leaving, fearing that the auction block was shortly to be their doom. To escape this fate, they were constrained to "secrete themselves for one month," until an opportunity offered them to secure a passage on a boat coming to Philadelphia. Edward (the husband), was about forty-four years of age, of a dark color, well made, full face, pleasant countenance, and talked fluently. Dr. Price claimed him as his personal property, and exacted all his hire and labor. For twelve years he had been hired out for $100 per annum. Harriet, the wife of Edward, belonged to David Baines, of Norfolk. Her general appearance indicated, that nature had favored her physically and mentally, although being subjected to the drudgery of Slave life, with no advantages for development, she was simply a living testimony to the crushing influence of Slavery--with a heart never free from the saddened recollection of the auction block, on which all of her children had been sacrificed, "one by one." Celia, the sister, also belonged to D. Baines, and was kept hired out--was last in the service of the Mayor of Norfolk. Of her story nothing of any moment was recorded. On their arrival in Philadelphia, as usual they were handed over to the Committee, and their wants were met. WILLIAM DAVIS. All that the records contain of William is as follows: He left Emmitsburg, Md., the previous Friday night, where he had been held by Dr. James Shoul. William is thirty-two years of age, dark color, rather below medium stature. With regard to his slave life, he declared that he had been "roughly used." Besides, for some time before escaping, he felt that his owner was in the "notion of trading" him off. The fear that this apprehended notion would be carried into execution, was what prompted him to leave his master. ALEXANDER BOGGS, alias JOHNSON HENSON. This subject was under the ownership of a certain John Ernie, who lived about three miles from Baltimore. Mr. Ernie had only been in possession of the wayward Alexander three weeks, having purchased him of a trader named Dennit, for $550. This was not the first time, however, that he had experienced the trouble of changing masters, in consequence of having been sold. Previously to his being disposed of by the trader Dennit, he had been owned by Senator Merrick, who had the misfortune to fail in business, in consequence whereof, his slaves had all to be sold and Alexander with the rest, away from his wife, Caroline, and two children, James and Eliezer. This was a case that appealed for sympathy and aid, which were cheerfully rendered by the Committee. Alexander was about fifty years of age, of dark color. On the Records no account of cruel treatment is found, other than being sold, &c. JOHN BROWN, alias JACOB WILLIAMS, arrived from Fredericktown, Md., where he had been working under the yoke of Joseph Postly. John was a young man of twenty-nine years of age. Up to the hour of his escape, his lot had been that of an ordinary slave. Indeed, he had much less to complain of with reference to usage than most slaves; the only thing in this respect the records contain, is simply a charge, that his master threatened to sell him. But this did not seem to have been the motive which prompted John to take leave of his master. Although untutored, he had mind enough to comprehend that Postly had no right to oppress him, and wrong him out of his hire. John concluded that he would not stand such treatment any longer, and made up his mind to leave for Canada. After due examination the Committee, finding his story reasonable, gave him the usual assistance, advice and instruction, and sent him on Canada-ward. SAMUEL SLATER, alias PATTERSON SMITH, came from a place called Power Bridge, Md. He gave a satisfactory account of himself, and was commended for having wisely left his master, William Martin, to earn his bread by the sweat of his own brow. Martin had held up the vision of the auction-block before Sam; this was enough. Sam saw that it was time for him to be getting out of danger's way without delay, so he presumed, if others could manage to escape, he could too. And he succeeded. He was a stout man, about twenty-nine years of age, of dark complexion. No particular mention of ill treatment is found on the Records. After arriving in Canada, his heart turned with deep interest and affection to those left in the prison-house, as the following letter indicates. ST. CATHRINES Oct 29th. MY DEAR FRIEND:--yours of the 15th came to hand and I was glad to hea from you and your dear family were well and the reason that I did not write sooner I expected get a letter from my brother in pennsylvania but I have not received any as yet when I wrote last I directed my letter to philip scott minister of the asbury church baltimore and that was the reason that I thought it strange I did not get an answer but I did not put my brother name to it I made arrangements before I left home with a family of smiths that I was to write to and the letter that I enclose in this I want you to direct it to D Philip scott in his care for mrs cassey Jackson Duke Jacksons wife and she will give to Priana smith or Sarah Jane Smith those are the persons I wish to write to I wish you to write on as quick as you can and let them know that there is a lady coming on by the name of mrs Holonsworth and she will call and see you and you will find her a very interesting and inteligent person one worthy of respect and esteem and a high reputation I must now bring my letter to a close no more at present but remain your humble servant PATTERSON SMITH In my letters I did not write to my friends how they shall write to me but in the letter that you write you will please to tell them how they shall write to me. HARRISON BELL AND DAUGHTER HARRIET ANN. Father and daughter were fortunate enough to escape together from Norfolk, Va. Harrison was just in the prime of life, forty years of age, stout made, good features, but in height was rather below medium, was a man of more than ordinary shrewdness, by trade he was a chandler. He alleged that he had been used hard. Harriet Ann was a well-grown girl of pleasant appearance, fourteen years of age. Father and daughter had each different owners, one belonged to James Snyder, the other to John G. Hodgson. Harrison had been informed that his children were to be sold; to prevent this shocking fate, he was prompted to escape. Several months previous to finding a chance to make a safe flight, he secreted himself with his children in Norfolk, and so remained up to the day he left, a passage having been secured for them on one of the boats coming to Philadelphia. While the records contain no definite account of other children, it is evident that there were others, but what became of them is not known. If at the time of their arrival, it had been imagined that the glorious day of universal freedom was only about eight years off, doubtless much fuller records would have been made of these struggling Underground Rail Road passengers. If Harrison's relatives and friends, who suddenly missed him and his daughter Harriet Ann, in the Spring of 1854, are still ignorant of his whereabouts, this very brief account of their arrival in Philadelphia, may be of some satisfaction to all concerned, not excepting his old master, whom he had served so faithfully. The Committee finding them in need, had the pleasure of furnishing them with food, material aid and a carriage, with cheering words and letters of introduction to friends on the road to Canada. DANIEL DAVIS, ALIAS DAVID SMITH, ADAM NICHOLSON, ALIAS JOHN WYNKOOP, REUBEN BOWLES, ALIAS CUNNIGAN, ARRIVED FROM HEDGEVILLE, VA. Daniel was only about twenty, just at a capital age to make a bold strike for freedom. The appearance and air of this young aspirant for liberty indicated that he was not of the material to be held in chains. He was a man of medium size, well-built, dark color, and intelligent. Hon. Charles J. Fortner, M.C. was the reputed owner of this young fugitive, but the honorable gentleman having no use for his services, or because he may have profited more by hiring him out, Daniel was placed in the employ of a farmer, by the name of Adam Quigley. It was at this time he resolved that he would not be a slave any longer. He declared that Quigley was a "very mean man," one for whom he had no respect whatever. Indeed he felt that the system of Slavery was an abomination in any form it might be viewed. While he was yet so young, he had pretty clear views with regard to Slavery, and remembered with feelings of deep indignation, how his father had been sold when he himself was a boy, just as a horse might have been sold; and how his mother was dragging her chains in Slavery, up to the hour he fled. Thus in company with his two companions he was prepared for any sacrifice. Adam'S tale is soon told; all that is on the old record in addition to his full name, is in the following words: "Adam is dark, rugged and sensible, and was owned by Alexander Hill, a drunkard, gambler, &c." Reuben had been hired out to John Sabbard near Hedgeville. Startled at hearing that he was to be sold, he was led to consider the propriety of seeking flight via the Underground Rail Road. These three young men were all fine specimens of farm hands, and possessed more than average common sense, considering the oppression they had to labor under. They walked the entire distance from Hedgeville, Va., to Greenville, Pa. There they took the cars and walked no more. They appeared travel-worn, garments dirty, and forlorn; but the Committee had them cleanly washed, hair cut and shaved, change of clothing furnished, &c., which at once made them look like very different men. Means were appropriated to send them on free of cost. JAMES STEWART, _alias_ WM. JACKSON. James had been made acquainted with the Peculiar Institution in Fauquier county, Va. Being of sound judgment and firm resolution, he became an enemy to Slavery at a very early age; so much so, that by the time he was twenty-one he was willing to put into practice his views of the system by leaving it and going where all men are free. Very different indeed were these notions, from those held by his owner, Wm. Rose, who believed in Slavery for the black man. So as James could neither enjoy his freedom nor express his opinion in Virginia, he determined, that he had better get a passage on the Underground Rail Road, and leave the land of Slavery and the obnoxious sentiments of his master. He, of course, saw formidable difficulties to be encountered all the way along in escaping, but these, he considered, would be more easy for him to overcome than it would be for him to learn the lesson--"Servants, obey your masters." The very idea made James sick. This, therefore, was the secret of his escape. HARRIET HALEY, _alias_ ANN RICHARDSON, AND ELIZABETH HALEY, _alias_ SARAH RICHARDSON. These travelers succeeded in escaping from Geo. C. Davis, of Harford county, Md. In order to carry out their plans, they took advantage of Whitsuntide, a holiday, and with marked ingenuity and perseverance, they managed to escape and reach Quakertown Underground Rail Road Station without obstruction, where protection and assistance were rendered by the friends of the cause. After abiding there for a short time, they were forwarded to the Committee in Philadelphia. Their ages ranged from nineteen to twenty-one, and they were apparently "servants" of a very superior order. The pleasure it afforded to aid such young women in escaping from a condition so loathsome as that of Slavery in Maryland, was unalloyed. BENJAMIN DUNCANS, _alias_ GEORGE SCOTT. This individual was in bonds under Thomas Jeffries, who was a firm believer in the doctrine: "Servants, obey your masters," and, furthermore, while laboring "pretty hard" to make Benjamin a convert to this idea, he had made Benjamin's lot anything else than smooth. This treatment on the part of the master made a wise and resolute man of the Slave. For as he looked earnestly into the fact, that he was only regarded by his owner in the light of an ox, or an ass, his manhood rebelled straightway, and the true light of freedom told him, that he must be willing to labor, and endure suffering for the great prize, liberty. So, in company with five others, at an appointed time, he set out for freedom, and succeeded. The others, alluded to, passed on to Canada direct. Benjamin was induced to stop a few months in Pennsylvania, during which time he occupied himself in farming. He looked as if he was well able to do a full day's work at this occupation. He was about twenty-five years of age, of unmixed blood, and wore a pleasant countenance. MOSES WINES. Portsmouth, Va., lost one of her most substantial laborers in the person of Moses, and Madam Abigail Wheeler, a very "likely article" of merchandise. "No complaint" as to "ill treatment" was made by Moses against "Miss Abigail." The truth was, he admitted, that he had been used in a "mild way." With some degree of pride, he stated that he "had never been flogged." But, for the "last fifteen years, he had been favored with the exalted privilege of 'hiring' his time at the 'reasonable' sum of $12 per month." As he stood pledged to have this amount always ready, "whether sick or well," at the end of the month, his mistress "never neglected to be in readiness to receive it" to the last cent. In this way Moses was taught to be exceedingly punctual. Who would not commend such a mistress for the punctuality, if nothing more? But as smoothly as matters seemed to be going along, the mischievous idea crept into Moses' head, that he ought to have some of the money claimed by his "kind" mistress, and at the same time, the thought would often forcibly press upon his mind that he might any day be sold. In addition to this unpleasant prospect, Virginia had just about that time passed a law "prohibiting Slaves from hiring their time"--also, a number of "new Police rules with reference to Slaves and free colored people," all of which, the "humane Slave-holders" of that "liberal State," regarded as highly essential both for the "protection and safety of Master and Slave." But the stupid-headed Moses was not pleased with these arrangements. In common with many of the Slaves, he smarted severely under his heavy oppression, and felt that it was similar to an old rule, which had been once tried under Pharaoh--namely, when the children of Israel were required to "make bricks without straw." But Moses was not a fit subject to submit to be ruled so inhumanly. Despite the beautiful sermons he had often listened to in favor of Slavery, and the many wise laws, above alluded to, he could not reconcile himself to his condition. The laws and preaching were alike as "sounding brass, and tinkling cymbals" to him. He made up his mind, therefore, that he must try a free country; that his manhood required him to make the effort at once, even at the risk of life. Father and husband, as he was, and loving his wife, Grace, and son, Alphonso, tenderly as he did, he nevertheless felt himself to be in chains, and that he could do but little for them by remaining. He conceived that, if he could succeed in gaining his freedom, he might possibly aid them away also. With this hope in him, he contrived to secure a private passage on the steamship City of Richmond, and in this way reached Philadelphia, but not without suffering fearfully the entire journey through, owing to the narrowness of the space into which he was obliged to be stowed in order to get away. Moses was a man of medium size, quite dark, and gave promise of being capable of taking care of himself in freedom. He had seen much of the cruelties of Slavery inflicted upon others in various forms, which he related in a way to make one shudder; but these incidents were not recorded in the book at the time. SARAH SMITH, alias MILDRETH PAGE, and her daughter, nine years of age. Sarah and her child were held to service by the Rev. A.D. Pollock, a resident of Wilmington, Del. Until about nine months before she escaped from the Reverend gentleman, she was owned by Mrs. Elizabeth Lee of Fauquier Co., Va., who had moved with Sarah to Wilmington. How Mr. Pollock came by Sarah is not stated on the records; perhaps by marriage; be that as it may, it was owing to ill treatment from her mistress that Sarah "took out" with her child. Sarah was a woman of becoming manners, of a dark brown complexion, and looked as though she might do a fair share of housework, if treated well. As it required no great effort to escape from Wilmington, where the watchful Garrett lived, she reached the Committee in Philadelphia without much difficulty, received assistance and was sent on her way rejoicing. LUCY GARRETT, alias JULIA WOOD. John Williams, who was said to be a "very cruel man," residing on the Western Shore of Va., claimed Lucy as his chattel personal. Julia, having a lively sense of his meanness stood much in fear of being sold; having seen her father, three sisters, and two brothers, disposed of at auction, she was daily on the look-out for her turn to come next. The good spirit of freedom made the way plain to her by which an escape could be effected. Being about nineteen years of age, she felt that she had served in Slavery long enough. She resolved to start immediately, and did so, and succeeded in reaching Pennsylvania. Her appearance recommended her so well, that she was prevailed upon to remain and accept a situation in the family of Joseph A. Dugdale, so well known in reformatory circles, as an ardent friend of humanity. While in his family she gave great satisfaction, and was much esteemed for uprightness and industry. But this place was not Canada, so, when it was deemed best, she was sent on. ELLEN FORMAN, alias ELIZABETH YOUNG. Ellen had formerly been owned by Dr. Thomas, of the Eastern Shore of Maryland, but about one year before escaping, she was bought by a lady living in Baltimore known by the name of Mrs. Johnson. Ellen was about thirty years of age, of slender stature, and of a dark brown complexion. The record makes no mention of cruel treatment or very hard usage, as a slave. From traveling, probably, she had contracted a very heavy cold, which threatened her with consumption. The Committee cheerfully rendered her assistance. WILLIAM WOODEN, alias WILLIAM NELSON. While Delaware was not far from freedom, and while Slavery was considered to exist there comparatively in a mild form, nevertheless, what with the impenetrable ignorance in which it was the wont of pro-slavery whites to keep the slaves, and the unwillingness on the part of slave-holders generally to conform to the spirit of progress going on in the adjacent State of Pennsylvania, it was wonderful how the slaves saw through the thick darkness thus prevailing, and how wide-awake they were to escape. It was from this State, that William Wooden fled. True, William was said to belong to Judge Wooden, of Georgetown, Del., but, according to the story of his "chattel," the Judge was not of the class who judged righteously. He had not only treated William badly, but he had threatened to sell him. This was the bitter pill which constrained William to "take out." The threat seemed hard at first, but its effect was excellent for this young man; it was the cause of his obtaining his freedom at the age of twenty-three. William was a tall, well-built man, of dark complexion and promising. No further particulars concerning him are on the records. JAMES EDWARD HANDY, _alias_ DANIEL CANON. At Seaford, Delaware, James was held in bonds under a Slave-holder called Samuel Lewis, who followed farming. Lewis was not satisfied with working James hard and keeping all his earnings, but would insolently talk occasionally of handing him "over to the trader." This "stirred James' blood" and aroused his courage to the "sticking point." Nothing could induce him to remain. He had the name of having a wife and four children, but according to the Laws of Delaware, he only had a nominal right in them. They were "legally the property of Capt. Martin." Therefore they were all left in the hands of Capt. Martin. The wife's name was Harriet Delaney, _alias_ Smart Stanley. James Henry Delaney came as a fellow-traveler with James Edward. He had experienced oppression under Capt. Martin, and as a witness, was prepared to testify, that Martin "ill-treated his Slaves, especially with regard to the diet, which was very poor." Nevertheless James was a stout, heavy-built young man of twenty-six years of age, and looked as if he might have a great deal of valuable work in him. He was a single man. JAMES HENRY BLACKSON. James Henry had only reached twenty-five, when he came to the "conclusion, that he had served long enough under bondage for the benefit of Charles Wright." This was about all of the excuse he seemed to have for escaping. He was a fine specimen of a man, so far as physical strength and muscular power were concerned. Very little was recorded of him. GEORGE FREELAND. It was only by the most indomitable resolution and perseverance, that Freeland threw off the yoke. Capt. John Pollard of Petersburg, Va., held George to service. As a Slave-holder, Pollard belonged to that class, who did not believe in granting favors to Slaves. On the contrary, he was practically in favor of wringing every drop of blood from their bodies. George was a spare-built man, about twenty-five years of age, quite dark, but had considerable intelligence. He could read and write very well, but how he acquired these arts is not known. In testifying against his master, George used very strong language. He declared that Pollard "thought no more of his servants than if they had been dogs. He was very mean. He gave nothing to his servants. He has given me only one pair of shoes the last ten years." After careful inquiry, George learned that he could get a private passage on the City of Richmond, if he could raise the passage money. This he could do cheerfully. He raised "sixty dollars" for the individual who was to "secrete him on the boat." In leaving the land of Slave auctions, whips and chains, he was obliged to leave his mother and father and two brothers in Petersburg. Pollard had been offered $1,500 for George. Doubtless he found, when he discovered George had gone, that he had "overstood the market." This was what produced action prompt and decisive on the part of George. So the old adage, in this case, was verified--"It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good." On arriving in Canada, George did not forget to express gratitude to those who aided him on his road there, as the following note will show: SINCATHANS, canada west. Brother Still:--I im brace this opportunity of pening you a few lines to in form you that I am well at present & in hopes to find you & family well also I hope that god Will Bless you & and your family & if I never should meet you in this world I hope to meet you in glory Remember my love to Brother Brown & tell him that I am well & hearty tell him to writ Thomas word that I am well at present you must excuse me I will Rite when I return from the west. GEORGE W. FREELAND Send your Letters in the name of John Anderson. MILES WHITE. This passenger owed service to Albert Kern, of Elizabeth City, N.C. At least Kern, through the oppressive laws of that State, claimed Miles as his personal property. Miles, however, thought differently, but he was not at liberty to argue the case with Kern; for on the "side of the oppressor there was strength." So he resolved, that he would adopt the Underground Rail Road plan. As he was only about twenty-one years of age, he found it much easier to close his affairs with North Carolina, than it would have been had he been encumbered with a family. In fact, the only serious difficulty he had to surmount was to find a captain with whom he could secure a safe passage North. To his gratification it was not long before his efforts in this direction were crowned with success. A vessel was being loaded with shingles, the captain of which was kind enough to allow Miles to occupy a very secure hiding-place thereon. In course of time, having suffered to the extent usual when so closely conveyed, he arrived in Philadelphia, and being aided, was duly forwarded by the Committee. JOHN HALL, _alias_ JOHN SIMPSON. John fled from South Carolina. In this hot-bed of Slavery he labored and suffered up to the age of thirty-two. For a length of time before he escaped, his burdens were intolerable; but he could see no way to rid himself of them, except by flight. Nor was he by any means certain that an effort in this direction would prove successful. In planning the route which he should take to travel North he decided, that if success was for him, his best chance would be to wend his way through North Carolina and Virginia. Not that he hoped to find friends or helpers in these States. He had heard enough of the cruelties of Slavery in these regions to convince him, that if he should be caught, there would be no sympathy or mercy shown. Nevertheless the irons were piercing him so severely, that he felt constrained to try his luck, let the consequences be what they might, and so he set out for freedom or death. Mountains of difficulties, and months of suffering and privations by land and water, in the woods, and swamps of North Carolina and Virginia, were before him, as his experience in traveling proved. But the hope of final victory and his daily sufferings before he started, kept him from faltering, even when starvation and death seemed to be staring him in the face. For several months he was living in dens and caves of the earth. Ultimately, however, the morning of his ardent hopes dawned. How he succeeded in finding a captain who was kind enough to afford him a secret hiding-place on his boat, was not noted on the records. Indeed the incidents of his story were but briefly written out. Similar cases of thrilling interest seemed almost incredible, and the Committee were constrained to doubt the story altogether until other testimony could be obtained to verify the statement. In this instance, before the Committee were fully satisfied, they felt it necessary to make inquiry of trustworthy Charlestonians to ascertain if John were really from Charleston, and if he were actually owned by the man that he represented as having owned him, Dr. Philip Mazyck, by name; and furthermore, to learn if the master was really of the brutal character given him. The testimony of thoroughly reliable persons, who were acquainted with master and slave, so far as this man's bondage in Charleston was concerned, fully corroborated his statement, and the Committee could not but credit his story; indeed they were convinced, that he had been one of the greatest of sufferers and the chief of heroes. Nevertheless his story was not written out, and can only be hinted at. Perhaps more time was consumed in its investigation and in listening to a recital of his sufferings than could well be spared; perhaps it was thought, as was often the case, unless full justice could be given him, the story would be spoiled; or perhaps the appalling nature of his sufferings rendered the pen powerless, and made the heart too sick for the task. Whether it was so or not in this case, it was not unfrequently so in other instances, as is well remembered. It will be necessary, in the subsequent pages of this work, to omit the narratives of a great many who, unfortunately, were but briefly noted on the books at the time of their arrival. In the eyes of some, this may prove disappointing, especially in instances where these pages are turned to with the hope of gaining a clue to certain lost ones. As all, however, cannot be mentioned, and as the general reader will look for incidents and facts which will most fittingly bring out the chief characteristics in the career and escape of bondmen, the reasonableness of this course must be obvious to all. * * * * * CHARLES GILBERT. FLEEING FROM DAVIS A NEGRO TRADER, SECRETED UNDER A HOTEL, UP A TREE, UNDER A FLOOR, IN A THICKET, ON A STEAMER. In 1854 Charles was owned in the city of Richmond by Benjamin Davis, a notorious negro trader. Charles was quite a "likely-looking article," not too black or too white, but rather of a nice "ginger-bread color." Davis was of opinion that this "article" must bring him a tip-top price. For two or three months the trader advertised Charles for sale in the papers, but for some reason or other Charles did not command the high price demanded. While Davis was thus daily trying to sell Charles, Charles was contemplating how he might escape. Being uncommonly shrewd he learned something about a captain of a schooner from Boston, and determined to approach him with regard to securing a passage. The captain manifested a disposition to accommodate him for the sum of ten dollars, provided Charles could manage to get to Old Point Comfort, there to embark. The Point was about one hundred and sixty miles distant from Richmond. A man of ordinary nerve would have declined this condition unhesitatingly. On the other hand it was not Charles' intention to let any offer slide; indeed he felt that he must make an effort, if he failed. He could not see how his lot could be made more miserable by attempting to flee. In full view of all the consequences he ventured to take the hazardous step, and to his great satisfaction he reached Old Point Comfort safely. In that locality he was well known, unfortunately too well known, for he had been raised partly there, and, at the same time, many of his relatives and acquaintances were still living there. These facts were evidently well known to the trader, who unquestionably had snares set in order to entrap Charles should he seek shelter among his relatives, a reasonable supposition. Charles had scarcely reached his old home before he was apprised of the fact that the hunters and watch dogs of Slavery were eagerly watching for him. Even his nearest relatives, through fear of consequences had to hide their faces as it were from him. None dare offer him a night's lodging, scarcely a cup of water, lest such an act might be discovered by the hunters, whose fiendish hearts would have found pleasure in meting out the most dire punishments to those guilty of thus violating the laws of Slavery. The prospect, if not utterly hopeless, was decidedly discouraging. The way to Boston was entirely closed. A "reward of $200" was advertised for his capture. For the first week after arriving at Old Point he entrusted himself to a young friend by the name of E.S. The fear of the pursuers drove him from his hiding-place at the expiration of the week. Thence he sought shelter neither with kinfolks, Christians, nor infidels, but in this hour of his calamity he made up his mind that he would try living under a large hotel for a while. Having watched his opportunity, he managed to reach Higee hotel, a very large house without a cellar, erected on pillars three or four feet above the ground. One place alone, near the cistern, presented some chance for a hiding-place, sufficient to satisfy him quite well under the circumstances. This dark and gloomy spot he at once willingly occupied rather than return to Slavery. In this refuge he remained four weeks. Of course he could not live without food; but to communicate with man or woman would inevitably subject him to danger. Charles' experience in the neighborhood of his old home left no ground for him to hope that he would be likely to find friendly aid anywhere under the shadow of Slavery. In consequence of these fears he received his food from the "slop tub," securing this diet in the darkness of night after all was still and quiet around the hotel. To use his own language, the meals thus obtained were often "sweet" to his taste. One evening, however, he was not a little alarmed by the approach of an Irish boy who came under the hotel to hunt chickens. While prowling around in the darkness he appeared to be making his way unconsciously to the very spot where Charles was reposing. How to meet the danger was to Charles' mind at first very puzzling, there was no time now to plan. As quick as thought he feigned the bark of a savage dog accompanied with a furious growl and snarl which he was confident would frighten the boy half out of his senses, and cause him to depart quickly from his private apartment. The trick succeeded admirably, and the emergency was satisfactorily met, so far as the boy was concerned, but the boy's father hearing the attack of the dog, swore that he would kill him. Charles was a silent listener to the threat, and he saw that he could no longer remain in safety in his present quarter. So that night he took his departure for Bay Shore; here he decided to pass a day in the woods, but the privacy of this place was not altogether satisfactory to Charles' mind; but where to find a more secure retreat he could not,--dared not venture to ascertain that day. It occurred to him, however, that he would be much safer up a tree than hid in the bushes and undergrowth. He therefore climbed up a large acorn tree and there passed an entire day in deep meditation. No gleam of hope appeared, yet he would not suffer himself to think of returning to bondage. In this dilemma he remembered a poor washer-woman named Isabella, a slave who had charge of a wash-house. With her he resolved to seek succor. Leaving the woods he proceeded to the wash-house and was kindly received by Isabella, but what to do with him or how to afford him any protection she could see no way whatever. The schooling which Charles had been receiving a number of weeks in connection with the most fearful looking-for of the threatened wrath of the trader made it much easier for him than for her to see how he could be provided for. A room and comforts he was not accustomed to. Of course he could not expect such comforts now. Like many another escaping from the relentless tyrant, Charles could contrive methods which to his venturesome mind would afford hope, however desperate they might appear to others. He thought that he might be safe under the floor. To Isabella the idea was new, but her sympathies were strongly with Charles, and she readily consented to accommodate him under the floor of the wash-house. Isabella and a friend of Charles, by the name of John Thomas, were the only persons who were cognizant of this arrangement. The kindness of these friends, manifested by their willingness to do anything in their power to add to the comfort of Charles, was proof to him that his efforts and sufferings had not been altogether in vain. He remained under the floor two weeks, accessible to kind voices and friendly ministrations. At the end of this time his repose was again sorely disturbed by reports from without that suspicion had been awakened towards the wash-house. How this happened neither Charles nor his friends could conjecture. But the arrival of six officers whom he could hear talking very plainly in the house, whose errand was actually to search for him, convinced him that he had never for a single moment been in greater danger. The officers not only searched the house, but they offered his friend John Thomas $25 if he would only put them on Charles' track. John professed to know nothing; Isabella was equally ignorant. Discouraged with their efforts on this occasion, the officers gave up the hunt and left the house. Charles, however, had had enough of the floor accommodations. He left that night and returned to his old quarters under the hotel. Here he stayed one week, at the expiration of which time the need of fresh air was so imperative, that he resolved to go out at night to Allen's cottage and spend a day in the woods. He had knowledge of a place where the undergrowth and bushes were almost impenetrable. To rest and refresh himself in this thicket he felt would be a great comfort to him. Without serious difficulty he reached the thicket, and while pondering over the all-absorbing matter as to how he should ever manage to make his escape, an old man approached. Now while Charles had no reason to think that he was sought by the old intruder, his very near approach admonished him that it would neither be safe nor agreeable to allow him to come nearer. Charles remembering that his trick of playing the dog, when previously in danger under the hotel, had served a good end, thought that it would work well in the thicket. So he again tried his power at growling and barking hideously for a moment or two, which at once caused the man to turn his course. Charles could hear him distinctly retreating, and at the same time cursing the dog. The owner of the place had the reputation of keeping "bad dogs," so the old man poured out a dreadful threat against "Stephens' dogs," and was soon out of the reach of the one in the thicket. [Illustration: ] Notwithstanding his success in frightening off the old man, CHARLES felt that the thicket was by no means a safe place for him. He concluded to make another change. This time he sought a marsh; two hours' stay there was sufficient to satisfy him, that that too was no place to tarry in, even for a single night. He, therefore, left immediately. A third time, he returned to the hotel, where he remained only two days. His appeals had at last reached the heart of his mother--she could no longer bear to see him struggling, and suffering, and not render him aid, whatever the consequences might be. If she at first feared to lend him a helping hand, she now resolutely worked with a view of saving money to succor him. Here the prospect began to brighten. A passage was secured for him on a steamer bound for Philadelphia. One more day, and night must elapse, ere he could be received on board. The joyful anticipations which now filled his breast left no room for fear; indeed, he could scarcely contain himself; he was drunk with joy. In this state of mind he concluded that nothing would afford him more pleasure before leaving, than to spend his last hours at the wash house, "under the floor." To this place he went with no fear of hunters before his eyes. Charles had scarcely been three hours in this place, however, before three officers came in search of him. Two of them talked with Isabella, asked her about her "boarders," etc.; in the meanwhile, one of them uninvited, made his way up stairs. It so happened, that Charles was in this very portion of the house. His case now seemed more hopeless than ever. The officer up stairs was separated from him simply by a thin curtain. Women's garments hung all around. Instead of fainting or surrendering, in the twinkling of an eye, Charles' inventive intellect, led him to enrobe himself in female attire. Here, to use his own language, a "thousand thoughts" rushed into his mind in a minute. The next instant he was going down stairs in the presence of the officers, his old calico dress, bonnet and rig, attracting no further attention than simply to elicit the following simple questions: "Whose gal are you?" "Mr. Cockling's, sir." "What is your name?" "Delie, sir." "Go on then!" said one of the officers, and on Charles went to avail himself of the passage on the steamer which his mother had procured for him for the sum of thirty dollars. In due time, he succeeded in getting on the steamer, but he soon learned, that her course was not direct to Philadelphia, but that some stay would be made in Norfolk, Va. Although disappointed, yet this being a step in the right direction, he made up his mind to be patient. He was delayed in Norfolk four weeks. From the time Charles first escaped, his owner (Davis the negro trader), had kept a standing reward of $550 advertised for his recovery. This showed that Davis was willing to risk heavy expenses for Charles as well as gave evidence that he believed him still secreted either about Richmond, Petersburg, or Old Point Comfort. In this belief he was not far from being correct, for Charles spent most of his time in either of these three places, from the day of his escape until the day that he finally embarked. At last, the long looked-for hour arrived to start for Philadelphia. He was to leave his mother, with no hope of ever seeing her again, but she had purchased herself and was called free. Her name was Margaret Johnson. Three brothers likewise were ever in his thoughts, (in chains), "Henry," "Bill," and "Sam," (half brothers). But after all the hope of freedom outweighed every other consideration, and he was prepared to give up all for liberty. To die rather than remain a slave was his resolve. Charles arrived per steamer, from Norfolk, on the 11th day of November, 1854. The Richmond papers bear witness to the fact, that Benjamin Davis advertised Charles Gilbert, for mouths prior to this date, as has been stated in this narrative. As to the correctness of the story, all that the writer has to say is, that he took it down from the lips of Charles, hurriedly, directly after his arrival, with no thought of magnifying a single incident. On the contrary, much that was of interest in the story had to be omitted. Instead of being overdrawn, not half of the particulars were recorded. Had the idea then been entertained, that the narrative of this young slave-warrior was to be brought to light in the manner and time that it now is, a far more thrilling account of his adventures might have been written. Other colored men who knew both Davis and Charles, as well as one man ordinarily knows another, rejoiced at seeing Charles in Philadelphia, and they listened with perfect faith to his story. So marvellous were the incidents of his escape, that his sufferings in Slavery, previous to his heroic struggles to throw off the yoke, were among the facts omitted from the records. While this may be regretted it is, nevertheless, gratifying on the whole to have so good an account of him as was preserved. It is needless to say, that the Committee took especial pleasure in aiding him, and listening to so remarkable a story narrated so intelligently by one who had been a slave. * * * * * LIBERTY OR DEATH. JIM BOW-LEGS, _alias_ BILL PAUL. In 1855 a traveler arrived with the above name, who, on examination, was found to possess very extraordinary characteristics. As a hero and adventurer some passages of his history were most remarkable. His schooling had been such as could only be gathered on plantations under brutal overseers;--or while fleeing,--or in swamps,--in prisons,--or on the auction-block, etc.; in which condition he was often found. Nevertheless in these circumstances his mind got well stored with vigorous thoughts--neither books nor friendly advisers being at his command. Yet his native intelligence as it regarded human nature, was extraordinary. His resolution and perseverance never faltered. In all respects he was a remarkable man. He was a young man, weighing about one hundred and eighty pounds, of uncommon muscular strength. He was born in the State of Georgia, Oglethorpe county, and was owned by Dr. Thomas Stephens, of Lexington. On reaching the Vigilance Committee in Philadelphia, his story was told many times over to one and another. Hour after hour was occupied by friends in listening to the simple narrative of his struggles for freedom. A very full account of "Jim," was forwarded in a letter to M.A. Shadd, the then Editress of the "Provincial Freeman." Said account has been carefully preserved, and is here annexed as it appeared in the columns of the above named paper: "I must now pass to a third adventurer. The one to whom I allude, is a young man of twenty-six years of age, by the name of 'Jim,' who fled from near Charleston, S.C. Taking all the facts and circumstances into consideration respecting the courageous career of this successful adventurer for freedom, his case is by far more interesting than any I have yet referred to. Indeed, for the good of the cause, and the honor of one who gained his liberty by periling his life so frequently:--shot several times,--making six unsuccessful attempts to escape from the far South,--numberless times chased by bloodhounds,--captured, imprisoned and sold repeatedly,--living for months in the woods, swamps and caves, subsisting mainly on parched corn and berries, &c., &c., his narrative ought, by all means, to be published, though I doubt very much whether many could be found who could persuade themselves to believe one-tenth part of this marvellous story. Though this poor Fugitive was utterly ignorant of letters, his natural good sense and keen perception qualified him to arrest the attention and interest the heart in a most remarkable degree. His master finding him not available, on account of his absconding propensities, would gladly have offered him for sale. He was once taken to Florida, for that purpose; but, generally, traders being wide awake, on inspecting him, would almost invariably pronounce him a 'd----n rascal,' because he would never fail to eye them sternly, as they inspected him. The obedient and submissive slave is always recognized by hanging his head and looking on the ground, when looked at by a slave-holder. This lesson Jim had never learned, hence he was not to be trusted. His head and chest, and indeed his entire structure, as solid as a rock, indicated that he was physically no ordinary man; and not being under the influence of the spirit of "non-resistance," he had occasionally been found to be a rather formidable customer. His father was a full-blooded Indian, brother to the noted Indian Chief, Billy Bowlegs; his mother was quite black and of unmixed blood. For five or six years, the greater part of Jim's time was occupied in trying to escape, and in being in prison for sale, to punish him for running away. His mechanical genius was excellent, so were his geographical abilities. He could make shoes or do carpenter's work very handily, though he had never had the chance to learn. As to traveling by night or day, he was always road-ready and having an uncommon memory, could give exceedingly good accounts of what he saw, etc. When he entered a swamp, and had occasion to take a nap he took care first to decide upon the posture he must take, so that if come upon unexpectedly by the hounds and slave-hunters, he might know in an instant which way to steer to defeat them. He always carried a liquid, which he had prepared, to prevent hounds from scenting him, which he said had never failed. As soon as the hounds came to the place where he had rubbed his legs and feet with said liquid, they could follow him no further, but howled and turned immediately. Quite a large number of the friends of the slave saw this noble-hearted fugitive, and would sit long and listen with the most undivided attention to his narrative--none doubting for a moment, I think, the entire truthfulness of his story. Strange as his story was, there was so much natural simplicity in his manner and countenance, one could not refrain from believing him." * * * * * SALT-WATER FUGITIVE. This was an exceptional case, as this passenger did not reach the Vigilance Committee of Philadelphia, yet to exclude him on this account, would be doing an injustice to history. The facts in his case were incontestably established in the Philadelphia Register in April, 1854, from which the following thrilling account is taken: The steamship, Keystone State, which arrived at this port on Saturday morning, had just entered Delaware Bay, when a man was discovered secreted outside of the vessel and under the guards. When brought from his hiding-place, he was found to be a Fugitive Slave, who had secreted himself there before the vessel left Savannah on Wednesday, and had remained in that place from the time of starting! His position was such, that the water swept over and around him almost constantly. He had some bread in his pocket, which he had intended for subsistence until he could reach a land of liberty. It was saturated with sea-water and dissolved to a pulp. When our readers remember the high winds of Friday, and the sudden change to cold during that night, and the fact that the fugitive had remained in that situation for three days and nights, we think it will be conceded that he fully earned his liberty, and that the "institution," which was so intolerable that he was willing to run the risk of almost certain death to escape from it had no very great attractions for him. But the poor man was doomed to disappointment. The captain ordered the vessel to put into Newcastle, where, the fugitive, hardly able to stand, was taken on shore and incarcerated, and where he now awaits the order of his owner in Savannah. The following additional particulars are from the same paper of the 21st. The Keystone State case.--Our article yesterday morning brought us several letters of inquiry and offers of contributions to aid in the purchase from his master of the unfortunate inmate of Newcastle jail. In answer to the former, we would say, that the steamer Keystone State, left Savannah, at 9 A.M., last Wednesday. It was about the same hour next morning that the men engaged in heaving lead, heard a voice from under the guards imploring help. A rope was procured, and the man relieved from his dangerous and suffering situation. He was well cared for immediately; a suit of dry clothes was furnished him, and he was given his share of the contents of the boat pantry. On arriving at Newcastle, the captain had him placed in jail, for the purpose, as we are informed, of taking him back to Savannah. To those who have offered contributions so liberally, we answer, that the prospect is, that only a small amount will be needed--enough to fee a lawyer to sue out a writ of habeas corpus. The salt water fugitive claims to be a free man, and a native of Philadelphia. He gives his name as Edward Davis, and says that he formerly lived at No. 5 Steel's court, that he was a pupil in Bird's school, on Sixth St. above Lombard, and that he has a sister living at Mr. Diamond's, a distiller, on South St. We are not informed why he was in Georgia, from which he took such an extraordinary means to effect his escape. If the above assertion be true, we apprehend little trouble in restoring the man to his former home. The claim of the captain to take him back to Savannah, will not be listened to for a moment by any court. The only claim the owners of the "Keystone State" or the captain can have on salt water Davis, is for half passenger fare; he came half the way as a fish. A gentleman who came from Wilmington yesterday, assures us that the case is in good hands at Newcastle. FULL PARTICULARS OF THE ABDUCTION, ENSLAVING AND ESCAPE OF DAVIS. ATTEMPT TO SEDUCE HIM TO SLAVERY AGAIN. The case of the colored man Davis, who made such a bold stroke to regain his liberty, by periling his life on board the steamer Keystone State, has excited very general attention. He has given a detailed account of his abduction and sale as a slave in the State of Maryland and Georgia, and some of his adventures up to the time of reaching Delaware. His own story is substantially as follows: He left Philadelphia on the 15th of September, 1851, and went to Harrisburg, intending to go to Hollidaysburg; took a canal boat for Havre de Grace, where he arrived next day. There he hired on board the schooner Thomas and Edward (oyster boat), of Baltimore. Went from Havre de Grace to St. Michael's, for oysters, thence to Baltimore, and thence to Havre de Grace again. He then hired to a Mr. Sullivan, who kept a grocery store, to do jobs. While there, a constable, named Smith, took him before a magistrate named Graham, who fined him fifteen or twenty dollars for violating the law in relation to free negroes coming into the State. This fine he was not able to pay, and Smith took him to Bell Air prison. Sheriff Gaw wrote to Mr. Maitland in Philadelphia, to whom he referred, and received an answer that Mr. Maitland was dead and none of the family knew him. He remained in that prison nearly two months. He then had a trial in court before a Judge Grier (most unfortunate name), who sentenced him to be sold to pay his fine and expenses, amounting to fifty dollars. After a few days and _without being offered at public sale_, he was taken out of jail at two o'clock in the morning and carried to Campbell's slave pen, in Baltimore, where he remained several months. While there, he was employed to cook for some fifty or sixty slaves, being told that he was working out his fine and jail fees. After being there about six months, he was taken out of prison, handcuffed by one Winters, who took him and two or three others to Washington and thence to Charleston, S.C. Here Winters left them, and they were taken by steamboat to Savannah. While on board the boat, he learned that himself and the other two had been sold to Mr. William Dean, of Macon, where he stayed two days, and was taken from that place to the East Valley Railroad. Subsequently he was sent to work on the Possum Tail Railroad. Here he was worked so hard, that in one month he lost his health. The other two men taken on with him, failed before he did. He was then sent to Macon, and thence to the cotton plantation again. During the time he worked on the railroad he had allowed him for food, one peck of corn meal, four pounds of bacon, and one quart of molasses per week. He cooked it himself at night, for the next day's use. He worked at packing cotton for four or five months, and in the middle of November, 1852, was sent back to the railroad, where he was again set to wheeling. He worked at "task work" two months, being obliged to wheel _sixteen_ square yards per day. At the end of two months he broke down again, and was sick. They tried one month to cure him, but did not succeed. In July, 1853, he was taken to an infirmary in Macon. Dr. Nottinghan and Dr. Harris, of that institution, both stated that his was the worst case of the kind they ever had. He remained at the infirmary two months and partially recovered. He told the story of his wrongs to these physicians, who tried to buy him. One of his legs was drawn up so that he could not walk well, and they offered four hundred dollars for him, which his master refused. The doctors wanted him to attend their patients, (mostly slaves). While in Georgia he was frequently asked where he came from, being found more intelligent than the common run of slaves. On the 12th of March he ran away from Macon and went to Savannah. There he hid in a stable until Tuesday afternoon at six o'clock, when he secreted himself on board the Keystone State. At 9 o'clock the next morning the Keystone State left with Davis secreted, as we have before stated. With his imprisonment in Newcastle, after being pronounced free, our readers are already familiar. We subjoin the documents on which he was discharged from his imprisonment in Newcastle, and his subsequent re-committal on the oath of Capt. Hardie. COPY OF FIRST ORDER OF COMMITMENT. New Castle county, ss., State of Delaware.--To Wm. R. Lynam, Sheriff of said county. ---- Davis (Negro) is delivered to your custody for further examination and hearing for traveling without a pass, and supposed to be held a Slave to some person in the State of Georgia. [Seal]. Witness the hand and seal of John Bradford, one of the Justices of the Peace for the county of Newcastle, the 17th day of March, 1854. JOHN BRADFORD, J.P. COPY OF DISCHARGE. To Wm. R. Lynam, Sheriff of Newcastle county: You will discharge ---- Davis from your custody, satisfactory proof having been made before me that he is a free man. JOHN BRADFORD, J.P. Witnesses--Joanna Diamond, John H. Brady, Martha C. Maguire. COPY OF ORDER OF RE-COMMITMENT. New Castle county, ss., the State of Delaware to Wm. R. Lynam, and to the Sheriff or keeper of the Common Jail of said county, Whereas ---- Davis hath this day been brought before me, the subscriber, one of the Justices of the Peace, in and for the said county, charged upon the oath of Robert Hardie with being a runaway slave, and also as a suspicious person, traveling without a pass, these are therefore to command you, the said Wm. R. Lynam, forthwith to convey and deliver into the custody of the said Sheriff, or keeper of the said jail, the body of the said Davis, and you the said Sheriff or receiver of the body of the said Davis into your custody in the said jail, and him there safely keep until he be thence delivered by due course of the law. Given under my hand and seal at New Castle this 21st day of March, A.D., 1854. JOHN BRADFORD, J.P. On the fourth of April, the Marshal of Macon called at the jail in Newcastle, and demanded him as a fugitive slave, but the Sheriff refused to give him up until a fair hearing could be had according to the laws of the State of Delaware. The Marshal has returned to Georgia, and will probably bring the claimant on the next trip of the Keystone State. The authorities of Delaware manifest no disposition to deliver up a man whose freedom has been so clearly proved; but every effort will be made to reduce him again to slavery by the man who claims him, in which, it seems, he has the hearty co-operation of Capt. Hardie. A trial will be had before U.S. Commissioner Guthrie, and we have every reason to suppose it will be a fair one. The friends of right and justice should remember that such a trial will be attended with considerable expense, and that the imprisoned man has been too long deprived of his liberty to have money to pay for his own defence. * * * * * SAMUEL GREEN ALIAS WESLEY KINNARD, AUGUST 28th, 1854. TEN YEARS IN THE PENITENTIARY FOR HAVING A COPY OF UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. The passenger answering to the above name, left Indian Creek, Chester Co., Md., where he had been held to service or labor, by Dr. James Muse. One week had elapsed from the time he set out until his arrival in Philadelphia. Although he had never enjoyed school privileges of any kind, yet he was not devoid of intelligence. He had profited by his daily experience as a slave, and withal, had managed to learn to read and write a little, despite law and usage to the contrary. Sam was about twenty-five years of age and by trade, a blacksmith. Before running away, his general character for sobriety, industry, and religion, had evidently been considered good, but in coveting his freedom and running away to obtain it, he had sunk far below the utmost limit of forgiveness or mercy in the estimation of the slave-holders of Indian Creek. During his intercourse with the Vigilance Committee, while rejoicing over his triumphant flight, he gave, with no appearance of excitement, but calmly, and in a common-sense like manner, a brief description of his master, which was entered on the record book substantially as follows: "Dr. James Muse is thought by the servants to be the worst man in Maryland, inflicting whipping and all manner of cruelties upon the servants." While Sam gave reasons for this sweeping charge, which left no room for doubt, on the part of the Committee, of his sincerity and good judgment, it was not deemed necessary to make a note of more of the doctor's character than seemed actually needed, in order to show why "Sam" had taken passage on the Underground Rail Road. For several years, "Sam" was hired out by the doctor at blacksmithing; in this situation, daily wearing the yoke of unrequited labor, through the kindness of Harriet Tubman (sometimes called "Moses"), the light of the Underground Rail Road and Canada suddenly illuminated his mind. It was new to him, but he was quite too intelligent and liberty-loving, not to heed the valuable information which this sister of humanity imparted. Thenceforth he was in love with Canada, and likewise a decided admirer of the U.R. Road. Harriet was herself, a shrewd and fearless agent, and well understood the entire route from that part of the country to Canada. The spring previous, she had paid a visit to the very neighborhood in which "Sam" lived, expressly to lead her own brothers out of "Egypt." She succeeded. To "Sam" this was cheering and glorious news, and he made up his mind, that before a great while, Indian Creek should have one less slave and that Canada should have one more citizen. Faithfully did he watch an opportunity to carry out his resolution. In due time a good Providence opened the way, and to "Sam's" satisfaction he reached Philadelphia, having encountered no peculiar difficulties. The Committee, perceiving that he was smart, active, and promising, encouraged his undertaking, and having given him friendly advice, aided him in the usual manner. Letters of introduction were given him, and he was duly forwarded on his way. He had left his father, mother, and one sister behind. Samuel and Catharine were the names of his parents. Thus far, his escape would seem not to affect his parents, nor was it apparent that there was any other cause why the owner should revenge himself upon them. The father was an old local preacher in the Methodist Church--much esteemed as an inoffensive, industrious man; earning his bread by the sweat of his brow, and contriving to move along in the narrow road allotted colored people bond or free, without exciting a spirit of ill will in the pro-slavery power of his community. But the rancor awakened in the breast of slave-holders in consequence of the high-handed step the son had taken, brought the father under suspicion and hate. Under the circumstances, the eye of Slavery could do nothing more than watch for an occasion to pounce upon him. It was not long before the desired opportunity presented itself. Moved by parental affection, the old man concluded to pay a visit to his boy, to see how he was faring in a distant land, and among strangers. This resolution he quietly carried into effect. He found his son in Canada, doing well; industrious; a man of sobriety, and following his father's footsteps religiously. That the old man's heart was delighted with what his eyes saw and his ears heard in Canada, none can doubt. But in the simplicity of his imagination, he never dreamed that this visit was to be made the means of his destruction. During the best portion of his days he had faithfully worn the badge of Slavery, had afterwards purchased his freedom, and thus become a free man. He innocently conceived the idea that he was doing no harm in availing himself not only of his God-given rights, but of the rights that he had also purchased by the hard toil of his own hands. But the enemy was lurking in ambush for him--thirsting for his blood. To his utter consternation, not long after his return from his visit to his son "a party of gentlemen from the New Market district, went at night to Green's house and made search, whereupon was found a copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin, etc." This was enough--the hour had come, wherein to wreak vengeance upon poor Green. The course pursued and the result, may be seen in the following statement taken from the Cambridge (Md.), "Democrat," of April 29th, 1857, and communicated by the writer to the "Provincial Freeman." SAM GREEN. The case of the State against Sam Green (free negro) indicted for having in his possession, papers, pamphlets and pictorial representations, having a tendency to create discontent, etc., among the people of color in the State, was tried before the court on Friday last. This case was of the utmost importance, and has created in the public mind a great deal of interest--it being the first case of the kind ever having occurred in our country. It appeared, in evidence, that this Green has a son in Canada, to whom Green made a visit last summer. Since his return to this county, suspicion has fastened upon him, as giving aid and assisting slaves who have since absconded and reached Canada, and several weeks ago, a party of gentlemen from New Market district, went at night, to Green's house and made search, whereupon was found a volume of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," a map of Canada, several schedules of routes to the North, and a letter from his son in Canada, detailing the pleasant trip he had, the number of friends he met with on the way, with plenty to eat, drink, etc., and concludes with a request to his father, that he shall tell certain other slaves, naming them, to come on, which slaves, it is well known, did leave shortly afterwards, and have reached Canada. The case was argued with great ability, the counsel on both sides displaying a great deal of ingenuity, learning and eloquence. The first indictment was for the having in possession the letter, map and route schedules. Notwithstanding the mass of evidence given, to show the prisoner's guilt, in unlawfully having in his possession these documents, and the nine-tenths of the community in which he lived, believed that he had a hand in the running away of slaves, it was the opinion of the court, that the law under which he was indicted, was not applicable to the case, and that he must, accordingly, render a verdict of not guilty. He was immediately arraigned upon another indictment, for having in possession "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and tried; in this case the court has not yet rendered a verdict, but holds it under _curia_ till after the Somerset county court. It is to be hoped, the court will find the evidence in this case sufficient to bring it within the scope of the law under which the prisoner is indicted (that of 1842, chap. 272), and that the prisoner may meet his due reward--be that what it may. That there is something required to be done by our Legislators, for the protection of slave property, is evident from the variety of constructions put upon the statute in this case, and we trust, that at the next meeting of the Legislature there will be such amendments, as to make the law on this subject, perfectly clear and comprehensible to the understanding of every one. In the language of the assistant counsel for the State, "Slavery must be protected or it must be abolished." From the same sheet, of May 20th, the terrible doom of Samuel Green, is announced in the following words: In the case of the State against Sam Green, (free negro) who was tried at the April term of the Circuit Court of this county, for having in his possession abolition pamphlets, among which was "Uncle Tom's Cabin," has been found guilty by the court, and sentenced to the penitentiary for the term of ten years--until the 14th of May, 1867. The son, a refugee in Canada, hearing the distressing news of his father's sad fate in the hands of the relentless "gentlemen," often wrote to know if there was any prospect of his deliverance. The subjoined letter is a fair sample of his correspondence: SALFORD, 22,1857. Dear Sir I take my pen in hand to Request a faver of you if you can by any means without duin InJestus to your self or your Bisness to grant it as I Bleve you to be a man that would Sympathize in such a ones Condition as my self I Reseved a letter that Stats to me that my Fater has ben Betraed in the act of helping sum frend to Canada and the law has Convicted and Sentanced him to the Stats prison for 10 yeares his White Frands ofered 2 thousen Dollers to Redem him but they would not short three thousen. I am in Canada and it is a Dificult thing to get a letter to any of my Frands in Maryland so as to get prop per infermation abot it--if you can by any means get any in telligence from Baltimore City a bot this Event Plese do so and Rit word and all so all the inform mation that you think prop per as Regards the Evant and the best mathod to Redeme him and so Plese Rite soon as you can You will oblige your sir Frand and Drect your letter to Salford P. office C.W. SAMUEL GREEN. In this dark hour the friends of the Slave could do but little more than sympathize with this heart-stricken son and grey-headed father. The aged follower of the Rejected and Crucified had like Him to bear the "reproach of many," and make his bed with the wicked in the Penitentiary. Doubtless there were a few friends in his neighborhood who sympathized with him, but they were powerless to aid the old man. But thanks to a kind Providence, the great deliverance brought about during the Rebellion by which so many captives were freed, also unlocked Samuel Green's prison-doors and he was allowed to go free. After his liberation from the Penitentiary, we had from his own lips narrations of his years of suffering--of the bitter cup, that he was compelled to drink, and of his being sustained by the Almighty Arm--but no notes were taken at the time, consequently we have nothing more to add concerning him, save quite a faithful likeness. [Illustration: ] * * * * * AN IRISH GIRL'S DEVOTION TO FREEDOM. IN LOVE WITH A SLAVE--GETS HIM OFF TO CANADA--FOLLOWS HIM--MARRIAGE, &C. Having dwelt on the sad narratives of Samuel Green and his son in the preceding chapter, it is quite a relief to be able to introduce a traveler whose story contains incidents less painful to contemplate. From the record book the following brief account is taken: "April 27, 1855. John Hall arrived safely from Richmond, Va., per schooner, (Captain B). One hundred dollars were paid for his passage." In Richmond he was owned by James Dunlap, a merchant. John had been sold several times, in consequence of which, he had possessed very good opportunities of experiencing the effect of change of owners. Then, too, the personal examination made before sale, and the gratification afforded his master when he (John), brought a good price--left no very pleasing impressions on his mind. By one of his owners, named Burke, John alleged that he had been "cruelly used." When quite young, both he and his sister, together with their mother, were sold by Burke. From that time he had seen neither mother nor sister--they were sold separately. For three or four years the desire to seek liberty had been fondly cherished, and nothing but the want of a favorable opportunity had deterred him from carrying out his designs. He considered himself much "imposed upon" by his master, particularly as he was allowed "no choice about living" as he "desired." This was indeed ill-treatment as John viewed the matter. John may have wanted too much. He was about thirty-five years of age, light complexion--tall--rather handsome-looking, intelligent, and of good manners. But notwithstanding these prepossessing features, John's owner valued him at only $1,000. If he had been a few shades darker and only about half as intelligent as he was, he would have been worth at least $500 more. The idea of having had a white father, in many instances, depreciated the pecuniary value of male slaves, if not of the other sex. John emphatically was one of this injured class; he evidently had blood in his veins which decidedly warred against submitting to the yoke. In addition to the influence which such rebellious blood exerted over him, together with a considerable amount of intelligence, he was also under the influence and advice of a daughter of old Ireland. She was heart and soul with John in all his plans which looked Canada-ward. This it was that "sent him away." It is very certain, that this Irish girl was not annoyed by the kinks in John's hair. Nor was she overly fastidious about the small percentage of colored blood visible in John's complexion. It was, however, a strange occurrence and very hard to understand. Not a stone was left unturned until John was safely on the Underground Rail Road. Doubtless she helped to earn the money which was paid for his passage. And when he was safe off, it is not too much to say, that John was not a whit more delighted than was his intended Irish lassie, Mary Weaver. John had no sooner reached Canada than Mary's heart was there too. Circumstances, however, required that she should remain in Richmond a number of months for the purpose of winding up some of her affairs. As soon as the way opened for her, she followed him. It was quite manifest, that she had not let a single opportunity slide, but seized the first chance and arrived partly by means of the Underground Rail Road and partly by the regular train. Many difficulties were surmounted before and after leaving Richmond, by which they earned their merited success. From Canada, where they anticipated entering upon the matrimonial career with mutual satisfaction, it seemed to afford them great pleasure to write back frequently, expressing their heartfelt gratitude for assistance, and their happiness in the prospect of being united under the favorable auspices of freedom! At least two or three of these letters, bearing on particular phases of their escape, etc., are too valuable not to be published in this connection: FIRST LETTER. HAMILTON, March 25th, 1856. Mr. Still:--Sir and Friend--I take the liberty of addressing you with these few lines hoping that you will attend to what I shall request of you. I have written to Virginia and have not received an answer yet. I want to know if you can get any one of your city to go to Richmond for me. If you can, I will pay the expense of the whole. The person that I want the messenger to see is a white girl. I expect you know who I allude to, it is the girl that sent me away. If you can get any one to go, you will please write right away and tell me the cost, &c. I will forward the money and a letter. Please use your endeavors. Yours Respectfuliy, JOHN HALL. Direct yours to Mr. Hill. SECOND LETTER. HAMILTON, Sept. 15th, 1856. To Mr. Still, Dear Sir:--I take this opportunity of addressing these few lines to you hoping to find you in good health I am happy to inform you that Miss Weaver arrived here on Tuesday last, and I can assure you it was indeed a happy day. As for your part that you done I will not attempt to tell you how thankful I am, but I hope that you can imagine what my feelings are to you. I cannot find words sufficient to express my gratitude to you, I think the wedding will take place on Tuesday next, I have seen some of the bread from your house, and she says it is the best bread she has had since she has been in America. Sometimes she has impudence enough to tell me she would rather be where you are in Philadelphia than to be here with me. I hope this will be no admiration to you for no honest hearted person ever saw you that would not desire to be where you are, No flattery, but candidly speaking, you are worthy all the praise of any person who has ever been with you, I am now like a deserted Christian, but yet I have asked so much, and all has been done yet I must ask again, My love to Mrs. Still. Dear Mr. Still I now ask you please to exercise all your influence to get this young man Willis Johnson from Richmond for me It is the young man that Miss Weaver told you about, he is in Richmond I think he is at the corner of Fushien Street, & Grace in a house of one Mr. Rutherford, there is several Rutherford in the neighborhood, there is a church call'd the third Baptist Church, on the R.H. side going up Grace street, directly opposite the Baptist church at the corner, is Mrs. Meads Old School at one corner, and Mr. Rutherfords is at the other corner. He can be found out by seeing Fountain Tombs who belongs to Mr. Rutherford and if you should not see him, there is James Turner who lives at the Governors, Please to see Captain Bayliss and tell him to take these directions and go to John Hill, in Petersburgh, and he may find him. Tell Captain Bayliss that if he ever did me a friendly thing in his life which he did do one friendly act, if he will take this on himself, and if money should be lacking I will forward any money that he may require, I hope you will sympathize with the poor young fellow, and tell the captain to do all in his power to get him and the costs shall be paid. He lies now between death or victory, for I know the man he belongs to would just as soon kill him as not, if he catches him, I here enclose to you a letter for Mr. Wm. C. Mayo, and please to send it as directed. In this letter I have asked him to send a box to you for me, which you will please pay the fare of the express upon it, when you get it please to let me know, and I will send you the money to pay the expenses of the carriage clear through. Please to let Mr. Mayo know how to direct a box to you, and the best way to send it from Richmond to Philadelphia. You will greatly oblige me by so doing. In this letter I have enclosed a trifle for postage which you will please to keep on account of my letters I hope you wont think hard of me but I simply send it because I know you have done enough, and are now doing more, without imposing in the matter I have done it a great many more of our people who you have done so much fore. No more from your humble and oldest servant. JOHN HALL, Norton's Hotel, Hamilton. THIRD LETTER. MONDAY, Sept. 29, 56. Sir:--I take this opportunity of informing you that we are in excellent health, and hope you are the same, I wrote a letter to you about 2 weeks ago and have not yet had an answer to it I wish to inform you that the wedding took place on Tuesday last, and Mrs. Hall now sends her best love to you, I enclose a letter which I wish you to forward to Mr. Mayo, you will see in his letter what I have said to him and I wish you would furnish him with such directions as it requires for him to send them things to you. I have told him not to pay for them but to send them to you so when you get them write me word what the cost of them are, and I will send you the money for them. Mary desires you to give her love to Mrs. Still. If any letters come for me please to send to me at Nortons Hotel, Please to let me know if you had a letter from me about 12 days ago. You will please Direct the enclosed to Mr. W.C. Mayo, Richmond, Va. Let me know if you have heard anything of Willis Johnson Mr. & Mrs. Hill send their kind love to you, they are all well, no more at present from your affect., JOHN HALL Nortons Hotel. FOURTH LETTER. HAMILTON, December 23d, 1856. DEAR SIR:--I am happy to inform you that we are both enjoying good health and hope you are the same. I have been expecting a letter from you for some time but I suppose your business has prevented you from writing. I suppose you have not heard from any of my friends at Richmond. I have been longing to hear some news from that part, you may think "Out of sight and out of mind," but I can assure you, no matter how far I may be, or in what distant land, I shall never forget you, if I can never reach you by letters you may be sure I shall always think of you. I have found a great many friends in my life, but I must say you are the best one I ever met with, except one, you must know who that is, 'tis one who if I did not consider a friend, I could not consider any other person a friend, and that is Mrs. Hall. Please to let me know if the navigation between New York & Richmond is closed. Please to let me know whether it would be convenient to you to go to New York if it is please let me know what is the expense. Tell Mrs Still that my wife would be very happy to receive a letter from her at some moment when she is at leisure, for I know from what little I have seen of domestic affairs it keeps her pretty well employed, And I know she has not much time to write but if it were but two lines, she would be happy to receive it from her, my reason for wanting you to go to New York, there is a young man named Richard Myers and I should like for you to see him. He goes on board the Orono to Richmond and is a particular friend of mine and by seeing him I could get my clothes from Richmond, I expect to be out of employ in a few days, as the hotel is about to close on the 1st January and I hope you will write to me soon I want you to send me word how you and all the family are and all the news you can, you must excuse my short letter, as it is now near one o'clock and I must attend to business, but I have not written half what I intended to, as time is short, hoping to hear from you soon I remain yours sincerely, JOHN HALL. Mr. and Mrs. Hill desire their best respects to you and Mrs. Still. It cannot be denied that this is a most extraordinary occurrence. In some respects it is without a parallel. It was, however, no uncommon thing for white men (slave-holders) in the South to have colored wives and children whom, they did not hesitate to live with and acknowledge by their actions, with their means, and in their wills as the rightful heirs of their substance. Probably there is not a state in the Union where such relations have not existed. Seeing such usages, Mary might have reasoned that she had as good a right to marry the one she loved most as anybody else, particularly as she was in a "free country." * * * * * "SAM" NIXON ALIAS DR. THOMAS BAYNE. THE ESCAPE OF A DENTIST ON THE U.G.R.R.--HE IS TAKEN FOR AN IMPOSTOR--ELECTED A MEMBER OF CITY COUNCIL IN NEW BEDFORD--STUDYING MEDICINE, ETC. But few could be found among the Underground Rail Road passengers who had a stronger repugnance to the unrequited labor system, or the recognized terms of "master and slave," than Dr. Thomas Bayne. Nor were many to be found who were more fearless and independent in uttering their sentiments. His place of bondage was in the city of Norfolk, Va., where he was held to service by Dr. C.F. Martin, a dentist of some celebrity. While with Dr. Martin, "Sam" learned dentistry in all its branches, and was often required by his master, the doctor, to fulfil professional engagements, both at home and at a distance, when it did not suit his pleasure or convenience to appear in person. In the mechanical department, especially, "Sam" was called upon to execute the most difficult tasks. This was not the testimony of "Sam" alone; various individuals who were with him in Norfolk, but had moved to Philadelphia, and were living there at the time of his arrival, being invited to see this distinguished professional piece of property, gave evidence which fully corroborated his. The master's professional practice, according to "Sam's" calculation, was worth $3,000 per annum. Full $1,000 of this amount in the opinion of "Sam" was the result of his own fettered hands. Not only was "Sam" serviceable to the doctor in the mechanical and practical branches of his profession, but as a sort of ready reckoner and an apt penman, he was obviously considered by the doctor, a valuable "article." He would frequently have "Sam" at his books instead of a book-keeper. Of course, "Sam" had never received, from Dr. M., an hour's schooling in his life, but having perceptive faculties naturally very large, combined with much self-esteem, he could hardly help learning readily. Had his master's design to keep him in ignorance been ever so great, he would have found it a labor beyond his power. But there is no reason to suppose that Dr. Martin was opposed to Sam's learning to read and write. We are pleased to note that no charges of ill-treatment are found recorded against Dr. M. in the narrative of "Sam." True, it appears that he had been sold several times in his younger days, and had consequently been made to feel keenly, the smarts of Slavery, but nothing of this kind was charged against Dr. M., so that he may be set down as a pretty fair man, for aught that is known to the contrary, with the exception of depriving "Sam" of the just reward of his labor, which, according to St. James, is pronounced a "fraud." The doctor did not keep "Sam" so closely confined to dentistry and book-keeping that he had no time to attend occasionally to outside duties. It appears that he was quite active and successful as an Underground Rail Road agent, and rendered important aid in various directions. Indeed, Sam had good reason to suspect that the slave-holders were watching him, and that if he remained, he would most likely find himself in "hot water up to his eyes." Wisdom dictated that he should "pull up stakes" and depart while the way was open. He knew the captains who were then in the habit of taking similar passengers, but he had some fears that they might not be able to pursue the business much longer. In contemplating the change which he was about to make, "Sam" felt it necessary to keep his movements strictly private. Not even was he at liberty to break his mind to his wife and child, fearing that it would do them no good, and might prove his utter failure. His wife's name was Edna and his daughter was called Elizabeth; both were slaves and owned by E.P. Tabb, Esq., a hardware merchant of Norfolk. No mention is made on the books, of ill-treatment, in connection with his wife's servitude; it may therefore be inferred, that her situation was not remarkably hard. It must not be supposed that "Sam" was not truly attached to his wife. He gave abundant proof of true matrimonial devotion, notwithstanding the secrecy of his arrangements for flight. Being naturally hopeful, he concluded that he could better succeed in securing his wife after obtaining freedom himself, than in undertaking the task beforehand. The captain had two or three other Underground Rail Road male passengers to bring with him, besides "Sam," for whom, arrangements had been previously made--no more could be brought that trip. At the appointed time, the passengers were at the disposal of the captain of the schooner which was to bring them out of Slavery into freedom. Fully aware of the dangerous consequences should he be detected, the captain, faithful to his promise, secreted them in the usual manner, and set sail northward. Instead of landing his passengers in Philadelphia, as was his intention, for some reason or other (the schooner may have been disabled), he landed them on the New Jersey coast, not a great distance from Cape Island. He directed them how to reach Philadelphia. Sam knew of friends in the city, and straightway used his ready pen to make known the distress of himself and partners in tribulation. In making their way in the direction of their destined haven, they reached Salem, New Jersey, where they were discovered to be strangers and fugitives, and were directed to Abigail Goodwin, a Quaker lady, an abolitionist, long noted for her devotion to the cause of freedom, and one of the most liberal and faithful friends of the Vigilance Committee of Philadelphia. This friend's opportunities of witnessing fresh arrivals had been rare, and perhaps she had never before come in contact with a "chattel" so smart as "Sam." Consequently she was much embarrassed when she heard his story, especially when he talked of his experience as a "Dentist." She was inclined to suspect that he was a "shrewd impostor" that needed "watching" instead of aiding. But her humanity forbade a hasty decision on this point. She was soon persuaded to render him some assistance, notwithstanding her apprehensions. While tarrying a day or two in Salem, "Sam's" letter was received in Philadelphia. Friend Goodwin was written to in the meantime, by a member of the Committee, directly with a view of making inquires concerning the stray fugitives, and at the same time to inform her as to how they happened to be coming in the direction found by her. While the mind of the friend was much relieved by the letter she received, she was still in some doubt, as will be seen by the appended extract from a letter on the subject: LETTER FROM A. GOODWIN. SALEM, 3 mo., 25, '55. DEAR FRIEND:--Thine of the 22d came to hand yesterday noon. I do not believe that any of them are the ones thee wrote about, who wanted Dr. Lundy to come for them, and promised they would pay his expenses. They had no money, the minister said, but were pretty well off for clothes. I gave him all I had and more, but it seemed very little for four travelers--only a dollar for each--but they will meet with friends and helpers on the way. He said they expected to go away to-morrow. I am afraid, it's so cold, and one of them had a sore foot, they will not get away--it's dangerous staying here. There has been a slave-hunter here lately, I was told yesterday, in search of a woman; he tracked her to our Alms-house--she had lately been confined and was not able to go--he will come back for her and his infant--and will not wait long I expect. I want much to get her away first--and if one had a C.C. Torney here no doubt it would be done; but she will be well guarded. How much I wish the poor thing could be secreted in some safe place till she is able to travel Northward; but where that could be it's not easy to see. I presume the Carolina freed people have arrived ere now. I hope they will meet many friends, and be well provided for. Mary Davis will be then paid--her cousins have sent her twenty-four dollars, as it was not wanted for the purchase money--it was to be kept for them when they arrive. I am glad thee did keep the ten for the fugitives. Samuel Nixon is now here, just come--a smart young man--they will be after him soon. I advise him to hurry on to Canada; he will leave here to-morrow, but don't say that he will go straight to the city. I would send this by him if he did. I am afraid he will loiter about and be taken--do make them go on fast--he has left. I could not hear much he said--some who did don't like him at all--think him an impostor--a great brag--said he was a dentist ten years. He was asked where he came from, but would not tell till he looked at the letter that lay on the table and that he had just brought back. I don't feel much confidence in him--don't believe he is the one thee alluded to. He was asked his name--he looked at the letter to find it out. Says nobody can make a better set of teeth than he can. He said they will go on to-morrow in the stage--he took down the number and street of the Anti-slavery office--you will be on your guard against imposition--he kept the letter thee sent from Norfolk. I had then no doubt of him, and had no objection to it. I now rather regret it. I would send it to thee if I had it, but perhaps it is of no importance. He wanted the names taken down of nine more who expected to get off soon and might come here. He told us to send them to him, but did not seem to know where he was going to. He was well dressed in fine broad-cloth coat and overcoat, and has a very active tongue in his head. But I have said enough--don't want to prejudice thee against him, but only be on thy guard, and do not let him deceive thee, as I fear he has some of us here. With kind regards, A. GOODWIN. In due time Samuel and his companions reached Philadelphia, where a cordial welcome awaited them. The confusion and difficulties into which they had fallen, by having to travel an indirect route, were fully explained, and to the hearty merriment of the Committee and strangers, the dilemma of their good Quaker friend Goodwin at Salem was alluded to. After a sojourn of a day or two in Philadelphia, Samuel and his companions left for New Bedford. Canada was named to them as the safest place for all Refugees; but it was in vain to attempt to convince "Sam" that Canada or any other place on this Continent, was quite equal to New Bedford. His heart was there, and there he was resolved to go--and there he did go too, bearing with him his resolute mind, determined, if possible, to work his way up to an honorable position at his old trade, Dentistry, and that too for his own benefit. Aided by the Committee, the journey was made safely to the desired haven, where many old friends from Norfolk were found. Here our hero was known by the name of Dr. Thomas Bayne--he was no longer "Sam." In a short time the Dr. commenced his profession in an humble way, while, at the same time, he deeply interested himself in his own improvement, as well as the improvement of others, especially those who had escaped from Slavery as he himself had. Then, too, as colored men were voters and, therefore, eligible to office in New Bedford, the Doctor's naturally ambitious and intelligent, turn of mind led him to take an interest in politics, and before he was a citizen of New Bedford four years, he was duly elected a member of the City Council. He was also an outspoken advocate of the cause of temperance, and was likewise a ready speaker at Anti-slavery meetings held by his race. Some idea of his abilities, and the interest he took in the Underground Rail Road, education, etc., may be gathered from the appended letters: NEW BEDFORD, June 23d, 1855. W. Still:--Sir--I write you this to inform you that I has received my things and that you need not say any thing to Bagnul about them--I see by the Paper that the under ground Rail Road is in operation. Since 2 weeks a go when Saless Party was betrayed by that Capt whom we in mass. are so anxious to Learn his name--There was others started last Saturday night--They are all my old friends and we are waiting their arrival, we hope you will look out for them they may come by way of Salem, N.J. if they be not overtaken. They are from Norfolk--Times are very hard in Canada 2 of our old friends has left Canada and come to Bedford for a living. Every thing are so high and wages so low They cannot make a living (owing to the War) others are Expected shortly--let me hear from Sales and his Party. Get the Name of the Capt. that betrayed him let me know if Mrs. Goodwin of Salem are at the same place yet--John Austin are with us. C. Lightfoot is well and remembers you and family. My business increases more since I has got an office. Send me a Norfolk Paper or any other to read when convenient. Let me hear from those People as soon as possible. They consist of woman and child 2 or 3 men belonging to Marsh Bottimore, L. Slosser and Herman & Co--and Turner--all of Norfolk, Va. Truly yours, THOS. BAYNE. Direct to Box No. 516, New Bedford, Mass. Don't direct my letters to my office. Direct them to my Box 516. My office is 66-1/2 William St. The same street the Post office is near the city market. The Doctor, feeling his educational deficiency in the enlightened city of New Bedford, did just what every uncultivated man should, devoted himself assiduously to study, and even applied himself to abstruse and hard subjects, medicine, etc., as the following letters will show: NEW BEDFORD, Jan., 1860. No. 22, Cheapside, opposite City Hall. My Dear Friend:--Yours of the 3d inst. reached me safely in the midst of my misfortune. I suppose you have learned that my office and other buildings burned down during the recent fire. My loss is $550, insured $350. I would have written you before, but I have been to R.I. for some time and soon after I returned before I examined the books, the fire took place, and this accounts for my delay. In regard to the books I am under many obligations to you and all others for so great a piece of kindness, and shall ever feel indebted to you for the same. I shall esteem them very highly for two reasons, first, The way in which they come, that is through and by your Vigilance as a colored man helping a colored man to get such knowledge as will give the lie to our enemies. Secondly--their contents being just the thing I needed at this time. My indebtedness to you and all concerned for me in this direction is inexpressible. There are some books the Doctor says I must have, such as the Medical Dictionary, Physician's Dictionary, and a work on Anatomy. These I will have to get, but any work that may be of use to a student of anatomy or medicine will be thankfully received. You shall hear from me again soon. Truly Yours, THOS. BAYNE. NEW BEDFORD, March 18th, 1861. Mr. Wm. Still:--Dear Sir--Dr. Powell called to see me and informed me that you had a medical lexicon (Dictionary) for me. If you have such a book for me, it will be very thankfully received, and any other book that pertains to the medical or dental profession. I am quite limited in means as yet and in want of books to prosecute my studies. The books I need most at present is such as treat on midwifery, anatomy, &c. But any book or books in either of the above mentioned cases will be of use to me. You can send them by Express, or by any friend that may chance to come this way, but by Express will be the safest way to send them. Times are quite dull. This leaves me well and hope it may find you and family the same. My regards to your wife and all others. Yours, &c., THOMAS BAYNE, 22 Cheapside, opposite City Hall. Thus the doctor continued to labor and improve his mind until the war removed the hideous institution of Slavery from the nation; but as soon as the way opened for his return to his old home, New Bedford no longer had sufficient attractions to retain him. With all her faults he conceived that "Old Virginia" offered decided inducements for his return. Accordingly he went directly to Norfolk, whence he escaped. Of course every thing was in the utmost confusion and disorder when he returned, save where the military held sway. So as soon as the time drew near for reorganizing, elections, &c., the doctor was found to be an aspirant for a seat in Congress, and in "running" for it, was found to be a very difficult candidate to beat. Indeed in the first reports of the election his name was amongst the elected; but subsequent counts proved him to be among the defeated by only a very slight majority. At the time of the doctor's escape, in 1855, he was thirty-one years of age, a man of medium size, and about as purely colored, as could readily be found, with a full share of self-esteem and pluck. * * * * * SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM LOUDON CO., VA., NORFOLK, BALTIMORE, MD., PETERSBURG, VA., &C., ABOUT THE MONTH OF JUNE, 1855. Arrival 1st. David Bennett and family. Arrival 2d. Henry Washington, alias Anthony Hanly, and Henry Stewart. Arrival 3d. William Nelson and wife, William Thomas, Louisa Bell, and Elias Jasper. Arrival 4th. Maria Joiner. Arrival 5th. Richard Green and his brother George. Arrival 6th. Henry Cromwell. Arrival 7th. Henry Bohm. Arrival 8th. Ralph Whiting, James H. Forman, Anthony Atkinson, Arthur Jones, Isaiah Nixon, Joseph Harris, John Morris, Henry Hodges. Arrival 9th. Robert Jones and wife. The first arrival to be here noticed consisted of David Bennett, and his wife Martha, with their two children, a little boy named George, and a nameless babe one month old. This family journeyed from Loudon county, Va. David, the husband, had been in bonds under Captain James Taylor. Martha, the wife, and her two children were owned by George Carter. Martha's master was represented as a very barbarous and cruel man to the slaves. He made a common practice of flogging females when stripped naked. This was the emphatic testimony of Martha. Martha declared that she had been so stripped, and flogged by him after her marriage. The story of this interesting young mother, who was about twenty-seven years of age, was painful to the ear, particularly as the earnestness and intelligence of this poor, bruised, and mangled soul bore such strong evidence to the truthfulness of her statements. During the painful interview the mind would involuntarily picture this demon, only as the representative of thousands in the South using the same relentless sway over men and women; and this fleeing victim and her little ones, before escaping, only as sharers of a common lot with many other mothers and children, whose backs were daily subjected to the lash. If on such an occasion it was hard to find fitting words of sympathy, or adequate expressions of indignation, the pleasure of being permitted to give aid and comfort to such was in part a compensation and a relief. David, the husband of this woman, was about thirty-two years of age. No further notice was made of him. Arrival No. 2 consisted of Henry Washington, alias Anthony Hanly, and Henry Stewart. Henry left Norfolk and a "very mild master," known by the name of "Seth March," out of sheer disgust for the patriarchal institution. Directly after speaking of his master in such flattering terms he qualified the "mild," &c. by adding that he was excessively close in money matters. In proof of this assertion, Henry declared, that out of his hire he was only allowed $1.50 per week to pay his board, clothe himself, and defray all other expenses; leaving no room whatever for him to provide for his wife. It was, therefore, a never-failing source of unhappiness to be thus debarred, and it was wholly on this account that he "took out," as he did, and at the time that he did. His wife's name was "Sally." She too was a slave, but "had not been treated roughly." For fifty long years Henry had been in the grasp of this merciless system--constrained to toil for the happiness of others, to make them comfortable, rich, indolent, and tyrannical. To say that he was like a bird out of a cage, conveys in no sense whatever the slightest idea of his delight in escaping from the prison house. And yet, his pleasure was sadly marred by the reflection that his bosom companion was still in bondage in the gloomy prison-house. Henry was a man of dark color, well made, and of a reflective turn of mind. On arriving in Canada, he manifested his gratitude through Rev. H. Wilson, as follows-- ST. CATHARINES, Aug. 20th, 1855. DEAR BR. STILL:--I am requested by Henry Washington to inform you that he got through safe, and is here in good business. He returns to you his sincere thanks for your attention to him on his way. I had the pleasure of receiving seven fugitives last week. Send them on, and may God speed them in the flight. I would like to have a miracle-working power, that I could give wings to them all so that they could come faster than by Railroads either underground or above. Yours truly, HIRAM WILSON. While he was thus hopefully succeeding in Canada, separated from his companion by many hundreds of miles, death came and liberated her from the yoke, as the subjoined letter indicates-- ST. CATHARINES, C.W. Nov. 12, 1855. MR. WILLIAM STILL:--_Dear Sir_:--I have received a letter from Joseph G. Selden a friend in Norfolk, Va., informing me of the death of my wife, who deceased since I saw you here; he also informs me that my clothing will be forwarded to you by Jupiter White, who now has it in his charge. You will therefore do me a great favor, if you will be so good as to forward them to me at this place St. Catharines, C.W. The accompanying letter is the one received from Mr. Selden which I send you, that you may see that it is all right. You will please give my respects to Mrs. Still and family. Most respectfully yours, HENRY WASHINGTON. Henry Stewart, who accompanied the above mentioned traveler to Canada, had fled a short while before from Plymouth, North Carolina. James Monroe Woodhouse, a farmer, claimed Stewart as his property, and "hired him out" for $180 per annum. As a master, Woodhouse was considered to be of the "moderate" type, according to Stewart's judgment. But respecting money matters (when his slaves wanted a trifle), "he was very hard. He did not flog, but would not give a slave a cent of money upon any consideration." It was by procuring a pass to Norfolk, that Henry managed to escape. Although a father and a husband, having a wife (Martha) and two children (Mary Ann and Susan Jane), he felt that his lot as a slave utterly debarred him from discharging his duty to them; that he could exercise no rights or privileges whatever, save as he might obtain permission from his master. In the matter of separation, even although the ties of husband and wife, parents and children were most closely knit, his reason dictated that he would be justified in freeing himself if possible; indeed, he could not endure the pressure of Slavery any longer. Although only twenty-three years of age, the burdens that he had been called upon to bear, made his naturally intelligent mind chafe to an unusual degree, especially when reflecting upon a continued life of Slavery. When the time decided upon for his flight arrived, he said nothing to his wife on the subject, but secured his pass and took his departure for Norfolk. On arriving there, he sought out an Underground Rail Road captain, and arranged with him to bring him to Philadelphia. Whether the sorrow-stricken wife ever afterwards heard of her husband, or the father of his two little children, the writer is unable to say. It is possible that this narrative may reveal to the mother and her offspring (if they are still living), the first ray of light concerning the missing one. Indeed it is not unreasonable to suppose, that thousands of anxious wives, husbands and children, who have been scattered in every direction by Slavery, will never be able to learn as much of their lost ones as is contained in this brief account of Henry Stewart. Arrival No. 3, brought William Nelson, his wife, Susan, and son, William Thomas, together with Louisa Bell, and Elias Jasper. These travelers availed themselves of the schooner of Captain B. who allowed them to embark at Norfolk, despite the search laws of Virginia. It hardly need be said, however, that it was no trifling matter in those days, to evade the law. Captains and captives, in order to succeed, found that it required more than ordinary intelligence and courage, shrewdness and determination, and at the same time, a very ardent appreciation of liberty, without which, there could be no success. The simple announcement then, that a party of this number had arrived from Norfolk, or Richmond, or Petersburg, gave the Committee unusual satisfaction. It made them quite sure that there was pluck and brain somewhere. These individuals, in a particularly marked degree, possessed the qualities that greatly encouraged the efforts of the Committee. William Nelson, was a man of a dark chestnut color, medium size, with more than an ordinary degree of what might be termed "mother wit." Apparently, William possessed well settled convictions, touching the questions of morals and religion, despite the overflowing tide of corruption and spurious religious teachings consequent on the existing pro-slavery usages all around him. He was a member of the Methodist Church, under the charge of the Rev. Mr. Jones. For twenty years, William had served in the capacity of a "packer" under Messrs. Turner and White, who held a deed for William as their legal property. While he declared that he had been very "tightly worked" he nevertheless admitted that he had been dealt with in a mild manner in some respects. For his board and clothing, William had been allowed $1.50 per week. Truly a small sum for a hard-working man with a family--yet this was far more than many slaves received from their masters. In view of receiving this small pittance, he had toiled hard--doing over-work in order to make "buckle and strap meet." Once he had been sold on the auction-block. A sister of his had also shared the same fate. While seriously contemplating his life as a slave, he was soon led to the conclusion that it was his duty to bend his entire energies towards freeing himself and his family if possible. The idea of not being able to properly provide for his family rendered him quite unhappy; he therefore resolved to seek a passage North, via the Underground Rail Road. To any captain who would aid him in the matter, he resolved to offer a large reward, and determined that the amount should only be limited by his inability to increase it. Finally, after much anxious preparation, agreement was entered into with Captain B., on behalf of himself, wife, child, and Louisa Bell, which was mutually satisfactory to all concerned, and afforded great hope to William. In due time the agreement was carried into effect, and all arrived safely and were delivered into the hands of the Committee in Philadelphia. The fare of the four cost $240, and William was only too grateful to think, that a Captain could be found who would risk his own liberty in thus aiding a slave to freedom. The Committee gladly gave them aid and succor, and agreed with William that the Captain deserved all that he received for their deliverance. The arrival of William, wife, and child in Canada was duly announced by the agent at St. Catharines, Rev. H. Wilson, as follows: ST. CATHARINES, C.W., June 28th, 1855. MR. WM. STILL:--_My Dear Friend_:--I am happy to announce the safe arrival of Thomas Russell with his wife and child. They have just arrived. I am much pleased with their appearance. I shall do what I can for their comfort and encouragement. They stopt at Elmira from Monday night till this morning, hoping that Lucy Bell would come up and join them at that place. They are very anxious to hear from her, as they have failed of meeting with her on the way or finding her here in advance of them. They wish to hear from you as soon as you can write, and would like to know if you have forwarded Lucy on, and if so, what route you sent her. They send their kind respects to you and your family and many thanks for your kindness to them. They wish you to inquire after Lucy if any harm has befallen her after her leaving Philadelphia. Please write promptly in my care. Yours truly in the love of freedom, HIRAM WILSON. The man who came to us as Wm. Nelson, is now known only as "Thomas Russell." It may here be remarked, that, owing to the general custom of changing names, as here instanced, it is found difficult to tell to whom the letters severally refer. Where the old and new names were both carefully entered on the book there is no difficulty, of course, but it was not always thus. Susan Bell, the wife of William, was about thirty years of age, of a dark color, rather above medium size, well-made, good-looking, and intelligent--quite equal to her husband, and appeared to have his affections undividedly. She was owned by Thomas Baltimore, with whom she had lived for the last seven years. She stated that during a part of her life she had been treated in a "mild manner." She had no complaint to make until after the marriage of her master. Under the new wife and mistress, Susan found a very marked change for the worse. She fared badly enough then. The mistress, on every trifling occasion for complaint, was disposed to hold the auction-block up to Susan, and would likewise influence her husband to do the same. From the fact, that four of Susan's sisters had been sold away to "parts unknown," she was not prepared to relish these almost daily threats from her irritable mistress, so she became as anxious for a trip on the Underground Rail Road as was her husband. About one hundred miles away in the country, her father, mother, three brothers, and one sister were living; but she felt that she could not remain a slave on their account. Susan's owner had already fixed a price on her and her child, twenty-two months old, which was one thousand dollars. From this fate she was saved only by her firm resolution to seek her freedom. Louisa Bell was also of Wm. Nelson's party, and a fair specimen of a nice-looking, wide awake woman; of a chestnut color, twenty-eight years of age. She was the wife of a free man, but the slave of L. Stasson, a confectioner. The almost constant ringing in her ears of the auction-block, made her most miserable, especially as she had once suffered terribly by being sold, and had likewise seen her mother, and five sisters placed in the same unhappy situation, the thought of which never ceased to be most painful. In reflecting upon the course which she was about to pursue in order to free herself from the prison-house, she felt more keenly than ever for her little children, and readily imagined how sadly she would mourn while thinking of them hundreds of miles distant, growing up only to be slaves. And particularly would her thoughts dwell upon her boy, six years of age; full old enough to feel deeply the loss of his mother, but without hope of ever seeing her again. Heart-breaking as were these reflections, she resolved to leave Robert and Mary in the hands of God, and escape, if possible from her terrible thraldom. Her plan was submitted to her husband; he acquiesced fully and promised to follow her as soon as an opportunity might present itself. Although the ordeal that she was called upon to pass through was of the most trying nature she bravely endured the journey through to Canada. On her arrival there the Rev. H. Wilson wrote on behalf of herself, and the cause as follows: ST. CATHERINES, C.W. July 6th, 1855. DEAR BR. STILL:--I have just received your letters touching U.G.R.R. operations. All is right. Jasper and Mrs. Bell got here on Saturday last, and I think I dropt you a line announcing the fact. I write again thus soon because two more by name of Smith, John and Wm., have arrived the present week and were anxious to have me inform you that they are safely landed and free in this refuge land. They wish me to communicate their kind regards to you and others who have aided them. They have found employment and are likely to do well. The 5 of last week have gone over to Toronto. I gave them letters to a friend there after furnishing them as well as I could with such clothing as they required. I am afraid that I am burdening you too much with postage, but can't help doing so unless I fail to write at all, as my means are not half equal to the expenses to which I am subject. Faithfully and truly yours, HIRAM WILSON. Elias Jasper, who was also a fellow-passenger with Wm. Nelson and Co., was noticed thus on the Underground Rail Road: Age thirty-two years, color dark, features good, and gifted both with his tongue and hands. He had worked more or less at the following trades: Rope-making, carpentering, engineering, and photographing. It was in this latter calling that he was engaged when the Underground Rail Road movement first arrested his attention, and so continued until his departure. For several years he had been accustomed to hire his time, for which he had been required to pay $10 per month. In acquiring the above trades he had been at no expense to his master, as he had learned them solely by his own perseverance, endowed as he was with a considerable share of genius. Occasionally he paid for lessons, the money being earned by his over-work. His master, Bayham, was a "retired gentleman." Elias had been sold once, and had suffered in various other ways, particularly from being flogged. He left his wife, Mary, but no child. Of his intention to leave Elias saw not how to impart to his wife, lest she should in some way let the "cat out of the bag." She was owned by a Miss Portlock, and had been treated "tolerably well," having had the privilege of hiring her time. She had $55 to pay for this favor, which amount she raised by washing, etc. Elias was a member of the Methodist Church, as were all of his comrades, and well did they remember the oft-repeated lesson, "Servants obey your masters," etc. They soon understood this kind of preaching after breathing free air. The market value of Elias was placed at $1200. Arrival, No. 4. Maria Joiner. Captain F. arrived, from Norfolk, with the above named passenger, the way not being open to risk any other on that occasion. This seemed rather slow business with this voyager, for he was usually accustomed to bringing more than one. However, as this arrival was only one day later than the preceding one noticed, and came from the same place, the Committee concluded, that they had much reason for rejoicing nevertheless. As in the case of a great number among the oppressed of the South, when simply looking at Maria, no visible marks of ill usage in any way were discernible. Indeed, as she then appeared at the age of thirty-three, a fine, fresh, and healthy-looking mulatto woman, nine out of every ten would have been impressed with the idea, that she had never been subjected to hard treatment; in other words, that she had derived her full share of advantages from the "Patriarchal Institution." The appearance of just such persons in Southern cities had often led Northerners, when traveling in those parts, to regard the lot of slaves as quite comfortable. But the story of Maria, told in an earnest and intelligent manner, was at once calculated to dissipate the idea of a "comfortable" existence in a state of bondage. She frankly admitted, however, that prior to the death of her old master, she was favorably treated, compared with many others; but, unfortunately, after his death, she had fallen into the hands of one of the old man's daughters, from whom, she declared, that she had received continued abuse, especially when said daughter was under the influence of liquor. At such times she was very violent. Being spirited, Maria could not consent to suffer on as a slave in this manner. Consequently she began to cogitate how she might escape from her mistress (Catharine Gordon), and reach a free State. None other than the usual trying and hazardous ways could be devised--which was either to be stowed away in the hold of a schooner, or concealed amongst the rubbish of a steamer, where, for the time being, the extreme suffering was sure to tax every nerve even of the most valiant-hearted men. The daily darkening prospects constrained her to decide, that she was willing to suffer, not only in adopting this mode of travel, but on the other hand, that she had better be dead than remain under so cruel a woman as her mistress. Maria's husband and sister (no other relatives are noticed), were naturally formidable barriers in the way of her escape. Notwithstanding her attachment to them, she fully made up her mind to be free. Immediately she took the first prerequisite step, which was to repair to a place of concealment with a friend in the city, and there, like the man at the pool, wait until her turn came to be conveyed thence to a free State. In this place she was obliged to wait eight long months, enduring daily suffering in various ways, especially during the winter season. But, with martyr-like faith, she endured to the end, and was eventually saved from the hell of Slavery. Maria was appraised at $800. Arrival No. 5. Richard Green, alias Wm. Smith, and his brother George. These young brothers fled from George Chambers of Baltimore. The elder brother was twenty-five, the younger twenty-three. Both were tall and well made and of a chestnut color, and possessed a good degree of natural ability. When desiring to visit their parents, their request was positively refused by their owner. Taking offence at this step, both mutually resolved to run away at the earliest opportunity. Thus in accordance with well premeditated plans, they set out and unobstructedly arrived in Philadelphia. At first it was simply very pleasant to take them by the hand and welcome them; then to listen for a few moments to their intelligent narration of how they escaped, the motives that prompted them, etc. But further inquiries soon brought out incidents of the most thrilling and touching nature--not with regard to hardships which they had personally experienced, but in relation to outrages which had been perpetrated upon their mother. Such simple facts as were then written are substantially as follows: Nearly thirty years prior to the escape of Richard and his brother their mother was in very bad health, so much so that physicians regarded her incurable. Her owner was evidently fully impressed with the belief that instead of being profitable to him, she might be an expense, which he could not possibly obviate, while he retained her as a slave. Now there was a way to get out of this dilemma. He could emancipate her and throw the responsibility of her support upon, herself. Accordingly he drew up papers, called for his wife's mother to witness them, then formally put them into the hands of the invalid slave woman (Dinah), assuring her at the same time, that she was free--being fully released as set forth in her papers. "Take notice I have no more claim on you nor you on me from this time." Marvellous liberality! After working the life out of a woman, in order that he should not have her to bury, he becomes hastily in favor of freedom. He is, however, justified by the laws of Maryland. Complaint, therefore, would simply amount to nothing. In the nature of the case Dinah was now free, but she was not wholly alone in the world. She had a husband, named Jacob Green, who was owned by Nathan Childs for a term of years only, at the expiration of which time he was to be free. All lived then in Talbot county, Md. At the appointed time Jacob's bondage ended, and he concluded that he might succeed better by moving to Baltimore. Indeed the health of his wife was so miserable that nothing in his old home seemed to offer any inducement in the way of a livelihood. So off they moved to Baltimore. After a time, under careful and kind treatment, the faithful Jacob was greatly encouraged by perceiving that the health of his companion was gradually improving--signs indicated, that she might yet become a well woman. The hopes of husband and wife, in this particular, were, in the lapse of time, fully realized. Dinah was as well as ever, and became the mother of another child--a little boy. Everything seemed to be going on happily, and they had no apparent reason to suspect any troubles other than such as might naturally have to be encountered in a state of poverty and toil. The unfettered boy was healthy, and made rapid advance in a few years. That any one should ever claim him was never for a moment feared. The old master, however, becoming tired of country life, had also moved to Baltimore. How, they knew not, but he had heard of the existence of this boy. That he might satisfy himself on this point, he one day very slyly approached the house with George. No sooner was the old man within the enclosures than he asked Dinah, "Whose child is that?" pointing to the boy. "Ask Jacob," was the reply of the mother. The question was then put to Jacob, the father of the boy. "I did not think that you would ask such a question, or that you would request anything like that," Jacob remarked, naturally somewhat nervous, but he added, "I have the privilege of having any one I please in my house." "Where is he from?" again demanded the master. The father repeated, "I have a right to have," etc., "I am my own man," etc. "I have found out whose he is," the hunter said. "I am going presently to take him home with me." At this juncture he seized the little fellow, at the same time calling out, "Dinah, put his clothes on." By this time the father too had seized hold of the child. Mustering courage, the father said, "Take notice that you are not in the country, pulling and hauling people about." "I will have him or I will leave my heart's blood in the house," was the savage declaration of the master. In his rage he threatened to shoot the father. In the midst of the excitement George called in two officers to settle the trouble. "What are you doing here?" said the officers to the slave-holder. "I am after my property--this boy," he exclaimed. "Have you ever seen it before?" they inquired. "No," said the slave-holder. "Then how do you know that he belongs to you?" inquired the officers. "I believe he is mine," replied the slave-holder. All the parties concerned were then taken by the officers before an Alderman. The father owned the child but the mother denied it. The Alderman then decided that the child should be given to the father. The slave-holder having thus failed, was unwilling, nevertheless, to relinquish his grasp. Whereupon he at once claimed the mother. Of course he was under the necessity of resorting to the Courts in order to establish his claim. Fortunately the mother had securely preserved the paper given her by her master so many years before, releasing her. Notwithstanding this the suit was pending nearly a year before the case was decided. Everything was so clear the mother finally gained the suit. This decision was rendered only about two months prior to the escape of Richard and George. Arrival No. 6. Henry Cromwell. This passenger fled from Baltimore county, Md. The man that he escaped from was a farmer by the name of William Roberts, who also owned seven other young slaves. Of his treatment of his slaves nothing was recorded. Henry was about six feet high, quite black, visage thin, age twenty-five. He left neither wife, parents, brothers nor sisters to grieve after him. In making his way North he walked of nights from his home to Harrisburg, Pa., and there availed himself of a passage on a freight car coming to Philadelphia. Arrival No. 7. Henry Bohm. Henry came from near Norfolk, Va. He was about twenty-five years of age, and a fair specimen of a stout man, possessed of more than ordinary physical strength. As to whom he fled from, how he had been treated, or how he reached Philadelphia, the record book is silent. Why this is the case cannot now be accounted for, unless the hurry of getting him off forbade sufficient delay to note down more of the particulars. Arrival No. 8. Ralph Whiting, James H. Forman, Anthony Atkinson, Arthur Jones, Isaiah Nixon, Joseph Harris, John Morris, and Henry Hodges. A numerous party like this had the appearance of business. They were all young and hopeful, and belonged to the more intelligent and promising of their race. They were capable of giving the best of reasons for the endeavors they were making to escape to a free country. They imparted to the Committee much information respecting their several situations, together with the characters of their masters in relation to domestic matters, and the customs and usages under which they had been severally held to service--all of which was listened to with deep interest. But it was not an easy matter, after having been thus entertained, to write out the narratives of eight such persons. Hundreds of pages would hardly have contained a brief account of the most interesting portion of their histories. It was deemed sufficient to enter their names and their forsaken homes, etc., as follows: "Ralph was twenty-six years of age, five feet ten inches high, dark, well made, intelligent, and a member of the Methodist Church. He was claimed by Geo. W. Kemp, Esq., cashier of the Exchange Bank of Norfolk, Va. Ralph gave Mr. Kemp the credit of being a 'moderate man' to his slaves. Ralph was compelled to leave his wife, Lydia, and two children, Anna Eliza, and Cornelius." "James was twenty-three years of age, dark mulatto, nearly six feet high, and of prepossessing appearance. He fled from James Saunders, Esq. Nothing, save the desire to be free, prompted James to leave his old situation and master. His parents and two sisters he was obliged to leave in Norfolk." Two brief letters from James, one concerning his "sweet-heart," whom he left in Norfolk, the other giving an account of her arrival in Canada and marriage thereafter will, doubtless, be read with interest. They are here given as follows: NIAGARA FALLS, June 5th, 1856. MR. STILL:--Sir--I take my pen in hand to write you theas few lines to let you know that I am well at present and hope theas few lines may find you the same. Sir my object in writing to you is that I expect a young Lady by the name of Miss Mariah Moore, from Norfolk, Virginia. She will leave Norfolk on the 13th of this month in the Steamship Virginia for Philadelphia you will oblige me very much by seeing her safely on the train of cars that leaves Philadelphia for the Suspension Bridge Niagara Falls pleas to tell the Lady to telegraph to me what time she will leave Philadelphia so i may know what time to meet her at the Suspension Bridge my Brother Isaac Porman send his love also his family to you and your family they are all well at present pleas to give my respects to Mr. Harry Londay, also Miss Margaret Cunigan, no more at present. I remain your friend, JAMES H. FORMAN. When you telegraph to me direct to the International Hotel, Niagara Falls, N.Y. NIAGARA FALLS, July 24th, 1856. DEAR SIR:--I take this opportunity of writing these few lines to you hoping that they may find you enjoying good health as these few lines leave me at present. I thank you for your kindness. Miss Moore arrived here on the 30th of June and I was down to the cars to receive her. I thought I would have written to you before, but I thought I would wait till I got married. I got married on the 22d of July in the English Church Canada about 11 o'clock my wife sends all her love to you and your wife and all enquiring friends please to kiss your two children for her and she says she is done crying and I am glad to hear she enjoyed herself so well in Philadelphia give my respects to Miss Margaret Cuningham and I am glad to hear her sister arrived my father sends his respects to you no more at present but remain your friend, JAMES H. FORMAN. Direct your letter to the International Hotel, Niagara Falls. Anthony was thirty-six years of age, and by blood, was quite as nearly related to the Anglo-Saxon as the Anglo-African. He was nevertheless, physically a fine specimen of a man. He was about six feet high, and bore evidence of having picked up a considerable amount of intelligence considering his opportunities. He had been sold three times. Anthony was decidedly opposed to having to pass through this ordeal a fourth time, therefore, the more he meditated over his condition, the more determined he became to seek out an Underground Rail Road agent, and make his way to Canada. Concluding that Josiah Wells, who claimed him, had received a thousand times too much of his labor already, Anthony was in a fit state of mind to make a resolute effort to gain his freedom. He had a wife, but no children. His father, one sister, and two brothers were all dear to him, but all being slaves "one could not help the other," Anthony reasoned, and wisely too. So, at the command of the captain, he was ready to bear his part of the suffering consequent upon being concealed in the hold of a vessel, where but little air could penetrate. Arthur was forty-one years of age, six feet high--chestnut color, well made, and possessed good native faculties needing cultivation. He escaped from a farmer, by the name of John Jones, who was classed, as to natural temperament, amongst "moderate slave-holders." "I wanted my liberty," said Arthur promptly and emphatically, and he declared that was the cause of his escape. He left his mother, two sisters, and three brothers in Slavery. Isaiah was about twenty-two, small of stature, but smart, and of a substantially black complexion. He had been subjected to very hard treatment under Samuel Simmons who claimed him, and on this account he was first prompted to leave. His mother and three brothers he left in bondage. Joseph was twenty-three years of age, and was, in every way, "likely-looking." According to the laws of Slavery, he was the property of David Morris, who was entitled to be ranked amongst the more compassionate slave-holders of the South. Yet, Joseph was not satisfied, deprived of his freedom. He had not known hardships as many had, but it was not in him notwithstanding, to be contented as a slave. In leaving, he had to "tear himself away" from his parents, three brothers, and two sisters. Henry escaped from S. Simmons of Plymouth, North Carolina, and was a fellow-servant with Isaiah. Simmons was particularly distinguished for his tyrannical rule and treatment of his slaves--so Henry and Isaiah had the good sense to withdraw from under his yoke, very young in life; Henry being twenty-three. John was about twenty-one years of age, five feet eight inches high, dark color, and well-grown for his years. Before embarking, he had endured seven months of hard suffering from being secreted, waiting for an opportunity to escape. It was to keep his master from selling him, that he was thus induced to secrete himself. After he had remained away some months, he resolved to suffer on until his friends could manage to procure him a passage on the Underground Rail Road. With this determined spirit he did not wait in vain. Arrival No. 9. Robert Jones and wife:--In the majority of cases, in order to effect the escape of either, sad separations between husbands and wives were unavoidable. Fortunately, it was not so in this case. In journeying from the house of bondage, Robert and his wife were united both in sympathies and in struggles. Robert had experienced "hard times" just in what way, however, was not recorded; his wife had been differently treated, not being under the same taskmaster as her husband. At the time of their arrival all that was recorded of their bondage is as follows-- August 2d, 1855, Robert Jones and wife, arrived from Petersburg, Va. Robert is about thirty-five, chestnut color, medium size, of good manners, intelligent, had been owned by Thomas N. Lee, "a very hard man." Robert left because he "wanted his liberty--always had from a boy." Eliza, his wife, is about forty years of age, chestnut color, nice-looking, and well-dressed. She belonged to Eliza H. Richie, who was called a "moderate woman" towards her slaves. Notwithstanding the limited space occupied in noting them on the record book, the Committee regarded them as being among the most worthy and brave travelers passing over the Underground Rail Road, and felt well satisfied that such specimens of humanity would do credit in Canada, not only to themselves, but to their race. Robert had succeeded in learning to read and write tolerably well, and had thought much over the condition and wrongs of the race, and seemed to be eager to be where he could do something to lift his fellow-sufferers up to a higher plane of liberty and manhood. After an interview with Robert and his wife, in every way so agreeable, they were forwarded on in the usual manner, to Canada. While enjoying the sweets of freedom in Canada, he was not the man to keep his light under a bushel. He seemed to have a high appreciation of the potency of the pen, and a decidedly clear idea that colored men needed to lay hold of many enterprises with resolution, in order to prove themselves qualified to rise equally with other branches of the human family. Some of his letters, embracing his views, plans and suggestions, were so encouraging and sensible, that the Committee was in the habit of showing them to friendly persons, and indeed, extracts of some of his letters were deemed of sufficient importance to publish. One alone, taken from many letters received from him, must here suffice to illustrate his intelligence and efforts as a fugitive and citizen in Canada. Hamilton, C.W., August 9th, 1856. MR. WM. STILL;--_Dear Friend_:--I take this opportunity of writing you these few lines to inform you of my health, which is good at present, &c. * * * * I was talking to you about going to Liberia, when I saw you last, and did intend to start this fall, but I since looked at the condition of the colored people in Canada. I thought I would try to do something for their elevation as a nation, to place them in the proper position to stand where they ought to stand. In order to do this, I have undertaken to get up a military company amongst them. They laughed at me to undertake such a thing; but I did not relax my energies. I went and had an interview with Major J.T. Gilepon, told him what my object was, he encouraged me to go on, saying that he would do all he could for the accomplishment of my object. He referred to _Sir Allan McNab, &c._ * * * * I took with me Mr. J.H. Hill to see him--he told me that it should be done, and required us to write a petition to the _Governor General_, which has been done. * * * * The company is already organized. Mr. Howard was elected Captain; J.H. Hill, 1st Lieutenant; Hezekiah Hill, Ensign; Robert Jones, 1st Sergeant. The company's name is, Queen Victoria's Rifle Guards. You may, by this, see what I have been doing since I have been in Canada. When we receive our appointments by the Government. I will send by express, my daguerreotype in uniform. My respects, &c. &c., Robert Jones. * * * * * HEAVY REWARD. Two Thousand Six Hundred Dollars Reward--Ran away from the subscriber, on Saturday night, November 15th, 1856, Josiah and William Bailey, and Peter Pennington. Joe is about 5 feet 10 inches in height, of a chestnut color, bald head, with a remarkable scar on one of his cheeks, not positive on which it is, but think it is on the left, under the eye, has intelligent countenance, active, and well-made. He is about 28 years old. Bill is of a darker color, about 5 feet 8 inches in height, stammers a little when confused, well-made, and older than Joe, well dressed, but may have pulled kearsey on over their other clothes. Peter is smaller than either the others, about 25 years of age, dark chestnut color, 5 feet 7 or 8 inches high. [Illustration: ] A reward of fifteen hundred dollars will be given to any person who will apprehend the said Joe Bailey, and lodge him safely in the jail at Easton, Talbot Co., Md., and $300 for Bill and $800 for Peter. W.R. Hughlett John C. Henry, T. Wright. When this arrival made its appearance, it was at first sight quite evident that one of the company was a man of more than ordinary parts, both physically and mentally. Likewise, taking them individually, their appearance and bearing tended largely to strengthen the idea that the spirit of freedom was rapidly gaining ground in the minds of the slaves, despite the efforts of the slave-holders to keep them in darkness. In company with the three men, for whom the above large reward was offered, came a woman by the name of Eliza Nokey. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, the Active Committee feeling an unusual desire to hear their story, began the investigation by inquiring as to the cause of their escape, etc., which brought simple and homely but earnest answers from each. These answers afforded the best possible means of seeing Slavery in its natural, practical workings--of obtaining such testimony and representations of the vile system, as the most eloquent orator or able pen might labor in vain to make clear and convincing, although this arrival had obviously been owned by men of high standing. The fugitives themselves innocently stated that one of the masters, who was in the habit of flogging adult females, was a "moderate man." Josiah Bailey was the leader of this party, and he appeared well-qualified for this position. He was about twenty-nine years of age, and in no particular physically, did he seem to be deficient. He was likewise civil and polite in his manners, and a man of good common sense. He was held and oppressed by William H. Hughlett, a farmer and dealer in ship timber, who had besides invested in slaves to the number of forty head. In his habits he was generally taken for a "moderate" and "fair" man, "though he was in the habit of flogging the slaves--females as well as males," after they had arrived at the age of maturity. This was not considered strange or cruel in Maryland. Josiah was the "foreman" on the place, and was entrusted with the management of hauling the ship-timber, and through harvesting and busy seasons was required to lead in the fields. He was regarded as one of the most valuable hands in that part of the country, being valued at $2,000. Three weeks before he escaped, Joe was "stripped naked," and "flogged" very cruelly by his master, simply because he had a dispute with one of the fellow-servants, who had stolen, as Joe alleged, seven dollars of his hard earnings. This flogging, produced in Joe's mind, an unswerving determination to leave Slavery or die: to try his luck on the Underground Rail Road at all hazards. The very name of Slavery, made the fire fairly burn in his bones. Although a married man, having a wife and three children (owned by Hughlett), he was not prepared to let his affection for them keep him in chains--so Anna Maria, his wife, and his children Ellen, Anna Maria, and Isabella, were shortly widowed and orphaned by the slave lash. William Bailey was owned by John C. Henry, a large slave-holder, and a very "hard" one, if what William alleged of him was true. His story certainly had every appearance of truthfulness. A recent brutal flogging had "stiffened his back-bone," and furnished him with his excuse for not being willing to continue in Maryland, working his strength away to enrich his master, or the man who claimed to be such. The memorable flogging, however, which caused him to seek flight on the Underground Rail Road, was not administered by his master or on his master's plantation. He was hired out, and it was in this situation that he was so barbarously treated. Yet he considered his master more in fault than the man to whom he was hired, but redress there was none, save to escape. The hour for forwarding the party by the Committee, came too soon to allow time for the writing of any account of Peter Pennington and Eliza Nokey. Suffice it to say, that in struggling through their journey, their spirits never flagged; they had determined not to stop short of Canada. They truly had a very high appreciation of freedom, but a very poor opinion of Maryland. * * * * * SLAVE TRADER HALL IS FOILED. ROBERT McCOY _alias_ WILLIAM DONAR. In October, 1854, the Committee received per steamer, directly from Norfolk, Va., Robert McCoy and Elizabeth Saunders. Robert had constantly been in the clutches of the negro-trader Hall, for the last sixteen years, previous to his leaving, being owned by him. He had, therefore, possessed very favorable opportunities for varied observation and experience relative to the trader's conduct in his nefarious business, as well as for witnessing the effects of the auction-block upon all ages--rending asunder the dearest ties, despite the piteous wails of childhood or womanhood, parental or conjugal relations. But no attempt will be made to chronicle the deeds of this dealer in human flesh. Those stories fresh from the lips of one who had just escaped, were painful in the extreme, but in the very nature of things some of the statements are too revolting to be published. In lieu of this fact, except the above allusions to the trader's business, this sketch will only refer to Robert's condition as a slave, and finally as a traveler on the Underground Rail Road. Robert was a man of medium size, dark mulatto, of more than ordinary intelligence. His duties had been confined to the house, and not to the slave pen. As a general thing, he had managed, doubtless through much shrewdness, to avoid very severe outrages from the trader. On the whole, he had fared "about as well" as the generality of slaves. Yet, in order to free himself from his "miserable" life, he was willing, as he declared, to suffer almost any sacrifice. Indeed, his conduct proved the sincerity of this declaration, as he had actually been concealed five months in a place in the city, where he could not possibly avoid daily suffering of the most trying kind. His resolve to be free was all this while maturing. The trader had threatened to sell Robert, and to prevent it Robert (thus) "took out." Successfully did he elude the keen scent and grasp of the hunters, who made diligent efforts to recapture him. Although a young man--only about twenty-eight years of age, his health was by no means good. His system had evidently been considerably shattered by Slavery, and symptoms of consumption, together with chronic rheumatism, were making rapid headway against the physical man. Under his various ills, he declared, as did many others from the land of bondage, that his faith in God afforded him comfort and hope. He was obliged to leave his wife, Eliza, in bonds, not knowing whether they should ever meet again on earth, but he was somewhat hopeful that the way would open for her escape also. After reaching Philadelphia, where his arrival had long been anticipated by the Vigilance Committee, his immediate wants were met, and in due order he was forwarded to New Bedford, where, he was led to feel, he would be happy in freedom. Scarcely had he been in New Bedford one month, before his prayers and hopes were realized with regard to the deliverance of his wife. On hearing of the good news of her coming he wrote as follows-- NEW BEDFORD, Nov. 3, 1859. DEAR SIR:--i embrace this opertunity to inform you that i received your letter with pleasure, i am enjoying good health and hope that these few lines will find you enjoying the same blessing. i rejoise to hear from you i feel very much indetted to you for not writing before but i have been so bissy that is the cause, i rejoise to heare of the arrival of my wife, and hope she is not sick from the roling of the sea and if she is not, pleas to send her on here Monday with a six baral warlian and a rifall to gard her up to my residance i thank you kindly for the good that you have don for me. Give my respects to Mrs. Still, tell her i want to see her very bad and you also i would come but i am afraid yet to venture, i received your letter the second, but about the first of spring i hope to pay you a visit or next summer. i am getting something to do every day. i will write on her arrivall and tell you more. Mr. R. White sends his love to you and your famerly and says that he is very much indetted to you for his not writing and all so he desires to know wheather his cloths has arived yet or not, and if they are please to express them on to him or if at preasant by Mrs. Donar. Not any more at preasent. i remain your affectionate brother, WILLIAM DONAR. By the same arrival, and similarly secreted, Elizabeth Frances, alias Ellen Saunders, had the good luck to reach Philadelphia. She was a single young woman, about twenty-two, with as pleasant a countenance as one would wish to see. Her manners were equally agreeable. Perhaps her joy over her achieved victory added somewhat to her personal appearance. She had, however, belonged to the more favored class of slaves. She had neither been over-worked nor badly abused. Elizabeth was the property of a lady a few shades lighter than herself, (Elizabeth was a mulatto) by the name of Sarah Shephard, of Norfolk. In order the more effectually to profit by Elizabeth's labor, the mistress resorted to the plan of hiring her out for a given sum per month. Against this usage Elizabeth urged no complaint. Indeed the only very serious charge she brought was to the effect, that her mistress sold her mother away from her far South, when she was a child only ten years old. She had also sold a brother and sister to a foreign southern market. The reflections consequent upon the course that her mistress had thus pursued, awakened Elizabeth to much study relative to freedom, and by the time that she had reached womanhood she had very decided convictions touching her duty with regard to escaping. Thus growing to hate slavery in every way and manner, she was prepared to make a desperate effort to be free. Having saved thirty-five dollars by rigid economy, she was willing to give every cent of it (although it was all she possessed), to be aided from Norfolk to Philadelphia. After reaching the city, having suffered severely while coming, she was invited to remain until somewhat recruited. In the healthy air of freedom she was soon fully restored, and ready to take her departure for New Bedford, which place she reached without difficulty and was cordially welcomed. The following letter, expressive of her obligations for aid received, was forwarded soon after her arrival in New Bedford: NEW BEDFORD, Mass., October 16th, 1854. MR. STILL:--Dear Sir--I now take my pen in my hand to inform you of my health which is good at present all except a cold I have got but I hope when these few lines reach you you may be enjoying good health. I arrived in New Bedford Thursday morning safely and what little I have seen of the city I like it very much my friends were very glad to see me. I found my sister very well. Give my love to Mrs. Still and also your dear little children. I am now out at service. I do not think of going to Canada now. I think I shall remain in this city this winter. Please tell Mrs. Still I have not met any person who has treated me any kinder than she did since I left. I consider you both to have been true friends to me. I hope you will think me the same to you. I feel very thankful to you indeed. It might been supposed, out of sight out of mind, but it is not so. I never forget my friends. Give my love to Florence. If you come to this city I would be very happy to see you. Kiss your dear little children for me. Please to answer this as soon as possible, so that I may know you received this. No more at present. I still remain your friend, ELLEN SAUNDERS. ELIZA MCCOY--the wife of Robert McCoy, whose narrative has just been given--and who was left to wait in hope when her husband escaped--soon followed him to freedom. It is a source of great satisfaction to be able to present her narrative in so close proximity to her husband's. He arrived about the first of October--she about the first of November, following. From her lips testimony of much weight and interest was listened to by several friends relative to her sufferings as a slave--on the auction-block, and in a place of concealment seven months, waiting and praying for an opportunity to escape. But it was thought sufficient to record merely a very brief outline of her active slave life, which consisted of the following noticeable features. Eliza had been owned by Andrew Sigany, of Norfolk--age about thirty-eight--mulatto, and a woman whose appearance would readily command attention and respect anywhere outside of the barbarism of Slavery. She stated that her experience as a sufferer in cruel hands had been very trying, and that in fretting under hardships, she had "always wanted to be free." Her language was unmistakable on this point. Neither mistress nor servant was satisfied with each other; the mistress was so "queer" and "hard to please," that Eliza became heartily sick of trying to please her--an angel would have failed with such a woman. So, while matters were getting no better, but, on the contrary, were growing worse and worse, Eliza thought she would seek a more pleasant atmosphere in the North. In fact she felt that it would afford her no little relief to allow her place to be occupied by another. When she went into close quarters of concealment, she fully understood what was meant and all the liabilities thereto. She had pluck enough to endure unto the end without murmuring. The martyrs in olden times who dwelt in "dens and caves of the earth," could hardly have fared worse than some of these way-worn travelers. After the rest, needed by one who had suffered so severely until her arrival in Philadelphia, she was forwarded to her anxiously waiting husband in New Bedford, where she was gladly received. From the frequent arrivals from Virginia, especially in steamers, it may be thought that no very stringent laws or regulations existed by which offenders, who might aid the Underground Rail Road, could be severely punished--that the slave-holders were lenient, indifferent and unguarded as to how this property took wings and escaped. In order to enlighten the reader with regard to this subject, it seems necessary, in this connection, to publish at least one of the many statutes from the slave laws of the South bearing directly on the aid and escape of slaves by vessels. The following enactment is given as passed by the Legislature of Virginia in 1856: THE PROTECTION OF SLAVE PROPERTY IN VIRGINIA. A BILL PROVIDING ADDITIONAL PROTECTION FOR THE SLAVE PROPERTY OF CITIZENS OF THIS COMMONWEALTH. (1.) Be it enacted, by the General Assembly, that it shall not be lawful for any vessel, of any size or description, whatever, owned in whole, or in part, by any citizen or resident of another State, and about to sail or steam for any port or place in this State, for any port or place north of and beyond the capes of Virginia, to depart from the waters of this commonwealth, until said vessel has undergone the inspection hereinafter provided for in this act, and received a certificate to that effect. If any such vessel shall depart from the State without such certificate of inspection, the captain or owner thereof, shall forfeit and pay the sum of five hundred dollars, to be recovered by any person who will sue for the same, in any court of record in this State, in the name of the Governor of the Commonwealth. Pending said suit, the vessel of said captain or owner shall not leave the State until bond be given by the captain or owner, or other person for him, payable to the Governor, with two or three sureties satisfactory to the court, in the penalty of one thousand dollars, for the payment of the forfeit or fine, together with the cost and expenses incurred in enforcing the same; and in default of such bond, the vessel shall be held liable. Provided that nothing contained in this section, shall apply to vessels belonging to the United States Government, or vessels, American or foreign, bound direct to any foreign country other than the British American Provinces. (2.) The pilots licensed under the laws of Virginia, and while attached to a vessel regularly employed as a pilot boat, are hereby constituted inspectors to execute this act, so far as the same may be applicable to the Chesapeake Bay, and the waters tributary thereto, within the jurisdiction of this State, together with such other inspectors as may be appointed by virtue of this act. (3.) The branch or license issued to a pilot according to the provisions of the 92d chapter of Code, shall be sufficient evidence that he is authorized and empowered to act as inspector as aforesaid. (4.) It shall be the duty of the inspector, or other person authorized to act under this law, to examine and search all vessels hereinbefore described, to see that no slave or person held to service or labor in this State, or person charged with the commission of any crime within the State, shall be concealed on board said vessel. Such inspection shall be made within twelve hours of the time of departure of such vessel from the waters of Virginia, and may be made in any bay, river, creek, or other water-course of the State, provided, however, that steamers plying as regular packets, between ports in Virginia and those north of, and outside of the capes of Virginia, shall be inspected at the port of departure nearest Old Point Comfort. (5.) A vessel so inspected and getting under way, with intent to leave the waters of the State, if she returns to an anchorage above Back River Point, or within Old Point Comfort, shall be again inspected and charged as if an original case. If such vessel be driven back by stress of weather to seek a harbor, she shall be exempt from payment of a second fee, unless she holds intercourse with the shore. (6.) If, after searching the vessel, the inspector see no just cause to detain her, he shall give to the captain a certificate to that effect. If, however, upon such inspection, or in any other manner, any slave or person held to service or labor, or any person charged with any crime, be found on board of any vessel whatever, for the purpose aforesaid, or said vessel be detected in the act of leaving this commonwealth with any such slave or person on board, or otherwise violating the provisions of this act, he shall attach said vessel, and arrest all persons on board, to be delivered up to the sergeant or sheriff of the nearest port in this commonwealth, to be dealt with according to law. (7.) If any inspector or other officer be opposed, or shall have reason to suspect that he will be opposed or obstructed in the discharge of any duty required of him under this act, he shall have power to summon and command the force of any county or corporation to aid him in the discharge of such duty, and every person who shall resist, obstruct, or refuse to aid any inspector or other officer in the discharge of such duty, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and, upon conviction thereof, shall be fined and imprisoned as in other cases of misdemeanor. (8.) For every inspection of a vessel under this law, the inspector, or other officer shall be entitled to demand and receive the sum of five dollars; for the payment of which such vessel shall be liable, and the inspector or other officer may seize and hold her until the same is paid, together with all charges incurred in taking care of the vessel, as well as in enforcing the payment of the same. Provided, that steam packets trading regularly between the waters of Virginia and ports north of and beyond the capes of Virginia, shall pay not more than five dollars for each inspection under the provisions of this act; provided, however, that for every inspection of a vessel engaged in the coal trade, the inspector shall not receive a greater sum than two dollars. (9.) Any inspector or other person apprehending a slave in the act of escaping from the state, on board a vessel trading to or belonging to a non-slave-holding state, or who shall give information that will lead to the recovery of any slave, as aforesaid, shall be entitled to a reward of One Hundred Dollars, to be paid by the owner of such slave, or by the fiduciary having charge of the estate to which such slave belongs; and if the vessel be forfeited under the provisions of this act, he shall be entitled to one-half of the proceeds arising from the sale of the vessel; and if the same amounts to one hundred dollars, he shall not receive from the owner the above reward of one hundred dollars. (10.) An inspector permitting a slave to escape for the want of proper exertion, or by neglect in the discharge of his duty, shall be fined One Hundred Dollars; or if for like causes he permit a vessel, which the law requires him to inspect, to leave the state without inspection, he shall be fined not less than twenty, nor more than fifty dollars, to be recovered by warrant by any person who will proceed against him. (11.) No pilot acting under the authority of the laws of the state, shall pilot out of the jurisdiction of this state any such vessel as is described in this act, which has not obtained and exhibited to him the certificate of inspection hereby required; and if any pilot shall so offend, he shall forfeit and pay not less than twenty, or more than fifty dollars, to be recovered in the mode prescribed in the next preceding section of this act. (12.) The courts of the several counties or corporations situated on the Chesapeake Bay, or its tributaries, by an order entered on record, may appoint one or more inspectors, at such place or places within their respective districts as they may deem necessary, to prevent the escape or for the recapture of slaves attempting to escape beyond the limits of the state, and to search or otherwise examine all vessels trading to such counties or corporations. The expenses in such cases to be provided for by a levy on negroes now taxed by law; but no inspection by county or corporation officers thus appointed, shall supersede the inspection of such vessels by pilots and other inspectors, as specially provided for in this act. (13.) It shall be lawful for the county court of any county, upon the application of five or more slave-holders, residents of the counties where the application is made, by an order of record, to designate one or more police stations in their respective counties, and a captain and three or more other persons as a police patrol on each station, for the recapture of fugitive slaves; which patrol shall be in service at such times, and such stations as the court shall direct by their order aforesaid; and the said court shall allow a reasonable compensation, to be paid to the members of such patrol; and for that purpose, the said court may from time to time direct a levy on negroes now taxed by law, at such rate per capita as the court may think sufficient, to be collected and accounted for by the sheriff as other county levies, and to be called, "The fugitive slave tax." The owner of each fugitive slave in the act of escaping beyond the limits of the commonwealth, to a non-slave-holding state, and captured by the patrol aforesaid, shall pay for each slave over fifteen, and under forty-five years old, a reward of One Hundred dollars; for each slave over five, and under fifteen years old, the sum of sixty dollars; and for all others, the sum of forty dollars. Which reward shall be divided equally among the members of the patrol retaking the slave and actually on duty at the time; and to secure the payment of said reward, the said patrol may retain possession and use of the slave until the reward is paid or secured to them. (14.) The executive of this State may appoint one or more inspectors for the Rappahannock and Potomac rivers, if he shall deem it expedient, for the due execution of this act. The inspectors so appointed to perform the same duties, and to be invested with the same powers in their respective districts, and receive the same fees, as pilots acting as inspectors in other parts of the State. A vessel subject to inspection under this law, departing from any of the above-named counties or rivers on her voyage to sea, shall be exempted from the payment of a fee for a second inspection by another officer, if provided with a certificate from the proper inspecting officer of that district; but if, after proceeding on her voyage, she returns to the port or place of departure, or enters any other port, river, or roadstead in the State, the said vessel shall be again inspected, and pay a fee of five dollars, as if she had undergone no previous examination and received no previous certificate. If driven by stress of weather to seek a harbor, and she has no intercourse with the shore, then, and in that case, no second fee shall be paid by said vessel. (15.) For the better execution of the provisions of this act, in regard to the inspection, of vessels, the executive is hereby authorized and directed to appoint a chief inspector, to reside at Norfolk, whose duty it shall be, to direct and superintend the police, agents, or inspectors above referred to. He shall keep a record of all vessels engaged in the piloting business, together with a list of such persons as may be employed as pilots and inspectors under this law. The owner or owners of each boat shall make a monthly report to him, of all vessels inspected by persons attached to said pilot boats, the names of such vessels, the owner or owners thereof, and the places where owned or licensed, and where trading to or from, and the business in which they are engaged, together with a list of their crews. Any inspector failing to make his report to the chief inspector, shall pay a fine of twenty dollars for each such failure, which fine shall be recovered by warrant, before a justice of the county or corporation. The chief inspector may direct the time and station for the cruise of each pilot boat, and perform such other duty as the Governor may designate, not inconsistent with the other provisions of this act. He shall make a quarterly return to the executive of all the transactions of his department, reporting to him any failure or refusal on the part of inspectors to discharge the duty assigned to them, and the Governor, for sufficient cause, may suspend or remove from office any delinquent inspector. The chief inspector shall receive as his compensation, ten per cent, on all the fees and fines received by the inspectors acting under his authority, and may be removed at the pleasure of the executive. (16.) All fees and forfeitures imposed by this act, and not otherwise specially provided for, shall go one half to the informer, and the other be paid into the treasury of the State, to constitute a fund, to be called the "fugitive slave fund," and to be used for the payment of rewards awarded by the Governor, for the apprehension of runaway slaves, and to pay other expenses incident to the execution of this law, together with such other purposes as may hereafter be determined on by the General Assembly. (17.) This act shall be in force from its passage. * * * * * ESCAPING IN A CHEST. $150 REWARD. Ran away from the subscriber, on Sunday night, 27th inst., my NEGRO GIRL, Lear Green, about 18 years of age, black complexion, round-featured, good-looking and ordinary size; she had on and with her when she left, a tan-colored silk bonnet, a dark plaid silk dress, a light mouslin delaine, also one watered silk cape and one tan colored cape. I have reason to be confident that she was persuaded off by a negro man named Wm. Adams, black, quick spoken, 5 feet 10 inches high, a large scar on one side of his face, running down in a ridge by the corner of his mouth, about 4 inches long, barber by trade, but works mostly about taverns, opening oysters, &c. He has been missing about a week; he had been heard to say he was going to marry the above girl and ship to New York, where it is said his mother resides. The above reward will be paid if said girl is taken out of the State of Maryland and delivered to me; or fifty dollars if taken in the State of Maryland. [Illustration: ] JAMES NOBLE, m26-3t. No. 153 Broadway, Baltimore. Lear Green, so particularly advertised in the "Baltimore Sun" by "James Noble," won for herself a strong claim to a high place among the heroic women of the nineteenth century. In regard to description and age the advertisement is tolerably accurate, although her master might have added, that her countenance was one of peculiar modesty and grace. Instead of being "black," she was of a "dark-brown color." Of her bondage she made the following statement: She was owned by "James Noble, a Butter Dealer" of Baltimore. He fell heir to Lear by the will of his wife's mother, Mrs. Rachel Howard, by whom she had previously been owned. Lear was but a mere child when she came into the hands of Noble's family. She, therefore, remembered but little of her old mistress. Her young mistress, however, had made a lasting impression upon her mind; for she was very exacting and oppressive in regard to the tasks she was daily in the habit of laying upon Lear's shoulders, with no disposition whatever to allow her any liberties. At least Lear was never indulged in this respect. In this situation a young man by the name of William Adams proposed marriage to her. This offer she was inclined to accept, but disliked the idea of being encumbered with the chains of slavery and the duties of a family at the same time. After a full consultation with her mother and also her intended upon the matter, she decided that she must be free in order to fill the station of a wife and mother. For a time dangers and difficulties in the way of escape seemed utterly to set at defiance all hope of success. Whilst every pulse was beating strong for liberty, only one chance seemed to be left, the trial of which required as much courage as it would to endure the cutting off the right arm or plucking out the right eye. An old chest of substantial make, such as sailors commonly use, was procured. A quilt, a pillow, and a few articles of raiment, with a small quantity of food and a bottle of water were put in it, and Lear placed therein; strong ropes were fastened around the chest and she was safely stowed amongst the ordinary freight on one of the Erricson line of steamers. Her intended's mother, who was a free woman, agreed to come as a passenger on the same boat. How could she refuse? The prescribed rules of the Company assigned colored passengers to the deck. In this instance it was exactly where this guardian and mother desired to be--as near the chest as possible. Once or twice, during the silent watches of the night, she was drawn irresistibly to the chest, and could not refrain from venturing to untie the rope and raise the lid a little, to see if the poor child still lived, and at the same time to give her a breath of fresh air. Without uttering a whisper, that frightful moment, this office was successfully performed. That the silent prayers of this oppressed young woman, together with her faithful protector's, were momentarily ascending to the ear of the good God above, there can be no question. Nor is it to be doubted for a moment but that some ministering angel aided the mother to unfasten the rope, and at the same time nerved the heart of poor Lear to endure the trying ordeal of her perilous situation. She declared that she had no fear. After she had passed eighteen hours in the chest, the steamer arrived at the wharf in Philadelphia, and in due time the living freight was brought off the boat, and at first was delivered at a house in Barley street, occupied by particular friends of the mother. Subsequently chest and freight were removed to the residence of the writer, in whose family she remained several days under the protection and care of the Vigilance Committee. [Illustration: ] Such hungering and thirsting for liberty, as was evinced by Lear Green, made the efforts of the most ardent friends, who were in the habit of aiding fugitives, seem feeble in the extreme. Of all the heroes in Canada, or out of it, who have purchased their liberty by downright bravery, through perils the most hazardous, none deserve more praise than Lear Green. She remained for a time in this family, and was then forwarded to Elmira. In this place she was married to William Adams, who has been previously alluded to. They never went to Canada, but took up their permanent abode in Elmira. The brief space of about three years only was allotted her in which to enjoy freedom, as death came and terminated her career. About the time of this sad occurrence, her mother-in-law died in this city. The impressions made by both mother and daughter can never be effaced. The chest in which Lear escaped has been preserved by the writer as a rare trophy, and her photograph taken, while in the chest, is an excellent likeness of her and, at the same time, a fitting memorial. * * * * * ISAAC WILLIAMS, HENRY BANKS, AND KIT NICKLESS. MONTHS IN A CAVE,--SHOT BY SLAVE-HUNTERS. Rarely were three travelers from the house of bondage received at the Philadelphia station whose narratives were more interesting than those of the above-named individuals. Before escaping they had encountered difficulties of the most trying nature. No better material for dramatic effect could be found than might have been gathered from the incidents of their lives and travels. But all that we can venture to introduce here is the brief account recorded at the time of their sojourn at the Philadelphia station when on their way to Canada in 1854. The three journeyed together. They had been slaves together in the same neighborhood. Two of them had shared the same den and cave in the woods, and had been shot, captured, and confined in the same prison; had broken out of prison and again escaped; consequently their hearts were thoroughly cemented in the hope of reaching freedom together. Isaac was a stout-made young man, about twenty-six years of age, possessing a good degree of physical and mental ability. Indeed his intelligence forbade his submission to the requirements of Slavery, rendered him unhappy and led him to seek his freedom. He owed services to D. Fitchhugh up to within a short time before he escaped. Against Fitchhugh he made grave charges, said that he was a "hard, bad man." It is but fair to add that Isaac was similarly regarded by his master, so both were dissatisfied with each other. But the master had the advantage of Isaac, he could sell him. Isaac, however, could turn the table on his master, by running off. But the master moved quickly and sold Isaac to Dr. James, a negro trader. The trader designed making a good speculation out of his investment: Isaac determined that he should be disappointed; indeed that he should lose every dollar that he paid for him. So while the doctor was planning where and how he could get the best price for him, Isaac was planning how and where he might safely get beyond his reach. The time for planning and acting with Isaac was, however, exceedingly short. He was daily expecting to be called upon to take his departure for the South. In this situation he made known his condition to a friend of his who was in a precisely similar situation; had lately been sold just as Isaac had to the same trader James. So no argument was needed to convince his friend and fellow-servant that if they meant to be free they would have to set off immediately. That night Henry Banks and Isaac Williams started for the woods together, preferring to live among reptiles and wild animals, rather than be any longer at the disposal of Dr. James. For two weeks they successfully escaped their pursuers. The woods, however, were being hunted in every direction, and one day the pursuers came upon them, shot them both, and carried them to King George's Co. jail. The jail being an old building had weak places in it; but the prisoners concluded to make no attempt to break out while suffering badly from their wounds. So they remained one month in confinement. All the while their brave spirits under suffering grew more and more daring. Again they decided to strike for freedom, but where to go, save to the woods, they had not the slightest idea. Of course they had heard, as most slaves had, of cave life, and pretty well understood all the measures which had to be resorted to for security when entering upon so hazardous an undertaking. They concluded, however, that they could not make their condition any worse, let circumstances be what they might in this respect. Having discovered how they could break jail, they were not long in accomplishing their purpose, and were out and off to the woods again. This time they went far into the forest, and there they dug a cave, and with great pains had every thing so completely arranged as to conceal the spot entirely. In this den they stayed three months. Now and then they would manage to secure a pig. A friend also would occasionally serve them with a meal. Their sufferings at best were fearful; but great as they were, the thought of returning to Slavery never occurred to them, and the longer they stayed in the woods, the greater was their determination to be free. In the belief that their owner had about given them up they resolved to take the North Star for a pilot, and try in this way to reach free land. Kit, an old friend in time of need, having proved true to them in their cave, was consulted. He fully appreciated their heroism, and determined that he would join them in the undertaking, as he was badly treated by his master, who was called General Washington, a common farmer, hard drinker, and brutal fighter, which Kit's poor back fully evinced by the marks it bore. Of course Isaac and Henry were only too willing to have him accompany them. In leaving their respective homes they broke kindred ties of the tenderest nature. Isaac had a wife, Eliza, and three children, Isaac, Estella, and Ellen, all owned by Fitchhugh. Henry was only nineteen, single, but left parents, brothers, and sisters, all owned by different slave-holders. Kit had a wife, Matilda, and three children, Sarah Ann, Jane Frances, and Ellen, slaves. * * * * * SEPTEMBER 28, 1856. ARRIVAL OF FIVE FROM THE EASTERN SHORE OF MARYLAND. CYRUS MITCHELL, _alias_ JOHN STEEL; JOSHUA HANDY, _alias_ HAMBLETON HAMBY; CHARLES DULTON, _alias_ WILLIAM ROBINSON; EPHRAIM HUDSON, _alias_ JOHN SPRY; FRANCIS MOLOCK, _alias_ THOMAS JACKSON; all in "good order" and full of hope. The following letter from the fearless friend of the slave, Thomas Garrett, is a specimen of his manner of dispatching Underground Rail Road business. He used Uncle Sam's mail, and his own name, with as much freedom as though he had been President of the Pennsylvania Central Rail Road, instead of only a conductor and stock-holder on the Underground Rail Road. 9 mo. 26th, 1856. RESPECTED FRIEND:--WILLIAM STILL, I send on to thy care this evening by Rail Road, 5 able-bodied men, on their way North; receive them as the Good Samaritan of old and oblige thy friend, THOMAS GARRETT. The "able-bodied men" duly arrived, and were thus recorded on the Underground Rail Road books as trophies of the success of the friends of humanity. Cyrus is twenty-six years of age, stout, and unmistakably dark, and was owned by James K. Lewis, a store-keeper, and a "hard master." He kept slaves for the express purpose of hiring them out, and it seemed to afford him as much pleasure to receive the hard-earned dollars of his bondmen as if he had labored for them with his own hands. "It mattered not, how mean a man might be," if he would pay the largest price, he was the man whom the store-keeper preferred to hire to. This always caused Cyrus to dislike him. Latterly he had been talking of moving into the State of Virginia. Cyrus disliked this talk exceedingly, but he "said nothing to the white people" touching the matter. However, he was not long in deciding that such a move would be of no advantage to him; indeed, he had an idea if all was true that he had heard about that place, he would be still more miserable there, than he had ever been under his present owner. At once, he decided that he would move towards Canada, and that he would be fixed in his new home before his master got off to Virginia, unless he moved sooner than Cyrus expected him to do. Those nearest of kin, to whom he felt most tenderly allied, and from whom he felt that it would be hard to part, were his father and mother. He, however, decided that he should have to leave them. Freedom, he felt, was even worth the giving up of parents. Believing that company was desirable, he took occasion to submit his plan to certain friends, who were at once pleased with the idea of a trip on the Underground Rail Road, to Canada, etc; and all agreed to join him. At first, they traveled on foot; of their subsequent travel, mention has already been made in friend Garrett's epistle. Joshua is about twenty-seven years of age, quite stout, brown color, and would pass for an intelligent farm hand. He was satisfied never to wear the yoke again that some one else might reap the benefit of his toil. His master, Isaac Harris, he denounced as a "drunkard." His chief excuse for escaping, was because Harris had "sold" his "only brother." He was obliged to leave his father and mother in the hands of his master. Charles is twenty-two years of age, also stout, and well-made, and apparently possessed all the qualifications for doing a good day's work on a farm. He was held to service by Mrs. Mary Hurley. Charles gave no glowing account of happiness and comfort under the rule of the female sex, indeed, he was positive in saying that he had "been used rough." During the present year, he was sold for $1200. Ephraim is twenty-two years of age, stout and athletic, one who appears in every way fitted for manual labor or anything else that he might be privileged to learn. John Campbell Henry, was the name of the man whom he had been taught to address as master, and for whose benefit he had been compelled to labor up to the day he "took out." In considering what he had been in Maryland and how he had been treated all his life, he alleged that John Campbell Henry was a "bad man." Not only had Ephraim been treated badly by his master but he had been hired out to a man no better than his master, if as good. Ephraim left his mother and six brothers and sisters. Francis is twenty-one, an able-bodied "article," of dark color, and was owned by James A. Waddell. All that he could say of his owner, was, that he was a "hard master," from whom he was very glad to escape. * * * * * SUNDRY ARRIVALS, ABOUT AUGUST 1ST, 1855. Arrival 1st. Frances Hilliard. Arrival 2d. Louisa Harding, alias Rebecca Hall. Arrival 3d. John Mackintosh. Arrival 4th. Maria Jane Houston. Arrival 5th. Miles Hoopes. Arrival 6th. Samuel Miles, alias Robert King. Arrival 7th. James Henson, alias David Caldwell. Arrival 8th. Laura Lewis. Arrival 9th. Elizabeth Banks. Arrival 10th. Simon Hill. Arrival 11th. Anthony and Albert Brown. Arrival 12th. George Williams and Charles Holladay. Arrival 13th. William Govan. While none in this catalogue belonged to the class whose daring adventures rendered their narratives marvellous, nevertheless they represented a very large number of those who were continually on the alert to get rid of their captivity. And in all their efforts in this direction they manifested a marked willingness to encounter perils either by land or water, by day or by night, to obtain their God-given rights. Doubtless, even among these names, will be found those who have been supposed to be lost, and mysteries will be disclosed which have puzzled scores of relatives longing and looking many years in vain to ascertain the whereabouts of this or that companion, brother, sister, or friend. So, if impelled by no other consideration than the hope of consoling this class of anxious inquirers, this is a sufficient justification for not omitting them entirely, notwithstanding the risk of seeming to render these pages monotonous. Arrival No. 1. First on this record was a young mulatto woman, twenty-nine years of age--orange color, who could read and write very well, and was unusually intelligent and withal quite handsome. She was known by the name of Frances Hilliard, and escaped from Richmond, Va., where she was owned by Beverly Blair. The owner hired her out to a man by the name of Green, from whom he received seventy dollars per annum. Green allowed her to hire herself for the same amount, with the understanding that Frances should find all her own clothes, board herself and find her own house to live in. Her husband, who was also a slave, had fled nearly one year previous, leaving her widowed, of course. Notwithstanding the above mentioned conditions, under which she had the privilege of living, Frances said that she "had been used well." She had been sold four times in her life. In the first instance the failure of her master was given as the reason of her sale. Subsequently she was purchased and sold by different traders, who designed to speculate upon her as a "fancy article." They would dress her very elegantly, in order to show her off to the best advantage possible, but it appears that she had too much regard for her husband and her honor, to consent to fill the positions which had been basely assigned her by her owners. Frances assisted her husband to escape from his owner--Taits--and was never contented until she succeeded in following him to Canada. In escaping, she left her mother, Sarah Corbin, and her sister, Maria. On reaching the Vigilance Committee she learned all about her husband. She was conveyed from Richmond secreted on a steamer under the care of one of the colored hands on the boat. From here she was forwarded to Canada at the expense of the Committee. Arriving in Toronto, and not finding her hopes fully realized, with regard to meeting her husband, she wrote back the following letter: TORONTO, CANADA, U.C., October 15th, 1855. MY DEAR MR. STILL:--Sir--I take the opportunity of writing you a few lines to inform you of my health. I am very well at present, and hope that when these few lines reach you they may find you enjoying the same blessing. Give my love to Mrs. Still and all the children, and also to Mr. Swan, and tell him that he must give you the money that he has, and you will please send it to me, as I have received a letter from my husband saying that I must come on to him as soon as I get the money from him. I cannot go to him until I get the money that Mr. Swan has in hand. Please tell Mr. Caustle that the clothes he spoke of my mother did not know anything about them. I left them with Hinson Brown and he promised to give them to Mr. Smith. Tell him to ask Mr. Smith to get them from Mr. Brown for me, and when I get settled I will send him word and he can send them to me. The letters that were sent to me I received them all. I wish you would send me word if Mr. Smith is on the boat yet--if he is please write me word in your next letter. Please send me the money as soon as you possibly can, for I am very anxious to see my husband. I send to you for I think you will do what you can for me. No more at present, but remain Yours truly, FRANCES HILLIARD. Send me word if Mr. Caustle had given Mr. Smith the money that he promised to give him. For one who had to steal the art of reading and writing, her letter bears studying. Arrival No. 2. Louisa Harding, alias Rebecca Hall. Louisa was a mulatto girl, seventeen years of age. She reported herself from Baltimore, where she had been owned by lawyer Magill. It might be said that she also possessed great personal attractions as an "article" of much value in the eye of a trader. All the near kin whom she named as having left behind, consisted of a mother and a brother. Arrival No. 3. John Mackintosh. John's history is short. He represented himself as having arrived from Darien, Georgia, where he had seen "hard times." Age, forty-four. This is all that was recorded of John, except the expenses met by the Committee. Arrival No. 4. Maria Jane Houston. The little State of Delaware lost in the person of Maria, one of her nicest-looking bond-maids. She had just arrived at the age of twenty-one, and felt that she had already been sufficiently wronged. She was a tall, dark, young woman, from the neighborhood of Cantwell's Bridge. Although she had no horrible tales of suffering to relate, the Committee regarded her as well worthy of aid. Arrival No. 5. Miles Hooper. This subject came from North Carolina; he was owned by George Montigue, who lived at Federal Mills, was a decided opponent to the no-pay system, to flogging, and selling likewise. In fact nothing that was auxiliary to Slavery was relished by him. Consequently he concluded to leave the place altogether. At the time that Miles took this stand he was twenty-three years of age, a dark-complexioned man, rather under the medium height, physically, but a full-grown man mentally. "My owner was a hard man," said Miles, in speaking of his characteristics. His parents, brothers, and sisters were living, at least he had reason to believe so, although they were widely scattered. Arrival No. 6. Samuel Miles, alias Robert King. Samuel was a representative of Revel's Neck, Somerset Co., Md. His master he regarded as a "very fractious man, hard to please." The cause of the trouble or unpleasantness, which resulted in Samuel's Underground adventure, was traceable to his master's refusal to allow him to visit his wife. Not only was Samuel denied this privilege, but he was equally denied all privileges. His master probably thought that Sam had no mind, nor any need of a wife. Whether this was really so or not, Sam was shrewd enough to "leave his old master with the bag to hold," which was sensible. Thirty-one years of Samuel's life were passed in Slavery, ere he escaped. The remainder of his days he felt bound to have the benefit of himself. In leaving home he had to part with his wife and one child, Sarah and little Henry, who were fortunately free. On arriving in Canada Samuel wrote back for his wife, &c., as follows: ST. CATHARINES, C.W., Aug. 20th, 1855. To MR. WM. STILL, DEAR FRIEND:--It gives me pleasure to inform you that I have had the good fortune to reach this northern Canaan. I got here yesterday and am in good health and happy in the enjoyment of Freedom, but am very anxious to have my wife and child here with me. I wish you to write to her immediately on receiving this and let her know where I am you will recollect her name Sarah Miles at Baltimore on the corner of Hamburg and Eutaw streets. Please encourage her in making a start and give her the necessary directions how to come. She will please to make the time as short as possible in getting through to Canada. Say to my wife that I wish her to write immediately to the friends that I told her to address as soon as she hears from me. Inform her that I now stop in St. Catharines near the Niagara Falls that I am not yet in business but expect to get into business very soon--That I am in the enjoyment of good health and hoping that this communication may find my affectionate wife the same. That I have been highly favored with friends throughout my journey I wish my wife to write to me as soon as she can and let me know how soon I may expect to see her on this side of the Niagara River. My wife had better call on Dr. Perkins and perhaps he will let her have the money he had in charge for me but that I failed of receiving when I left Baltimore. Please direct the letter for my wife to Mr. George Lister, in Hill street between Howard and Sharp. My compliments to all enquiring friends. Very respectfully yours, SAMUEL MILES. P.S. Please send the thread along as a token and my wife will understand that all is right. S.M. Arrival No. 7. James Henson, alias David Caldwell. James fled from Cecil Co., Md. He claimed that he was entitled to his freedom according to law at the age of twenty-eight, but had been unjustly deprived of it. Having waited in vain for his free papers for four years, he suspected that he was to be dealt with in a manner similar to many others, who had been willed free or who had bought their time, and had been shamefully cheated out of their freedom. So in his judgment he felt that his only hope lay in making his escape on the Underground Rail Road. He had no faith whatever in the man who held him in bondage, Jacob Johnson, but no other charges of ill treatment, &c., have been found against said Johnson on the books, save those alluded to above. James was thirty-two years of age, stout and well proportioned, with more than average intelligence and resolution. He left a wife and child, both free. Arrival No. 8. Laura Lewis. Laura arrived from Louisville, Kentucky. She had been owned by a widow woman named Lewis, but as lately as the previous March her mistress died, leaving her slaves and other property to be divided among her heirs. As this would necessitate a sale of the slaves, Laura determined not to be on hand when the selling day came, so she took time by the forelock and left. Her appearance indicated that she had been among the more favored class of slaves. She was about twenty-five years of age, quite stout, of mixed blood, and intelligent, having traveled considerably with her mistress. She had been North in this capacity. She left her mother, one brother, and one sister in Louisville. Arrival No. 9. Elizabeth Banks, from near Easton, Maryland. Her lot had been that of an ordinary slave. Of her slave-life nothing of interest was recorded. She had escaped from her owner two and a half years prior to coming into the hands of the Committee, and had been living in Pennsylvania pretty securely as she had supposed, but she had been awakened to a sense of her danger by well grounded reports that she was pursued by her claimant, and would be likely to be captured if she tarried short of Canada. With such facts staring her in the face she was sent to the Committee for counsel and protection, and by them she was forwarded on in the usual way. She was about twenty-five years of age, of a dark, and spare structure. Arrival No. 10. Simon Hill. This fugitive had escaped from Virginia. The usual examination was made, and needed help given him by the Committee who felt satisfied that he was a poor brother who had been shamefully wronged, and that he richly deserved sympathy. He was aided and directed Canada-ward. He was a very humble-looking specimen of the peculiar institution, about twenty-five years of age, medium size, and of a dark hue. Arrival No. 11. Anthony and Albert Brown (brothers), Jones Anderson and Isaiah. This party escaped from Tanner's Creek, Norfolk, Virginia, where they had been owned by John and Henry Holland, oystermen. As slaves they alleged that they had been subjected to very brutal treatment from their profane and ill-natured owners. Not relishing this treatment, Albert and Anthony came to the conclusion that they understood boating well enough to escape by water. They accordingly selected one of their master's small oyster-boats, which was pretty-well rigged with sails, and off they started for a Northern Shore. They proceeded on a part of their voyage merely by guess work, but landed safely, however, about twenty-five miles north of Baltimore, though, by no means, on free soil. They had no knowledge of the danger that they were then in, but they were persevering, and still determined to make their way North, and thus, at last, success attended their efforts. Their struggles and exertions having been attended with more of the romantic and tragical elements than had characterized the undertakings of any of the other late passengers, the Committee felt inclined to make a fuller notice of them on the book, yet failed to do them justice in this respect. The elder brother was twenty-nine, the younger twenty-seven. Both were mentally above the average run of slaves. They left wives in Norfolk, named Alexenia and Ellen. While Anthony and Albert, in seeking their freedom, were forced to sever their connections with their companions, they did not forget them in Canada. How great was their delight in freedom, and tender their regard for their wives, and the deep interest they felt for their brethren and friends generally, may be seen from a perusal of the following letters from them: HAMELTON, March 7th 1856. MR. WM. STILL--_Sir_--I now take the opportunity of writing you a few lins hoping to find yourself and famly well as thes lines leves me at present, myself and brother, Anthony & Albert brown's respects. We have spent quite agreeable winter, we ware emploied in the new hotel, name Anglo american, wheare we wintered and don very well, we also met with our too frends ho came from home with us, Jonas anderson and Izeas, now we are all safe in hamilton, I wish to cale you to youre prommos, if convenient to write to Norfolk, Va, for me, and let my wife mary Elen Brown, no where I am, and my brothers wife Elickzener Brown, as we have never heard a word from them since we left, tel them that we found our homes and situation in canady much better than we expected, tel them not to think hard of us, we was boun to flee from the rath to come, tel them we live in the hopes of meting them once more this side of the grave, tel them if we never more see them, we hope to meet them in the kingdom of heaven in pece, tel them to remember my love to my cherch and brethren, tel them I find there is the same prayer-hearing God heare as there is in old Va; tel them to remember our love to all the enquiring frends, I have written sevrel times but have never reseived no answer, I find a gret meny of my old accuiantens from Va, heare we are no ways lonesom, Mr. Still, I have written to you once before, but reseve no answer. Pleas let us hear from you by any means. Nothing more at present, but remane youre frends, ANTHONY & ALBERT BROWN. HAMILTON June 26th, 1856, MR. WM. STILL:--_kine Sir_:--I am happy to say to you that I have jus reseved my letter dated 5 of the present month, but previeously had bin in form las night by Mr. J.H. Hall, he had jus reseved a letter from you stating that my wife was with you, oh my I was so glad it case me to shed tears. Mr. Still, I cannot return you the thanks for the care of my wife, for I am so Glad that I don't now what to say, you will pleas start her for canaday. I am yet in hamilton, C.W., at the city hotel, my brother and Joseph anderson is at the angle american hotel, they send there respects to you and family my self also, and a greater part to my wife. I came by the way of syracruse remember me to Mrs. logins, tel her to writ back to my brothers wife if she is living and tel her to com on tel her to send Joseph Andersons love to his mother. i now send her 10 Dollers and would send more but being out of employment some of winter it pulls me back, you will be so kine as to forward her on to me, and if life las I will satisfie you at some time, before long. Give my respects and brothers to Mr. John Dennes, tel him Mr. Hills famly is wel and send there love to them, I now bring my letter to a close, And am youre most humble Servant, ANTHONY BROWN. P.S. I had given out the notion of ever seeing my wife again, so I have not been attending the office, but am truly sorry I did not, you mention in yours of Mr. Henry lewey, he has left this city for Boston about 2 weeks ago, we have not herd from him yet. A. BROWN. Arrival No. 12. George Williams and Charles Holladay. These two travelers were about the same age. They were not, however, from the same neighborhood--they happened to meet each other as they were traveling the road. George fled from St. Louis, Charles from Baltimore. George "owed service" to Isaac Hill, a planter; he found no special fault with his master's treatment of him; but with Mrs. Hill, touching this point, he was thoroughly dissatisfied. She had treated him "cruelly," and it was for this reason that he was moved to seek his freedom. Charles, being a Baltimorean, had not far to travel, but had pretty sharp hunters to elude. His claimant, F. Smith, however, had only a term of years claim upon him, which was within about two years of being out. This contract for the term of years, Charles felt was made without consulting him, therefore he resolved to break it without consulting his master. He also declined to have anything to do with the Baltimore and Wilmington R.R. Co., considering it a prescriptive institution, not worthy of his confidence. He started on a fast walk, keeping his eyes wide open, looking out for slave-hunters on his right and left. In this way, like many others, he reached the Committee safely and was freely aided, thenceforth traveling in a first class Underground Rail Road car, till he reached his journey's end. Arrival No. 13. William Govan. Availing himself of a passage on the schooner of Captain B., William left Petersburg, where he had been owned by "Mark Davis, Esq., a retired gentleman," rather, a retired negro trader. William was about thirty-three years of age, and was of a bright orange color. Nothing but an ardent love of liberty prompted him to escape. He was quite smart, and a clever-looking man, worth at least $1,000. * * * * * DEEP FURROWS ON THE BACK. THOMAS MADDEN. Of all the passengers who had hitherto arrived with bruised and mangled bodies received at the hands of slave-holders, none brought a back so shamefully lacerated by the lash as Thomas Madden. Not a single spot had been exempted from the excoriating cow-hide. A most bloody picture did the broad back and shoulders of Thomas present to the eye as he bared his wounds for inspection. While it was sad to think, that millions of men, women, and children throughout the South were liable to just such brutal outrages as Thomas had received, it was a satisfaction to think, that this outrage had made a freeman of him. He was only twenty-two years of age, but that punishment convinced him that he was fully old enough to leave such a master as E. Ray, who had almost murdered him. But for this treatment, Thomas might have remained in some degree contented in Slavery. He was expected to look after the fires in the house on Sunday mornings. In a single instance desiring to be absent, perhaps for his own pleasure, two boys offered to be his substitute. The services of the boys were accepted, and this gave offence to the master. This Thomas declared was the head and front of his offending. His simple narration of the circumstances of his slave life was listened to by the Committee with deep interest and a painful sense of the situation of slaves under the despotism of such men as Ray. After being cared for by the Committee he was sent on to Canada. When there he wrote back to let the Committee know how he was faring, the narrow escape he had on the way, and likewise to convey the fact, that one named "Rachel," left behind, shared a large place in his affections. The subjoined letter is the only correspondence of his preserved: STANFORD, June 1st, 1855, Niagara districk. DEAR SIR:--I set down to inform you that I take the liberty to rite for a frend to inform you that he is injoying good health and hopes that this will finde you the same he got to this cuntry very well except that in Albany he was vary neig taking back to his oald home but escaped and when he came to the suspention bridg he was so glad that he run for freadums shore and when he arived it was the last of October and must look for sum wourk for the winter he choped wood until Feruary times are good but money is scarce he thinks a great deal of the girl he left behind him he thinks that there is non like her here non so hansom as his Rachel right and let him hear from you as soon as convaniant no more at presant but remain yours, ALBERT METTER. "PETE MATTHEWS," ALIAS SAMUEL SPARROWS. "I MIGHT AS WELL BE IN THE PENITENTIARY, &C." Up to the age of thirty-five "Pete" had worn the yoke steadily, if not patiently under William S. Matthews, of Oak Hall, near Temperanceville, in the State of Virginia. Pete said that his "master was not a hard man," but the man to whom he "was hired, George Matthews, was a very cruel man." "I might as well be in the penitentiary as in his hands," was his declaration. One day, a short while before Pete "took out," an ox broke into the truck patch, and helped himself to choice delicacies, to the full extent of his capacious stomach, making sad havoc with the vegetables generally. Peter's attention being directed to the ox, he turned him out, and gave him what he considered proper chastisement, according to the mischief he had done. At this liberty taken by Pete, the master became furious. "He got his gun and threatened to shoot him," "Open your mouth if you dare, and I will pat the whole load into you," said the enraged master. "He took out a large dirk-knife, and attempted to stab me, but I kept out of his way," said Pete. Nevertheless the violence of the master did not abate until he had beaten Pete over the head and body till he was weary, inflicting severe injuries. A great change was at once wrought in Pete's mind. He was now ready to adopt any plan that might hold out the least encouragement to escape. Having capital to the amount of four dollars only, he felt that he could not do much towards employing a conductor, but he had a good pair of legs, and a heart stout enough to whip two or three slave-catchers, with the help of a pistol. Happening to know a man who had a pistol for sale, he went to him and told him that he wished to purchase it. For one dollar the pistol became Pete's property. He had but three dollars left, but he was determined to make that amount answer his purposes under the circumstances. The last cruel beating maddened him almost to desperation, especially when he remembered how he had been compelled to work hard night and day, under Matthews. Then, too, Peter had a wife, whom his master prevented him from visiting; this was not among the least offences with which Pete charged his master. Fully bent on leaving, the following Sunday was fixed by him on which to commence his journey. The time arrived and Pete bade farewell to Slavery, resolved to follow the North Star, with his pistol in hand ready for action. After traveling about two hundred miles from home he unexpectedly had an opportunity of using his pistol. To his astonishment he suddenly came face to face with a former master, whom he had not seen for a long time. Pete desired no friendly intercourse with him whatever; but he perceived that his old master recognized him and was bent upon stopping him. Pete held on to his pistol, but moved as fast as his wearied limbs would allow him, in an opposite direction. As he was running, Pete cautiously, cast his eye over his shoulder, to see what had become of his old master, when to his amazement, he found that a regular chase was being made after him. Need of redoubling his pace was quite obvious. In this hour of peril, Pete's legs saved him. After this signal leg-victory, Pete had more confidence in his "understandings," than he had in his old pistol, although he held on to it until he reached Philadelphia, where he left it in the possession of the Secretary of the Committee. Considering it worth saving simply as a relic of the Underground Rail Road, it was carefully laid aside. Pete was now christened Samuel Sparrows. Mr. Sparrows had the rust of Slavery washed off as clean as possible and the Committee furnishing him with clean clothes, a ticket, and letters of introduction, started him on Canada-ward, looking quite respectable. And doubtless he felt even more so than he looked; free air had a powerful effect on such passengers as Samuel Sparrows. The unpleasantness which grew out of the mischief done by the ox on George Matthews' farm took place the first of October, 1855. Pete may be described as a man of unmixed blood, well-made, and intelligent. * * * * * "MOSES" ARRIVES WITH SIX PASSENGERS. "NOT ALLOWED TO SEEK A MASTER;"--"VERY DEVILISH;"--FATHER "LEAVES TWO LITTLE SONS;"--"USED HARD;"--"FEARED FALLING INTO THE HANDS OF YOUNG HEIRS," ETC. JOHN CHASE, ALIAS DANIEL FLOYD; BENJAMIN ROSS, ALIAS JAMES STEWART; HENRY ROSS, ALIAS LEVIN STEWART; PETER JACKSON, ALIAS STAUNCH TILGHMAN; JANE KANE, ALIAS CATHARINE KANE, AND ROBERT ROSS. The coming of these passengers was heralded by Thomas Garrett as follows: THOMAS GARRETT'S LETTER. WILMINGTON, 12 mo. 29th, 1854. ESTEEMED FRIEND, J. MILLER MCKIM:--We made arrangements last night, and sent away Harriet Tubman, with six men and one woman to Allen Agnew's, to be forwarded across the country to the city. Harriet, and one of the men had worn their shoes off their feet, and I gave them two dollars to help fit them out, and directed a carriage to be hired at my expense, to take them out, but do not yet know the expense. I now have two more from the lowest county in Maryland, on the Peninsula, upwards of one hundred miles. I will try to get one of our trusty colored men to take them to-morrow morning to the Anti-slavery office. You can then pass them on. THOMAS GARRETT. HARRIET TUBMAN had been their "Moses," but not in the sense that Andrew Johnson was the "Moses of the colored people." She had faithfully gone down into Egypt, and had delivered these six bondmen by her own heroism. Harriet was a woman of no pretensions, indeed, a more ordinary specimen of humanity could hardly be found among the most unfortunate-looking farm hands of the South. Yet, in point of courage, shrewdness and disinterested exertions to rescue her fellow-men, by making personal visits to Maryland among the slaves, she was without her equal. Her success was wonderful. Time and again she made successful visits to Maryland on the Underground Rail Road, and would be absent for weeks, at a time, running daily risks while making preparations for herself and passengers. Great fears were entertained for her safety, but she seemed wholly devoid of personal fear. The idea of being captured by slave-hunters or slave-holders, seemed never to enter her mind. She was apparently proof against all adversaries. While she thus manifested such utter personal indifference, she was much more watchful with regard to those she was piloting. Half of her time, she had the appearance of one asleep, and would actually sit down by the road-side and go fast asleep when on her errands of mercy through the South, yet, she would not suffer one of her party to whimper once, about "giving out and going back," however wearied they might be from hard travel day and night. She had a very short and pointed rule or law of her own, which implied death to any who talked of giving out and going back. Thus, in an emergency she would give all to understand that "times were very critical and therefore no foolishness would be indulged in on the road." That several who were rather weak-kneed and faint-hearted were greatly invigorated by Harriet's blunt and positive manner and threat of extreme measures, there could be no doubt. After having once enlisted, "they had to go through or die." Of course Harriet was supreme, and her followers generally had full faith in her, and would back up any word she might utter. So when she said to them that "a live runaway could do great harm by going back, but that a dead one could tell no secrets," she was sure to have obedience. Therefore, none had to die as traitors on the "middle passage." It is obvious enough, however, that her success in going into Maryland as she did, was attributable to her adventurous spirit and utter disregard of consequences. Her like it is probable was never known before or since. On examining the six passengers who came by this arrival they were thus recorded: December 29th, 1854--John is twenty years of age, chestnut color, of spare build and smart. He fled from a farmer, by the name of John Campbell Henry, who resided at Cambridge, Dorchester Co., Maryland. On being interrogated relative to the character of his master, John gave no very amiable account of him. He testified that he was a "hard man" and that he "owned about one hundred and forty slaves and sometimes he would sell," etc. John was one of the slaves who were "hired out." He "desired to have the privilege of hunting his own master." His desire was not granted. Instead of meekly submitting, John felt wronged, and made this his reason for running away. This looked pretty spirited on the part of one so young as John. The Committee's respect for him was not a little increased, when they heard him express himself. Benjamin was twenty-eight years of age, chestnut color, medium size, and shrewd. He was the so-called property of Eliza Ann Brodins, who lived near Buckstown, in Maryland. Ben did not hesitate to say, in unqualified terms, that his mistress was "very devilish." He considered his charges, proved by the fact that three slaves (himself one of them) were required to work hard and fare meagerly, to support his mistress' family in idleness and luxury. The Committee paid due attention to his ex parte statement, and was obliged to conclude that his argument, clothed in common and homely language, was forcible, if not eloquent, and that he was well worthy of aid. Benjamin left his parents besides one sister, Mary Ann Williamson, who wanted to come away on the Underground Rail Road. Henry left his wife, Harriet Ann, to be known in future by the name of "Sophia Brown." He was a fellow-servant of Ben's, and one of the supports of Eliza A. Brodins. Henry was only twenty-two, but had quite an insight into matters and things going on among slaves and slave-holders generally, in country life. He was the father of two small children, whom he had to leave behind. Peter was owned by George Wenthrop, a farmer, living near Cambridge, Md. In answer to the question, how he had been used, he said "hard." Not a pleasant thought did he entertain respecting his master, save that he was no longer to demand the sweat of Peter's brow. Peter left parents, who were free; he was born before they were emancipated, consequently, he was retained in bondage. Jane, aged twenty-two, instead of regretting that she had unadvisedly left a kind mistress and indulgent master, who had afforded her necessary comforts, affirmed that her master, "Rash Jones, was the worst man in the country." The Committee were at first disposed to doubt her sweeping statement, but when they heard particularly how she had been treated, they thought Catharine had good ground for all that she said. Personal abuse and hard usage, were the common lot of poor slave girls. Robert was thirty-five years of age, of a chestnut color, and well made. His report was similar to that of many others. He had been provided with plenty of hard drudgery--hewing of wood and drawing of water, and had hardly been treated as well as a gentleman would treat a dumb brute. His feelings, therefore, on leaving his old master and home, were those of an individual who had been unjustly in prison for a dozen years and had at last regained his liberty. The civilization, religion, and customs under which Robert and his companions had been raised, were, he thought, "very wicked." Although these travelers were all of the field-hand order, they were, nevertheless, very promising, and they anticipated better days in Canada. Good advice was proffered them on the subject of temperance, industry, education, etc. Clothing, food and money were also given them to meet their wants, and they were sent on their way rejoicing. ESCAPED FROM "A WORTHLESS SOT." JOHN ATKINSON. John was a prisoner of hope under James Ray, of Portsmouth, Va., whom he declared to be "a worthless sot." This character was fully set forth, but the description is too disgusting for record. John was a dark mulatto, thirty-one years of age, well-formed and intelligent. For some years before escaping he had been in the habit of hiring his time for $120 per annum. Daily toiling to support his drunken and brutal master, was a hardship that John felt keenly, but was compelled to submit to up to the day of his escape. A part of John's life he had suffered many abuses from his oppressor, and only a short while before freeing himself, the auction-block was held up before his troubled mind. This caused him to take the first daring step towards Canada,--to leave his wife, Mary, without bidding her good-bye, or saying a word to her as to his intention of fleeing. John came as a private passenger on one of the Richmond steamers, and was indebted to the steward of the boat for his accommodations. Having been received by the Committee, he was cared for and sent on his journey Canada-ward. There he was happy, found employment and wanted for nothing but his wife and clothing left in Virginia. On these two points he wrote several times with considerable feeling. Some slaves who hired their time in addition to the payment of their monthly hire, purchased nice clothes for themselves, which they usually valued highly, so much so, that after escaping they would not be contented until they had tried every possible scheme to secure them. They would write back continually, either to their friends in the North or South, hoping thus to procure them. Not unfrequently the persons who rendered them assistance in the South, would be entrusted with all their effects, with the understanding, that such valuables would be forwarded to a friend or to the Committee at the earliest opportunity. The Committee strongly protested against fugitives writing back to the South (through the mails) on account of the liability of getting parties into danger, as all such letters were liable to be intercepted in order to the discovery of the names of such as aided the Underground Rail Road. To render needless this writing to the South the Committee often submitted to be taxed with demands to rescue clothing as well as wives, etc., belonging to such as had been already aided. The following letters are fair samples of a large number which came to the Committee touching the matter of clothing, etc.: ST. CATHARINES, Sept. 4th. DEAR SIR:--I now embrace this favorable opportunity of writing you a few lines to inform you that I am quite well and arrived here safe, and I hope that these few lines may find you and your family the same. I hope you will intercede for my clothes and as soon as they come please to send them to me, and if you have not time, get Dr. Lundy to look out for them, and when they come be very careful in sending them. I wish you would copy off this letter and give it to the Steward, and tell him to give it to Henry Lewy and tell him to give it to my wife. Brother sends his love to you and all the family and he is overjoyed at seeing me arrive safe, he can hardly contain himself; also he wants to see his wife very much, and says when she comes he hopes you will send her on as soon as possible. Jerry Williams' love, together with all of us. I had a message for Mr. Lundy, but I forgot it when I was there. No more at present, but remain your ever grateful and sincere friend, JOHN ATKINSON. ST. CATHARINES, C.W., Oct. 5th, 1854. MR. WM. STILL:--Dear Sir--I have learned of my friend, Richmond Bohm, that my clothes were in Philadelphia. Will you have the kindness to see Dr. Lundy and if he has my clothes in charge, or knows about them, for him to send them on to me immediately, as I am in great need of them. I would like to have them put in a small box, and the overcoat I left at your house to be put in the box with them, to be sent to the care of my friend, Hiram Wilson. On receipt of this letter, I desire you to write a few lines to my wife, Mary Atkins, in the care of my friend, Henry Lowey, stating that I am well and hearty and hoping that she is the same. Please tell her to remember my love to her mother and her cousin, Emelin, and her husband, and Thomas Hunter; also to my father and mother. Please request her to write to me immediately, for her to be of good courage, that I love her better than ever. I would like her to come on as soon as she can, but for her to write and let me know when she is going to start. Affectionately Yours, JOHN ATKINS. W.H. ATKINSON, Fugitive, Oct., 1854. * * * * * WILLIAM BUTCHER, ALIAS WILLIAM T. MITCHELL. "HE WAS ABUSEFUL." This passenger reported himself from Massey's Cross-Roads, near Georgetown, Maryland. William gave as his reason for being found destitute, and under the necessity of asking aid, that a man by the name of William Boyer, who followed farming, had deprived him of his hard earnings, and also claimed him as his property; and withal that he had abused him for years, and recently had "threatened to sell" him. This threat made his yoke too intolerable to be borne. He here began to think and plan for the future as he had never done before. Fortunately he was possessed with more than an average amount of mother wit, and he soon comprehended the requirements of the Underground Rail Road. He saw exactly that he must have resolution and self-dependence, very decided, in order to gain the victory over Boyer. In his hour of trial his wife, Phillis, and child, John Wesley, who were free, caused him much anxiety; but his reason taught him that it was his duty to throw off the yoke at all hazards, and he acted accordingly. Of course he left behind his wife and child. The interview which the Committee held with William was quite satisfactory, and he was duly aided and regularly despatched by the name of William T. Mitchell. He was about twenty-eight years of age, of medium size, and of quite a dark hue. "WHITE ENOUGH TO PASS." John Wesley Gibson represented himself to be not only the slave, but also the son of William Y. Day, of Taylor's Mount, Maryland. The faintest shade of colored blood was hardly discernible in this passenger. He relied wholly on his father's white blood to secure him freedom. Having resolved to serve no longer as a slave, he concluded to "hold up his head and put on airs." He reached Baltimore safely without being discovered or suspected of being on the Underground Rail Road, as far as he was aware of. Here he tried for the first time to pass for white; the attempt proved a success beyond his expectation. Indeed he could but wonder how it was that he had never before hit upon such an expedient to rid himself of his unhappy lot. Although a man of only twenty-eight years of age, he was foreman of his master's farm, but he was not particularly favored in any way on this account. His master and father endeavored to hold the reins very tightly upon him. Not even allowing him the privilege of visiting around on neighboring plantations. Perhaps the master thought the family likeness was rather too discernible. John believed that on this account all privileges were denied him, and he resolved to escape. His mother, Harriet, and sister, Frances, were named as near kin whom he had left behind. John was quite smart, and looked none the worse for having so much of his master's blood in his veins. The master was alone to blame for John's escape, as he passed on his (the master's) color. [Illustration: ] ESCAPING WITH MASTER'S CARRIAGES AND HORSES. HARRIET SHEPHARD, AND HER FIVE CHILDREN, WITH FIVE OTHER PASSENGERS. One morning about the first of November, in 1855, the sleepy, slave-holding neighborhood of Chestertown, Maryland, was doubtless deeply excited on learning that eleven head of slaves, four head of horses, and two carriages were missing. It is but reasonable to suppose that the first report must have produced a shock, scarcely less stunning than an earthquake. Abolitionists, emissaries, and incendiaries were farther below par than ever. It may be supposed that cursings and threatenings were breathed out by a deeply agitated community for days in succession. Harriet Shephard, the mother of five children, for whom she felt of course a mother's love, could not bear the thought of having her offspring compelled to wear the miserable yoke of Slavery, as she had been compelled to do. By her own personal experience, Harriet could very well judge what their fate would be when reaching man and womanhood. She declared that she had never received "kind treatment." It was not on this account, however, that she was prompted to escape. She was actuated by a more disinterested motive than this. She was chiefly induced to make the bold effort to save her children from having to drag the chains of Slavery as she herself had done. Anna Maria, Edwin, Eliza Jane, Mary Ann, and John Henry were the names of the children for whom she was willing to make any sacrifice. They were young; and unable to walk, and she was penniless, and unable to hire a conveyance, even if she had known any one who would have been willing to risk the law in taking them a night's journey. So there was no hope in these directions. Her rude intellect being considered, she was entitled to a great deal of credit for seizing the horses and carriages belonging to her master, as she did it for the liberation of her children. Knowing others at the same time, who were wanting to visit Canada, she consulted with five of this class, males and females, and they mutually decided to travel together. It is not likely that they knew much about the roads, nevertheless they reached Wilmington, Delaware, pretty direct, and ventured up into the heart of the town in carriages, looking as innocent as if they were going to meeting to hear an old-fashioned Southern sermon--"Servants, obey your masters." Of course, the distinguished travelers were immediately reported to the noted Thomas Garrett, who was accustomed to transact the affairs of the Underground Rail Road in a cool masterly way. But, on this occasion, there was but little time for deliberation, but much need of haste to meet the emergency. He at once decided, that they must immediately be separated from the horses and carriages, and got out of Wilmington as quickly as possible. With the courage and skill, so characteristic of Garrett, the fugitives, under escort, were soon on their way to Kennett Square (a hot-bed of abolitionists and stock-holders of the Underground Rail Road), which place they reached safely. It so happened, that they reached Long Wood meeting-house in the evening, at which place a fair circle had convened. Being invited, they stayed awhile in the meeting, then, after remaining all night with one of the Kennett friends, they were brought to Downingtown early in the morning and thence, by daylight, within a short distance of Kimberton, and found succor with friend Lewis, at the old headquarters of the fugitives. [A letter may be found from Miss G.A. Lewis, on page thirty-nine, throwing much light on this arrival]. After receiving friendly aid and advice while there, they were forwarded to the Committee in Philadelphia. Here further aid was afforded them, and as danger was quite obvious, they were completely divided and disguised, so that the Committee felt that they might safely be sent on to Canada in one of the regular trains considered most private. Considering the condition of the slave mother and her children and friends, all concerned rejoiced, that they had had the courage to use their master's horses and vehicles as they did. EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS SECRETED. WASHINGTON SOMLOR, ALIAS JAMES MOORE. But few could tell of having been eye-witnesses to outrages more revolting and disgraceful than Washington Somlor. He arrived per steamer Pennsylvania (secreted), directly from Norfolk, Virginia, in 1855. He was thirty-two years of age--a man of medium size and quite intelligent. A merchant by the name of Smith owned Washington. Eight and a half months before escaping, Washington had been secreted in order to shun both master and auction-block. Smith believed in selling, flogging, cobbing, paddling, and all other kinds of torture, by which he could inflict punishment in order to make the slaves feel his power. He thus tyrannized over about twenty-five head. Being naturally passionate, when in a brutal mood, he made his slaves suffer unmercifully. Said Washington, "On one occasion, about two months before I was secreted, he had five of the slaves (some of them women) tied across a barrel, lashed with the cow-hide and then cobbed--this was a common practice." Such treatment was so inhuman and so incredible, that the Committee hesitated at first to give credence to the statement, and only yielded when facts and evidences were given which seemed incontestible. The first effort to come away was made on the steamship City of Richmond. Within sixty miles of Philadelphia, in consequence of the ice obstruction in the river, the steamer had to go back. How sad Washington felt at thus having his hopes broken to pieces may be imagined but cannot be described. Great as was his danger, when the steamer returned to Norfolk, he was safely gotten off the boat and under the eye of officers walked away. Again he was secreted in his old doleful quarters, where he waited patiently for the Spring. It came. Again the opportunity for another trial was presented, and it was seized unhesitatingly. This time, his tried faith was rewarded with success. He came through safely to the Committee's satisfaction as well as his own. The recital of his sufferings and experience had a very inspiring effect on those who had the pleasure of seeing Wash. in Philadelphia. Although closely secreted in Norfolk, he had, through friends, some little communication with the outside world. Among other items of information which came to his ears, was a report that his master was being pressed by his creditors, and had all his slaves advertised for sale. An item still more sad also reached his ear, to the effect that his wife had been sold away to North Carolina, and thus separated from her child, two years old. The child was given as a present to a niece of the master. While this is only a meagre portion of his interesting story, it was considered at the time sufficient to identify him should the occasion ever require it. We content ourselves, therefore, simply with giving what was recorded on the book. Wash. spent a short while in Philadelphia in order to recruit, after which, he went on North, where colored men were free. * * * * * ARTHUR FOWLER, ALIAS BENJAMIN JOHNSON. Arthur came from Spring Hill, Maryland. Edward Fowler held Arthur in fetters and usurped authority over him as his lord and master. Arthur saw certain signs connected with his master's family which presaged to him that the day was not far distant, when somebody would have to be sold to raise money to pamper the appetites of some of the superior members of the patriarchal institution. Among these provocations were indulgence in a great deal of extravagance, and the growing up of a number of young masters and mistresses. Arthur would often look at the heirs, and the very thought of their coming into possession, would make him tremble. Nothing so affected Arthur's mind so much in moving him to make a bold stroke for freedom as these heirs. Under his old master, the usage had been bad enough, but he feared that it would be a great deal worse under the sons and daughters. He therefore wisely concluded to avoid the impending danger by availing himself of the Underground Rail Road. After completing such arrangements as he deemed necessary, he started, making his way along pretty successfully, with the exception of a severe encounter with Jack Frost, by which his feet were badly bitten. He was not discouraged, however, but was joyful over his victory and hopeful in view of his prospects in Canada. Arthur was about thirty years of age, medium size, and of a dark color. The Committee afforded him needed assistance, and sent him off. * * * * * SUNDRY ARRIVALS. About the 1st of June, 1855, the following arrivals were noted in the record book: EMORY ROBERTS, _alias_ WILLIAM KEMP, Talbot Co., Maryland; DANIEL PAYNE, Richmond, Virginia; HARRIET MAYO, JOHN JUDAH, and RICHARD BRADLEY, Petersburg and Richmond; JAMES CRUMMILL, SAMUEL JONES, TOLBERT JONES, and HENRY HOWARD, Haverford Co., Maryland; LEWIS CHILDS, Richmond, DANIEL BENNETT, _alias_ HENRY WASHINGTON, and wife (MARTHA,) and two children (GEORGE and a nameless babe). The road at this time, was doing a fair business, in a quiet way. Passengers were managing to come, without having to suffer in any very violent manner, as many had been called upon to do in making similar efforts. The success attending some of these passengers was partly attributable to the intelligence of individuals, who, for years, had been planning and making preparations to effect the end in view. Besides, the favorableness of the weather tended also to make travel more pleasant than in colder seasons of the year. While matters were thus favorable, the long stories of individual suffering and of practices and customs among young and old masters and mistresses, were listened to attentively, although the short summer nights hardly afforded sufficient opportunity for writing out details. Emory arrived safely from Talbot county. As a slave, he had served Edward Lloyd. He gave his master the character of treating his slaves with great severity. The "lash" was freely used "on women as well as men, old and young." In this kind of property Lloyd had invested to the extent of "about five hundred head," so Emory thought. Food and clothing for this large number were dealt out very stintedly, and daily suffering was the common lot of slaves under Lloyd. Emory was induced to leave, to avoid a terrible flogging, which had been promised him for the coming Monday. He was a married man, but exercised no greater control over his wife than over himself. She was hired on a neighboring plantation; the way did not seem open for her to accompany him, so he had to leave her behind. His mother, brothers, and sisters had to be left also. The ties of kindred usually strong in the breasts of slaves, were hard for Emory to break, but, by a firm resolution, that he would not stay on Lloyd's plantation to endure the impending flogging, he was nerved to surmount every obstacle in the way of carrying his intention into execution. He came to the Committee hungry and in want of clothing, and was aided in the usual way. Daniel Payne. This traveler was a man who might be said to be full of years, infirm, and well-nigh used up under a Virginia task-master. But within the old man's breast a spark was burning for freedom, and he was desirous of reaching free land, on which to lay his body when life's toil ended. So the Committee sympathized with him, aided him and sent him on to Canada. He was owned by a man named M.W. Morris, of Richmond, whence he fled. Harriet Mayo, John Judah, and Richard Bradley were the next who brought joy and victory with them. Harriet was a tall, well-made, intelligent young woman, twenty-two years of age. She spoke with feelings of much bitterness against her master, James Cuthbert, saying that he was a "very hard man," at the same time, adding that his "wife was still worse." Harriet "had been sold once." She admitted however, having been treated kindly a part of her life. In escaping, she had to leave her "poor old mother" with no hope of ever seeing her again; likewise she regretted having to leave three brothers, who kindly aided her to escape. But having her heart bent on freedom, she resolved that nothing should deter her from putting forth efforts to get out of Slavery. John was a mulatto, of genteel address, well clothed, and looked as if he had been "well fed." Miss Eliza Lambert had the honor of owning John, and was gracious enough to allow him to hire his time for one hundred and ten dollars per annum. After this sum was punctually paid, John could do what he pleased with any surplus earnings. Now, as he was fond of nice clothing, he was careful to earn a balance sufficient to gratify this love. By similar means, many slaves were seen in southern cities elegantly dressed, and, strangers and travelers from the North gave all the credit to "indulgent masters," not knowing the facts in the case. John accused his mistress of being hard in money matters, not caring how the servants fared, so she got "plenty of money out of them." For himself, however, he admitted that he had never experienced as great abuses as many had. He was fortunate in being wedded to a free wife, who was privy to all his plans and schemes looking forth to freedom, and fully acquiesced in the arrangement of matters, promising to come on after he should reach Canada. This promise was carried out in due time, and they were joyfully re-united under the protection of the British Lion. Richard was about twenty-seven. For years the hope of freedom had occupied his thoughts, and many had been the longing desires to see the way open by which he could safely get rid of oppression. He was sufficiently intelligent to look at Slavery in all its bearings, and to smart keenly under even ordinarily mild treatment. Therefore, he was very happy in the realization of his hopes. In the recital of matters touching his slave life, he alluded to his master, Samuel Ball, as a "very hard man," utterly unwilling to allow his servants any chance whatever. For reasons which he considered judicious, he kept the matter of his contemplated escape wholly private, not even revealing it to his wife. Probably he felt that she would not be willing to give him up, not even for freedom, as long as she could not go too. Her name was Emily, and she belonged to William Bolden. How she felt when she learned of her husband's escape is for the imagination to picture. These three interesting passengers were brought away snugly secreted in Captain B's. schooner. JAMES CRUMMILL, SAMUAL and TOLBERT JONES and HENRY HOWARD. This party united to throw off the yoke in Haverford county, Md. James, Samuel and Tolbert had been owned by William Hutchins. They agreed in giving Hutchins the character of being a notorious "frolicker," and a "very hard master." Under him, matters were growing "worse and worse." Before the old master's death times were much better. Henry did not live under the same authority that his three companions were subjected to, but belonged to Philip Garrison. The continual threat to sell harassed Henry so much, that he saw no chance of peace or happiness in the future. So one day the master laid the "last straw on the camel's back," and not another day would Henry stay. Many times it required a pretty heavy pressure to start off a number of young men, but in this instance they seemed unwilling to wait to be worn out under the yoke and violent treatment, or to become encumbered with wives and children before leaving. All were single, with the exception of James, whose wife was free, and named Charlotte; she understood about his going to Canada, and, of course, was true to him. These young men had of course been reared under circumstances altogether unfavorable to mental development. Nevertheless they had fervent aspirations to strike for freedom. Lewis Giles belonged, in the prison-house of bondage, in the city of Richmond, and owed service to a Mr. Lewis Hill, who made it a business to keep slaves expressly to hire out, just as a man keeps a livery stable. Lewis was not satisfied with this arrangement; he could see no fair play in it. In fact, he was utterly at variance with the entire system of Slavery, and, a long time before he left, had plans laid with a view of escaping. Through one of the Underground Rail Road Agents the glad tidings were borne to him that a passage might be procured on a schooner for twenty-five dollars. Lewis at once availed himself of this offer, and made his arrangements accordingly. He, however, made no mention of this contemplated movement to his wife, Louisa; and, to her astonishment, he was soon among the missing. Lewis was a fine-looking "article," six feet high, well proportioned, and of a dark chestnut color, worth probably $1200, in the Richmond market. Touching his slave life, he said that he had been treated "pretty well," except that he "had been sold several times." Intellectually he was above the average run of slaves. He left on the twenty-third of April, and arrived about the second of June, having, in the meantime, encountered difficulties and discouragements of various kinds. His safe arrival, therefore, was attended with unusual rejoicing. Daniel Bennett and his wife and children were the next in order. A woman poorly clad with a babe just one month old in her arms, and a little boy at her side, who could scarcely toddle, together with a husband who had never dared under penalty of the laws to protect her or her little ones, presented a most painfully touching picture. It was easy enough to see, that they had been crushed. The husband had been owned by Captain James Taylor--the wife and children by George Carter. The young mother gave Carter a very bad character, affirming, that it was a "common practice with him to flog the slaves, stripped entirely naked"--that she had herself been so flogged, since she had been a married woman. How the husband was treated, the record book is silent. He was about thirty-two--the wife about twenty-seven. Especial pains were taken to provide aid and sympathy to this family in their destitution, fleeing under such peculiarly trying circumstances and from such loathsome brutality. They were from Aldie P.O., London County, Virginia, and passed through the hands of the Committee about the 11th of June. What has been their fate since is not known. * * * * * SUNDRY ARRIVALS ABOUT JANUARY FIRST, 1855. VERENEA MERCER. The steamship Pennsylvania, on one of her regular trips from Richmond, brought one passenger, of whom the Captain had no knowledge; no permission had been asked of any officer of the boat. Nevertheless, Verenea Mercer managed, by the most extraordinary strategy, to secrete herself on the steamer, and thus succeeded in reaching Philadelphia. She was following her husband, who escaped about nine months before her. Verenea was about forty-one years of age, of a dark chestnut color, prepossessing in manners, intelligent and refined. She belonged to the slave population of Richmond, and was owned by Thomas W. Quales. According to her testimony, she had not received severe treatment during the eight and a half years that she had been in his hands. Previous to his becoming the owner of Verenea, it might have been otherwise, although nothing is recorded in proof of this inference, except that she had the misfortune to lose her first husband by a sale. Of course she was left a widow, in which state she remained nine years, at the expiration of which period, she married a man by the name of James Mercer, whose narrative may be found on p. 54. How James got off, and where he went, Verenea knew quite well; consequently, in planning to reach him, she resorted to the same means by which he achieved success. The Committee rendered her the usual aid, and sent her on direct to her husband in Canada. Without difficulty of any kind she reached there safely, and found James with arms wide open to embrace her. Frequent tidings reached the Committee, that they were getting along quite well in Toronto. On the same day (January 1st), PETER DERRICKSON and CHARLES PURNELL arrived from Berlin, Worcester county, Maryland. Both were able-bodied young men, twenty-four and twenty-six years of age, just the kind that a trader, or an experienced slave-holder in the farming business, would be most likely to select for doing full days' work in the field, or for bringing high prices in the market. Peter toiled and toiled, with twenty others, on John Derrickson's farm. And although Derrickson was said to be a "mild master," Peter decidedly objected to working for him for nothing. He thought over his situation a great deal, and finally came to the conclusion, that he must get from under the yoke, if possible, before entering another New Year. His friend Charles he felt could be confided in, therefore he made up his mind, that he would broach the question of Canada and the Underground Rail Road to him. Charles was equally ready and willing to enter into any practical arrangements by which he could get rid of his no-pay task-master, and be landed safely in Canada. After taking into account the dangers likely to attend such a struggle, they concluded that they would risk all and try their luck, as many had done before them. "What made you leave, Charles?" said a member of the Committee. "I left because I wanted my time and money for myself." No one could gainsay such a plain common-sense answer as that. The fact, that he had to leave his parents, three brothers, and five sisters, all in slavery, brought sad reflections. LLOYD HACKET, alias Perry Watkins and WILLIAM HENRY JOHNSON, alias John Wesley. No weather was too cold for travel, nor way too rough, when the slave was made to feel by his heartless master, that he was going to sell him or starve him to death. Lloyd had toiled on until he had reached fifty-five, before he came to the conclusion, that he could endure the treatment of his master, John Griffin, no longer, simply because "he was not good to feed and clothe," and was a "great fighter." Moreover, he would "never suffer his slaves to stop work on account of bad weather." Not only was his master cruel in these particulars, but he was equally cruel with regard to selling. Georgia was continually held up to the slaves with a view of producing a wholesome fear, but in this instance, as in many similar ones, it only awakened desires to seek flight via the Underground Rail Road. Lloyd, convinced by experience, that matters with him would be no better, but worse and worse, resolved that he would start with the opening of the New Year to see if he could not find a better country than the one that he was then in. He consulted William, who, although a young man of only twenty-four years of age, had the hate of slavery exceedingly strong in his heart, and was at once willing to accompany Lloyd--ready to face cold weather and start on a long walk if freedom could be thus purchased, and his master, John Hall, thus defeated. So Lloyd took a heroic leave of his wife, Mary Ann, and their little boy, one brother, one sister, and two nieces, and at once set out with William, like pilgrims and strangers seeking a better country--where they would not have to go "hungry" and be "worked hard in all weather," threatened with the auction-block, and brutally flogged if they merely seemed unwilling to endure a yoke too grievous to be borne. Both these travelers were mulattoes, and but for the crushing influences that they had lived under would have made smart men--as it was they showed plainly, that they were men of shrewd sense. Inadvertently at the time of their arrival, the names of the State and place whence they fled were not entered on the book. In traveling they suffered severely from hunger and the long distance they had to walk, but having succeeded victoriously they were prepared to rejoice all the more. DAVID EDWARDS. John J. Slater, coachmaker of Petersburg, Virginia, if he is still living, and should see these items, may solve what may have been for years a great mystery to him--namely, that David, his man-servant, was enjoying himself in Philadelphia about the first week in January, 1855, receiving free accommodations and obtaining letters of introduction to friends in Canada. Furthermore, that David alleged that he was induced to escape because he (the coachmaker) was a very hard man, who took every dollar of his earnings, from which he would dole out to him only one dollar a week for board, etc., a sum less than David could manage to get along with. David was thirty years of age, black, weighed one hundred and forty-five pounds, and was worth one thousand dollars. He left his wife behind. BEVERLY GOOD and GEORGE WALKER, alias Austin Valentine. These passengers came from Petersburg, per steamship Pennsylvania. Richard Perry was lording it over Beverly, who was a young man of twenty-four years of age, dark, medium size, and possessed of a quick intellect--just the man that an Underground Rail Road agent in the South could approach with assurance with questions such as these--"What do you think of Slavery?" "Did you ever hear of the Underground Rail Road?" "How would you like to be free?" "Would you be willing to go to Canada if you could get off safely," etc., etc. Such questions at once kindled into a flame the sparks of freedom lying dormant in the heart. Although uttered in a whisper, they had a wondrous ring about them, and a wide-awake bondman instantly grasped their meaning. Beverly was of this class; he needed no arguments to prove that he was daily robbed of his rights--that Slavery was merciless and freedom the God-given right of all mankind. Of him, therefore, there was no fear that he would betray his trust or flinch too soon when cramped up in his hiding-place on the steamer. His comrade, George, was likewise of the same mettle, and was aided in the same way. George, however, had more age on his side, being about forty-three. He was about six feet high, with marked physical and mental abilities, but Slavery had had its heel upon his neck. And who could then have risen? Eliza Jones held the deed for George, and by her he was hired as foreman in a tobacco factory, in which position his duties were onerous--especially to one with a heavy, bleeding heart, throbbing daily for freedom, while, at the same time, mournfully brooding over past wrongs. Of these wrongs one incident must suffice. He had been married twice, and had been the father of six children by his first wife; at the command of his owner the wedded relations were abruptly broken, and he was obliged to seek another wife. In entering this story on the book at the time of the arrival, the concluding words were written thus: "This story is thrilling, but time will not allow its being penned." Although safely under the protection of the British Lion, George's heart was in Virginia, where his wife was retained. As he could not return for her deliverance, he was wise enough to resort to the pen, hoping in this way to effect his grand object, as the following letter will show: TORONTO, January 25th, 1855. DEAR FRIEND STILL:--George Walker, of Petersburg, Va., is now in my office, and requests me to write a letter to you, and request you to write to his wife, after or according to the instructions he gave to his friend, John Brown, in your city, with whom he says you are acquainted. You will understand, of course, his reason for wanting the letter wrote and posted at Philadelphia. You will please attend to it and address a letter to him (Walker) in my care. He and Beverly Good, his comrade, tender much love to you. Send them on; we are prepared for them. Yours in great haste, J.B. SMITH. P.S.--Be sure and follow the directions given to Brown. ADAM BROOKS, alias William Smith. Hardtown, Montgomery county, Maryland, lost a rather promising "article of merchandise," in the person of Adam. The particulars of his going are on this wise: John Phillips, his so-called master, believed in selling, and practiced accordinglv, to the extent at least of selling Adam's mother, brother, and sister only two years before his escape. If Adam had known nothing else against Phillips, this was enough in all conscience to have awakened his deadly hate; but, added to this, Phillips was imprudent in his habit of threatening to "sell," etc. This kept the old wound in Adam's heart continually bleeding and forced him to the conclusion, that his master was not only a hard man, as a driver on the farm, but that at heart he was actually a bad man. Furthermore, that it was his duty to break his fetters and seek his freedom in Canada. In thus looking at his situation, his mind was worked up to fever heat, and he resolved that, let the consequences be what they might, go he must. In this promising state of mind he started, at an appointed time, for Pennsylvania, and, sure enough, he succeeded. Having the appearance of a desirable working-hand, a Pennsylvania farmer prevailed on him to stop for a time. It was not long before the folly of this halt was plainly discernible, as his master had evidently got wind of his whereabouts, and was pretty hot in pursuit. Word reached Adam, however, barely in time for him to make his escape through the aid of friends. In coming into the hands of the Committee he needed no persuading to go to Canada; he was occupied with two interesting problems, to go back or to go forward. But he set his face hopefully towards Canada, and had no thought of stopping short thereof. In stature, he was small; color, black; countenance, pleasant, and intellect, medium. As to his fitness for making a good citizen in Canada the Committee had no doubt. SARAH A. DUNAGAN. Having no one to care for her, and, having been threatened with the auction-block, Sarah mustered pluck and started out in search of a new home among strangers beyond the borders of slave territory. According to her story, she "was born free" in the State of Delaware, but had been "bound out" to a man by the name of George Churchman, living in Wilmington. Here she averred, that she "had been flogged repeatedly," and had been otherwise ill-treated, while no one interfered to take her part. Consequently she concluded, that although she was born free, she would not be likely to be benefited thereby unless she made her escape on the Underground Rail Road. This idea of freedom continued to agitate Sarah's mind until she decided to leave forthwith. She was a young mulatto woman, single, and told her story of hardships and of the dread of being sold, in a manner to elicit much sympathy. She had a mother living in New Castle, named Ann Eliza Kingslow. It was no uncommon thing for free-born persons in slave States to lose their birth-right in a manner similar to that by which Sarah feared that she had lost hers. "Arrived JOSEPH HALL, JR., son of Joseph Hall, of Norfolk, Virginia." This is all that is recorded of this passenger, yet it is possible that this item of news may lead to the recognition of Joseph, should he still happen to be of the large multitude of fugitives scattered over the land amongst the living. ISAAC D. DAVIS. In fleeing from bondage, in Maryland, Davis was induced to stop, as many others were, in Pennsylvania. Not comprehending the Fugitive Slave Law he fancied that he would be safe so long as he kept matters private concerning his origin. But in this particular he labored under a complete delusion--when he least dreamed of danger the slave-catchers were scenting him close. Of their approach, however, he was fortunate enough to be notified in time to place himself in the hands of the Committee, who soon held out Canada to him, as the only sure refuge for him, and all others similarly situated. His fears of being carried back opened his eyes, and understanding, so that he could readily see the force of this argument, and accepting the proffered aid of the Committee was sent on his way rejoicing. He had been away from his master eighteen months, and in the meanwhile had married a wife in Pennsylvania. What became of them after this flight the book contains no record. JACOB MATTHIAS BOYER left at about the age of twenty. He had no idea of working in the condition of a slave, but if he had not been threatened with the auction-block, he might have remained much longer than he did. He had been owned by Richard Carman, cashier of one of the Annapolis banks, and who had recently died. Jacob fled from Annapolis. Very little record was made of either master or slave. Probably no incidents were related of sufficient importance, still the Committee felt pleased to receive one so young. Indeed, it always afforded the Committee especial satisfaction to see children, young people, and females escaping from the prison-house. Jacob was of a dark hue, a little below medium stature. ZECHARIAH MEAD, alias John Williams. This traveler had been in the house of bondage in Maryland, doing service for Charles C. Owens, to whom he belonged. According to Zechariah's statement, his mistress had been very unfortunate with her slave property, having lost fifteen head out of twenty in a similar manner to that by which she lost Zechariah. Thus she had been considerably reduced in circumstances. But Zechariah had no compassion on her whatever, but insisted that she was a hard mistress. Doubtless Zechariah was prompted to flee by the "bad" example of others who had succeeded in making good their escape, before he had made up his mind to leave. He was not yet quite twenty-one, but was wide-awake, and it appeared from his conversation, that he had done some close thinking before he started for freedom. He left his father, mother, and three brothers, all slaves except his father. * * * * * SLAVE-HOLDER IN MARYLAND WITH THREE COLORED WIVES. JAMES GRIFFIN ALIAS THOMAS BROWN. James was a tiller of the soil under the yoke of Joshua Hitch, who lived on a farm about seventeen miles from Baltimore. James spoke rather favorably of him; indeed, it was through a direct act of kindness on the part of his master that he procured the opportunity to make good his escape. It appeared from his story, that his master's affairs had become particularly embarrassed, and the Sheriff was making frequent visits to his house. This sign was interpreted to mean that James, if not others, would have to be sold before long. The master was much puzzled to decide which way to turn. He owned but three other adult slaves besides James, and they were females. One of them was his chief housekeeper, and with them all his social relations were of such a nature as to lead James and others to think and say that they "were all his wives." Or to use James's own language, "he had three slave women; two were sisters, and he lived with them all as his wives; two of them he was very fond of," and desired to keep them from being sold if possible. The third, he concluded he could not save, she would have to be sold. In this dilemma, he was good enough to allow James a few days' holiday, for the purpose of finding him a good master. Expressing his satisfaction and gratification, James, armed with full authority from his master to select a choice specimen, started for Baltimore. On reaching Baltimore, however, James carefully steered clear of all slave-holders, and shrewdly turned his attention to the matter of getting an Underground Rail Road ticket for Canada. After making as much inquiry as he felt was safe, he came to the conclusion to walk of nights for a long distance. He examined his feet and legs, found that they were in good order, and his faith and hope strong enough to remove a mountain. Besides several days still remained in which he was permitted to look for a new master, and these he decided could be profitably spent in making his way towards Canada. So off he started, at no doubt a very diligent pace, for at the end of the first night's journey, he had made much headway, but at the expense of his feet. His faith was stronger than ever. So he rested next day in the woods, concealed, of course, and the next evening started with fresh courage and renewed perseverance. Finally, he reached Columbia, Pennsylvania, and there he had the happiness to learn, that the mountain which at first had tried his faith so severely, was removed, and friendly hands were reached out and a more speedy and comfortable mode of travel advised. He was directed to the Vigilance Committee in Philadelphia, from whom he received friendly aid, and all necessary information respecting Canada and how to get there. James was thirty-one years of age, rather a fine-looking man, of a chestnut color, and quite intelligent. He had been a married man, but for two years before his escape, he had been a widower--that is, his wife had been sold away from him to North Carolina, and in that space of time he had received only three letters from her; he had given up all hope of ever seeing her again. He had two little boys living in Baltimore, whom he was obliged to leave. Their names were Edward and William. What became of them afterwards was never known at the Philadelphia station. James's master was a man of about fifty years of age--who had never been lawfully married, yet had a number of children on his place who were of great concern to him in the midst of other pressing embarrassments. Of course, the Committee never learned how matters were settled after James left, but, in all probability, his wives, Nancy and Mary (sisters), and Lizzie, with all the children, had to be sold. * * * * * CAPTAIN F. ARRIVES WITH NINE PASSENGERS. NAMES OF PASSENGERS. PETER HEINES, Eatontown, North Carolina; MATTHEW BODAMS, Plymouth, North Carolina; JAMES MORRIS, South End, North Carolina; CHARLES THOMPSON, CHARITY THOMPSON, NATHANIEL BOWSER, and THOMAS COOPER, Portsmouth, Virginia; GEORGE ANDERSON, Elkton, Maryland. Their arrival was announced by Thomas Garrett as follows: WILMINGTON, 7th mo., 19th, 1856. RESPECTED FRIEND, WILLIAM STILL:--I now have the pleasure of consigning to thy care four able-bodied human beings from North Carolina, and five from Virginia, one of which is a girl twelve or thirteen years of age, the rest all men. After thee has seen and conversed with them, thee can determine what is best to be done with them. I am assured they are such as can take good care of themselves. Elijah Pennypacker, some time since, informed me he could find employment in his neighborhood for two or three good hands. I should think that those from Carolina would be about as safe in that neighborhood as any place this side of Canada. Wishing our friends a safe trip, I remain thy sincere friend, THOS. GARRETT. After conferring with Harry Craige, we have concluded to send five or six of them tonight in the cars, and the balance, if those go safe, to-morrow night, or in the steam-boat on Second day morning, directed to the Anti-Slavery office. There was much rejoicing over these select passengers, and very much interesting information was elicited from them. Peter was only twenty-one years of age, composed of equal parts of Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-African blood--rather a model-looking "article," with a fair share of intelligence. As a slave, he had fared pretty well--he had neither been abused nor stinted of food or clothing, as many others had been. His duties had been to attend upon his master (and reputed father), Elias Heines, Esq., a lawyer by profession in North Carolina. No charges whatever appear to have been made against Mr. Heines, according to the record book; but Peter seemed filled with great delight at the prospects ahead, as well as with the success that had attended his efforts thus far in striking for freedom. James was twenty-seven years of age. His experience had been quite different from that of Peter's. The heel of a woman, by the name of Mrs. Ann McCourt, had been on James's neck, and she had caused him to suffer severely. As James recounted his grievances, while under the rule, he by no means gave her a very flattering character, but, on the contrary, he plainly stated, that she was a "desperate woman"--that he had "never known any good of her," and that he was moved to escape to get rid of her. In other words she had threatened to sell him; this well nigh produced frenzy in James's mind, for too well did he remember, that he had already been sold three times, and in different stages of his bondage had been treated quite cruelly. In the change of masters he was positive in saying, that he had not found a good one, and, besides, he entertained the belief that such personages were very rare. Those of the Committee who listened to James were not a little amazed at his fluency, intelligence and earnestness, and acknowledged that he dealt unusually telling blows against the Patriarchal Institution. Matthew was twenty-three years of age, very stout--no fool--a man of decided resolution, and of the very best black complexion produced in the South. Matthew had a very serious bill of complaints against Samuel Simmons, who professed to own him (Matthew), both body and mind, while in this world at least. Among these complaints was the charge of ill-treatment. Nevertheless Matthew's joy and pleasure were matchless over his Underground Rail Road triumph, and the prospect of being so soon out of the land and reach of Slavery, and in a land where he could enjoy his freedom as others enjoyed theirs. Indeed the entire band evinced similar feelings. Matthew left a brother in Martin county. Further sketches of this interesting company were not entered on the book at the time, perhaps on account of the great press of Underground Rail Road business which engaged the attention of the acting Committee. However, they were all duly cared for, and counselled to go to Canada, where their rights would be protected by a strong and powerful government, and they could enjoy all the rights of citizenship in common with "all the world and the rest of mankind." And especially were they advised to get education; to act as men, and remember those still in bonds as bound with them, and that they must not forget to write back, after their arrival in Canada, to inform their friends in Philadelphia of their prospects, and what they thought of the "goodly land." Thus, with the usual Underground Rail Road passports, they were again started Canada-ward. Without difficulty of any kind they duly reached Canada, and a portion of them wrote back as follows: "TORONTO, C.W., Aug. 17th, 1856. MR, STILL:--Dear Sir--These few lines may find you as they leave us, we are well at present and arrived safe in Toronto. Give our respects to Mrs. S.---- and daughter. Toronto is a very extensive place. We have plenty of pork, beef and mutton. There are five market houses and many churches. Female wages is 62-1/2 cents per day, men's wages is $1 and york shilling. We are now boarding at Mr. George Blunt's, on Centre street, two doors from Elm, back of Lawyer's Hall, and when you write to us, direct your letter to the care of Mr. George Blunt, &c. (Signed), James Monroe, Peter Heines, Henry James Morris, and Matthew Bodame." This intelligence was very gratifying, and most assuredly added to the pleasurable contemplation of having the privilege of holding out a helping hand to the fleeing bondman. From James Morris, one of this company, however, letters of a painful nature were received, touching his wife in bonds, setting forth her "awful" situation and appealing to the Committee to use their best endeavors to rescue her, with her child, from Slavery. One of these letters, so full of touching sentiments of affection and appeal on behalf of his wife, is as follows: TORONTO, Canada West, upper, 18th day of the 9th mo., 1856. MR. WILLIAM STILL:--Dear Sir--I hope these lines may find you and your family as they leave me give my respects to little Caroline and her mother. Dear Sir, I have received two letters from my wife since I saw you, and the second was awful. I am sorry to say she says she has been treated awful since I left, and she told the lady she thought she was left free and she told her she was as much slave as ever she was that the state was not to be settled until her death and it would be a meracle if she and her child got it then and that her master left a great many relations and she diden no what they would do. Mr. Still dear sir I am very sorry to hear my wife and child are slaves if you please dear sir inform me what to do for my dear wife and child. She said she has been threatened to be put in jail three times since I left also she tells me that she is washing for the captain of a vesel that use to run to Petersburg but now he runs to Baltimore and he has promas to take her to Delaware or New York for 50 dollars and she had not the money, she sent to me and I sent her all I had which was 5 dollars dear sir can you inform me what to do with a case of this kind the captains name is Thomas. My wife is name lucy an morris my child is name lot, if you please dear sir answer me as soon as you can posable. HENRY JAMES MORRIS, Toronto C.W. Henry James Morris in care of Wm. George Blunt, Centre st., 2 doors from Elam. This sad letter made a mournful impression, as it was not easy to see how her deliverance was to be effected. One feature, however, about this epistle afforded much satisfaction, namely, to know, that James did not forget his poor wife and child, who were in the prison-house. Many months after this first letter came to hand, Mrs. Dr. Willis, one of the first ladies in Toronto, wrote on his behalf as follows: TORONTO, 15th June, Monday morning, 1857. To MR. STILL, DEAR SIR:--I write you this letter for a respectable young man (his name is James Morris), he passed through your hands July of last year (1856), and has just had a letter from his wife, whom he left behind in Virginia, that she and her child are likely to be sold. He is very anxious about this and wishful that she could get away by some vessel or otherwise. His wife's name is Lucy Morris; the child's name is Lot Morris; the lady's name she lives with is a Mrs. Hine (I hope I spell her name right, Hine), at the corner of Duke street and Washington street, in Norfolk city, Virginia. She is hired out to this rich old widow lady. James Morris wishes me to write you--he has saved forty dollars, and will send it to you whenever it is required, to bring her on to Toronto, Canada West. It is in the bank ready upon call. Will you please, sir, direct your letter in reply to this, to a Mrs. Ringgold, Centre street, two doors from Elam street, Toronto, Canada West, as I will be out of town. I write this instead of Mr. Thomas Henning, who is just about leaving for England. Hoping you will reply soon, I remain, sir, Respectfully yours, AGNES WILLIS. Whether James ever succeeded in recovering his wife and child, is not known to the writer. Many similarly situated were wont to appeal again and again, until growing entirely hopeless, they would conclude to marry. Here it may be remarked, with reference to marrying, that of the great number of fugitives in Canada, the male sex was largely in preponderance over the female, and many of them were single young men. This class found themselves very acceptable to Irish girls, and frequently legal alliances were the result. And it is more than likely, that there are white women in Canada to-day, who are married to some poor slave woman's fugitive husband. Verily, the romantic and tragic phases of the Underground Rail Road are without number, if not past finding out. Scarcely had the above-mentioned nine left the Philadelphia depot, ere the following way-worn travelers came to hand: PERRY SHEPHARD, and ISAAC REED, Eastern Shore, Maryland; GEORGE SPERRYMAN, _alias_ THOMAS JOHNSON, Richmond; VALENTINE SPIRES, near Petersburg; DANIEL GREEN, _alias_ GEORGE TAYLOR, Leesburg, Virginia; JAMES JOHNSON, _alias_ WILLIAM GILBERT and wife HARRIET, Prince George's county, Maryland; HENRY COOPER, and WILLIAM ISRAEL SMITH, Middletown, Delaware; ANNA DORSEY, Maryland. Although starting from widely separated localities without the slightest communication with each other in the South, each separate passenger earnestly bent on freedom, had endured suffering, hunger, and perils, by land and water, sustained by the hope of ultimate freedom. PERRY SHEPHARD and ISAAC REED reported themselves as having fled from the Eastern Shore of Maryland; that they had there been held to service or Slavery by Sarah Ann Burgess, and Benjamin Franklin Houston, from whom they fled. No incidents of slave life or travel were recorded, save that Perry left his wife Milky Ann, and two children, Nancy and Rebecca (free). Also Isaac left his wife, Hester Ann Louisa, and the following named children: Philip Henry, Harriet Ann and Jane Elizabeth. GEORGE SPERRYMAN'S lot was cast amongst the oppressed in the city of Richmond, Va. Of the common ills of slave life, George could speak from experience; but little of his story, however, was recorded at the time. He had reached the Committee through the regular channel--was adjudged worthy of aid and encouragement, and they gave it to him freely. Nickless Templeman was the loser in this instance; how he bore the misfortune the Committee was not apprised. Without question, the property was delighted with getting rid of the owner. VALENTINE SPIRES came a fellow-passenger with George, having "took out" the previous Christmas, from a place called Dunwoody, near Petersburg. He was held to service in that place by Dr. Jesse Squires. Under his oppressive rules and demands, Valentine had been convinced that there could be no peace, consequently he turned his attention to one idea--freedom and the Underground Rail Road, and with this faith, worked his way through to the Committee, and was received, and aided of course. DAVID GREEN, fled from Warrington, near Leesburg. Elliott Curlett so alarmed David by threatening to sell him, that the idea of liberty immediately took possession in David's mind. David had suffered many hardships at the hands of his master, but when the auction-block was held up to him, that was the worst cut of all. He became a thinker right away. Although he had a wife and one child in Slavery, he decided to flee for his freedom at all hazards, and accordingly he carried out his firm resolution. JAMES JOHNSON. This "article" was doing unrequited labor as the slave of Thomas Wallace, in Prince George county, Maryland. He was a stout and rugged-looking man, of thirty-five years of age. On escaping, he was fortunate enough to bring his wife, Harriet with him. She was ten years younger than himself, and had been owned by William T. Wood, by whom she said that she had "been well treated." But of late, this Wood had taken to liquor, and she felt in danger of being sold. She knew that rum ruined the best of slave-holders, so she was admonished to get out of danger as soon as possible. CHARLES HENRY COOPER and WILLIAM ISRAEL SMITH. These passengers were representatives of the peculiar Institution of Middletown, Delaware. Charles was owned by Catharine Mendine, and William by John P. Cather. According to their confession, Charles and William it seemed had been thinking a good deal over the idea of "working for nothing," of being daily driven to support others, while they were rendered miserable thereby. So they made up their minds to try the Underground Rail Road, "hit or miss." This resolution was made and carried into effect (on the part of Charles at least), at the cost of leaving a mother, three brothers, and three sisters in Slavery, without hope of ever seeing them again. The ages of Charles and William were respectively twenty-two and twenty-one. Both stout and well-made young men, with intellects well qualified to make the wilderness of Canada bud and blossom as the rose, and thitherward they were dispatched. ANNA DORSET became tired of Slavery in Maryland, where she reported that she had been held to service by a slave-holder, known by the name of Eli Molesworth. The record is silent as to how she was treated. As a slave, she had been brought up a seamstress, and was quite intelligent. Age twenty-two, mulatto. * * * * * OWEN AND OTHO TAYLOR'S FLIGHT WITH HORSES, ETC. THREE BROTHERS, TWO OF THEM WITH WIVES AND CHILDREN. About the latter part of March, 1856, Owen Taylor and his wife, Mary Ann, and their little son, Edward, together with a brother and his wife and two children, and a third brother, Benjamin, arrived from near Clear Springs, nine miles from Hagerstown, Maryland. They all left their home, or rather escaped from the prison-house, on Easter Sunday, and came _viâ_ Harrisburg, where they were assisted and directed to the Vigilance Committee in Philadelphia. A more interesting party had not reached the Committee for a long time. The three brothers were intelligent, and heroic, and, in the resolve to obtain freedom, not only for themselves, but for their wives and children desperately in earnest. They had counted well the cost of this struggle for liberty, and had fully made up their minds that if interfered with by slave-catchers, somebody would have to bite the dust. That they had pledged themselves never to surrender alive, was obvious. Their travel-worn appearance, their attachment for each other, the joy that the tokens of friendship afforded them, the description they gave of incidents on the road, made an impression not soon to be effaced. In the presence of a group like this Sumner's great and eloquent speech on the Barbarism of Slavery, seemed almost cold and dead,--the mute appeals of these little ones in their mother's arms--the unlettered language of these young mothers, striving to save their offspring from the doom of Slavery--the resolute and manly bearing of these brothers expressed in words full of love of liberty, and of the determination to resist Slavery to the death, in defence of their wives and children--this was Sumner's speech enacted before our eyes. Owen was about thirty-one years of age, but had experienced a deal of trouble. He had been married twice, and both wives were believed to be living. The first one, with their little child, had been sold in the Baltimore market, about three years before, the mother was sent to Louisiana, the child to South Carolina. Father, mother, and child, parted with no hope of ever seeing each other again in this world. After Owen's wife was sent South, he sent her his likeness and a dress; the latter was received, and she was greatly delighted with it, but he never heard of her having received his likeness. He likewise wrote to her, but he was not sure that she received his letters. Finally, he came to the conclusion that as she was forever dead to him, he would do well to marry again. Accordingly he took to himself another partner, the one who now accompanied him on the Underground Rail Road. Omitting other interesting incidents, a reference to his handiwork will suffice to show the ability of Owen. Owen was a born mechanic, and his master practically tested his skill in various ways; sometimes in the blacksmith shop--at other times as a wheelwright--again at making brushes and brooms, and at leisure times he would try his hand in all these crafts. This Jack-of-all-trades was, of course, very valuable to his master. Indeed his place was hard to fill. Henry Fiery, a farmer, "about sixty-four years of age, a stout, crusty old fellow," was the owner of Owen and his two brothers. Besides slaves, the old man was in possession of a wife, whose name was Martha, and seven children, who were pretty well grown up. One of the sons owned Owen's wife and two children. Owen declared, that they had been worked hard, while few privileges had been allowed them. Clothing of the poorest texture was only sparingly furnished. Nothing like Sunday raiment was ever given them; for these comforts they were compelled to do over-work of nights. For a long time the idea of escape had been uppermost in the minds of this party. The first of January, past, was the time "solemnly" fixed upon to "took out," but for some reason or other (not found on the record book), their strategical minds did not see the way altogether clear, and they deferred starting until Easter Sunday. On that memorable evening, the men boldly harnessed two of Mr. Fiery's steeds and placing their wives and children in the carriage, started off _viâ_ Hagerstown, in a direct line for Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, at a rate that allowed no grass to grow under the horses' feet. In this manner they made good time, reached Chambersburg safely, and ventured up to a hotel where they put up their horses. Here they bade their faithful beasts good-bye and "took out" for Harrisburg by another mode of travel, the cars. On their arrival they naturally fell into the hands of the Committee, who hurried them off to Philadelphia, apprising the Committee there of their approach by a dispatch sent ahead. Probably they had scarcely reached Philadelphia ere the Fierys were in hot haste after them, as far as Harrisburg, if not farther. It hardly need be hinted, that the community in which the Fierys lived was deeply agitated for days after, as indeed it was along the entire route to Chambersburg, in consequence of this bold and successful movement. The horses were easily captured at the hotel, where they were left, but, of course, they were mute as to what had become of their drivers. The furious Fierys probably got wind of the fact, that they had made their way to Harrisburg. At any rate they made very diligent search at this point. While here prosecuting his hunting operations, Fiery managed to open communication with at least one member of the Harrisburg Committee, to whom his grievances were made known, but derived little satisfaction. After the experience of a few weeks, the pursuers came to the conclusion, that there was no likelihood of recovering them through these agencies, or through the Fugitive Slave Law. In their despair, therefore, they resorted to another "dodge." All at once they became "sort-o'-friendly"--indeed more than half disposed to emancipate. The member of the Committee in Harrisburg had, it is probable, frequently left room for their great delusion, if he did not even go so far as to feed their hopes with plausible suggestions, that some assistance might be afforded by which an amicable settlement might be made between masters and slaves. The following extract, from the Committee's letter, relative to this matter, is open to this inference, and may serve to throw some light on the subject: HARRISBURG, April 28, '56. Friend Still:--Your last came to hand in due season, and I am happy to hear of the safe arrival of those gents. I have before me the Power of Attorney of Mr. John S. Fiery, son of Mr. Henry Fiery, of Washington county, Md., the owner of those three men, two women and three children, who arrived in your town on the 24th or 25th of March. He graciously condescends to liberate the oldest in a year, and the remainder in proportional time, if they will come back; or to sell them their time for $1300. He is sick of the job, and is ready to make any conditions. Now, if you personally can get word to them and get them to send him a letter, in my charge, informing him of their whereabouts and prospects, I think it will be the best answer I can make him. He will return here in a week or two, to know what can be done. He offers $500 to see them. Or if you can send me word where they are, I will endeavor to write to them for his special satisfaction; or if you cannot do either, send me your latest information, for I intend to make him spend a few more dollars, and if possible get a little sicker of this bad job. Do try and send him a few bitter pills for his weak nerves and disturbed mind. Yours in great haste, Jos. C. Bustill. A subsequent letter from Mr. Bustill contains, besides other interesting Underground Rail Road matter, an item relative to the feeling of disappointment experienced by Mr. Fiery on learning that his property was in Canada. HARRISBURG, May 26, '56. Friend Still:--I embrace the opportunity presented by the visit of our friend, John F. Williams, to drop you a few lines in relation to our future operations. The Lightning Train was put on the Road on last Monday, and as the traveling season has commenced and this is the Southern route for Niagara Falls, I have concluded not to send by way of Auburn, except in cases of great danger; but hereafter we will use the Lightning Train, which leaves here at 1-1/2 and arrives in your city at 5 o'clock in the morning, and I will telegraph about 5-1/2 o'clock in the afternoon, so it may reach you before you close. These four are the only ones that have come since my last. The woman has been here some time waiting for her child and her beau, which she expects here about the first of June. If possible, please keep a knowledge of her whereabouts, to enable me to inform him if he comes. _I have nothing more to send you, except that John Fiery has visited us again and much to his chagrin received the information of their being in Canada_. Yours as ever, Jos. C. Bustill. Whilst the Fierys were working like beavers to re-enslave these brave fugitives, the latter were daily drinking in more and more of the spirit of freedom and were busy with schemes for the deliverance of other near kin left behind under the galling yoke. Several very interesting letters were received from Otho Taylor, relative to a raid he designed making expressly to effect the escape of his family. The two subjoined must suffice, (others, much longer, cannot now be produced, they have probably been loaned and not returned.) APRIL 15th, 1857. SIR--We arrived here safely. Mr. Syrus and his lady is well situated. They have a place for the year round 15 dollars per month. We are all well and hope that you are all the same. Now I wish to know whether you would please to send me some money to go after those people. Send it here if you please. Yours truly, OTHO TAYLOR. WILLIAM STILL. ST. CATHARINES, Jan. 26, 1857. MR. WM. STILL:--Dear Sir--I write at this time in behalf of Otho Taylor. He is very anxious to go and get his family at Clear Spring, Washington county, Md. He would like to know if the Society there would furnish him the means to go after them from Philadelphia, that you will be running no risk in doing this. If the Society can do this, he would not be absent from P. more than three days. He is so anxious to get his family from slavery that he is willing to do almost anything to get them to Canada. You may possibly recollect him--he was at your place last August. I think he can be trusted. If you can do something for him, he has the means to take him to your place. Please let me know immediately if you can do this. Respectfully yours, M.A.H. WILSON. Such appeals came very frequently from Canada, causing much sadness, as but little encouragement could be held out to such projects. In the first place, the danger attendant upon such expeditions was so fearful, and in the second place, our funds were so inadequate for this kind of work, that, in most cases, such appeals had to be refused. Of course, there were those whose continual coming, like the poor widow in the Gospel, could not be denied. * * * * * HEAVY REWARD. THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, residing near Bladensburg, Prince George's county, Maryland, on Saturday night, the 22d of March, 1856, my negro man, Tom Matthews, aged about 25 years, about 5 feet 9 or 10 inches high, dark copper color, full suit of bushy hair, broad face, with high cheek bones, broad and square shoulders, stands and walks very erect, though quite a sluggard in action, except in a dance, at which he is hard to beat. He wore away a black coat and brown pantaloons. I will give the above reward if taken and brought home, or secured in jail, so that I get him. [Illustration: ] E.A. JONES, near Bladensburg, Md. As Mr. Jones may be unaware which way his man Tom traveled, this item may inform him that his name was entered on the Underground Rail Road book April 4th, 1856, at which date he appeared to be in good health and full of hope for a safe sojourn in Canada. He was destitute, of course, just as anybody else would have been, if robbers had stripped him of every dollar of his earnings; but he felt pretty sure, that he could take care of himself in her Majesty's dominion. The Committee, encouraged by his efforts, reached him a helping hand and sent him on to swell the goodly number in the promised land--Canada. On the same day that Tom arrived, the Committee had the pleasure of taking JAMES JONES by the hand. He was owned by Dr. William Stewart, of King George's Court House, Maryland. He was not, however, in the service of his master at the time of his escape but was hired out in Alexandria. For some reason, not noticed in the book, James became dissatisfied, changed his name to Henry Rider, got an Underground Rail Road pass and left the Dr. and his other associations in Maryland. He was one of the well-cared for "articles," and was of very near kin to the white people, at least a half-brother (mulatto, of course). He was thirty-two years of age, medium size, hard-featured and raw-boned, but "no marks about him." James looked as if he had had pretty good health, still the Committee thought that he would have much better in Canada. After hearing a full description of that country and of the great number of fugitives there from Maryland and other parts of the South, "Jim" felt that that was just the place he wanted to find, and was soon off with a free ticket, a letter of introduction, etc. * * * * * CAPTAIN F. ARRIVES WITH FOURTEEN "PRIME ARTICLES" ON BOARD. Thomas Garrett announced this in the following letter: WILMINGTON, 3d mo., 23d, 1856. DEAR FRIEND, WILLIAM STILL:--Captain Fountain has arrived all safe, with the human cargo thee was inquiring for, a few days since. I had men waiting till 12 o'clock till the Captain arrived at his berth, ready to receive them; last night they then learned, that he had landed them at the Rocks, near the old Swedes church, in the care of our efficient Pilot, who is in the employ of my friend, John Hillis, and he has them now in charge. As soon as my breakfast is over, I will see Hillis and determine what is best to be done in their case. My own opinion is, we had better send them to Hook and there put them in the cars to-night and send a pilot to take them to thy house. As Marcus Hook is in Pennsylvania, the agent of the cars runs no risk of the fine of five hundred dollars our State imposes for assisting one of God's poor out of the State by steamboat or cars. As ever thy friend, THOS. GAREETT. NAMES OF THE "ARTICLES." Rebecca Jones, and her three daughters, Sarah Frances, Mary, and Rebecca; Isaiah Robinson, Arthur Spence, Caroline Taylor, and her two daughters, Nancy, and Mary; Daniel Robinson; Thomas Page; Benjamin Dickinson; David Cole and wife. From the tenor of Thomas Garrett's letter, the Committee was prepared for a joyful reception, knowing that Captain F. was not in the habit of doing things by the halves--that he was not in the habit of bringing numbskulls; indeed he brought none but the bravest and most intelligent. Yet notwithstanding our knowledge of his practice in this respect, when he arrived we were surprised beyond measure. The women outnumbered the men. The two young mothers, with their interesting, hearty and fine-looking children representing in blood the two races about equally--presented a very impressive spectacle. The men had the appearance of being active, smart, and well disposed, much above the generality of slaves; but, compared with those of the opposite sex, their claims for sympathy were very faint indeed. No one could possibly avoid the conclusion, that these mothers, with their handsome daughters, were valued on the Ledger of their owners at enormously high prices; that lustful traders and sensualists had already gloated over the thought of buying them in a few short years. Probably not one of those beautiful girls would have brought less than fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars at the age of fifteen. It was therefore a great satisfaction to think, that their mothers, who knew full well to what a fate such slave girls were destined, had labored so heroically to snatch them out of this danger ere the critical hour arrived. Rebecca Jones was about twenty-eight years of age; mulatto, good-looking, considerably above medium size, very intelligent, and a true-born heroine. The following reward, offered by the notorious negro-trader, Hall, proved that Rebecca and her children were not to be allowed to go free, if slave-hunters could be induced by a heavy pecuniary consideration to recapture them: $300 REWARD is offered for the apprehension of negro woman, REBECCA JONES and her three children, and man ISAIAH, belonging to W.W. Davidson, who have disappeared since the 20th inst. The above reward will be paid for the apprehension and delivery of the said Negroes to my Jail, by the attorney in fact of the owner, or the sum of $250 for the man alone, or $150 for the woman and three children alone. [Illustration: ] WM. W. HALL, for the Attorney, feb. 1. Years before her escape, her mistress died in England; and as Rebecca had always understood, long before this event, that all the slaves were to be freed at the death of her mistress, she was not prepared to believe any other report. It turned out, however, as in thousands of other instances, that no will could be found, and, of course, the administrators retained the slave property, regardless of any verbal expressions respecting freeing, etc. Rebecca closely watched the course of the administrators, and in the meanwhile firmly resolved, that neither she nor her children should ever serve another master. Rather than submit, she declared that she would take the lives of her children and then her own. Notwithstanding her bold and decided stand, the report went out that she was to be sold, and that all the slaves were still to be held in bondage. Rebecca's sympathizers and friends advised her, as they thought for the best, to get a friend or gentleman to purchase her for herself. To this she replied: "Not three cents would I give, nor do I want any of my friends to buy me, not if they could get me for three cents. It would be of no use," she contended, "as she was fully bent on dying, rather than remain a slave." The slave-holders evidently understood her, and were in no hurry about bringing her case to an issue--they rather gave her time to become calm. But Rebecca was inflexible. Six years before her arrival, her husband had escaped, in company with the noted fugitive, "Shadrach." For a time after he fled, she frequently received letters from him, but for a long while he had ceased to write, and of late she had heard nothing from him. In escaping stowed away in the boat, she suffered terribly, but faithfully endured to the end, and was only too happy when the agony was over. After resting and getting thoroughly refreshed in Philadelphia, she, with others, was forwarded to Boston, for her heart was there. Several letters were received from her, respecting her prospects, etc., from which it appears that she had gained some knowledge of her husband, although not of a satisfactory nature. At any rate she decided that she could not receive him back again. The following letter has reference to her prospects, going to California, her husband, etc.: PARKER HOUSE, School street, Boston, Oct. 18th, '56. MY DEAR SIR:--I can hardly express the pleasure I feel at the receipt of your kind letter; but allow me to thank you for the same. And now I will tell you my reasons for going to California. Mrs. Tarrol, a cousin of my husband, has sent for me. She says I can do much better there than in Boston. And as I have my children's welfare to look to, I have concluded to go. Of course I shall be just as likely to hear from home _there_ as _here_. Please tell Mr. Bagnale I shall expect one letter from him before I leave here. I should like to hear from my brothers and sisters once more, and let me hear every particular. You never can know how anxious I am to hear from them; do please impress this upon their minds. I have written two letters to Dr. Lundy and never received an answer. I heard Mrs. Lundy was dead, and thought that might possibly be the reason he had not replied to me. Please tell the Doctor I should take it as a great favor if he would write me a few lines. I suppose you think I am going to live with my husband again. Let me assure you 'tis no such thing. My mind is as firm as ever. And believe me, in going away from Boston, I am going away from him, for I have heard he is living somewhere near. He has been making inquiries about me, but that can make no difference in my feelings to him. I hope that yourself, wife and family are all quite well. Please remember me to them all. Do me the favor to give my love to all inquiring friends. I should be most happy to have any letters of introduction you may think me worthy of, and I trust I shall ever remain Yours faithfully, REBECCA JONES. P.S.--I do not know if I shall go this Fall, or in the Spring. It will depend upon the letter I receive from California, but whichever it may be, I shall be happy to hear from you very soon. Isaiah, who was a fellow-servant with Rebecca, and was included in the reward offered by Hall for Rebecca, etc., was a young man about twenty-three years of age, a mulatto, intelligent and of prepossessing manners. A purely ardent thirst for liberty prompted him to flee; although he declared that he had been treated very badly, and had even suffered severely from being shamefully "beaten." He had, however, been permitted to hire his time by the year, for which one hundred and twenty dollars were regularly demanded by his owner. Young as he was, he was a married man, with a wife and two children, to whom he was devoted. He had besides two brothers and two sisters for whom he felt a warm degree of brotherly affection; yet when the hour arrived for him to accept a chance for freedom at the apparent sacrifice of these dearest ties of kindred, he was found heroic enough for this painful ordeal, and to give up all for freedom. Caroline Taylor, and her two little children, were also from Norfolk, and came by boat. Upon the whole, they were not less interesting than Rebecca Jones and her three little girls. Although Caroline was not in her person half so stately, nor gave such promise of heroism as Rebecca--for Caroline was rather small of stature--yet she was more refined, and quite as intelligent as Rebecca, and represented considerably more of the Anglo-Saxon blood. She was a mulatto, and her children were almost fair enough to pass for white--probably they were quadroons, hardly any one would have suspected that they had only one quarter of colored blood in their veins. For ten years Caroline had been in the habit of hiring her time at the rate of seventy-five dollars per year, with the exception of the last year, when her hire was raised to eighty-four dollars. So anxious was she to have her older girl (eleven years old) at home with her, that she also hired her time by the year, for which she was compelled to pay twenty-four dollars. As her younger child was not sufficiently grown to hire out for pay, she was permitted to have it at home with her on the conditions that she would feed, clothe and take good care of it, permitting no expense whatever to fall upon the master. Judging from the appearance and manners of the children, their mother had, doubtless, been most faithful to them, for more handsome, well-behaved, intelligent and pleasing children could not easily be selected from either race or any station of life. The younger, Mary by name, nine years of age, attracted very great attention, by the deep interest she manifested in a poor fugitive (whom she had never seen before), at the Philadelphia station, confined to the bed and suffering excruciating pain from wounds he had received whilst escaping. Hours and hours together, during the two or three days of their sojourn, she spent of her own accord, by his bed-side, manifesting almost womanly sympathy in the most devoted and tender manner. She thus, doubtless, unconsciously imparted to the sufferer a great deal of comfort. Very many affecting incidents had come under the observation of the acting Committee, under various circumstances, but never before had they witnessed a sight more interesting, a scene more touching. Caroline and her children were owned by Peter March, Esq., late of Norfolk, but at that time, he was living in New York, and was carrying on the iron business. He came into possession of them through his wife, who was the daughter of Caroline's former master, and almost the only heir left, in consequence of the terrible fever of the previous summer. Caroline was living under the daily fear of being sold; this, together with the task of supporting herself and two children, made her burden very grievous. Not a great while before her escape, her New York master had been on to Norfolk, expressly with a view of selling her, and asked two thousand dollars for her. This, however, he failed to get, and was still awaiting an offer. These ill omens aroused Caroline to think more seriously over the condition of herself and children than she had ever done before, and in this state of mind she came to the conclusion, that she would strive to save herself and children by flight on the Underground Rail Road. She knew full well, that it was no faint-hearted struggle that was required of her, so she had nerved herself with the old martyr spirit to risk her all on her faith in God and Freedom, and was ready to take the consequences if she fell back into the hands of the enemy. This noble decision was the crowning act in the undertakings of thousands similarly situated. Through this faith she gained the liberty of herself and her children. Quite a number of the friends of the slave saw these interesting fugitives, and wept, and rejoiced with them. Col. A. Cammings, in those days Publisher of the "Evening Bulletin," for the first time, witnessed an Underground Rail Road arrival. Some time previous, in conversation with Mr. J.M. McKim, the Colonel had expressed views not altogether favorable to the Underground Rail Road; indeed he was rather inclined to apologize for slavery, if not to defend the Fugitive Slave Law. While endeavoring somewhat tenaciously to maintain his ground, Mr. McKim opposed to him not only the now well established Anti-Slavery doctrines, but also offered as testimony Underground Rail Road facts--the results of personal knowledge from daily proofs of the heroic struggles, marvellous faith, and intense earnestness of the fugitives. In all probability the Colonel did not feel prepared to deny wholly Mr. McKim's statement, yet, he desired to see "some" for himself. "Well," said Mr. McK., "you shall see some." So when this arrival came to hand, true to his promise, Mr. McK. called on the Colonel and invited him to accompany him to the Underground Rail Road station. He assured the Colonel that he did not want any money from him, but simply wanted to convince him of his error in the recent argument that they had held on the subject. Accordingly the Colonel accompanied him, and found that twenty-two passengers had been on hand within the past twenty-four hours, and at least sixteen or seventeen were then in his presence. It is needless to say, that such a sight admitted of no contradiction--no argument--no doubt. The facts were too self-evident. The Colonel could say but little, so complete was his amazement; but he voluntarily attested the thoroughness of his conversion by pulling out of his pocket and handing to Mr. McK. a twenty dollar gold piece to aid the passengers on to freedom. In these hours of rest and joyful anticipation the necessities of both large and small were administered to according to their needs, before forwarding them still further. The time and attention required for so many left but little opportunity, however, for the Secretary to write their narratives. He had only evening leisure for the work. Ten or twelve of that party had to be sent off without having their stories recorded. Daniel Robertson was one of this number; his name is simply entered on the roll, and, but for letters received from him, after he passed on North, no further knowledge would have been obtained. In Petersburg, whence he escaped, he left his wife, for whose deliverance he felt bound to do everything that lay in his power, as the subjoined letters will attest: HAVANA, August 11, 1856, Schuylkill Co., N.Y. MR. WM. STILL--Dear Sir:--I came from Virginia in March, and was at your office the last of March. My object in writing you, is to inquire what I can do, or what can be done to help my wife to escape from the same bondage that I was in. You will know by your books that I was from Petersburg, Va., and that is where my wife now is. I have received two or three letters from a lady in that place, and the last one says, that my wife's mistress is dead, and that she expects to be sold. I am very anxious to do what I can for her before it is too late, and beg of you to devise some means to get her away. Capt. the man that brought me away, knows the colored agent at Petersburg, and knows he will do all he can to forward my wife. The Capt. promised, that when I could raise one hundred dollars for him that he would deliver her in Philadelphia. Tell him that I can now raise the money, and will forward it to you at any day that he thinks that he can bring her. Please see the Captain and find when he will undertake it, and then let me know when to forward the money to you. I am at work for the Hon. Charles Cook, and can send the money any day. My wife's name is Harriet Robertson, and the agent at Petersburg knows her. Please direct your answer, with all necessary directions, to N. Coryell, of this village, and he will see that all is right. Very respectfully, DANIEL ROBERTSON. HAVANA, Aug. 18, 1856. MR. WM. STILL--Dear Sir:--Yours of the 18th, for D. Robertson, was duly received. In behalf of Daniel, I thank you kindly for the interest you manifest in him. The letters that have gone from him to his friends in Virginia, have been written by me, and sent in such a manner as we thought would best ensure safety. Yet I am well aware of the risk of writing, and have restrained him as far as possible, and the last one I wrote was to be the last, till an effort was made to reclaim his wife. Daniel is a faithful, likely man, and is well liked by all who know him. He is industrious and prudent, and is bending his whole energies toward the reclaiming his wife. He can forward to you the one hundred dollars at any day that it may be wanted, and if you can do anything to forward his interests it will be very gratefully received as an additional favor on your part. He asks for no money, but your kindly efforts, which he regards more highly than money. Very respectfully, N. CORYELL. The letters that have been written for him were dated "Niagara Falls, Canada West," and his friends think he is there--none of them know to the contrary--it is important that they never do know. N.C. HAVANA, Sept. 29, 1856. MR. WM. STILL--Dear Sir:--I enclose herewith a draft on New York, payable to your order, for $100, to be paid on the delivery at Philadelphia of Daniel Robertson's wife. You can readily see that it has been necessary for Daniel to work almost night and day to have laid up so large an amount of money, since the first of April, as this one hundred dollars. Daniel is industrious and prudent, and saves all of his earnings, above his most absolute wants. If the Captain is not successful in getting Daniel's wife, you, of course, will return the draft, without charge, as you said. I hope success will attend him, for Daniel deserves to be rewarded, if ever man did. Yours, &c. N. CORYELL. HAVANA, Jan. 2, 1857. DEAR SIR:--Your favor containing draft on N. York, for Daniel Robertson, came to hand on the 31st ult. Daniel begs to tender his acknowledgments for your kind interest manifested in his behalf, and says he hopes you will leave no measure untried which has any appearance of success, and that the money shall be forthcoming at a moment's notice. Daniel thinks that since Christmas, the chances for his wife's deliverance are fewer than before, for at that time he fears she was disposed of and possibly went South. The paper sent me, with your well-written article, was received, and on reading it to Daniel, he knew some of the parties mentioned in it--he was much pleased to hear it read. Daniel spent New Year's in Elmira, about 18 miles from this place, and there he met two whom he was well acquainted with. Yours, &c., N. CORYELL. WM. STILL, Esq., Phila. Such devotion to freedom, such untiring labor, such appeals as these letters contained awakened deep interest in the breasts of Daniel's new friends, which spoke volumes in favor of the Slave and against slave-holders. But, alas, nothing could be done to relieve the sorrowing mind of poor Daniel for the deliverance of his wife in chains. The Committee sympathized deeply with him, but could do no more. What other events followed, in Daniel's life as a fugitive, were never made known to the Committee. Arthur Spence also deserves a notice. He was from North Carolina, about twenty-four years of age, and of pleasing appearance, and was heart and soul in sympathy with the cause of the Underground Rail Road. In North Carolina he declared that he had been heavily oppressed by being compelled to pay $175 per annum for his hire. In order to get rid of this heavy load, by shrewd management he gained access to the kind-hearted Captain and procured an Underground Rail Road ticket. In leaving bondage, he was obliged to leave his mother, two brothers and one sister. He appeared to be composed of just the kind of material for making a good British subject. Ben Dickinson. Ben was also a slave in North Carolina--located at Eatontown, being the property of "Miss Ann Blunt, who was very hard." In slave property Miss Blunt was interested to the number of about "ninety head." She was much in the habit of hiring out servants, and in thus disposing of her slaves Ben thought she was a great deal more concerned in getting good prices for herself than good places for them. Indeed he declared that "she did not care how mean the place was, if she could only get her price." For three years Ben had Canada and the Underground Rail Road in view, having been "badly treated." At last the long-looked for time arrived, and he conferred neither with master nor mistress, but "picked himself up" and "took out." Age twenty-eight, medium size, quite dark, a good carpenter, and generally intelligent. Left two sisters, etc. Of this heroic and promising party we can only mention, in conclusion, one more passenger, namely: Tom Page. At the time of his arrival, his name only was enrolled on the book. Yet he was not a passenger soon to be forgotten--he was but a mere boy, probably eighteen years of age; but a more apt, ready-witted, active, intelligent and self-reliant fellow is not often seen. Judging from his smartness, under slavery, with no chances, it was easy to imagine how creditably he might with a white boy's chances have climbed the hill of art and science. Obviously he had intellect enough, if properly cultivated, to fill any station within the ordinary reach of intelligent American citizens. He could read and write remarkably well for a slave, and well did he understand his advantages in this particular; indeed if slave-holders had only been aware of the growing tendency of Tom's mind, they would have rejoiced at hearing of his departure for Canada; he was a most dangerous piece of property to be growing up amongst slaves. After leaving the Committee and going North his uncaged mind felt the need of more education, and at the same time he was eager to make money, and do something in life. As he had no one to depend on, parents and relatives being left behind in Norfolk, he felt that he must rely upon himself, young as he was. He first took up his abode in Boston, or New Bedford, where most of the party with whom he escaped went, and where he had an aunt, and perhaps some other distant kin. There he worked and was a live young man indeed--among the foremost in ideas and notions about freedom, etc., as many letters from him bore evidence. After spending a year or more in Massachusetts, he had a desire to see how the fugitives were doing in Upper and Lower Canada, and if any better chances existed in these parts for men of his stamp. Some of his letters, from different places, gave proof of real thought and close observation, but they were not generally saved, probably were loaned to be read by friendly eyes. Nevertheless the two subjoined will, in a measure, suffice to give some idea of his intelligence, etc. BOSTON, Mass., Feb. 25th, 1857. WILLIAM STILL, Esq.:--Dear Sir--I have not heard from you for some time. I take this opportunity of writing you a few lines to let you and all know that I am well at present and thank God for it. Dear Sir, I hear that the under ground railroad was in operation. I am glad to hear that. Give my best respects to your family and also to Dr. L., Mr. Warrick, Mr. Camp and familys, to Mr. Fisher, Mr. Taylor to all Friends names too numerous to mention. Please to let me know when the road arrived with another cargo. I want to come to see you all before long, if nothing happens and life lasts. Mrs. Gault requested me to learn of you if you ask Mr. Bagnal if he will see father and what he says about the children. Please to answer as soon as possible. No more at present from a friend, THOMAS F. PAGE. NIAGARA FALLS, N.Y., Oct. 6th, '58. DEAR SIR:--I received your kind letter and I was very glad to hear from you and your family. This leaves me well, and I hope when this comes to hand it may find you the same. I have seen a large number of your U.G.R.R. friends in my travels through the Eastern as well as the Western States. Well there are a good many from my own city who I know--some I talk to on private matters and some I wont. Well around here there are so many--Tom, Dick and Harry--that you do not know who your friend is. So it don't hurt any one to be careful. Well, somehow or another, I do not like Canada, or the Provinces. I have been to St. John, N.B., Lower Province, or Lower Canada, also St. Catharines, C.W., and all around the Canada side, and I do not like it at all. The people seem to be so queer--though I suppose if I had of went to Canada when I first came North to live, I might like it by this time. I was home when Aunt had her Ambro-type taken for you. She often speaks of your kindness to her. There are a number of your friends wishes you well. My little brother is going to school in Boston. The lady, Mrs. Hillard, that my Aunt lives with, thinks a good deal of him. He is very smart and I think, if he lives, he may be of some account. Do you ever see my old friend, Capt. Fountain? Please to give my love to him, and tell him to come to Boston, as there are a number of his friends that would like to see him. My best respects to all friends. I must now bring my short epistle to a close, by saying I remain your friend truly, THOMAS F. PAGE. While a portion of the party, on hand with him, came as passengers with Capt. P., another portion was brought by Capt. B., both parties arriving within twelve hours of each other; and both had likewise been frozen up on the route for weeks with their respective live freight on board. The sufferings for food, which they were called upon to endure, were beyond description. They happened to have plenty of salt fat pork, and perhaps beans, Indian meal and some potatoes for standing dishes; the more delicate necessaries did not probably last longer than the first or second week of their ice-bondage. Without a doubt, one of these Captains left Norfolk about the twentieth of January, but did not reach Philadelphia till about the twentieth of March, having been frozen up, of course, during the greater part of that time. Men, women and children were alike sharers in the common struggle for freedom--were alike an hungered, in prison, naked, and sick, but it was a fearful thing in those days for even women and children to whisper their sad lamentations in the city of Philadelphia, except to those friendly to the Underground Rail Road. Doubtless, if these mothers, with their children and partners in tribulation, could have been seen as they arrived direct from the boats, many hearts would have melted, and many tears would have found their way down many cheeks. But at that time cotton was acknowledged to be King--the Fugitive Slave Law was supreme, and the notorious decision of Judge Taney, that "black men had no rights which white men were bound to respect," echoed the prejudices of the masses too clearly to have made it safe to reveal the fact of their arrival, or even the heart-rending condition of these Fugitives. Nevertheless, they were not turned away empty, though at a peril they were fed, aided, and comforted, and sent away well clothed. Indeed, so bountifully were the women and children supplied, that as they were being conveyed to the Camden and Amboy station, they looked more like a pleasuring party than like fugitives. Some of the good friends of the slave sent clothing, and likewise cheered them with their presence. [Before the close of this volume, such friends and sympathizers will be more particularly noticed in an appropriate place.] * * * * * SUNDRY ARRIVALS--LATTER PART OF DECEMBER, 1855, AND BEGINNING OF JANUARY, 1856. JOSEPH CORNISH, Dorchester Co., Md.; LEWIS FRANCIS, _alias_ LEWIS JOHNSON, Harford Co., Md.; ALEXANDER MUNSON, Chestertown, Md.; SAMUEL and ANN SCOTT, Cecil Cross-Roads, Md.; WM. HENRY LAMINSON, Del.; ISAAC STOUT, _alias_ GEORGE WASHINGTON, CAROLINE GRAVES, Md.; HENRY and ELIZA WASHINGTON, Alexandria, Va.; HENRY CHAMBERS, JOHN CHAMBERS, SAMUEL FALL, and THOMAS ANDERSON, Md. Joseph Cornish was about forty years of age when he escaped. The heavy bonds of Slavery made him miserable. He was a man of much natural ability, quite dark, well-made, and said that he had been "worked very hard." According to his statement, he had been an "acceptable preacher in the African Methodist Church," and was also "respected by the respectable white and colored people in his neighborhood." He would not have escaped but for fear of being sold, as he had a wife and five children to whom he was very much attached, but had to leave them behind. Fortunately they were free. Of his ministry and connection with the Church, he spoke with feelings of apparent solemnity, evidently under the impression that the little flock he left would be without a shepherd. Of his master, Captain Samuel Le Count, of the U.S. Navy, he had not one good word to speak; at least nothing of the kind is found on the Record Book; but, on the contrary, he declared that "he was very hard on his servants, allowing them no chance whatever to make a little ready money for themselves." So in turning his face towards the Underground Rail Road, and his back against slavery, he felt that he was doing God service. The Committee regarded him as a remarkable man, and was much impressed with his story, and felt it to be a privilege and a pleasure to aid him. Lewis Francis was a man of medium size, twenty-seven years of age, good-looking and intelligent. He stated that he belonged to Mrs. Delinas, of Abingdon, Harford Co., Md., but that he had been hired out from a boy to a barber in Baltimore. For his hire his mistress received eight dollars per month. To encourage Lewis, his kind-hearted mistress allowed him out of his own wages the sum of two dollars and fifty cents per annum! His clothing he got as best he could, but nothing did she allow him for that purpose. Even with this arrangement she had been dissatisfied of late years, and thought she was not getting enough out of Lewis; she, therefore, talked strongly of selling him. This threat was very annoying to Lewis, so much so, that he made up his mind that he would one day let her see, that so far as he was concerned, it was easier to talk of selling than it would be to carry out her threat. With this growing desire for freedom he gained what little light he could on the subject of traveling, Canada, etc., and at a given time off he started on his journey and found his way to the Committee, who imparted substantial aid as usual. Alexander Munson, alias Samuel Garrett. This candidate for Canada was only eighteen years of age; a well-grown lad, however, and had the one idea that "all men were born free" pretty deeply rooted in his mind. He was quite smart, and of a chestnut color. By the will of his original owner, the slaves were all entitled to their freedom, but it appeared, from Alexander's story, that the executor of the estate did not regard this freedom clause in the will. He had already sold some of the slaves, and others--he among them--were expecting to be sold before coming into possession of their freedom. Two of them had been sold to Alabama, therefore, with these evil warnings, young Alexander resolved to strike out at once for Canada, despite Maryland slave-holders. With this bold and manly spirit he succeeded, of course. Anna Scott and husband, Samuel Scott. This couple escaped from Cecil Cross-Roads, Md. The wife, in this instance, evidently took the lead, and acted the more manly part in striking for freedom; therefore, our notice of this arrival will chiefly relate to her.. Anna was owned by a widow, named Mrs. Ann Elizabeth Lushy, who resided on a farm of her own. Fifteen slaves, with other stock, were kept on the place. She was accustomed to rule with severity, being governed by a "high temper," and in nowise disposed to allow her slaves to enjoy even ordinary privileges, and besides, would occasionally sell to the Southern market. She was calculated to render slave life very unhappy. Anna portrayed her mistress's treatment of the slaves with much earnestness, especially when referring to the sale of her own brother and sister. Upon the whole, the mistress was so hateful to Anna, that she resolved not to live in the house with her. During several years prior to her escape, Anna had been hired out, where she had been treated a little more decently than her mistress was wont to do; on this account she was less willing to put up with any subsequent abuse from her mistress. To escape was the only remedy, so she made up her mind, that she would leave at all hazards. She gave her husband to understand, that she had resolved to seek a home in Canada. Fortunately, he was free, but slavery had many ways of putting the yoke on the colored man, even though he might be free; it was bound to keep him in ignorance, and at the same time miserably abject, so that he would scarcely dare to look up in the presence of white people. Sam, apparently, was one of the number who had been greatly wronged in this particular. He had less spirit than his wife, who had been directly goaded to desperation. He agreed, however, to stand by her in her struggles while fleeing, and did so, for which he deserves credit. It must be admitted, that it required some considerable nerve for a free man even to join his wife in an effort of this character. In setting out, Anna had to leave her father (Jacob Trusty), seven sisters and two brothers. The names of the sisters were as follows: Emeline, Susan Ann, Delilah, Mary Eliza, Rosetta, Effie Ellender and Elizabeth; the brothers--Emson and Perry. For the commencement of their journey they availed themselves of the Christmas holidays, but had to suffer from the cold weather they encountered. Yet they got along tolerably well, and were much cheered by the attention and aid they received from the Committee. William Henry Laminson came from near Newcastle, Delaware. He was smart enough to take advantage of the opportunity to escape at the age of twenty-one. As he had given the matter his fullest attention for a long time, he was prepared to make rapid progress when he did start, and as he had no great distance to travel it is not unlikely, that while his master was one night sleeping soundly, this young piece of property (worth at least $1,000 in the market), was crossing Mason and Dixon's Line, and steering directly for Canada. Francis Harkins was the name of the master. William did not give him a very bad character. George Washington Gooseberry, alias Isaac Stout, also took advantage of the holidays to separate from his old master, Anthony Rybold, a farmer living near Newcastle, Delaware. Nothing but the desire to be free moved George to escape. He was a young man about twenty-three years of age, of a pure black color, in stature, medium size, and well-made. Nothing remarkable is noted in the book in any way connected with his life or escape. Caroline Graves. Caroline was of the bond class belonging to the State of Maryland. Having reached the age of forty without being content, and seeing no bright prospect in the future, she made up her mind to break away from the bonds of Slavery and seek a more congenial atmosphere among strangers in Canada. She had had the privilege of trying two masters in her life-time; the first she admitted was "kind" to her, but the latter was "cruel." After arriving in Canada, she wrote back as follows: TORONTO, Jan. 22, 1856. DEAR SIR:--WILLIAM STILL--I have found my company they arrived here on monday eving I found them on tusday evening. Please to be so kind as to send them boxes we are here without close to ware we have some white frendes is goin to pay for them at this end of the road. The reason that we send this note we are afraid the outher one woudent go strait because it wasent derected wright. Please to send them by the express then thay wont be lost. Please to derect these boxes for Carline Graives in the car of mrs. Brittion. Please to send the bil of the boxes on with them. Mrs. Brittion, Lousig street near young street. George Graham and wife, Jane, alias Henry Washington and Eliza. The cold weather of January was preferred, in this instance, for traveling. Indeed matters were so disagreeable with them that they could not tarry in their then quarters any longer. George was twenty-four years of age, quite smart, pleasant countenance, and of dark complexion. He had experienced "rough usage" all the way along through life, not unfrequently from severe floggings. Twice, within the last year, he had been sold. In order to prevent a renewal of these inflictions he resorted to the Underground Rail Road with his wife, to whom he had only been married six months. In one sense, they appeared to be in a sad condition, it being the dead of winter, but their condition in Alexandria, under a brutal master and mistress which both had the misfortune to have, was much sadder. To give all their due, however, George's wife acknowledged, that she had been "well treated under her old mistress," but through a change, she had fallen into the hands of a "new one," by whom her life had been rendered most "miserable;" so much so, that she was willing to do almost anything to get rid of her, and was, therefore, driven to join her husband in running away. Henry Chambers, John Chambers, Samuel Fall, and Jonathan Fisher. This party represented the more promising-looking field-hand slave population of Maryland. Henry and John were brothers, twenty-four and twenty-six years of age, stout made, chestnut color, good-looking, but in height not quite medium. Henry "owed service or labor," to a fellow-man by the name of William Rybold, a farmer living near Sassafras Neck, Md. Henry evidently felt, that he did master Rybold no injustice in testifying that he knew no good of him, although he had labored under him like a beast of burden all his days. He had been "clothed meanly," and "poorly fed." He also alleged, that his mistress was worse than his master, as she would "think nothing of knocking and beating the slave women for nothing." John was owned by Thomas Murphy. From that day to this, Thomas may have been troubling his brain to know why his man John treated him so shabbily as to leave him in the manner that he did. Jack had a good reason for his course, nevertheless. In his corn field-phrase he declared, that his master Murphy would not give you half clothes, and besides he was a "hard man," who kept Jack working out on hire. Therefore, feeling his wrongs keenly, Jack decided, with his other friends, to run off and be free. Sam, another comrade, was also owned by William Rybold. Sam had just arrived at his maturity (twenty-one), when he was invited to join in the plot to escape. At first, it might be thought strange, why one so young should seek to escape. A few brief words from Sam soon explained the mystery. It was this: his master, as he said, had been in the habit of tying him up by the hands and flogging him unmercifully; besides, in the allowance of food and clothing, he always "stinted the slaves yet worked them very hard." Sam's chances for education had been very unfavorable, but he had mind enough to know that liberty was worth struggling for. He was willing to make the trial with the other boys. He was of a dark chestnut color, and of medium size. Jonathan belonged to A. Rybold, and was only nineteen years of age. All that need be said in relation to his testimony, is, that it agreed with his colleague's and fellow-servant's, Samuel. Before starting on their journey, they felt the need of new names, and in putting their wits together, they soon fixed this matter by deciding to pass in future by the following names: James and David Green, John Henry, and Jonathan Fisher. In the brief sketches given in this chapter, some lost ones, seeking information of relatives, may find comfort, even if the general reader should fail to be interested. PART OF THE ARRIVALS IN DECEMBER, 1855. THOMAS JERVIS GOOSEBERRY and WILLIAM THOMAS FREEMAN, _alias_ EZEKIEL CHAMBERS; HENRY HOOPER; JACOB HALL, _alias_ HENRY THOMAS, and wife, HENRIETTA and child; Two men from near Chestertown, Md.; FENTON JONES; MARY CURTIS; WILLIAM BROWN; CHARLES HENRY BROWN; OLIVER PURNELL and ISAAC FIDGET. Thomas Jervis Gooseberry and William Thomas Freeman. The coming of this party was announced in the subjoined letter: SCHUYLKILL, 11th Mo., 29th, 1855. WILLIAM STILL: DEAR FRIEND:--Those boys will be along by the last Norristown train to-morrow evening. I think the train leaves Norristown at 6 o'clock, but of this inform thyself. The boys will be sent to a friend at Norristown, with instructions to assist them in getting seats in the last train that leaves Norristown to-morrow evening. They are two of the eleven who left some time since, and took with them some of their master's horses; I have told them to remain in the cars at Green street until somebody meets them. E.F. PENNYPACKER. Having arrived safely, by the way and manner indicated in E.F. Pennypacker's note, as they were found to be only sixteen and seventeen years of age, considerable interest was felt by the Acting Committee to hear their story. They were closely questioned in the usual manner. They proved to be quite intelligent, considering how young they were, and how the harrow of Slavery had been upon them from infancy. They escaped from Chestertown, Md., in company with nine others (they being a portion of the eleven who arrived in Wilmington, with two carriages, etc., noticed on page 302), but, for prudential reasons they were separated while traveling. Some were sent on, but the boys had to be retained with friends in the country. Many such separations were inevitable. In this respect a great deal of care and trouble had to be endured for the sake of the cause. Thomas Jervis, the elder boy, was quite dark, and stammered somewhat, yet he was active and smart. He stated that Sarah Maria Perkins was his mistress in Maryland. He was disposed to speak rather favorably of her, at least he said that she was "tolerably kind" to her servants. She, however, was in the habit of hiring out, to reap a greater revenue for them, and did not always get them places where they were treated as well as she herself treated them. Tom left his father, Thomas Gooseberry, and three sisters, Julia Ann, Mary Ellen, and Katie Bright, all slaves. Ezekiel, the younger boy, was of a chestnut color, clever-looking, smart, and well-grown, just such an one as a father enjoying the blessings of education and citizenship, might have felt a considerable degree of pride in. He was owned by a man called John Dwa, who followed "farming and drinking," and when under the influence of liquor, was disposed to ill-treat the slaves. Ezekiel had not seen his mother for many years, although she was living in Baltimore, and was known by the name of "Dorcas Denby." He left no brothers nor sisters. The idea of boys, so young and inexperienced as they were, being thrown on the world, gave occasion for serious reflection. Still the Committee were rejoiced that they were thus early in life, getting away from the "Sum of all villanies." In talking with them, the Committee endeavored to impress them with right ideas as to how they should walk in life, aided them, of course, and sent them off with a double share of advice. What has been their destiny since, is not known. Henry Hooper, a young man of nineteen years of age, came from Maryland, in December, in a subsequent Underground Rail Road arrival. That he came in good order, and was aided and sent off, was fully enough stated on the book, but nothing else; space, however was left for the writing out of his narrative, but it was never filled up. Probably the loose sheet on which the items were jotted down, was lost. Jacob Hall, alias Henry Thomas, wife Henrietta, and child, were also among the December passengers. On the subject of freedom they were thoroughly converted. Although Jacob was only about twenty years of age, he had seen enough of Slavery under his master, "Major William Hutchins," whom he described as a "farmer, commissioner, drunkard, and hard master," to know that no hope could be expected from him, but if he remained, he would daily have to be under the "harrow." The desire to work for himself was so strong, that he could not reconcile his mind to the demands of Slavery. While meditating upon freedom, he concluded to make an effort with his wife and child to go to Canada. His wife, Henrietta, who was then owned by a woman named Sarah Ann McGough, was as unhappily situated as himself. Indeed Henrietta had come to the conclusion, that it was out of the question for a servant to please her mistress, it mattered not how hard she might try; she also said, that her mistress drank, and that made her "wus." Besides, she had sold Henrietta's brother and sister, and was then taking steps to sell her,--had just had her appraised with this view. It was quite easy, therefore, looking at their condition in the light of these plain facts, for both husband and wife to agree, that they could not make their condition any worse, even if they should be captured in attempting to escape. Henrietta also remembered, that years before her mother had escaped, and got off to Canada, which was an additional encouragement. Thus, as her own faith was strengthened, she could strengthen that of her husband. Their little child they resolved to cling to through thick and thin; so, in order that they might not have so far to carry him, father and mother each bridled a horse and "took out" in the direction of the first Underground Rail Road station. Their faithful animals proved of incalculable service, but they were obliged to turn them loose on the road without even having the opportunity or pleasure of rewarding them with a bountiful feed of oats. Although they had strange roads, woods and night scenes to pass through, yet they faltered not. They found friends and advisers on the road, however, and reached the Committee in safety, who was made to rejoice that such promising-looking "property" could come out of Ladies' Manor, Maryland. The Committee felt that they had acted wisely in taking the horses to assist them the first night. The next arrival is recorded thus: "Dec. 10, 1855, Arrived, two men from near Chestertown, Md. They came to Wilmington in a one horse wagon, and through aid of T.G. they were sent on." (Further account at the time, written on a loose piece of paper, is among the missing). Fenton Jones escaped from Frederick, Md. After arriving in the neighborhood of Ereildoun, Pa., he was induced to tarry awhile for the purpose of earning means to carry him still farther. But he was soon led to apprehend danger, and was advised and directed to apply to the Vigilance Committee of Philadelphia for the needed aid, which he did, and was dispatched forthwith to Canada. About the same time a young woman arrived, calling herself Mary Curtis. She was from Baltimore, and was prompted to escape to keep from being sold. She was nineteen years of age, small size, dark complexion. No special incidents in her life were noted. William Brown came next. If others had managed to make their way out of the prison-house without great difficulties, it was far from William to meet with such good luck, as he had suffered excessively for five weeks while traveling. It was an easy matter for a traveler to get lost, not knowing the roads, nor was it safe to apply to a stranger for information or direction--therefore, in many instances, the journey would either have to be given up, or be prosecuted, suffering almost to the death. In the trying circumstances in which William found himself, dark as everything looked, he could not consent to return to his master, as he felt persuaded, that if he did, there would be no rest on earth for him. He well remembered, that, because he had resisted being flogged (being high spirited), his master had declined to sell him for the express purpose of making an example of him--as a warning to the other slaves on the place. William was as much opposed to being thus made use of as he was to being flogged. His reflections and his stout heart enabled him to endure five weeks of severe suffering while fleeing from oppression. Of course, when he did succeed, the triumph was unspeakably joyous. Doubtless, he had thought a great deal during this time, and being an intelligent fugitive, he interested the Committee greatly. The man that he escaped from was called William Elliott, a farmer, living in Prince George's county, Md. William Elliott claimed the right to flog and used it too. William, however, gave him the character of being among the moderate slave-holders of that part of the country. This was certainly a charitable view. William was of a chestnut color, well made, and would have commanded, under the "hammer," a high price, if his apparent intelligence had not damaged him. He left his father, grand-mother, four sisters and two brothers, all living where he fled from. Charles Henry Brown. This "chattel" was owned by Dr. Richard Dorsey, of Cambridge, Maryland. Up to twenty-seven years of age, he had experienced and observed how slaves were treated in his neighborhood, and he made up his mind that he was not in favor of the Institution in any form whatever. Indeed he felt, that for a man to put his hand in his neighbor's pocket and rob him, was nothing compared to the taking of a man's hard earnings from year to year. Really Charles reasoned the case so well, in his uncultured country phrases, that the Committee was rather surprised, and admired his spirit in escaping. He was a man of not quite medium size, with marked features of mind and character. Oliver Purnell and Isaac Fidget arrived from Berlin, Md. Each had different owners. Oliver stated that Mose Purnell had owned him, and that he was a tolerably moderate kind of a slave-holder, although he was occasionally subject to fractious turns. Oliver simply gave as his reason for leaving in the manner that he did, that he wanted his "own earnings." He felt that he had as good a right to the fruit of his labor as anybody else. Despite all the pro-slavery teachings he had listened to all his life, he was far from siding with the pro-slavery doctrines. He was about twenty-six years of age, chestnut color, wide awake and a man of promise; yet it was sadly obvious that he had been blighted and cursed by slavery even in its mildest forms. He left his parents, two brothers and three sisters all slaves in the hands of Purnell, the master whom he deserted. Isaac, his companion, was about thirty years of age, dark, and in intellect about equal to the average passengers on the Underground Rail Road. He had a very lively hope of finding his wife in freedom, she having escaped the previous Spring; but of her whereabouts he was ignorant, as he had had no tidings of her since her departure. A lady by the name of Mrs. Fidget held the deed for Isaac. He spoke kindly of her, as he thought she treated her slaves quite as well at least as the best of slave-holders in his neighborhood. His view was a superficial one, it meant only that they had not been beaten and starved half to death. As the heroic adventures and sufferings of Slaves struggling for freedom, shall be read by coming generations, were it not for unquestioned statutes upholding Slavery in its dreadful heinousness, people will hardly be able to believe that such atrocities were enacted in the nineteenth century, under a highly enlightened, Christianized, and civilized government. Having already copied a statute enacted by the State of Virginia, as a sample of Southern State laws, it seems fitting that the Fugitive Slave Bill, enacted by the Congress of the United States, shall be also copied, in order to commemorate that most infamous deed, by which, it may be seen, how great were the bulwarks of oppression to be surmounted by all who sought to obtain freedom by flight. THE FUGITIVE SLAVE BILL OF 1850. "AN ACT RESPECTING FUGITIVES FROM JUSTICE, AND PERSONS ESCAPING FROM THE SERVICE OF THEIR MASTERS." Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled: That the persons who have been, or may hereafter be appointed commissioners, in virtue of any Act of Congress, by the circuit courts of the United States, and who, in consequence of such appointment, are authorized to exercise the powers that any justice of the peace or other magistrate of any of the United States, may exercise in respect to offenders for any crime or offence against the United States, by arresting, imprisoning, or bailing the same under and by virtue of the thirty-third section of the act of the twenty-fourth of September, seventeen hundred and eighty-nine, entitled, "An act to establish the judicial courts of the United States," shall be, and are hereby authorized and required to exercise and discharge all the powers and duties conferred by this act. Sec. 2. And be it further enacted: That the superior court of each organized territory of the United States, shall have the same power to appoint commissioners to take acknowledgments of bail and affidavit, and to take depositions of witnesses in civil causes, which is now possessed by the circuit courts of the United States, and all commissioners, who shall hereafter be appointed for such purposes, by the superior court of any organized territory of the United States, shall possess all the powers, and exercise all the duties conferred by law, upon the commissioners appointed by the circuit courts of the United States for similar purposes, and shall, moreover, exercise and discharge all the powers and duties conferred by this act. SEC. 3. And be it further enacted: That the circuit courts of the United States, and the superior courts of each organized territory of the United States, shall, from time to time, enlarge the number of Commissioners, with a view to afford reasonable facilities to reclaim fugitives from labor, and to the prompt discharge of the duties imposed by this act. SEC. 4. And be it further enacted, that the commissioners above named, shall have concurrent jurisdiction with the judges of the circuit and district courts of the United States, in their respective circuits and districts within the several States, and the judges of the superior courts of the Territories severally and collectively, in term time and vacation; and shall grant certificates to such claimants, upon satisfactory proof being made, with authority to take and remove such fugitives from service or labor, under the restrictions herein contained, to the State or territory from which such persons may have escaped or fled. SEC. 5. And be it further enacted: That it shall be the duty of all marshals and deputy marshals, to obey and execute all warrants and precepts issued under the provisions of this act, when to them directed; and should any marshal or deputy marshal refuse to receive such warrant or other process when tendered, or to use all proper means diligently to execute the same, he shall, on conviction thereof, be fined in the sum of one thousand dollars to the use of such claimant, on the motion of such claimant by the circuit or district court for the district of such marshal; and after arrest of such fugitive by the marshal, or his deputy, or whilst at any time in his custody, under the provisions of this act, should such fugitive escape, whether with or without the assent of such marshal or his deputy, such marshal shall be liable, on his official bond, to be prosecuted, for the benefit of such claimant, for the full value of the service or labor of said fugitive in the State, Territory or district whence he escaped; and the better to enable the said commissioners, when thus appointed, to execute their duties faithfully and efficiently, in conformity with the requirements of the Constitution of the United States, and of this act, they are hereby authorized and empowered, within their counties respectively, to appoint in writing under their hands, any one or more suitable persons, from time to time, to execute all such warrants and other process as may be issued by them in the lawful performance of their respective duties, with an authority to such commissioners, or the persons to be appointed by them, to execute process as aforesaid, to summon and call to their aid the bystanders or posse comitatus, of the proper county, when necessary to insure a faithful observance of the clause of the Constitution referred to, in conformity with the provisions of this act; and all good citizens are hereby commanded to aid and assist in the prompt and efficient execution of this law, whenever their services may be required, as aforesaid, for that purpose; and said warrants shall run and be executed by said officers anywhere in the State within which they are issued. SEC. 6. And be it further enacted, That when a person held to service or labor in any State or Territory of the United States, has heretofore, or shall hereafter escape into another State or Territory of the United States, the person or persons to whom such service or labor may be due, or his, her or their agent or attorney, duly authorized, by power of attorney, in writing, acknowledged and certified under the seal of some legal office or court of the State or Territory, in which the same may be executed, may pursue and reclaim such fugitive person, either by procuring a warrant from some one of the courts, judges, or commissioners aforesaid, of the proper circuit, district or county, for the apprehension of such fugitive from service or labor, or by seizing and arresting such fugitive, where the same can be done without process, and by taking, or causing such person to be taken, forthwith, before such court, judge or commissioner, whose duty it shall be to hear and determine the case of such claimant in a summary manner, and upon satisfactory proof being made, by deposition or affidavit, in writing, to be taken and certified by such court, judge or commissioner, or by other satisfactory testimony, duly taken and certified by some court, magistrate, justice of the peace, or other legal officer authorized to administer an oath and take depositions under the laws of the State or Territory from which such person owing service or labor may have escaped, with a certificate of such magistrate, or other authority, as aforesaid, with the seal of the proper court or officer thereto attached, which seal shall be sufficient to establish the competency of the proof, and with proof also, by affidavit, of the identity of the person whose service or labor is claimed to be due, as aforesaid, that the person so arrested does in fact owe service or labor to the person or persons claiming him or her, in the State or Territory from which such fugitive may have escaped, as aforesaid, and that said person escaped, to make out and deliver to such claimant, his or her agent or attorney, a certificate setting forth the substantial facts as to the service or labor due from such fugitive to the claimant, and of his or her escape from the State or Territory in which such service or labor was due, to the State or Territory, in which he or she was arrested, with authority to such claimant, or his or her agent or attorney, to use such reasonable force and restraint as may be necessary, under the circumstances of the case, to take and remove such fugitive person back to the State or Territory from whence he or she may have escaped, as aforesaid. In no trial or hearing, under this act, shall the testimony of such alleged fugitives be admitted in evidence, and the certificates in this and the first section mentioned, shall be conclusive of the right of the person or persons in whose favor granted to remove such fugitives to the State or Territory from which they escaped, and shall prevent all molestation of said person or persons by any process issued by any court, judge, magistrate, or other person whomsoever. SEC. 7. And be it further enacted, That any person who shall knowingly and willfully obstruct, hinder, or prevent such claimant, his agent, or attorney, or any person or persons lawfully assisting him, her or them from arresting such a fugitive from service or labor, either with or without process, as aforesaid, or shall rescue, or attempt to rescue, such fugitive from service or labor, or from the custody of such claimant, his or her agent, or attorney, or other person or persons lawfully assisting, as aforesaid, when so arrested, pursuant to the authority herein given and declared, or shall aid, abet, or assist such person, so owing service or labor, as aforesaid, directly or indirectly, to escape from such claimant, his agent or attorney, or other person or persons legally authorized, as aforesaid, or shall harbor or conceal such fugitive, so as to prevent the discovery and arrest of such person, after notice or knowledge of the fact that such person was a fugitive from service or labor, as aforesaid, shall, for either of said offences, be subject to a fine not exceeding one thousand dollars, and imprisonment not exceeding six months, by indictment and conviction before the District Court of the United States, for the district in which such offence may have been committed, or before the proper court of criminal jurisdiction, if committed within any one of the organized Territories of the United States; and shall, moreover, forfeit and pay, by way of civil damages, to the party injured by such illegal conduct, the sum of one thousand dollars for each fugitive so lost, as aforesaid, to be recovered by action of debt in any of the District or Territorial Courts aforesaid, within whose jurisdiction the said offence may have been committed. SEC. 8. And be it further enacted, That the Marshals, their deputies, and the clerks of the said districts and territorial courts, shall be paid for their services the like fees as may be allowed to them for similar services in other cases; and where such services are rendered exclusively in the arrest, custody, and delivery of the fugitives to the claimant, his or her agent, or attorney, or where such supposed fugitive may be discharged out of custody from the want of sufficient proof, as aforesaid, then such fees are to be paid in the whole by such complainant, his agent or attorney, and in all cases where the proceedings are before a Commissioner, he shall be entitled to a fee of ten dollars in full for his services in each case, upon the delivery of the said certificate to the claimant, his or her agent or attorney; or a fee of five dollars in cases where proof shall not, in the opinion of said Commissioner, warrant such certificate and delivery, inclusive of all services incident to such arrest and examination, to be paid in either case, by the claimant, his or her agent or attorney. The person or persons authorized to execute the process to be issued by such Commissioners for the arrest and detention of fugitives from service or labor, as aforesaid, shall also be entitled to a fee of five dollars each for each person he or they may arrest and take before any such Commissioners, as aforesaid, at the instance and request of such claimant, with such other fees as may be deemed reasonable by such Commissioner for such other additional services as may be necessarily performed by him or them; such as attending to the examination, keeping the fugitive in custody, and providing him with food and lodgings during his detention, and until the final determination of such Commissioner; and in general for performing such other duties as may be required by such claimant, his or her attorney or agent or commissioner in the premises; such fees to be made up in conformity with the fees usually charged by the officers of the courts of justice within the proper district or county as far as may be practicable, and paid by such claimants, their agents or attorneys, whether such supposed fugitive from service or labor be ordered to be delivered to such claimants by the final determination of such Commissioners or not. SEC. 9. And be it further enacted, That upon affidavit made by the claimant of such fugitive, his agent or attorney, after such certificate has been issued, that he has reason to apprehend that such fugitive will be rescued by force from his or their possession before he can be taken beyond the limits of the State in which the arrest is made, it shall be the duty of the officer making the arrest to retain such fugitive in his custody, and to remove him to the State whence he fled, and there to deliver him to said claimant, his agent or attorney. And to this end the officer aforesaid is hereby authorized and required to employ so many persons as he may deem necessary, to overcome such force, and to retain them in his service so long as circumstances may require; the said officer and his assistants, while so employed, to receive the same compensation, and to be allowed the same expenses as are now allowed by law for the transportation of criminals, to be certified by the judge of the district within which the arrest is made, and paid out of the treasury of the United States. SEC. 10. And be it further enacted, That when any person held to service or labor in any State or Territory, or in the District of Columbia, shall escape therefrom, the party to whom such service or labor shall be due, his, her, or their agent, or attorney may apply to any court of record therein, or judge thereof in vacation, and make such satisfactory proof to such court or judge in vacation, of the escape aforesaid, and that the person escaping owed service or labor to such party. Thereupon the court shall cause a record to be made of the matters so proved, and also a personal description of the person so escaping, with such convenient certainty as may be; and a transcript of such record, authenticated by the attestation of the clerk, and of the seal of said court being produced in any other State, Territory or District in which the person so escaping may be found, and being exhibited to any judge, commissioner, or other officer authorized by the law of the United States to cause persons escaping from, service or labor to be delivered up, shall be held and taken to be full and conclusive evidence of the fact of escape, and that the service or labor of the person escaping is due to the party in such record mentioned. And upon the production, by the said party, of other and further evidence, if necessary, either oral or by affidavit, in addition to what is contained in said record of the identity of the person escaping, he or she shall be delivered up to the claimant. And said court, commissioners, judge, or other persons authorized by this act to grant certificates to claimants of fugitives, shall, upon the production of the record and other evidence aforesaid, grant to such claimant a certificate of his right to take any such person, identified and proved to be owing service or labor as aforesaid, which certificate shall authorize such claimant to seize, or arrest, and transport such person to the State or Territory from which he escaped: Provided, That nothing herein contained shall be construed as requiring the production of a transcript of such record as evidence as aforesaid, but in its absence, the claim shall be heard and determined upon other satisfactory proofs competent in law. * * * * * THE SLAVE-HUNTING TRAGEDY IN LANCASTER COUNTY, IN SEPTEMBER, 1851. "TREASON AT CHRISTIANA." Having inserted the Fugitive Slave Bill in these records of the Underground Rail Road, one or two slave cases will doubtless suffice to illustrate the effect of its passage on the public mind, and the colored people in particular. The deepest feelings of loathing, contempt and opposition were manifested by the opponents of Slavery on every hand. Anti-slavery papers, lecturers, preachers, etc., arrayed themselves boldly against it on the ground of its inhumanity and violation of the laws of God. On the other hand, the slave-holders South, and their pro-slavery adherents in the North demanded the most abject obedience from all parties, regardless of conscience or obligation to God. In order to compel such obedience, as well as to prove the practicability of the law, unbounded zeal daily marked the attempt on the part of slave-holders and slave-catchers to refasten the fetters on the limbs of fugitives in different parts of the North, whither they had escaped. In this dark hour, when colored men's rights were so insecure, as a matter of self-defence, they felt called upon to arm themselves and resist all kidnapping intruders, although clothed with the authority of wicked law. Among the most exciting cases tending to justify this course, the following may be named: James Hamlet was the first slave case who was summarily arrested under the Fugitive Slave Law, and sent back to bondage from New York. William and Ellen Craft were hotly pursued to Boston by hunters from Georgia. Adam Gibson, a free colored man, residing in Philadelphia, was arrested, delivered into the hands of his alleged claimants, by commissioner Edward D. Ingraham, and hurried into Slavery. Euphemia Williams (the mother of six living children),--her case excited much interest and sympathy. Shadrach was arrested and rescued in Boston. Hannah Dellum and her child were returned to Slavery from Philadelphia. Thomas Hall and his wife were pounced upon at midnight in Chester county, beaten and dragged off to Slavery, etc. And, as if gloating over their repeated successes, and utterly regardless of all caution, about one year after the passage of this nefarious bill, a party of slave-hunters arranged for a grand capture at Christiana. One year from the passage of the law, at a time when alarm and excitement were running high, the most decided stand was taken at Christiana, in the State of Pennsylvania, to defeat the law, and defend freedom. Fortunately for the fugitives the plans of the slave-hunters and officials leaked out while arrangements were making in Philadelphia for the capture, and, information being sent to the Anti-slavery office, a messenger was at once dispatched to Christiana to put all persons supposed to be in danger on their guard. Among those thus notified, were brave hearts, who did not believe in running away from slave-catchers. They resolved to stand up for the right of self-defence. They loved liberty and hated Slavery, and when the slave-catchers arrived, they were prepared for them. Of the contest, on that bloody morning, we have copied a report, carefully written at the time, by C.M. Burleigh, editor of the "Pennsylvania Freeman," who visited the scene of battle, immediately after it was over, and doubtless obtained as faithful an account of all the facts in the case, as could then be had. "Last Thursday morning, (the 11th inst,), a peaceful neighborhood in the borders of Lancaster county, was made the scene of a bloody battle, resulting from an attempt to capture seven colored men as fugitive slaves. As the reports of the affray which came to us were contradictory, and having good reason to believe that those of the daily press were grossly one-sided and unfair, we repaired to the scene of the tragedy, and, by patient inquiry and careful examination, endeavored to learn the real facts. To do this, from the varying and conflicting statements which we encountered, scarcely two of which agreed in every point, was not easy; but we believe the account we give below, as the result of these inquiries, is substantially correct. Very early on the 11th inst. a party of slave-hunters went into a neighborhood about two miles west of Christiana, near the eastern border of Lancaster county, in pursuit of fugitive slaves. The party consisted of Edward Gorsuch, his son, Dickerson Gorsuch, his nephew, Dr. Pearce, Nicholas Hutchins, and others, all from Baltimore county, Md., and one Henry H. Kline, a notorious slave-catching constable from Philadelphia, who had been deputized by Commissioner Ingraham for this business. At about day-dawn they were discovered lying in an ambush near the house of one William Parker, a colored man, by an inmate of the house, who had started for his work. He fled back to the house, pursued by the slave-hunters, who entered the lower part of the house, but were unable to force their way into the upper part, to which the family had retired. A horn was blown from an upper window; two shots were fired, both, as we believe, though we are not certain, by the assailants, one at the colored man who fled into the house, and the other at the inmates, through the window. No one was wounded by either. A parley ensued. The slave-holder demanded his slaves, who he said were concealed in the house. The colored men presented themselves successively at the window, and asked if they were the slaves claimed; Gorsuch said, that neither of them was his slave. They told him that they were the only colored men in the house, and were determined never to be taken alive as slaves. Soon the colored people of the neighborhood, alarmed by the horn, began to gather, armed with guns, axes, corn-cutters, or clubs. Mutual threatenings were uttered by the two parties. The slave-holders told the blacks that resistance would be useless, as they had a party of thirty men in the woods near by. The blacks warned them again to leave, as they would die before they would go into Slavery. From an hour to an hour and a half passed in these parleyings, angry conversations, and threats; the blacks increasing by new arrivals, until they probably numbered from thirty to fifty, most of them armed in some way. About this time, Castner Hanaway, a white man, and a Friend, who resided in the neighborhood, rode up, and was soon followed by Elijah Lewis, another Friend, a merchant, in Cooperville, both gentlemen highly esteemed as worthy and peaceable citizens. As they came up, Kline, the deputy marshal, ordered them to aid him, as a United States officer, to capture the fugitive slaves. They refused of course, as would any man not utterly destitute of honor, humanity, and moral principle, and warned the assailants that it was madness for them to attempt to capture fugitive slaves there, or even to remain, and begged them if they wished to save their own lives, to leave the ground. Kline replied, "Do you really think so?" "Yes," was the answer, "the sooner you leave, the better, if you would prevent bloodshed." Kline then left the ground, retiring into a very safe distance into a cornfield, and toward the woods. The blacks were so exasperated by his threats, that, but for the interposition of the two white Friends, it is very doubtful whether he would have escaped without injury. Messrs. Hanaway and Lewis both exerted their influence to dissuade the colored people from violence, and would probably have succeeded in restraining them, had not the assailing party fired upon them. Young Gorsuch asked his father to leave, but the old man refused, declaring, as it is said and believed, that he would "go to hell, or have his slaves." Finding they could do nothing further, Hanaway and Lewis both started to leave, again counselling the slave-hunters to go away, and the colored people to peace, but had gone but a few rods, when one of the inmates of the house attempted to come out at the door. Gorsuch presented his revolver, ordering him back. The colored man replied, "You had better go away, if you don't want to get hurt," and at the same time pushed him aside and passed out. Maddened at this, and stimulated by the question of his nephew, whether he would "take such an insult from a d----d nigger," Gorsuch fired at the colored man, and was followed by his son and nephew, who both fired their revolvers. The fire was returned by the blacks, who made a rush upon them at the same time. Gorsuch and his son fell, the one dead the other wounded. The rest of the party after firing their revolvers, fled precipitately through the corn and to the woods, pursued by some of the blacks. One was wounded, the rest escaped unhurt. Kline, the deputy marshal, who now boasts of his miraculous escape from a volley of musket-balls, had kept at a safe distance, though urged by young Gorsuch to stand by his father and protect him, when he refused to leave the ground. He of course came off unscathed. Several colored men were wounded, but none severely. Some had their hats or their clothes perforated with bullets; others had flesh wounds. They said that the Lord protected them, and they shook the bullets from their clothes. One man found several shot in his boot, which seemed to have spent their force before reaching him, and did not even break the skin. The slave-holders having fled, several neighbors, mostly Friends and anti-slavery men, gathered to succor the wounded and take charge of the dead. We are told that Parker himself protected the wounded man from his excited comrades, and brought water and a bed from his own house for the invalid, thus showing that he was as magnanimous to his fallen enemy as he was brave in the defence of his own liberty. The young man was then removed to a neighboring house, where the family received him with the tenderest kindness and paid him every attention, though they told him in Quaker phrase, that "they had no unity with his cruel business," and were very sorry to see him engaged in it. He was much affected by their kindness, and we are told, expressed his regret that he had been thus engaged, and his determination, if his life was spared, never again to make a similar attempt. His wounds are very severe, and it is feared mortal. All attempts to procure assistance to capture the fugitive slaves failed, the people in the neighborhood either not relishing the business of slave-catching, or at least, not choosing to risk their lives in it. There was a very great reluctance felt to going even to remove the body and the wounded man, until several abolitionists and Friends had collected for that object, when others found courage to follow on. The excitement caused by this most melancholy affair is very great among all classes. The abolitionists, of course, mourn the occurrence, while they see in it a legitimate fruit of the Fugitive Slave Law, just such a harvest of blood as they had long feared that the law would produce, and which they had earnestly labored to prevent. We believe that they alone, of all classes of the nation, are free from responsibility for its occurrence, having wisely foreseen the danger, and faithfully labored to avert it by removing its causes, and preventing the inhuman policy which has hurried on the bloody convulsion. The enemies of the colored people, are making this the occasion of fresh injuries, and a more bitter ferocity toward that defenceless people, and of new misrepresentation and calumnies against the abolitionists. The colored people, though the great body of them had no connection with this affair, are hunted like partridges upon the mountains, by the relentless horde which has been poured forth upon them, under the pretense of arresting the parties concerned in the fight. When we reached Christiana, on Friday afternoon, we found that the Deputy-Attorney Thompson, of Lancaster, was there, and had issued warrants, upon the depositions of Kline and others, for the arrest of all suspected persons. A company of police were scouring the neighborhood in search of colored people, several of whom were seized while at their work near by, and brought in. CAstner Hanaway and Elijah Lewis, hearing that warrants were issued against them, came to Christiana, and voluntarily gave themselves up, calm and strong in the confidence of their innocence. They, together with the arrested colored men, were sent to Lancaster jail that night. The next morning we visited the ground of the battle, and the family where young Gorsuch now lives, and while there, we saw a deposition which he had just made, that he believed no white persons were engaged in the affray, beside his own party. As he was on the ground during the whole controversy, and deputy Marshall Kline had discreetly run off into the corn-field, before the fighting began, the hireling slave-catcher's eager and confident testimony against our white friends, will, we think, weigh lightly with impartial men. On returning to Christiana, we found that the United States Marshal from the city, had arrived at that place, accompanied by Commissioner Ingraham, Mr. Jones, a special commissioner of the United States, from Washington, the U.S. District Attorney Ashmead, with forty-five U.S. Marines from the Navy Yard, and a posse of about forty of the City Marshal's police, together with a large body of special constables, eager for such a manhunt, from Columbia and Lancaster and other places. This crowd divided into parties, of from ten to twenty-five, and scoured the country, in every direction, for miles around, ransacking the houses of the colored people, and captured every colored man they could find, with several colored women, and two other white men. Never did our heart bleed with deeper pity for the peeled and persecuted colored people, than when we saw this troop let loose upon them, and witnessed the terror and distress which its approach excited in families, wholly innocent of the charges laid against them." On the other hand, a few extracts from the editorials of some of the leading papers, will suffice to show the state of public feeling at that time, and the dreadful opposition abolitionists and fugitives had to contend with. From one of the leading daily journals of Philadelphia, we copy as follows: "There can be no difference of opinion concerning the shocking affair which occurred at Christiana, on Thursday, the resisting of a law of Congress by a band of armed negroes, whereby the majesty of the Government was defied and life taken in one and the same act. There is something more than a mere ordinary, something more than even a murderous, riot in all this. It is an act of insurrection, we might, considering the peculiar class and condition of the guilty parties, almost call it a servile insurrection--if not also one of treason. Fifty, eighty, or a hundred persons, whether white or black, who are deliberately in arms for the purpose of resisting the law, even the law for the recovery of fugitive slaves, are in the attitude of levying war against the United States; and doubly heavy becomes the crime of murder in such a case, and doubly serious the accountability of all who have any connection with the act as advisers, suggesters, countenancers, or accessories in any way whatever." In those days, the paper from which this extract is taken, represented the Whig party and the more moderate and respectable class of citizens. The following is an extract from a leading democratic organ of Philadelphia: "We will not, however, insult the reader by arguing that which has not been heretofore doubted, and which is not doubted now, by ten honest men in the State, and that is that the abolitionists are implicated in the Christiana murder. All the ascertained facts go to show that they were the real, if not the chief instigators. White men are known to harbor fugitives, in the neighborhood of Christiana, and these white men are known to be abolitionists, known to be opposed to the Fugitive Slave Law, and _known_ to be the warm friends of William F. Johnston, (Governor of the State of Pennsylvania). And, as if to clinch the argument, no less than three white men are now in the Lancaster prison, and were arrested as accomplices in the dreadful affair on the morning of the eleventh. And one of these white men was committed on a charge of high treason, on Saturday last, by United States Commissioner Ingraham." Another daily paper of opposite politics thus spake: "The unwarrantable outrage committed last week, at Christiana, Lancaster county, is a foul stain upon the fair name and fame of our State. We are pleased to see that the officers of the Federal and State Governments are upon the tracks of those who were engaged in the riot, and that several arrests have been made. We do not wish to see the poor misled blacks who participated in the affair, suffer to any great extent, for they were but tools. The men who are really chargeable with treason against the United States Government, and with the death of Mr. Gorsuch, an estimable citizen of Maryland, are unquestionably _white_, with hearts black enough to incite them to the commission of any crime equal in atrocity to that committed in Lancaster county. Pennsylvania has now but one course to pursue, and that is to aid, and warmly aid, the United States in bringing to condign punishment, every man engaged in the riot. She owes it to herself and to the Union. Let her in this resolve, be just and fearless." From a leading neutral daily paper the following is taken: "One would suppose from the advice of forcible resistance, so familiarly given by the abolitionists, that they are quite unaware that there is any such crime as treason recognized by the Constitution, or punished with death by the laws of the United States. We would remind them, that not only is there such a crime, but that there is a solemn decision of the Supreme Court, that all who are concerned in a conspiracy which ripens into treason, whether present or absent from the scene of actual violence, are involved in the same liabilities as the immediate actors. If they engage in the conspiracy and stimulate the treason, they may keep their bodies from the affray without saving their necks from a halter. It would be very much to the advantage of society, if an example could be made of some of these persistent agitators, who excite the ignorant and reckless to treasonable violence, from which they themselves shrink, but who are, not only in morals, but in law, equally guilty and equally amenable to punishment with the victims of their inflammatory counsels." A number of the most influential citizens represented the occurrence to the Governor as follows: "To the Governor of Pennsylvania: The undersigned, citizens of Pennsylvania, respectfully represent: That citizens of a neighboring State have been cruelly assassinated by a band of armed outlaws at a place not more than three hours' journey distant from the seat of Government and from the commercial metropolis of the State: That this insurrectionary movement in one of the most populous parts of the State has been so far successful as to overawe the local ministers of justice and paralyze the power of the law: That your memorialists are not aware that 'any military force' has been sent to the seat of insurrection, or that the civil authority has been strengthened by the adoption of any measures suited to the momentous crisis. They, therefore, respectfully request the chief executive magistrate of Pennsylvania to take into consideration the necessity of vindicating the outraged laws, and sustaining the dignity of the Commonwealth on this important and melancholy occasion." Under this high pressure of public excitement, threatening and alarm breathed so freely on every hand, that fugitive slaves and their friends in this region of Pennsylvania at least, were compelled to pass through an hour of dreadful darkness--an ordeal extremely trying. The authorities of the United States, as well as the authorities of the State of Pennsylvania and Maryland, were diligently making arrests wherever a suspected party could be found, who happened to belong in the neighborhood of Christiana. In a very short time the following persons were in custody: J. Castner Hanaway, Elijah Lewis, Joseph Scarlett, Samuel Kendig, Henry Spins, George Williams, Charles Hunter, Wilson Jones, Francis Harkins, Benjamin Thomson, William Brown (No. 1), William Brown (No. 2), John Halliday, Elizabeth Mosey, John Morgan, Joseph Berry, John Norton, Denis Smith, Harvey Scott, Susan Clark, Tansy Brown, Eliza Brown, Eliza Parker, Hannah Pinckney, Robert Johnson, Miller Thompson, Isaiah Clark, and Jonathan Black. These were not all, but sufficed for a beginning; at least it made an interesting entertainment for the first day's examination; and although there were two or three non-resistant Quakers, and a number of poor defenceless colored women among those thus taken as prisoners, still it seemed utterly impossible for the exasperated defenders of Slavery to divest themselves of the idea, that this heroic deed, in self-defence, on the part of men who felt that their liberties were in danger, was anything less than actually levying war against the United States. Accordingly, therefore, the hearing gravely took place at Lancaster. On the side of the Commonwealth, the following distinguished counsel appeared on examination: Hon. John L. Thompson, District Attorney; Wm. B. Faulney, Esq.; Thos. E. Franklin, Esq., Attorney-General of Lancaster county; George L. Ashmead, Esq., of Philadelphia, representative of the United States authorities; and Hon. Robert Brent, Attorney-General of Maryland. For the defence--Hon. Thaddeus Stevens, Reah Frazer, Messrs. Ford, Cline, and Dickey, Esquires. From a report of the first day's hearing we copy a short extract, as follows: "The excitement at Christiana, during yesterday, was very great. Several hundred persons were present, and the deepest feeling was manifested against the perpetrators of the outrage. At two o'clock yesterday afternoon, the United States Marshal, Mr. Roberts, United States District Attorney, J.H. Ashmead, Esq., Mr. Commissioner Ingraham, and Recorder Lee, accompanied by the United States Marines, returned to the city. Lieut. Johnson, and officers Lewis S. Brest, Samuel Mitchell, Charles McCully, Samuel Neff, Jacob Albright, Robert McEwen, and ---- Perkenpine, by direction of the United States Marshal, had charge of the following named prisoners, who were safely lodged in Moyamensing prison, accompanied by the Marines:--Joseph Scarlett, (white), William Brown, Ezekiel Thompson, Isaiah Clarkson, Daniel Caulsberry, Benjamin Pendergrass, Elijah Clark, George W.H. Scott, Miller Thompson, and Samuel Hanson, all colored. The last three were placed in the debtors' apartment, and the others in the criminal apartment of the Moyamensing prison to await their trial for treason, &c." In alluding to the second day's doings, the Philadelphia Ledger thus represented matters at the field of battle: "The intelligence received last evening, represents the country for miles around, to be in as much excitement as at any time since the horrible deed was committed. The officers sent there at the instance of the proper authorities are making diligent search in every direction, and securing every person against whom the least suspicion is attached. The police force from this city, amounting to about sixty men, are under the marshalship of Lieut. Ellis. Just as the cars started east, in the afternoon, five more prisoners who were secured at a place called the Welsh Mountains, twelve miles distant, were brought into Christiana. They were placed in custody until such time as a hearing will take place." Although the government had summoned its ablest legal talent and the popular sentiment was as a hundred to one against William Parker and his brave comrades who had made the slave-hunter "bite the dust," most nobly did Thaddeus Stevens prove that he was not to be cowed, that he believed in the stirring sentiment so much applauded by the American people, "Give me liberty, or give me death," not only for the white man but for all men. Thus standing upon such great and invulnerable principles, it was soon discovered that one could chase a thousand, and two put ten thousand to flight in latter as well as in former times. At first even the friends of freedom thought that the killing of Gorsuch was not only wrong, but unfortunate for the cause. Scarcely a week passed, however, before the matter was looked upon in a far different light, and it was pretty generally thought that, if the Lord had not a direct hand in it, the cause of Freedom at least would be greatly benefited thereby. And just in proportion as the masses cried, Treason! Treason! the hosts of freedom from one end of the land to the other were awakened to sympathize with the slave. Thousands were soon aroused to show sympathy who had hitherto been dormant. Hundreds visited the prisoners in their cells to greet, cheer, and offer them aid and counsel in their hour of sore trial. The friends of freedom remained calm even while the pro-slavery party were fiercely raging and gloating over the prospect, as they evidently thought of the satisfaction to be derived from teaching the abolitionists a lesson from the scaffold, which would in future prevent Underground Rail Road passengers from killing their masters when in pursuit of them. Through the efforts of the authorities three white men, and twenty-seven colored had been safely lodged in Moyamensing prison, under the charge of treason. The authorities, however, had utterly failed to catch the hero, William Parker, as he had been sent to Canada, _viâ_ the Underground Rail Road, and was thus "sitting under his own vine and fig tree, where none dared to molest, or make him afraid." As an act of simple justice it may here be stated that the abolitionists and prisoners found a true friend and ally at least in one United States official, who, by the way, figured prominently in making arrests, etc., namely: the United States Marshal, A.E. Roberts. In all his intercourse with the prisoners and their friends, he plainly showed that all his sympathies were on the side of Freedom, and not with the popular pro-slavery sentiment which clamored so loudly against traitors and abolitionists. Two of his prisoners had been identified in the jail as fugitive slaves by their owners. When the trial came on these two individuals were among the missing. How they escaped was unknown; the Marshal, however, was strongly suspected of being a friend of the Underground Rail Road, and to add now, that those suspicions were founded on fact, will, doubtless, do him no damage. In order to draw the contrast between Freedom and Slavery, simply with a view of showing how the powers that were acted and judged in the days of the reign of the Fugitive Slave Law, unquestionably nothing better could be found to meet the requirements of this issue than the charge of Judge Kane, coupled with the indictment of the Grand Jury. In the light of the Emancipation and the Fifteenth Amendment, they are too transparent to need a single word of comment. Judge and jury having found the accused chargeable with Treason, nothing remained, so far as the men were concerned, but to bide their time as best they could in prison. Most of them were married, and had wives and children clinging to them in this hour of fearful looking for of judgment. THE LAW OF TREASON, AS LAID DOWN BY JUDGE KANE. The following charge to the Grand Jury of the United States District Court, in reference to the Slave-hunting affray in Lancaster county, and preparatory to their finding bills of indictment against the prisoners, was delivered on Monday, September 28, by Judge Kane: "Gentlemen of the Grand Jury:--It has been represented to me, that since we met last, circumstances have occurred in one of the neighboring counties in our District, which should call for your prompt scrutiny, and perhaps for the energetic action of the Court. It is said, that a citizen of the State of Maryland, who had come into Pennsylvania to reclaim a fugitive from labor, was forcibly obstructed in the attempt by a body of armed men, assaulted, beaten and murdered; that some members of his family, who had accompanied him in the pursuit, were at the same time, and by the same party maltreated and grievously wounded; and that an officer of justice, constituted under the authority of this Court, who sought to arrest the fugitive, was impeded and repelled by menaces and violence, while proclaiming his character, and exhibiting his warrant. It is said, too, that the time and manner of these outrages, their asserted object, the denunciations by which they were preceded, and the simultaneous action of most of the guilty parties, evinced a combined purpose forcibly to resist and make nugatory a constitutional provision, and the statutes enacted in pursuance of it: and it is added, in confirmation of this, that for some months back, gatherings of people, strangers, as well as citizens, have been held from time to time in the vicinity of the place of the recent outbreaks, at which exhortations were made and pledges interchanged to hold the law for the recovery of fugitive slaves as of no validity, and to defy its execution. Such are some of the representations that have been made in my hearing, and in regard to which, it has become your duty, as the Grand Inquest of the District, to make legal inquiry. Personally, I know nothing of the facts, or the evidence relating to them. As a member of the Court, before which the accused persons may hereafter be arraigned and tried, I have sought to keep my mind altogether free from any impressions of their guilt or innocence, and even from an extra-judicial knowledge of the circumstances which must determine the legal character of the offence that has thus been perpetrated. It is due to the great interests of public justice, no less than to the parties implicated in a criminal charge, that their cause should be in no wise and in no degree prejudged. And in referring, therefore, to the representations which have been made to me, I have no other object than to point you to the reasons for my addressing you at this advanced period of our sessions, and to enable you to apply with more facility and certainty the principles and rules of law, which I shall proceed to lay before you. If the circumstances, to which I have adverted, have in fact taken place, they involve the highest crime known to our laws. Treason against the United States is defined by the Constitution, Art. 3, Sec. 3, cl. 1, to consist in "levying war against them, or adhering to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort." This definition is borrowed from the ancient Law of England, Stat. 25, Edw. 3, Stat. 5, Chap. 2, and its terms must be understood, of course, in the sense which they bore in that law, and which obtained here when the Constitution was adopted. The expression, "levying war," so regarded, embraces not merely the act of formal or declared war, but any combination forcibly to prevent or oppose the execution or enforcement of a provision of the Constitution, or of a public Statute, if accompanied or followed by an act of forcible opposition in pursuance of such combination. This, in substance, has been the interpretation given to these words by the English Judges, and it has been uniformly and fully recognized and adopted in the Courts of the United States. (See Foster, Hale, and Hawkins, and the opinions of Iredell, Patterson, Chase, Marshall, and Washington, J.J., of the Supreme Court, and of Peters, D.J., in U.S. vs. Vijol, U.S. vs. Mitchell, U.S. vs. Fries, U.S. vs. Bollman and Swartwout, and U.S. vs. Burr). The definition, as you will observe, includes two particulars, both of them indispensable elements of the offence. There must have been a combination or conspiring together to oppose the law by force, and some actual force must have been exerted, or the crime of treason is not consummated. The highest, or at least the direct proof of the combination may be found in the declared purposes of the individual party before the actual outbreak; or it may be derived from the proceedings of meetings, in which he took part openly; or which he either prompted, or made effective by his countenance or sanction,--commending, counselling and instigating forcible resistance to the law. I speak, of course, of a conspiring to resist a law, not the more limited purpose to violate it, or to prevent its application and enforcement in a particular case, or against a particular individual. The combination must be directed against the law itself. But such direct proof of this element of the offence is not legally necessary to establish its existence. The concert of purpose may be deduced from the concerted action itself, or it may be inferred from facts occurring at the time, or afterwards, as well as before. Besides this, there must be some act of violence, as the result or consequence of the combining. But here again, it is not necessary to prove that the individual accused was a direct, personal actor in the violence. If he was present, directing, aiding, abetting, counselling, or countenancing it, he is in law guilty of the forcible act. Nor is even his personal presence indispensable. Though he be absent at the time of its actual perpetration, yet, if he directed the act, devised, or knowingly furnished the means for carrying it into effect, instigated others to perform it, he shares their guilt. In treason there are no accessories. There has been, I fear, an erroneous impression on this subject, among a portion of our people. If it has been thought safe, to counsel and instigate others to acts of forcible oppugnation to the provisions of a statute, to inflame the minds of the ignorant by appeals to passion, and denunciations of the law as oppressive, unjust, revolting to the conscience, and not binding on the actions of men, to represent the constitution of the land as a compact of iniquity, which it were meritorious to violate or subvert, the mistake has been a grievous one; and they who have fallen into it may rejoice, if peradventure their appeals and their counsels have been hitherto without effect. The supremacy of the constitution, in all its provisions, is at the very basis of our existence as a nation. He, whose conscience, or whose theories of political or individual right, forbid him to support and maintain it in its fullest integrity, may relieve himself from the duties of citizenship, by divesting himself of its rights. But while he remains within our borders, he is to remember, that successfully to instigate treason, is to commit it. I shall not be supposed to imply in these remarks, that I have doubts of the law-abiding character of our people. No one can know them well, without the most entire reliance on their fidelity to the constitution. Some of them may differ from the mass, as to the rightfulness or the wisdom of this or the other provision that is found in the federal compact, they may be divided in sentiment as to the policy of a particular statute, or of some provision in a statute; but it is their honest purpose to stand by the engagements, all the engagements, which bind them to their brethren of the other States. They have but one country; they recognize no law of higher social obligation than its constitution and the laws made in pursuance of it; they recognize no higher appeal than to the tribunals it has appointed; they cherish no patriotism that looks beyond the union of the States. That there are men here, as elsewhere, whom a misguided zeal impels to violations of law; that there are others who are controlled by false sympathies, and some who yield too readily and too fully to sympathies not always false, or if false, yet pardonable, and become criminal by yielding, that we have, not only in our jails and almshouses, but segregated here and there in detached portions of the State, ignorant men, many of them without political rights, degraded in social position, and instinctive of revolt, all this is true. It is proved by the daily record of our police courts, and by the ineffective labors of those good men among us, who seek to detach want from temptation, passion from violence, and ignorance from crime. But it should not be supposed that any of these represent the sentiment of Pennsylvania, and it would be to wrong our people sorely, to include them in the same category of personal, social, or political morals. It is declared in the article of the constitution, which I have already cited, that 'no person shall be convicted of treason, unless on the testimony of two witnesses to the same overt act, or on confession in open court.' This and the corresponding language in the act of Congress of the 30th of April, 1790, seem to refer to the proofs on the trial, and not to the preliminary hearing before the committing magistrate, or the proceeding before the grand inquest. There can be no conviction until after arraignment on bill found. The previous action in the case is not a trial, and cannot convict, whatever be the evidence or the number of witnesses. I understand this to have been the opinion entertained by Chief Justice Marshall, 1 Burr's Trial, 195, and though it differs from that expressed by Judge Iredell on the indictment of Fries, (1 Whart. Am. St. Tr. 480), I feel authorized to recommend it to you, as within the terms of the Constitution, and involving no injustice to the accused. I have only to add that treason against the United States, may be committed by any one resident or sojourning within its territory, and under the protection of its laws, whether he be a citizen or an alien. (Fost. C.L. 183, 5.--1 Hale 59, 60, 62. 1 Hawk. ch. 17, § 5, Kel. 38). Besides the crime of treason, which I have thus noticed, there are offences of minor grades, against the Constitution and the State, some or other of which may be apparently established by the evidence that will come before you. These are embraced in the act of Congress, on the 30th of Sept., 1790, Ch. 9, Sec. 22, on the subject of obstructing or resisting the service of legal process,--the act of the 2d of March, 1831, Chap. 99, Sec. 2, which secures the jurors, witnesses, and officers of our Courts in the fearless, free, and impartial administration of their respective functions,--and the act of the 18th of September, 1850, Ch. 60, which relates more particularly to the rescue, or attempted rescue of a fugitive from labor. These Acts were made the subject of a charge to the Grand Jury of this Court in November last, of which I shall direct a copy to be laid before you; and I do not deem it necessary to repeat their provisions at this time. Gentlemen of the Grand Jury: You are about to enter upon a most grave and momentous duty. You will be careful in performing it, not to permit your indignation against crime, or your just appreciation of its perilous consequences, to influence your judgment of the guilt of those who may be charged before you with its commission. But you will be careful, also, that no misguided charity shall persuade you to withhold the guilty from the retributions of justice. You will inquire whether an offence has been committed, what was its legal character, and who were the offenders,--and this done, and this only, you will make your presentments according to the evidence and the law. Your inquiries will not be restricted to the conduct of the people belonging to our own State. If in the progress of them, you shall find, that men have been among us, who, under whatever mask of conscience or of peace, have labored to incite others to treasonable violence, and who, after arranging the elements of the mischief, have withdrawn themselves to await the explosion they had contrived, you will feel yourselves bound to present the fact to the Court,--and however distant may be the place in which the offenders may have sought refuge, we give you the pledge of the law, that its far-reaching energies shall be exerted to bring them up for trial,--if guilty, to punishment. The offence of treason is not triable in this Court; but by an act of Congress, passed on the 8th of August, 1845, Chap. 98, it is made lawful for the Grand Jury, empanelled and sworn in the District Court, to take cognizance of all the indictments for crimes against the United States within the jurisdiction of either of the Federal Courts of the District. There being no Grand Jury in attendance at this time in the Circuit Court, to pass upon the accusations I have referred to in the first instance, it has fallen to my lot to assume the responsible office of expounding to you the law in regard to them. I have the satisfaction of knowing, that if the views I have expressed are in any respect erroneous, they must undergo the revision of my learned brother of the Supreme Court, who presides in this Circuit, before they can operate to the serious prejudice of any one; and that if they are doubtful even, provision exists for their re-examination in the highest tribunal of the country." On the strength of Judge Kane's carefully-drawn up charge the Grand Jury found true bills of indictment against forty of the Christiana offenders, charged with treason. James Jackson, an aged member of the Society of Friends (a Quaker), and a well-known non-resistant abolitionist, was of this number. With his name the blanks were filled up; the same form (with regard to these bills) was employed in the case of each one of the accused. The following is a COPY OF THE INDICTMENT. Eastern District of Pennsylvania, ss.: The Grand Inquest of the United States of America, inquiring for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, on their oaths and affirmations, respectfully do present, that James Jackson, yeoman of the District aforesaid, owing allegiance to the United States of America, wickedly devising and intending the peace and tranquility of said United States, to disturb, and prevent the execution of the laws thereof within the same, to wit, a law of the United States, entitled "An act respecting fugitives from justice and persons escaping from the service of their masters," approved February twelfth, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three, and also a law of the United States, entitled "An act to amend, and supplementary to, the act entitled, An act respecting fugitives from justice and persons escaping from the service of their masters, approved February the twelfth, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three," which latter supplementary act was approved September eighteenth, one thousand eight hundred and fifty, on the eleventh day of September, in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and fifty-one, in the county of Lancaster, in the State of Pennsylvania and District aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction of this Court, wickedly and traitorously did intend to levy war against the United States within the same. And to fulfill and bring to effect the said traitorous intention of him, the said James Jackson, he, the said James Jackson afterward, to wit, on the day and year aforesaid, in the State, District and County aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction of this Court, with a great multitude of persons, whose names, to this Inquest are as yet unknown, to a great number, to wit, to the number of one hundred persons and upwards, armed and arrayed in a warlike manner, that is to say, with guns, swords, and other warlike weapons, as well offensive as defensive, being then and there unlawfully and traitorously assembled, did traitorously assemble and combine against the said United States, and then and there, with force and arms, wickedly and traitorously, and with the wicked and traitorous intention to oppose and prevent, by means of intimidation and violence, the execution of the said laws of the United States within the same, did array and dispose themselves in a warlike and hostile manner against the said United States, and then and there, with force and arms, in pursuance of such their traitorous intention, he, the said James Jackson, with the said persons so as aforesaid, wickedly and traitorously did levy war against the United States. And further, to fulfill and bring to effect the said traitorous intention of him, the said James Jackson, and in pursuance and in execution of the said wicked and traitorous combination to oppose, resist and prevent the said laws of the United States from being carried into execution, he, the said James Jackson, afterwards, to wit, on the day and year first aforesaid, in the State, District and county aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction aforesaid, with the said persons whose names to this Inquest are as yet unknown, did, wickedly and traitorously assemble against the said United States, with the avowed intention by force of arms and intimidation to prevent the execution of the said laws of the United States within the same; and in pursuance and execution of such their wicked and traitorous combination, he, the said James Jackson, then and there with force and arms, with the said persons to a great number, to wit, the number of one hundred persons and upwards, armed and arrayed in a warlike manner, that is to say, with guns, swords, and other warlike weapons, as well offensive as defensive, being then and there, unlawfully and traitorously assembled, did wickedly, knowingly, and traitorously resist and oppose one Henry H. Kline, an officer, duly appointed by Edward D. Ingraham, Esq., a commissioner, duly appointed by the Circuit Court of the United States, for the said district, in the execution of the duty of the office of the said Kline, he, the said Kline, being appointed by the said Edward Ingraham, Esq., by writing under his hand, to execute warrants and other process issued by him, the said Ingraham, in the performance of his duties as Commissioner, under the said laws of the United States, and then and there, with force and arms, with the said great multitude of persons, so as, aforesaid, unlawfully and traitorously assembled, and armed and arrayed in manner as aforesaid, he, the said, James Jackson, wickedly and traitorously did oppose and resist, and prevent the said Kline, from executing the lawful process to him directed and delivered by the said commissioner against sundry persons, then residents of said county, who had been legally charged before the said commissioner as being persons held to service or labor in the State of Maryland, and owing such service or labor to a certain Edward Gorsuch, under the laws of the said State of Maryland, had escaped therefrom, into the said Eastern district of Pennsylvania; which process, duly issued by the said commissioner, the said Kline then and there had in his possession, and was then and there proceeding to execute, as by law he was bound to do; and so the grand inquest, upon their respective oaths and affirmations aforesaid, do say, that the said James Jackson, in manner aforesaid, as much as in him lay, wickedly and traitorously did prevent, by means of force and intimidation, the execution of the said laws of the United States, in the said State and District. And further, to fulfill and bring to effect, the said traitorous intention of him, the said James Jackson, and in further pursuance, and in the execution of the said wicked and traitorous combination to expose, resist, and prevent the execution of the said laws of the said United States, in the State and District aforesaid, he, the said James Jackson, afterwards, to wit, on the day and year first aforesaid, in the State, county, and district aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction of this court, with the said persons whose names to the grand inquest aforesaid, are as yet unknown, did, wickedly and traitorously assemble against the said United States with the avowed intention, by means of force and intimidation, to prevent the execution of the said laws of the United States in the State and district aforesaid, and in pursuance and execution of such, their wicked and traitorous combination and intention, then and there to the State, district, and county aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction of this court, with force and arms, with a great multitude of persons, to wit, the number of one hundred persons and upwards, armed and arrayed in a warlike manner, that is to say, with guns, swords, and other warlike weapons, as well offensive as defensive, being then and there unlawfully and traitorously assembled, he, the said James Jackson, did, knowingly, and unlawfully assault the said Henry H. Kline, he, the said Kline, being an officer appointed by writing, under the hand of the said Edward D. Ingraham, Esq., a commissioner under said laws, to execute warrants and other process, issued by the said commissioner in the performance of his duties as such; and he, the said James Jackson, did, then and there, traitorously, with force and arms, against the will of the said Kline, liberate and take out of his custody, persons by him before that time arrested, and in his lawful custody, then and there being, by virtue of lawful process against them issued by the said commissioner, they being legally charged with being persons held to service or labor in the State of Maryland, and owing such service or labor to a certain Edward Gorsuch, under the laws of the said State of Maryland, who had escaped therefrom into the said district; and so the grand inquest aforesaid, upon their oaths and affirmations, aforesaid, do say, that he, the said James Jackson, as much as in him lay, did, then and there, in pursuance and in execution of the said wicked and traitorous combination and intention, wickedly and traitorously, by means of force and intimidation, prevent the execution of the said laws of the United States, in the said State and district. And further to fulfill and bring to effect, the said traitorous intention of him, the said James Jackson, and in pursuance and in execution of the said wicked and traitorous combination to oppose, resist and prevent the said laws of the United States from being carried into execution, he, the said James Jackson, afterwards, to wit, on the day and year first aforesaid, and on divers other days, both before and afterwards in the State and district aforesaid, and within the jurisdiction of this court, with the said persons to this inquest as yet unknown, maliciously and traitorously did meet, conspire, consult, and agree among themselves, further to oppose, resist, and prevent, by means of force and intimidation, the execution of the said laws herein before specified. And further to fulfill, perfect, and bring to effect the said traitorous intention of him the said James Jackson, and in pursuance and execution of the said wicked and traitorous combination to oppose and resist the said laws of the United States from being carried into execution, in the State and district aforesaid, he, the said James Jackson, together with the other persons whose names are to this inquest as yet unknown, on the day and year first aforesaid, and on divers other days and times, as well before and after, at the district aforesaid, within the jurisdiction of said court, with force and arms, maliciously and traitorously did prepare and compose, and did then and there maliciously and traitorously cause and procure to be prepared and composed, divers books, pamphlets, letters, declarations, resolutions, addresses, papers and writings, and did then and there maliciously and traitorously publish and disperse and cause to be published and dispersed, divers other books and pamphlets, letters, declarations, resolutions, addresses, papers and writings; the said books, pamphlets, letters, declarations, resolutions, addresses, papers and writings, so respectively prepared, composed, published and dispersed, as last aforesaid, containing therein, amongst other things, incitements, encouragements, and exhortations, to move, induce and persuade persons held to service in any of the United States, by the laws thereof, who had escaped into the said district, as well as other persons, citizens of said district, to resist, oppose, and prevent, by violence and intimidation, the execution of the said laws, and also containing therein, instructions and directions how and upon what occasion, the traitorous purposes last aforesaid, should and might be carried into effect, contrary to the form of the act of Congress in such case made and provided, and against the peace and dignity of the United States. JOHN W. ASHMEAD, Attorney of the U.S. for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. The abolitionists were leaving no stone unturned in order to triumphantly meet the case in Court. During the interim many tokens of kindness and marks of Christian benevolence were extended to the prisoners by their friends and sympathizers; among these none deserve more honorable mention than the noble act of Thomas L. Kane (son of Judge Kane, and now General), in tendering all the prisoners a sumptuous Thanksgiving dinner, consisting of turkey, etc., pound cake, etc., etc. The dinner for the white prisoners, Messrs. Hanaway, Davis, and Scarlett, was served in appropriate style in the room of Mr. Morrison, one of the keepers. The U.S. Marshal, A.E. Roberts, Esq., several of the keepers, and Mr. Hanes, one of the prison officers, dined with the prisoners as their guests. Mayor Charles Gilpin was also present and accepted an invitation to test the quality of the luxuries, thus significantly indicating that he was not the enemy of Freedom. Mrs. Martha Hanaway, the wife of the "traitor" of that name, and who had spent most of her time with her husband since his incarceration, served each of the twenty-seven colored "traitors" with a plate of the delicacies, and the supply being greater than the demand, the balance was served to outsiders in other cells on the same corridor. The pro-slavery party were very indignant over the matter, and the Hon. Mr. Brent thought it incumbent upon him to bring this high-handed procedure to the notice of the Court, where he received a few crumbs of sympathy, from the pro-slavery side, of course. But the dinner had been so handsomely arranged, and coming from the source that it did, it had a very telling effect. Long before this, however, Mr. T.L. Kane had given abundant evidence that he approved of the Underground Rail Road, and was a decided opponent of the Fugitive Slave Law; in short, that he believed in freedom for all men, irrespective of race or color. Castnor Hanaway was first to be tried; over him, therefore, the great contest was to be made. For the defence of this particular case, the abolitionists selected J.M. Read, Thaddeus Stevens, Joseph S. Lewis and Theodore Cuyler, Esqs. On the side of the Fugitive Slave Law, and against the "traitors," were U.S. District Attorney, John W. Ashmead, Hon. James Cooper, James R. Ludlow, Esq., and Robert G. Brent, Attorney General of Maryland. Mr. Brent was allowed to act as "overseer" in conducting matters on the side of the Fugitive Slave Law. On this infamous enactment, combined with a corrupted popular sentiment, the pro-slavery side depended for success. The abolitionists viewed matters in the light of freedom and humanity, and hopefully relied upon the justice of their cause and the power of truth to overcome and swallow up all the Pharaoh's rods of serpents as fast as they might be thrown down. The prisoners having lain in their cells nearly three months, the time for their trial arrived. Monday morning, November 24th, the contest began. The first three days were occupied in procuring jurors. The pro-slavery side desired none but such as believed in the Fugitive Slave law and in "Treason" as expounded in the Judge's charge and the finding of the Grand Jury. The counsel for the "Traitors" carefully weighed the jurors, and when found wanting challenged them; in so doing, they managed to get rid of most all of that special class upon whom the prosecution depended for a conviction. The jury having been sworn in, the battle commenced in good earnest, and continued unabated for nearly two weeks. It is needless to say, that the examinations and arguments would fill volumes, and were of the most deeply interesting nature. No attempt can here be made to recite the particulars of the trial other than by a mere reference. It was, doubtless, the most important trial that ever took place in this country relative to the Underground Rail Road passengers, and in its results more good was brought out of evil than can easily be estimated. The pro-slavery theories of treason were utterly demolished, and not a particle of room was left the advocates of the peculiar institution to hope, that slave-hunters in future, in quest of fugitives, would be any more safe than Gorsuch. The tide of public sentiment changed--Hanaway, and the other "traitors," began to be looked upon as having been greatly injured, and justly entitled to public sympathy and honor, while confusion of face, disappointment and chagrin were plainly visible throughout the demoralized ranks of the enemy. Hanaway was victorious. An effort was next made to convict Thompson, one of the colored "traitors." To defend the colored prisoners, the old Abolition Society had retained Thaddeus Stevens, David Paul Brown, William S. Pierce, and Robert P. Kane, Esqs., (son of Judge Kane). Stevens, Brown and Pierce were well-known veterans, defenders of the slave wherever and whenever called upon so to do. In the present case, they were prepared for a gallant stand and a long siege against opposing forces. Likewise, R.P. Kane, Esq., although a young volunteer in the anti-slavery war, brought to the work great zeal, high attainments, large sympathy and true pluck, while, in view of all the circumstances, the committee of arrangements felt very much gratified to have him in their ranks. By this time, however, the sandy foundations of "overseer" Brent and Co., (on the part of slavery), had been so completely swept away by the Hon. J.M. Read and Co., on the side of freedom, that there was but little chance left to deal heavy blows upon the defeated advocates of the Fugitive Slave Law. Thompson was pronounced "not guilty." The other prisoners, of course, shared the same good luck. The victory was then complete, equally as much so as at Christiana. Underground Rail Road stock arose rapidly and a feeling of universal rejoicing pervaded the friends of freedom from one end of the country to the other. Especially were slave-holders taught the wholesome lesson, that the Fugitive Slave Law was no guarantee against "red hot shot," nor the charges of U.S. Judges and the findings of Grand Juries, together with the superior learning of counsel from slave-holding Maryland, any guarantee that "traitors" would be hung. In every respect, the Underground Rail Road made capital by the treason. Slave-holders from Maryland especially were far less disposed to hunt their runaway property than they had hitherto been. The Deputy Marshal likewise considered the business of catching slaves very unsafe. * * * * * WILLIAM AND ELLEN CRAFT. FEMALE SLAVE IN MALE ATTIRE, FLEEING AS A PLANTER, WITH HER HUSBAND AS HER BODY SERVANT. A quarter of a century ago, William and Ellen Craft were slaves in the State of Georgia. With them, as with thousands of others, the desire to be free was very strong. For this jewel they were willing to make any sacrifice, or to endure any amount of suffering. In this state of mind they commenced planning. After thinking of various ways that might be tried, it occurred to William and Ellen, that one might act the part of master and the other the part of servant. Ellen being fair enough to pass for white, of necessity would have to be transformed into a young planter for the time being. All that was needed, however, to make this important change was that she should be dressed elegantly in a fashionable suit of male attire, and have her hair cut in the style usually worn by young planters. Her profusion of dark hair offered a fine opportunity for the change. So far this plan looked very tempting. But it occurred to them that Ellen was beardless. After some mature reflection, they came to the conclusion that this difficulty could be very readily obviated by having the face muffled up as though the young planter was suffering badly with the face or toothache; thus they got rid of this trouble. Straightway, upon further reflection, several other very serious difficulties stared them in the face. For instance, in traveling, they knew that they would be under the necessity of stopping repeatedly at hotels, and that the custom of registering would have to be conformed to, unless some very good excuse could be given for not doing so. [Illustration: WILLIAM CRAFT] [Illustration: ELLEN CRAFT.] Here they again, thought much over matters, and wisely concluded that the young man had better assume the attitude of a gentleman very much indisposed. He must have his right arm placed carefully in a sling; that would be a sufficient excuse for not registering, etc. Then he must be a little lame, with a nice cane in the left hand; he must have large green spectacles over his eyes, and withal he must be very hard of hearing and dependent on his faithful servant (as was no uncommon thing with slave-holders), to look after all his wants. William was just the man to act this part. To begin with, he was very "likely-looking;" smart, active and exceedingly attentive to his young master--indeed he was almost eyes, ears, hands and feet for him. William knew that this would please the slave-holders. The young planter would have nothing to do but hold himself subject to his ailments and put on a bold air of superiority; he was not to deign to notice anybody. If, while traveling, gentlemen, either politely or rudely, should venture to scrape acquaintance with the young planter, in his deafness he was to remain mute; the servant was to explain. In every instance when this occurred, as it actually did, the servant was fully equal to the emergency--none dreaming of the disguises in which the Underground Rail Road passengers were traveling. They stopped at a first-class hotel in Charleston, where the young planter and his body servant were treated, as the house was wont to treat the chivalry. They stopped also at a similar hotel in Richmond, and with like results. They knew that they must pass through Baltimore, but they did not know the obstacles that they would have to surmount in the Monumental City. They proceeded to the depot in the usual manner, and the servant asked for tickets for his master and self. Of course the master could have a ticket, but "bonds will have to be entered before you can get a ticket," said the ticket master. "It is the rule of this office to require bonds for all negroes applying for tickets to go North, and none but gentlemen of well-known responsibility will be taken," further explained the ticket master. The servant replied, that he knew "nothing about that"--that he was "simply traveling with his young master to take care of him--he being in a very delicate state of health, so much so, that fears were entertained that he might not be able to hold out to reach Philadelphia, where he was hastening for medical treatment," and ended his reply by saying, "my master can't be detained." Without further parley, the ticket master very obligingly waived the old "rule," and furnished the requisite tickets. The mountain being thus removed, the young planter and his faithful servant were safely in the cars for the city of Brotherly Love. Scarcely had they arrived on free soil when the rheumatism departed--the right arm was unslung--the toothache was gone--the beardless face was unmuffled--the deaf heard and spoke--the blind saw--and the lame leaped as an hart, and in the presence of a few astonished friends of the slave, the facts of this unparalleled Underground Rail Road feat were fully established by the most unquestionable evidence. The constant strain and pressure on Ellen's nerves, however, had tried her severely, so much so, that for days afterwards, she was physically very much prostrated, although joy and gladness beamed from her eyes, which bespoke inexpressible delight within. Never can the writer forget the impression made by their arrival. Even now, after a lapse of nearly a quarter of a century, it is easy to picture them in a private room, surrounded by a few friends--Ellen in her fine suit of black, with her cloak and high-heeled boots, looking, in every respect, like a young gentleman; in an hour after having dropped her male attire, and assumed the habiliments of her sex the feminine only was visible in every line and feature of her structure. Her husband, William, was thoroughly colored, but was a man of marked natural abilities, of good manners, and full of pluck, and possessed of perceptive faculties very large. It was necessary, however, in those days, that they should seek a permanent residence, where their freedom would be more secure than in Philadelphia; therefore they were advised to go to headquarters, directly to Boston. There they would be safe, it was supposed, as it had then been about a generation since a fugitive had been taken back from the old Bay State, and through the incessant labors of William Lloyd Garrison, the great pioneer, and his faithful coadjutors, it was conceded that another fugitive slave case could never be tolerated on the free soil of Massachusetts. So to Boston they went. On arriving, the warm hearts of abolitionists welcomed them heartily, and greeted and cheered them without let or hindrance. They did not pretend to keep their coming a secret, or hide it under a bushel; the story of their escape was heralded broadcast over the country--North and South, and indeed over the civilized world. For two years or more, not the slightest fear was entertained that they were not just as safe in Boston as if they had gone to Canada. But the day the Fugitive Bill passed, even the bravest abolitionist began to fear that a fugitive slave was no longer safe anywhere under the stars and stripes, North or South, and that William and Ellen Craft were liable to be captured at any moment by Georgia slave hunters. Many abolitionists counselled resistance to the death at all hazards. Instead of running to Canada, fugitives generally armed themselves and thus said, "Give me liberty or give me death." William and Ellen Craft believed that it was their duty, as citizens of Massachusetts, to observe a more legal and civilized mode of conforming to the marriage rite than had been permitted them in slavery, and as Theodore Parker had shown himself a very warm friend of their's, they agreed to have their wedding over again according to the laws of a free State. After performing the ceremony, the renowned and fearless advocate of equal rights (Theodore Parker), presented William with a revolver and a dirk-knife, counselling him to use them manfully in defence of his wife and himself, if ever an attempt should be made by his owners or anybody else to re-enslave them. But, notwithstanding all the published declarations made by abolitionists and fugitives, to the effect, that slave-holders and slave-catchers in visiting Massachusetts in pursuit of their runaway property, would be met by just such weapons as Theodore Parker presented William with, to the surprise of all Boston, the owners of William and Ellen actually had the effrontery to attempt their recapture under the Fugitive Slave Law. How it was done, and the results, taken from the _Old Liberator_, (William Lloyd Garrison's organ), we copy as follows: From the "Liberator," Nov. 1, 1850. SLAVE-HUNTERS IN BOSTON. Our city, for a week past, has been thrown into a state of intense excitement by the appearance of two prowling villains, named Hughes and Knight, from Macon, Georgia, for the purpose of seizing William and Ellen Craft, under the infernal Fugitive Slave Bill, and carrying them back to the hell of Slavery. Since the day of '76, there has not been such a popular demonstration on the side of human freedom in this region. The humane and patriotic contagion has infected all classes. Scarcely any other subject has been talked about in the streets, or in the social circle. On Thursday, of last week, warrants for the arrest of William and Ellen were issued by Judge Levi Woodbury, but no officer has yet been found ready or bold enough to serve them. In the meantime, the Vigilance Committee, appointed at the Faneuil Hall meeting, has not been idle. Their number has been increased to upwards of a hundred "good men and true," including some thirty or forty members of the bar; and they have been in constant session, devising every legal method to baffle the pursuing bloodhounds, and relieve the city of their hateful presence. On Saturday placards were posted up in all directions, announcing the arrival of these slave-hunters, and describing their persons. On the same day, Hughes and Knight were arrested on the charge of slander against William Craft. The Chronotype says, the damages being laid at $10,000; bail was demanded in the same sum, and was promptly furnished. By whom? is the question. An immense crowd was assembled in front of the Sheriff's office, while the bail matter was being arranged. The reporters were not admitted. It was only known that Watson Freeman, Esq., who once declared his readiness to hang any number of negroes remarkably cheap, came in, saying that the arrest was a shame, all a humbug, the trick of the damned abolitionists, and proclaimed his readiness to stand bail. John H. Pearson was also sent for, and came--the same John H. Pearson, merchant and Southern packet agent, who immortalized himself by sending back, on the 10th of September, 1846, in the bark Niagara, a poor fugitive slave, who came secreted in the brig Ottoman, from New Orleans--being himself judge, jury and executioner, to consign a fellow-being to a life of bondage--in obedience to the law of a slave State, and in violation of the law of his own. This same John H. Pearson, not contented with his previous infamy, was on hand. There is a story that the slave-hunters have been his table-guests also, and whether he bailed them or not, we don't know. What we know is, that soon after Pearson came out from the back room, where he and Knight and the Sheriff had been closeted, the Sheriff said that Knight was bailed--he would not say by whom. Knight being looked after, was not to be found. He had slipped out through a back door, and thus cheated the crowd of the pleasure of greeting him--possibly with that rough and ready affection which Barclay's brewers bestowed upon Haynau. The escape was very fortunate every way. Hughes and Knight have since been twice arrested and put under bonds of $10,000 (making $30,000 in all), charged with a conspiracy to kidnap and abduct William Craft, a peaceable citizen of Massachusetts, etc. Bail was entered by Hamilton Willis, of Willis & Co., 25 State street, and Patrick Riley, U.S. Deputy Marshal. The following (says the Chronotype), is a _verbatim et literatim_ copy of the letter sent by Knight to Craft, to entice him to the U.S. Hotel, in order to kidnap him. It shows, that the school-master owes Knight more "service and labor" than it is possible for Craft to: BOSTON, Oct. 22, 1850, 11 Oclk P.M. Wm. Craft--Sir--I have to leave so Eirley in the moring that I cold not call according to promis, so if you want me to carry a letter home with me, you must bring it to the United States Hotel to morrow and leave it in box 44, or come your self to morro eavening after tea and bring it. let me no if you come your self by sending a note to box 44 U.S. Hotel so that I may know whether to wate after tea or not by the Bearer. If your wife wants to see me you cold bring her with you if you come your self. JOHN KNIGHT. P.S. I shall leave for home eirley a Thursday moring. J.K. At a meeting of colored people, held in Belknap Street Church, on Friday evening, the following resolutions were unanimously adopted: _Resolved_, That God willed us free; man willed us slaves. We will as God wills; God's will be done. _Resolved_, That our oft repeated determination to resist oppression is the same now as ever, and we pledge ourselves, at all hazards, to resist unto death any attempt upon our liberties. _Resolved_, That as South Carolina seizes and imprisons colored seamen from the North, under the plea that it is to prevent insurrection and rebellion among her colored population, the authorities of this State, and city in particular, be requested to lay hold of, and put in prison, immediately, any and all fugitive slave-hunters who may be found among us, upon the same ground, and for similar reasons. Spirited addresses, of a most emphatic type, were made by Messrs. Remond, of Salem, Roberts, Nell, and Allen, of Boston, and Davis, of Plymouth. Individuals and highly respectable committees of gentlemen have repeatedly waited upon these Georgia miscreants, to persuade them to make a speedy departure from the city. After promising to do so, and repeatedly falsifying their word, it is said that they left on Wednesday afternoon, in the express train for New York, and thus (says the Chronotype), they have "gone off with their ears full of fleas, to fire the solemn word for the dissolution of the Union!" Telegraphic intelligence is received, that President Fillmore has announced his determination to sustain the Fugitive Slave Bill, at all hazards. Let him try! The fugitives, as well as the colored people generally, seem determined to carry out the spirit of the resolutions to their fullest extent. Ellen first received information that the slave-hunters from Georgia were after her through Mrs. Geo. S. Hilliard, of Boston, who had been a good friend to her from the day of her arrival from slavery. How Mrs. Hilliard obtained the information, the impression it made on Ellen, and where she was secreted, the following extract of a letter written by Mrs. Hilliard, touching the memorable event, will be found deeply interesting: "In regard to William and Ellen Craft, it is true that we received her at our house when the first warrant under the act of eighteen hundred and fifty was issued. Dr. Bowditch called upon us to say, that the warrant must be for William and Ellen, as they were the only fugitives here known to have come from Georgia, and the Dr. asked what we could do. I went to the house of the Rev. F.T. Gray, on Mt. Vernon street, where Ellen was working with Miss Dean, an upholsteress, a friend of ours, who had told us she would teach Ellen her trade. I proposed to Ellen to come and do some work for me, intending not to alarm her. My manner, which I supposed to be indifferent and calm, _betrayed_ me, and she threw herself into my arms, sobbing and weeping. She, however, recovered her composure as soon as we reached the street, and was _very firm_ ever after. My husband wished her, by all means, to be brought to our house, and to remain under his protection, saying 'I am perfectly willing to meet the penalty, should she be found here, but will never give her up.' The penalty, you remember, was six months' imprisonment and a thousand dollars fine. William Craft went, after a time, to Lewis Hayden. He was at first, as Dr. Bowditch told us, 'barricaded in his shop on Cambridge street.' I saw him there, and he said, 'Ellen must not be left at your house.' 'Why? William,' said I, 'do you think we would give her up?' 'Never,' said he, 'but Mr. Hilliard is not only our friend, but he is a U.S. Commissioner, and should Ellen be found in his house, he must resign his office, as well as incur the penalty of the law, and I will not subject a friend to such a punishment for the sake of our safety.' Was not this noble, when you think how small was the penalty that any one could receive for aiding slaves to escape, compared to the fate which threatened them in case they were captured? William C. made the same objection to having his wife taken to Mr. Ellis Gray Loring's, he also being a friend and a Commissioner." This deed of humanity and Christian charity is worthy to be commemorated and classed with the act of the good Samaritan, as the same spirit is shown in both cases. Often was Mrs. Hilliard's house an asylum for fugitive slaves. After the hunters had left the city in dismay, and the storm of excitement had partially subsided, the friends of William and Ellen concluded that they had better seek a country where they would not be in daily fear of slave-catchers, backed by the Government of the United States. They were, therefore, advised to go to Great Britain. Outfits were liberally provided for them, passages procured, and they took their departure for a habitation in a foreign land. Much might be told concerning the warm reception they met with from the friends of humanity on every hand, during a stay in England of nearly a score of years, but we feel obliged to make the following extract suffice: EXTRACT OF A LETTER FROM WM. FARMER, ESQ., OF LONDON, TO WM. LLOYD GARRISON, JUNE 26, 1851--"FUGITIVE SLAVES AT THE GREAT EXHIBITION." Fortunately, we have, at the present moment, in the British Metropolis, some specimens of what were once American "chattels personal," in the persons of William and Ellen Craft, and William W. Brown, and their friends resolved that they should be exhibited under the world's huge glass case, in order that the world might form its opinion of the alleged mental inferiority of the African race, and their fitness or unfitness for freedom. A small party of anti-slavery friends was accordingly formed to accompany the fugitives through the Exhibition. Mr. and Mrs. Estlin, of Bristol, and a lady friend, Mr. and Mrs. Richard Webb, of Dublin, and a son and daughter, Mr. McDonnell, (a most influential member of the Executive Committee of the National Reform Association--one of our unostentatious, but highly efficient workers for reform in this country, and whose public and private acts, if you were acquainted with, you would feel the same esteem and affection for him as is felt towards him by Mr. Thompson, myself and many others)--these ladies and gentlemen, together with myself, met at Mr. Thompson's house, and, in company with Mrs. Thompson, and Miss Amelia Thompson, the Crafts and Brown, proceeded from thence to the Exhibition. Saturday was selected, as a day upon which the largest number of the aristocracy and wealthy classes attend the Crystal Palace, and the company was, on this occasion, the most distinguished that had been gathered together within its walls since its opening day. Some fifteen thousand, mostly of the upper classes, were there congregated, including the Queen, Prince Albert, and the royal children, the anti-slavery Duchess of Sutherland, (by whom the fugitives were evidently favorably regarded), the Duke of Wellington, the Bishops of Winchester and St. Asaph, a large number of peers, peeresses, members of Parliament, merchants and bankers, and distinguished men from almost all parts of the world, surpassing, in variety of tongue, character and costume, the description of the population of Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost--a season of which it is hoped the Great Exhibition will prove a type, in the copious outpouring of the holy spirit of brotherly union, and the consequent diffusion, throughout the world, of the anti-slavery gospel of good will to all men. In addition to the American exhibitors, it so happened that the American visitors were particularly numerous, among whom the experienced eyes of Brown and the Crafts enabled them to detect slave-holders by dozens. Mr. McDonnell escorted Mrs. Craft, and Mrs. Thompson; Miss Thompson, at her own request, took the arm of Wm. Wells Brown, whose companion she elected to be for the day; Wm. Craft walked with Miss Amelia Thompson and myself. This arrangement was purposely made in order that there might be no appearance of patronizing the fugitives, but that it might be shown that we regarded them as our equals, and honored them for their heroic escape from Slavery. Quite contrary to the feeling of ordinary visitors, the American department was our chief attraction. Upon arriving at Powers' Greek Slave, our glorious anti-slavery friend, Punch's 'Virginia Slave' was produced. I hope you have seen this production of our great humorous moralist. It is an admirably-drawn figure of a female slave in chains, with the inscription beneath, 'The Virginia Slave, a companion for Powers' Greek Slave.' The comparison of the two soon drew a small crowd, including several Americans, around and near us. Although they refrained from any audible expression of feeling, the object of the comparison was evidently understood and keenly felt. It would not have been prudent in us to have challenged, in words, an anti-slavery discussion in the World's Convention; but everything that we could with propriety do was done to induce them to break silence upon the subject. We had no intention, verbally, of taking the initiative in such a discussion; we confined ourselves to speaking at them, in order that they might be led to speak to us; but our efforts were of no avail. The gauntlet, which was unmistakably thrown down by our party, the Americans were too wary to take up. We spoke among each other of the wrongs of Slavery; it was in vain. We discoursed freely upon the iniquity of a professedly Christian Republic holding three millions of its population in cruel and degrading bondage; you might as well have preached to the winds. Wm. Wells Brown took 'Punch's Virginia Slave' and deposited it within the enclosure by the 'Greek Slave,' saying audibly, 'As an American fugitive slave, I place this 'Virginia Slave' by the side of the 'Greek Slave,' as its most fitting companion.' Not a word, or reply, or remonstrance from Yankee or Southerner. We had not, however, proceeded many steps from the place before the 'Virginia Slave' was removed. We returned to the statue, and stood near the American by whom it had been taken up, to give him an opportunity of making any remarks he chose upon the matter. Whatever were his feelings, his policy was to keep his lips closed. If he had felt that the act was wrongful, would he not have appealed to the sense of justice of the British bystanders, who are always ready to resist an insult offered to a foreigner in this country? If it was an insult, why not resent it, as became high-spirited Americans? But no; the chivalry of the South tamely allowed itself to be plucked by the beard; the garrulity of the North permitted itself to be silenced by three fugitive slaves.... We promenaded the Exhibition between six and seven hours, and visited nearly every portion of the vast edifice. Among the thousands whom we met in our perambulations, who dreamed of any impropriety in a gentleman of character and standing, like Mr. McDonnell, walking arm-in-arm with a colored woman; or an elegant and accomplished young lady, like Miss Thompson, (daughter of the Hon. George Thompson, M.C.), becoming the promenading companion of a colored man? Did the English peers or peeresses? Not the most aristocratic among them. Did the representatives of any other country have their notions of propriety shocked by the matter? None but Americans. To see the arm of a beautiful English young lady passed through that of 'a nigger,' taking ices and other refreshments with him, upon terms of the most perfect equality, certainly was enough to 'rile,' and evidently did 'rile' the slave-holders who beheld it; but there was no help for it. Even the New York Broadway bullies would not have dared to utter a word of insult, much less lift a finger against Wm. Wells Brown, when walking with his fair companion in the World's Exhibition. It was a circumstance not to be forgotten by these Southern Bloodhounds. Probably, for the first time in their lives, they felt themselves thoroughly muzzled; they dared not even to bark, much less bite. Like the meanest curs, they had to sneak through the Crystal Palace, unnoticed and uncared for; while the victims who had been rescued from their jaws, were warmly greeted by visitors from all parts of the country. * * * * * Brown and the Crafts have paid several other visits to the Great Exhibition, in one of which, Wm. Craft succeeded in getting some Southerners "out" upon the Fugitive Slave Bill, respecting which a discussion was held between them in the American department. Finding themselves worsted at every point, they were compelled to have recourse to lying, and unblushingly denied that the bill contained the provisions which Craft alleged it did. Craft took care to inform them who and what he was. He told them that there had been too much information upon that measure diffused in England for lying to conceal them. He has subsequently met the same parties, who, with contemptible hypocrisy, treated "the nigger" with great respect. In England the Crafts were highly respected. While under her British Majesty's protection, Ellen became the mother of several children, (having had none under the stars and stripes). These they spared no pains in educating for usefulness in the world. Some two years since William and Ellen returned with two of their children to the United States, and after visiting Boston and other places, William concluded to visit Georgia, his old home, with a view of seeing what inducement war had opened up to enterprise, as he had felt a desire to remove his family thither, if encouraged. Indeed he was prepared to purchase a plantation, if he found matters satisfactory. This visit evidently furnished the needed encouragement, judging from the fact that he did purchase a plantation somewhere in the neighborhood of Savannah, and is at present living there with his family. The portraits of William and Ellen represent them at the present stage of life, (as citizens of the U.S.)--of course they have greatly changed in appearance from what they were when they first fled from Georgia. Obviously the Fugitive Slave Law in its crusade against William and Ellen Craft, reaped no advantages, but on the contrary, liberty was greatly the gainer. * * * * * ARRIVALS FROM RICHMOND. LEWIS COBB AND NANCY BRISTER. No one Southern city furnished a larger number of brave, wide-awake and likely-looking Underground Rail Road passengers than the city of Richmond. Lewis and Nancy were fair specimens of the class of travelers coming from that city. Lewis was described as a light yellow man, medium size, good-looking, and intelligent. In referring to bondage, he spoke with great earnestness, and in language very easily understood; especially when speaking of Samuel Myers, from whom he escaped, he did not hesitate to give him the character of being a very hard man, who was never satisfied, no matter how hard the slaves might try to please him. Myers was engaged in the commission and forwarding business, and was a man of some standing in Richmond. From him Lewis had received very severe floggings, the remembrance of which he would not only carry with him to Canada, but to the grave. It was owing to abuse of this kind that he was awakened to look for a residence under the protection of the British Lion. For eight months he longed to get away, and had no rest until he found himself on the Underground Rail Road. His master was a member of the Century Methodist Church, as was also his wife and family; but Lewis thought that they were strangers to practical Christianity, judging from the manner that the slaves were treated by both master and mistress. Lewis was a Baptist, and belonged to the second church. Twelve hundred dollars had been offered for him. He left his father (Judville), and his brother, John Harris, both slaves. In view of his prospects in Canada, Lewis' soul overflowed with pleasing anticipations of freedom, and the Committee felt great satisfaction in assisting him. Nancy was also from Richmond, and came in the same boat with Lewis. She represented the most "likely-looking female bond servants." Indeed her appearance recommended her at once. She was neat, modest, and well-behaved--with a good figure and the picture of health, with a countenance beaming with joy and gladness, notwithstanding the late struggles and sufferings through which she had passed. Young as she was, she had seen much of slavery, and had, doubtless, profited by the lessons thereof. At all events, it was through cruel treatment, having been frequently beaten after she had passed her eighteenth year, that she was prompted to seek freedom. It was so common for her mistress to give way to unbridled passions that Nancy never felt safe. Under the severest infliction of punishment she was not allowed to complain. Neither from mistress nor master had she any reason to expect mercy or leniency--indeed she saw no way of escape but by the Underground Rail Road. It was true that the master, Mr. William Bears, was a Yankee from Connecticut, and his wife a member of the Episcopal Church, but Nancy's yoke seemed none the lighter for all that. Fully persuaded that she would never find her lot any better while remaining in their hands, she accepted the advice and aid of a young man to whom she was engaged; he was shrewd enough to find an agent in Richmond, with whom he entered into a covenant to have Nancy brought away. With a cheerful heart the journey was undertaken in the manner aforesaid, and she safely reached the Committee. Her mother, one brother and a sister she had to leave in Richmond. One thousand dollars were lost in the departure of Nancy. Having been accommodated and aided by the Committee, they were forwarded to Canada. Lewis wrote back repeatedly and expressed himself very gratefully for favors received, as will be seen by the appended letters from him: TORONTO, April 25, 1857. To MR. WM. STILL--Dear Sir:--I take this opportunity of addressing these few lines to inform you that I am well and hope that they may find you and your family enjoying the same good health. Please to give my love to you and your family. I had a very pleasant trip from your house that morning. Dear sir, you would oblige me much, if you have not sent that box to Mr. Robinson, to open it and take out the little yellow box that I tied up in the large one and send it on by express to me in Toronto. Lift up a few of the things and you will find it near the top. All the clothes that I have are in that box and I stand in need of them. You would oblige me much by so doing. I stopped at Mr. Jones' in Elmira, and was very well treated by him while there. I am now in Toronto and doing very well at present. I am very thankful to you and your family for the attention you paid to me while at your house. I wish you would see Mr. Ormsted and ask him if he has not some things for Mr. Anthony Loney, and if he has, please send them on with my things, as we are both living together at this time. Give my love to Mr. Anthony, also to Mr. Ormsted and family. Dear sir, we both would be very glad for you to attend to this, as we both do stand very much in need of them at this time. Dear sir, you will oblige me by giving my love to Miss Frances Watkins, and as she said she hoped to be out in the summer, I should like to see her. I have met with a gentleman here by the name of Mr. Truehart, and he sends his best love to you and your family. Mr. Truehart desires to know whether you received the letter he sent to you, and if so, answer it as soon as possible. Please answer this letter as soon as possible. I must now come to a close by saying that I remain your beloved friend, LEWIS COBB. The young man who was there that morning, Mr. Robinson, got married to that young lady. TORONTO, June 2d, 1857. To MR. WM. STILL--Dear Sir:--I received yours dated May 6th, and was extremely happy to hear from you. You may be surprised that I have not answered you before this, but it was on account of not knowing anything concerning the letter being in the post-office until I was told so by a friend. The box, of which I had been inquiring, I have received, and am infinitely obliged to you for sending it. Mr. and Mrs. Renson are living in Hamilton, C.W. They send their best love to you and your family. I am at present residing in Toronto, C.W. Mr. Anthony Loney has gone on to Boston, and is desirous of my coming on to him; and as I have many acquaintances there, I should like to know from you whether it would be advisable or not. Give, if you please, my best love to your family and accept the same for yourself, and also to Mr. James Ormsted and family. Tell James Ormsted I would be glad if he would send me a pair of thick, heavy boots, for it rains and hails as often out here in the summer, as it does there in the winter. Tell him to send No. 9, and anything he thinks will do me good in this cold country. Please to give to Mr. James Ormsted to give to Mr. Robert Seldon, and tell him to give it to my father. Mr. and Mrs. Truehart send their love to you and your family. If the gentleman, Mr. R.S., is not running on the boat now, you can give directions to Ludwill Cobb, in care of Mr. R. Seldon, Richmond, Va. Tell Mr. Ormsted not to forget my boots and send them by express. No more at present, but remain yours very truly, Please write soon. LEWIS COBB. * * * * * PASSENGERS FROM NORTH CAROLINA. [BY SCHOONER.] MAJOR LATHAM, WILLIAM WILSON, HENRY GORHAM, WILEY MADDISON, AND ANDREW SHEPHERD. The above named passengers were delivered into the hands of Thomas Garrett by the Captain who brought them, and were aided and forwarded to the Committee in Philadelphia, as indicated by the subjoined letter: WILMINGTON, 11th mo., 6th, 1856. RESPECTED FRIEND:--WILLIAM STILL:--Thine of yesterday, came to hand this morning, advising me to forward those four men to thee, which I propose to send from here in the steam boat, at two o'clock, P.M. to day to thy care; one of them thinks he has a brother and cousin in New Bedford, and is anxious to get to them, the others thee can do what thee thinks best with, after consulting with them, we have rigged them up pretty comfortably with clothes, and I have paid for their passage to Philadelphia, and also for the passage of their pilot there and back; he proposed to ask thee for three dollars, for the three days time he lost with them, but that we will raise here for him, as one of them expects to have some money brought from Carolina soon, that belongs to him, and wants thee when they are fixed, to let me know so that I may forward it to them. I will give each of them a card of our firm. Hoping they may get along safe, I remain as ever, thy sincere friend, THOS. GARRETT. The passengers by this arrival were above the ordinary plantation or farm hand slave, as will appear from a glance at their condition under the yoke. Major Latham was forty-four years of age, mulatto, very resolute, with good natural abilities, and a decided hater of slavery. John Latham was the man whom he addressed as "master," which was a very bitter pill for him to swallow. He had been married twice, and at the time of his escape he was the husband of two wives. The first one, with their three children, in consequence of changes incident to slave life, was sold a long distance from her old home and husband, thereby ending the privilege of living together; he could think of them, but that was all; he was compelled to give them up altogether. After a time he took to himself another wife, with whom he lived several years. Three more children owned him as father--the result of this marriage. During his entire manhood Major had been brutally treated by his master, which caused him a great deal of anguish and trouble of mind. Only a few weeks before he escaped, his master, in one of his fits of passion, flogged him most cruelly. From that time the resolution was permanently grounded in his mind to find the way to freedom, if possible, before many more weeks had passed. Day and night he studied, worked and planned, with freedom uppermost in his mind. The hour of hope arrived and with it Captain F. William, a fellow-passenger with Major, was forty-two years of age, just in the prime of life, and represented the mechanics in chains, being a blacksmith by trade. Dr. Thomas Warren, who followed farming in the neighborhood of Eatontown, was the owner of William. In speaking of his slave life William said: "I was sold four times; twice I was separated from my wives. I was separated from one of my wives when living in Portsmouth, Virginia," etc. In his simple manner of describing the trials he had been called upon to endure, it was not to be wondered at that he was willing to forsake all and run fearful risks in order to rid himself not only of the "load on his back," but the load on his heart. By the very positive character of William's testimony against slavery, the Committee felt more than ever justified in encouraging the Underground Rail Road. Henry Gorham was thirty-four years of age, a "prime," heavy, dark, smart, "article," and a good carpenter. He admitted that he had never felt the lash on his back, but, nevertheless, he had felt deeply on the subject of slavery. For years the chief concern with him was as to how he could safely reach a free State. Slavery he hated with a perfect hatred. To die in the woods, live in a cave, or sacrifice himself in some way, he was bound to do, rather than remain a slave. The more he reflected over his condition the more determined he grew to seek his freedom. Accordingly he left and went to the woods; there he prepared himself a cave and resolved to live and die in it rather than return to bondage. Before he found his way out of the prison-house eleven months elapsed. His strong impulse for freedom, and intense aversion to slavery, sustained him until he found an opportunity to escape by the Underground Rail Road. One of the tried Agents of the Underground Rail Road was alone cognizant of his dwelling in the cave, and regarding him as a tolerably safe passenger (having been so long secreted), secured him a passage on the schooner, and thus he was fortunately relieved from his eleven months' residence in his den. No rhetoric or fine scholarship was needed in his case to make his story interesting. None but hearts of stone could have listened without emotion. Andrew, another fellow-passenger, was twenty-six years of age, and a decidedly inviting-looking specimen of the peculiar institution. He filled the situation of an engineer. He, with his wife and one child, belonged to a small orphan girl, who lived at South End, Camden county, N.C. His wife and child had to be left behind. While it seemed very hard for a husband thus to leave his wife, every one that did so weakened slavery and encouraged and strengthened anti-slavery. Numbered with these four North Carolina passengers is found the name of Wiley Maddison, a young man nineteen years of age, who escaped from Petersburg on the cars as a white man. He was of promising appearance, and found no difficulty whatever on the road. With the rest, however, he concluded himself hardly safe this side of Canada, and it afforded the Committee special pleasure to help them all. THOMAS CLINTON, SAUNEY PRY AND BENJAMIN DUCKET. PASSED OVER THE U.G.R.R., IN THE FALL OF 1856. Thomas escaped from Baltimore. He described the man from whom he fled as a "rum drinker" of some note, by the name of Benjamin Walmsly, and he testified that under him he was neither "half fed nor clothed," in consequence of which he was dissatisfied, and fled to better his condition. Luckily Thomas succeeded in making his escape when about twenty-one years of age. His appearance and smartness indicated resolution and gave promise of future success. He was well made and of a chestnut color. Sauney Pry came from Loudon Co., Va. He had been one of the "well-cared for," on the farm of Nathan Clapton, who owned some sixty or seventy slaves. Upon inquiry as to the treatment and character of his master, Sauney unhesitatingly described him as a "very mean, swearing, blustering man, as hard as any that could be started." It was on this account that he was prompted to turn his face against Virginia and to venture on the Underground Rail Road. Sauney was twenty-seven years of age, chestnut color, medium size, and in intellect was at least up to the average. Benjamin Ducket came from Bell Mountain, Prince George's Co., Maryland. He stated to the Committee that he escaped from one Sicke Perry, a farmer. Of his particular master he spoke thus: "He was one of the baddest men about Prince George; he would both fight and kill up." These characteristics of the master developed in Ben very strong desires to get beyond his reach. In fact, his master's conduct was the sole cause of his seeking the Underground Rail Road. At the time that he came to Philadelphia, he was recorded as twenty-three years of age, chestnut color, medium size, and wide awake. He left his father, mother, two brothers, and three sisters, owned by Marcus Devoe. About the same time that the passengers just described received succor, Elizabeth Lambert, with three children, reached the Committee. The names of the children were, Mary, Horace, and William Henry, quite marketable-looking articles. They fled from Middletown, Delaware, where they had been owned by Andrew Peterson. The poor mother's excuse for leaving her "comfortable home, free board, and kind-hearted master and mistress," was simply because she was tired of such "kindness," and was, therefore, willing to suffer in order to get away from it. Hill Jones, a lad of eighteen, accompanied Elizabeth with her children from Middletown. He had seen enough of Slavery to satisfy him that he could never relish it. His owner was known by the name of John Cochran, and followed farming. He was of a chestnut color, and well-grown. ARRIVALS IN APRIL, 1856. CHARLES HALL, JAMES JOHNSON, CHARLES CARTER, GEORGE, AND JOHN LOGAN, JAMES HENRY WATSON, ZEBULON GREEN, LEWIS, AND PETER BURRELL, WILLIAM WILLIAMS, AND HIS WIFE--HARRIET TUBMAN, WITH FOUR PASSENGERS. Charles Hall. This individual was from Maryland, Baltimore Co., where "black men had no rights which white men were bound to respect," according to the decision of the late Chief Justice Taney of the Supreme Court of the United States. Charles was owned by Atwood A. Blunt, a farmer, much of whose time was devoted to card playing, rum-drinking and fox-hunting, so Charles stated. Charles gave him the credit of being as mild a specimen of a slaveholder as that region of country could claim when in a sober mood, but when drunk every thing went wrong with him, nothing could satisfy him. Charles testified, however, that the despotism of his mistress was much worse than that of his master, for she was all the time hard on the slaves. Latterly he had heard much talk about selling, and, believing that matters would soon have to come to that, he concluded to seek a place where colored men had rights, in Canada. James Johnson. James fled from Deer Creek, Harford Co., Md., where he was owned by William Rautty. "Jim's" hour had come. Within one day of the time fixed for his sale, he was handcuffed, and it was evidently supposed that he was secure. Trembling at his impending doom he resolved to escape if possible. He could not rid himself of the handcuffs. Could he have done so, he was persuaded that he might manage to make his way along safely. He resolved to make an effort with the handcuffs on. With resolution his freedom was secured. What Master Rautty said when he found his property gone with the handcuffs, we know not. The next day after Jim arrived, Charles Carter, George and John Logan came to hand. Charles had been under the yoke in the city of Richmond, held to service by Daniel Delaplain, a flour inspector. Charles was hired out by the flour inspector for as much as he could command for him, for being a devoted lover of money, ordinary wages hardly ever satisfied him. In other respects Charles spoke of his master rather favorably in comparison with slaveholders generally. A thirty years' apprenticeship as a slave had not, however, won him over to the love of the system; he had long since been convinced that it was nonsense to suppose that such a thing as happiness could be found even under the best of masters. He claimed to have a wife and four little children living in Alexandria Va.; the name of the wife was Lucinda. In the estimation of slave-holders, the fact of Charles having a family might have offered no cause for unhappiness, but Charles felt differently in relation to the matter. Again, for reasons best known to the owner, he talked of selling Charles. On this point Charles also felt quite nervous, so he began to think that he had better make an attempt to get beyond the reach of buyers and sellers. He knew that many others similarly situated had got out of bondage simply by hard struggling, and he felt that he could do likewise. When he had thus determined the object was half accomplished. True, every step that he should take was liable to bring trouble upon himself, yet with the hope of freedom buoying him up he resolved to run the risk. Charles was about thirty years of age, likely-looking, well made, intelligent, and a mulatto. George was twenty-three years of age, quite dark, medium size, and bore the marks of a man of considerable pluck. He was the slave of Mrs. Jane Coultson. No special complaint of her is recorded on the book. She might have been a very good mistress, but George was not a very happy and contented piece of property, as was proved by his course in escaping. The cold North had many more charms for him than the sunny South. John has been already described in the person of his brother George. He was not, however, the property of Mrs. Coultson, but was owned by Miss Cox, near Little Georgetown, Berkeley Co., Va. These three individuals were held as slaves by that class of slave-holders, known in the South as the most kind-hearted and indulgent, yet they seemed just as much delighted with the prospects of freedom as any other passengers. The next day following the arrival of the party just noticed James Henry Watson reached the Committee. He was in good condition, the spring weather having been favorable, and the journey made without any serious difficulty. He was from Snowhill, Worcester county, Md., and had escaped from James Purnell, a farmer of whom he did not speak very favorably. Yet James admitted that his master was not as hard on his slaves as some others. For the benefit of James' kinsfolk, who may still perchance be making searches for him, not having yet learned whither he went or what became of him, we copy the following paragraph as entered on our book April 11th, 1856: James Henry is twenty years of age, dark, well-made, modest, and seems fearful of apprehension; was moved to escape in order to obtain his freedom. He had heard of others who had run away and thus secured their freedom; he thought he could do the same. He left his father, mother, three brothers and five sisters owned by Purnell. His father's name was Ephraim, his mother's name Mahala. The names of his sisters and brothers were as follows: Hetty, Betsy, Dinah, Catharine and Harriet; Homer, William and James. Zebulon Green was the next traveler. He arrived from Duck Creek, Md. John Appleton, a farmer, was chargeable with having deprived Zeb of his rights. But, as Zeb was only about eighteen years of age when he made his exit, Mr. Appleton did not get much the start of him. In answer to the question as to the cause of his escape, he replied "bad usage." He was smart, and quite dark. In traveling, he changed his name to Samuel Hill. The Committee endeavored to impress him thoroughly, with the idea that he could do much good in the world for himself and fellow-men, by using his best endeavors to acquire education, etc., and forwarded him on to Canada. Lewis Burrell and his brother Peter arrived safely from Alexandria, Virginia, April 21, 1856. Lewis had been owned by Edward M. Clark, Peter by Benjamin Johnson Hall. These passengers seemed to be well posted in regard to Slavery, and understood full well their responsibilities in fleeing from "kind-hearted" masters. All they feared was that they might not reach Canada safely, although they were pretty hopeful and quite resolute. Lewis left a wife, Winna Ann, and two children, Joseph and Mary, who were owned by Pembroke Thomas, at Culpepper, Va., nearly a hundred miles distant from him. Once or twice in the year, was the privilege allowed him to visit his wife and little ones at this long distance. This separation constituted his daily grief and was the cause of his escape. Lewis and Peter left their father and mother in bondage, also one brother (Reuben), and three sisters, two of whom had been sold far South. After a sojourn in freedom of nearly three years, Lewis wrote on behalf of his wife as follows: TORONTO, C.W., Feb. 2, 1859. MR. WM. STILL: DEAR SIR:--It have bin two years since I war at your house, at that time I war on my way to cannadia, and I tould you that I had a wife and had to leave her behind, and you promiest me that you would healp me to gait hir if I ever heaird from hir, and I think my dear frend, that the time is come for me to strick the blow, will you healp me, according to your promis. I recived a letter from a frend in Washington last night and he says that my wife is in the city of Baltimore, and she will come away if she can find a frend to healp hir, so I thought I would writ to you as you are acquanted with foulks theare to howm you can trust with such matthas. I could write to Mr Noah davis in Baltimore, who is well acquanted with my wife, but I do not think that he is a trew frend, and I could writ to Mr Samual Maden in the same city, but I am afread that a letter coming from cannada might be dedteced, but if you will writ to soume one that you know, and gait them to see Mr Samual Maden he will give all the information that you want, as he is acquanted with my wife, he is a preacher and belongs to the Baptis church. My wifes name is Winne Ann Berrell, and she is oned by one Dr. Tarns who is on a viset to Baltimore, now Mr Still will you attend to this thing for me, fourthwith, if you will I will pay you four your truble, if we can dow any thing it must be don now, as she will leave theare in the spring, and if you will take the matter in hand, you mous writ me on to reseption of this letter, whether you will or not. Yours truly, LEWIS BURRELL. No. 49 Victoria St., Toronto, C.W. As in the case of many others, the way was so completely blocked that nothing could be done for the wife's deliverance. Until the day when the millions of fetters were broken, nothing gave so much pain to husbands and wives as these heart-breaking separations. William Williams and his wife were the next who arrived. They came from Haven Manor, Md. They had been owned by John Peak, by whom, according to their report, they had been badly treated, and the Committee had no reason to doubt their testimony. The next arrival numbered four passengers, and came under the guidance of "Moses" (Harriet Tubman), from Maryland. They were adults, looking as though they could take care of themselves very easily, although they had the marks of Slavery on them. It was no easy matter for men and women who had been ground down all their lives, to appear as though they had been enjoying freedom. Indeed, the only wonder was that so many appeared to as good advantage as they did, after having been crushed down so long. The paucity of the narratives in the month of April, is quite noticeable. Why fuller reports were not written out, cannot now be accounted for; probably the feeling existed that it was useless to write out narratives, except in cases of very special interest. * * * * * FIVE FROM GEORGETOWN CROSS ROADS. MOTHER AND CHILD FROM NORFOLK, VA., ETC. ABE FINEER, SAM DAVIS, HENRY SAUNDERS, WM. HENRY THOMPSON and THOMAS PARKER arrived safely from the above named place. Upon inquiry, the following information was gleaned from them. Abe spoke with feelings of some bitterness of a farmer known by the name of George Spencer, who had deprived him of the hard earnings of his hands. Furthermore, he had worked him hard, stinted him for food and clothing and had been in the habit of flogging him whenever he felt like it. In addition to the above charges, Abe did not hesitate to say that his master meddled too much with the bottle, in consequence of which, he was often in a "top-heavy" state. Abe said, however, that he was rich and stood pretty high in the neighborhood--stinting, flogging and drinking were no great disadvantages to a man in Georgetown, Maryland. Abe was twenty-three years of age, pure black, ordinary size, and spirited, a thorough convert to the doctrine that all men are born free, and although he had been held in bondage up to the hour of his escape, he gave much reason for believing that he would not be an easy subject to manage under the yoke, if ever captured and carried back. Sam was about thirty years of age, genuine black, common size, and a hater of slavery; he was prepared to show, by the scars he bore about his person, why he talked as he did. Forever will he remember James Hurst, his so-called master, who was a very blustering man oft-times, and in the habit of abusing his slaves. Sam was led to seek the Underground Rail Road, in order to get rid of his master and, at the same time, to do better for himself than he could possibly do in Slavery. He had to leave his wife, Phillis, and one child. William Henry was about twenty-four years of age, and of a chestnut color. He too talked of slave-holders, and his master in particular, just as any man would talk who had been shamefully robbed and wronged all his life. Tom, likewise, told the same story, and although they used the corn-field vernacular, they were in earnest and possessed an abundance of mother-wit, so that their testimony was not to be made light of. The following letter from Thomas Garrett speaks for itself: WILMINGTON, 5 mo. 11th, 1856. ESTEEMED FRIENDS--McKim and Still:--I purpose sending to-morrow morning by the steamboat a woman and child, whose husband, I think, went some nine months previous to New Bedford. She was furnished with a free passage by the same line her husband came in. She has been away from the person claiming to be her master some five months; we, therefore, think there cannot be much risk at present. Those four I wrote thee about arrived safe up in the neighborhood of Longwood, and Harriet Tubman followed after in the stage yesterday. I shall expect five more from the same neighborhood next trip. Captain Lambdin is desirous of having sent him a book, or books, with the strongest arguments of the noted men of the South against the institution of slavery, as he wishes to prepare to defend himself, as he has little confidence in his attorney. Cannot you send to me something that will be of benefit to him, or send it direct to him? Would not W. Goodell's book be of use? His friends here think there is no chance for him but to go to the penitentiary. They now refuse to let any one but his attorney see him. As ever your friend, THOS. GARRETT. The woman and child alluded to were received and noted on the record book as follows: Winnie Patty, and her daughter, Elizabeth, arrived safely from Norfolk, Va. The mother is about twenty-two years of age, good-looking and of chestnut color, smart and brave. From the latter part of October, 1855, to the latter part of March, 1856, this young slave mother, with her child, was secreted under the floor of a house. The house was occupied by a slave family, friends of Winnie. During the cold winter weather she suffered severely from wet and cold, getting considerably frosted, but her faith failed not, even in the hour of greatest extremity. She chose rather to suffer thus than endure slavery any longer, especially as she was aware that the auction-block awaited her. She had already been sold three times; she knew therefore what it was to be sold. Jacob Shuster was the name of the man whom she spoke of as her tormentor and master, and from whom she fled. He had been engaged in the farming business, and had owned quite a large number of slaves, but from time to time he had been selling off, until he had reduced his stock considerably. Captain Lambdin, spoken of in Thomas Garrett's letter, had, in the kindness of his heart, brought away in his schooner some Underground Rail Road passengers, but unfortunately he was arrested and thrust into prison in Norfolk, Va., to await trial. Having no confidence in his attorney there he found that he would have to defend himself as best he could, consequently he wanted books, etc. He was in the attitude of a drowning man catching at a straw. The Committee was powerless to aid him, except with some money; as the books that he desired had but little effect in the lions' den, in which he was. He had his trial, and was sent to the penitentiary, of course. ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, living in Rockville. Montgomery county, Md., on Saturday, 31st of May last, NEGRO MAN, ALFRED, about twenty-two years of age; five feet seven inches high; dark copper color, and rather good looking. [Illustration: ] He had on when he left a dark blue and green plaid frock coat, of cloth, and lighter colored plaid pantaloons. I will give the above reward if taken out of the county, and in any of the States, or fifty dollars if taken in the county or the District of Columbia, and secured so that I get him again. JOHN W. ANDERSON. j6-1wW2. A man calling himself Alfred Homer, answering to the above description, came to the Vigilance Committee in June, 1856. As a memorial we transferred the advertisement of John W. Anderson to our record book, and concluded to let that suffice. Alfred, however, gave a full description of his master's character, and the motives which impelled him to seek his freedom. He was listened to attentively, but his story was not entered on the book. * * * * * PASSENGERS FROM MARYLAND, 1857. WILLIAM HENRY MOODY, BELINDA BIVANS, ETC. William was about twenty years of age, black, usual size, and a lover of liberty. He had heard of Canada, had formed a very favorable opinion of the country and was very desirous of seeing it. The man who had habitually robbed him of his hire, was a "stout-built, ill-natured man," a farmer, by the name of William Hyson. To meet the expenses of an extensive building enterprise which he had undertaken, it was apparent that Hyson would have to sell some of his property. William and some six others of the servants got wind of the fact that they would stand a chance of being in the market soon. Not relishing the idea of going further South they unanimously resolved to emigrate to Canada. Accordingly they borrowed a horse from Dr. Wise, and another from H.K. Tice, and a carriage from F.J. Posey, and Joseph P. Mong's buggy (so it was stated in the Baltimore Sun, of May 27th), and off they started for the promised land. The horses and carriages were all captured at Chambersburg, a day or two after they set out, but the rest of the property hurried on to the Committee. How Mr. Hyson raised the money to carry out his enterprise, William and his "ungrateful" fellow-servants seemed not to be concerned. Belinda Bivans. Belinda was a large woman, thirty years of age, wholly black, and fled from Mr. Hyson, in company with William, and those above referred to, with the idea of reaching Canada, whither her father had fled eight years before. She was evidently pleased with the idea of getting away from her ill-natured mistress, from poor fare and hard work without pay. She had experienced much hardship, and had become weary of her trial in bondage. She had been married, but her husband had died, leaving her with two little girls to care for, both of whom she succeeded in bringing away with her. In reference to the church relations of her master and mistress, she represented the former as a backslider, and added that money was his church; of the latter she said, "she would go and take the sacrament, come back and the old boy would be in her as big as a horse." Belinda could see but little difference between her master and mistress. Joseph Winston. In the Richmond Dispatch, of June 9th, the following advertisement was found: ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, RUNAWAY.--$200 REWARD will be given if taken in the state, and $500 if taken out of the state. [Illustration: ] Run away, my negro boy JOE, sometimes called JOE WINSTON; about 23 years old, a little over 5 feet high, rather stout-built, dark ginger-bread color, small moustache, stammers badly when confused or spoken to, took along two or three suits of clothes, one a blue dress coat with brass buttons, black pants, and patent leather shoes, white hat, silver watch with gold chain; was last seen in this city on Tuesday last, had a pass to Hanover county, and supposed to be making his way towards York River, for the purpose of getting on board some coasting vessel. SAMUEL ELLIS. The passenger above described reached the Underground Rail Road station, June 6th, 1857. "Why did you leave your master?" said a member of the Committee to Joe. "I left because there was no enjoyment in slavery for colored people." After stating how the slaves were treated he added, "I was working all the time for master and he was receiving all my money for my daily labor." "What business did your master follow?" inquired the Committee. "He was a carpenter by trade." "What kind of a looking man was he?" again inquired the Committee. "He was a large, stout man, don't swear, but lies and cheats." Joe admitted that he had been treated very well all his life, with the exception of being deprived of his freedom. For eight years prior to his escape he had been hired out, a part of the time as porter in a grocery store, the remainder as bar-tender in a saloon. At the time of his escape he was worth twenty-two dollars per month to his master. Joe had to do overwork and thus procure clothing for himself. When a small boy he resolved, that he never would work all his days as a slave for the white people. As he advanced in years his desire for freedom increased. An offer of fifteen hundred dollars was made for Joe, so he was informed a short time before he escaped; this caused him to move promptly in the matter of carrying out his designs touching liberty. His parents and three brothers, slaves, were to be left; but when the decisive hour came he was equal to the emergency. In company with William Naylor secreted in a vessel, he was brought away and delivered to the Committee for aid and counsel, which he received, and thus ended his bondage. The reward offered by his master, Samuel Ellis, proved of no avail. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. William Scott. William was about twenty-four years of age, well made, though not very heavy--stammered considerably when speaking--wide awake and sensible nevertheless. For two years the fear of being sold had not been out of his mind. To meet a security agreement, which had been contracted by his mistress--about which a law-suit had been pending for two years--was what he feared he should be sold for. About the first of May he found himself in the hands of the sheriff. On being taken to Stafford Court-House Jail, however, the sheriff permitted him to walk a "little ways." It occurred to William that then was his only chance to strike for freedom and Canada, at all hazards. He soon decided the matter, and the sheriff saw no more of him. Susan Fox was the name of the person he was compelled to call mistress. She was described as a "large, portly woman, very gross, with a tolerably severe temper, at times." William's mother and one of his brothers had been sold by this woman--an outrage to be forever remembered. His grandmother, one sister, with two children, and a cousin with five children, all attached by the sheriff, for sale, were left in the hands of his mistress. He was married the previous Christmas, but in the trying hour could do nothing for his wife, but leave her to the mercy of slave-holders. The name of the sheriff that he outgeneralled was Walter Cox. William was valued at $1,000. Perhaps, after all, but few appreciated the sorrow that must have filled the hearts of most of those who escaped. Though they succeeded in gaining their own liberty--they were not insensible to the oppression of their friends and relatives left in bondage. On reaching Canada and tasting the sweets of freedom, the thought of dear friends in bondage must have been acutely painful. William had many perils to encounter. On one occasion he was hotly chased, but proved too fleet-footed for his pursuers. At another time, when straitened, he attempted to swim a river, but failed. His faith remained strong, nevertheless, and he succeeded in reaching the Committee. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM WASHINGTON, D.C., etc., 1857. GEORGE CARROLL, RANDOLPH BRANSON, JOHN CLAGART, AND WILLIAM ROYAN. These four journeyed from "Egypt" together--but did not leave the same "kind protector." George was a full black, ordinary size, twenty-four years of age, and a convert to the doctrine that he had a right to himself. For years the idea of escape had been daily cherished. Five times he had proposed to buy himself, but failed to get the consent of his "master," who was a merchant, C.C. Hirara, a man about sixty years of age, and a member of the Methodist Church. His property in slaves consisted of two men, two women, two girls and a boy. Three of George's brothers escaped to Canada many years prior to his leaving--there he hoped on his arrival to find them in the possession of good farms. $1,300 walked off in the person of George. Randolph, physically, was a superior man. He was thirty-one years of age and of a dark chestnut color. Weary with bondage he came to the conclusion that he had served a master long enough "without privileges." Against his master, Richard Reed, he had no hard things to say, however. He was not a "crabbed, cross man"--had but "little to say," but "didn't believe in freedom." Three of his brothers had been sold South. Left his father, two sisters and one brother. Randolph was worth probably $1,700. John was a well-made yellow man, twenty-two years of age, who had counted the cost of slavery thoroughly, besides having experienced the effects of it. Accordingly he resolved to "be free or die," "to kill or be killed, in trying to reach free land somewhere!" Having "always been hired out amongst very hard white people," he was "unhappy." His owner, George Coleman, lived near Fairfax, Va., and was a member of the Methodist Church, but in his ways was "very sly," and "deadly against anything like Freedom." He held fifteen of his fellow-men in chains. For John's hire he received one hundred and fifty dollars a year. He was, therefore, ranked with first-class "stock," valued at $1,500. William was about thirty-five years of age, neat, and pleasing in his manners. He would be the first selected in a crowd by a gentleman or a lady, who might want a very neat-looking man to attend to household affairs. Though he considered Captain Cunningham, his master, a "tolerable fair man," he was not content to be robbed of his liberty and earnings. As he felt that he "could take care of himself," he decided to let the Captain have the same chance--and so he steered his course straight for Canada. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM UNIONVILLE, 1857. ISRAEL TODD, AND BAZIL ALDRIDGE. Israel was twenty-three years of age, yellow, tall, well made and intelligent. He fled from Frederick county, Md. Through the sweat of his brow, Dr. Greenberry Sappington and his family had been living at ease. The doctor was a Catholic, owning only one other, and was said to be a man of "right disposition." His wife, however, was "so mean that nobody could stay with her." Israel was prompted to escape to save his wife, (had lately been married) and her brother from being sold south. His detestation of slavery in every shape was very decided. He was a valuable man, worth to a trader fifteen hundred dollars, perhaps. Bazil was only seventeen years of age. About as near a kin to the "white folks" as to the colored people, and about as strong an opponent of slavery as any "Saxon" going of his age. He was a brother-in-law of Israel, and accompanied him on the Underground Rail Road. Bazil was held to service or labor by Thornton Pool, a store-keeper, and also farmer, and at the same time an ardent lover of the "cretur," so much so that "he kept about half-drunk all the time." So Bazil affirmed. The good spirit moved two of Bazil's brothers to escape the spring before. A few months afterwards a brother and sister were sold south. To manage the matter smoothly, previous to selling them, the master pretended that he was "only going to hire them out a short distance from home." But instead of doing so he sold them south. Bazil might be put down at nine hundred dollars. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1857. ORDEE LEE, AND RICHARD J. BOOCE. Both of these passengers came from Maryland. Ordee was about thirty-five years of age, gingerbread color, well made, and intelligent. Being allowed no chances to make anything for himself, was the excuse offered for his escape. Though, as will appear presently, other causes also helped to make him hate his oppression. The man who had daily robbed him, and compelled him to call him master, was a notorious "gambler," by the name of Elijah Thompson, residing in Maryland. "By his bad habits he had run through with his property, though in society he stood pretty tolerably high amongst some people; then again some didn't like him, he was a mean man, all for himself. He was a man that didn't care anything about his servants, except to get work out of them. When he came where the servants were working, he would snap and bite at them and if he said anything at all, it was to hurry the work on." "He never gave me," said Ordee, "a half a dollar in his life. Didn't more than half feed, said that meat and fish was too high to eat. As for clothing, he never gave me a new hat for every day, nor a Sunday rag in his life." Of his mistress, he said, "She was stingy and close,--made him (his master) worse than what he would have been." Two of his brothers were sold to Georgia, and his uncle was cheated out of his freedom. Left three brothers and two sisters in chains. Elijah Thompson had at least fifteen hundred dollars less to sport upon by this bold step on the part of Ordee. Richard was about twenty-two years of age, well grown, and a very likely-looking article, of a chestnut color, with more than common intelligence for a slave. His complaints were that he had been treated "bad," allowed "no privileges" to make anything, allowed "no Sunday clothing," &c. So he left the portly-looking Dr. Hughes, with no feeling of indebtedness or regret. And as to his "cross and ill-natured" mistress, with her four children, they might whistle for his services and support. His master had, however, some eighteen or twenty others to rob for the support of himself and family, so they were in no great danger of starving. "Would your owner be apt to pursue you?" said a member of the Committee. "I don't think he will. He was after two uncles of mine, one time, saw them, and talked with them, but was made to run." Richard left behind his mother, step-father, two sisters, and one brother. As a slave, he would have been considered cheap at sixteen hundred dollars. He was a fine specimen. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM CAMBRIDGE, 1857. Silas Long and Solomon Light. Silas and Solomon both left together from Cambridge, Md. Silas was quite black, spare-built and about twenty-seven years of age. He was owned by Sheriff Robert Bell, a man about "sixty years of age, and had his name up to be the hardest man in the county." "The Sheriff's wife was about pretty much such a woman as he was a man--there was not a pin's point of difference between them." The fear of having to be sold caused this Silas to seek the Underground Rail Road. Leaving his mother, one brother and one cousin, and providing himself with a Bowie-knife and a few dollars in money, he resolved to reach Canada, "or die on the way." Of course, when slaves reached this desperate point, the way to Canada was generally found. Solomon was about twenty-three years of age, a good-natured-looking "article," who also left Cambridge, and the protection of a certain Willis Branick, described as an "unaccountable mean man." "He never gave me any money in his life," said Sol., "but spent it pretty freely for liquor." "He would not allow enough to eat, or clothing sufficient." And he sold Sol.'s brother the year before he fled, "because he could not whip him." The fear of being sold prompted Sol. to flee. The very day he escaped he had a serious combat with two of his master's sons. The thumb of one of them being "badly bit," and the other used roughly--the ire of the master and sons was raised to a very high degree--and the verdict went forth that "Sol. should be sold to-morrow." Unhesitatingly, he started for the Underground Rail Road and Canada--and his efforts were not in vain. Damages, $1,500. * * * * * "THE MOTHER OF TWELVE CHILDREN." OLD JANE DAVIS--FLED TO ESCAPE THE AUCTION-BLOCK. The appended letter, from Thomas Garrett, will serve to introduce one of the most remarkable cases that it was our privilege to report or assist: WILMINGTON, 6 mo., 9th, 1857. ESTEEMED FRIEND--WILLIAM STILL:--We have here in this place, at Comegys Munson's an old colored woman, the mother of twelve children, one half of which has been sold South. She has been so ill used, that she was compelled to leave husband and children behind, and is desirous of getting to a brother who lives at Buffalo. She was nearly naked. She called at my house on 7th day night, but being from home, did not see her till last evening. I have procured her two under garments, one new; two skirts, one new; a good frock with cape; one of my wife's bonnets and stockings, and gave her five dollars in gold, which, if properly used, will put her pretty well on the way. I also gave her a letter to thee. Since I gave them to her she has concluded to stay where she is till 7th day night, when Comegys Munson says he can leave his work and will go with her to thy house. I write this so that thee may be prepared for them; they ought to arrive between 11 and 12 o'clock. Perhaps thee may find some fugitive that will be willing to accompany her. With desire for thy welfare and the cause of the oppressed, I remain thy friend, THOS. GARRETT. Jane did not know how old she was. She was probably sixty or seventy. She fled to keep from being sold. She had been "whipt right smart," poorly fed and poorly clothed, by a certain Roger McZant, of the New Market District, Eastern Shore of Maryland. His wife was a "bad woman too." Just before escaping, Jane got a whisper that her "master" was about to sell her; on asking him if the rumor was true, he was silent. He had been asking "one hundred dollars" for her. Remembering that four of her children had been snatched away from her and sold South, and she herself was threatened with the same fate, she was willing to suffer hunger, sleep in the woods for nights and days, wandering towards Canada, rather than trust herself any longer under the protection of her "kind" owner. Before reaching a place of repose she was _three weeks in the woods_, almost wholly without nourishment. Jane, doubtless, represented thousands of old slave mothers, who, after having been worn out under the yoke, were frequently either offered for sale for a trifle, turned off to die, or compelled to eke out their existence on the most stinted allowance. * * * * * BENJAMIN ROSS, AND HIS WIFE HARRIET. FLED FROM CAROLINE COUNTY, EASTERN SHORE OF MARYLAND, JUNE, 1857. This party stated that Dr. Anthony Thompson had claimed them as his property. They gave the Committee a pretty full report of how they had been treated in slavery, especially under the doctor. A few of the interesting points were noted as follows: The doctor owned about twenty head of slaves when they left; formerly he had owned a much larger number, but circumstances had led him to make frequent sales during the few years previous to their escape, by which the stock had been reduced. As well as having been largely interested in slaves, he had at the same time been largely interested in real estate, to the extent of a dozen farms at least. But in consequence of having reached out too far, several of his farms had slipped out of his hands. Upon the whole, Benjamin pronounced him a rough man towards his slaves, and declared, that he had not given him a dollar since the death of his (the master's) father, which had been at least twenty years prior to Benjamin's escape. But Ben. did not stop here, he went on to speak of the religious character of his master, and also to describe him physically; he was a Methodist preacher, and had been "pretending to preach for twenty years." Then the fact that a portion of their children had been sold to Georgia by this master was referred to with much feeling by Ben and his wife; likewise the fact that he had stinted them for food and clothing, and led them a rough life generally, which left them no room to believe that he was anything else than "a wolf in sheep's clothing." They described him as a "spare-built man, bald head, wearing a wig." These two travelers had nearly reached their three score years and ten under the yoke. Nevertheless they seemed delighted at the idea of going to a free country to enjoy freedom, if only for a short time. Moreover some of their children had escaped in days past, and these they hoped to find. Not many of those thus advanced in years ever succeeded in getting to Canada. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1857. WILLIAM JACKSON. William was about fifty years of age, of usual size, of good address, and intelligent. He was born the property of a slaveholder, by the name of Daniel Minne, residing in Alexandria in Virginia. His master was about eighty-four years of age, and was regarded as kind, though he had sold some of his slaves and was in favor of slavery. He had two sons, Robert and Albert, "both dissipated, would layabout the tippling taverns, and keep low company, so much so that they were not calculated to do any business for their father." William had to be a kind of a right hand man to his master. The sons seeing that the "property" was trusted instead of themselves, very naturally hated it, so the young men resolved that at the death of their father, William should be sent as far south as possible. Knowing that the old man could not stand it much longer, William saw that it was his policy to get away as fast as he could. He was the husband of a free wife, who had come on in advance of him. For thirty years William had been foreman on his old master's plantation, and but for the apprehension caused by the ill-will of his prospective young masters, he would doubtless have remained in servitude at least until the death of the old man. But when William reflected, and saw what he had been deprived of all his life by being held in bondage, and when he began to breathe free air, with the prospect of ending his days on free land, he rejoiced that his eyes had been opened to see his danger, and that he had been moved to make a start for liberty. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM DELAWARE, 1857. JOHN WRIGHT AND WIFE, ELIZABETH ANN, AND CHARLES CONNOR. This party arrived from Sussex county. John was about thirty years of age, ordinary size, full black and clear-headed. In physical appearance he would have readily passed for a superior laborer. The keenness of his eyes and quickness of his perception, however, would doubtless have rendered him an object of suspicion in some parts of the South. The truth was that the love of liberty was clearly indicated in his expressive countenance. William S. Phillips, a farmer, had been "sucking" John's blood, and keeping him poor and ignorant for the last eight years at least; before that, Phillips' father had defrauded him of his hire. Under the father and son John had found plenty of hard work and bad usage, severe and repeated floggings not excepted. Old master and mistress and young master and mistress, including the entire family, belonged to what was known as the "Farmer church," at Portsville. Outwardly they were good Christians. "Occasionally," John said, "the old man would have family prayers," and to use John's own words, "in company he would try to moralize, but out of company was as great a rowdy as ever was." In further describing his old master, he said that he was a large man, with a red face and blunt nose, and was very quick and fiery in his temper; would drink and swear--and even his wife, with all hands, would have to run when he was "raised." Of his young master he said: "He was quite a long-bodied, thin-faced man, weighing over one hundred and fifty pounds. In temper just like his father, though he did not drink--that is all the good quality that I can recommend in him." John said also that his master, on one occasion, in a most terribly angry mood, threatened that he would "wade up to his knees in his (John's) blood." It so happened that John's blood was up pretty high just at that time; he gave his master to understand that he would rather go South (be sold) than submit to the scourging which was imminent. John's pluck probably had the effect of allaying the master's fire; at any rate the storm subsided after awhile, and until the day that he took the Underground Rail Road car the servant managed to put up with his master. As John's wife was on the eve of being sold he was prompted to leave some time sooner than he otherwise would have done. THE WIFE'S STATEMENT She was thirty-two years of age, of good physical proportions, and a promising-looking person, above the ordinary class of slaves belonging to Delaware. She was owned by Jane Cooper, who lived near Laurel, in Sussex county. She had been more accustomed to field labor than house-work; ploughing, fencing, driving team, grubbing, cutting wood, etc., were well understood by her. During "feeding times" she had to assist in the house. In this respect, she had harder times than the men. Her mistress was also in the habit of hiring Elizabeth out by the day to wash. On these occasions she was required to rise early enough to milk the cows, get breakfast, and feed the hogs before sunrise, so that she might be at her day's washing in good time. It is plainly to be seen, that Elizabeth had not met with the "ease" and kindness which many claimed for the slave. Elizabeth was sensible of the wrongs inflicted by her Delaware mistress, and painted her in very vivid colors. Her mistress was a widow, "quite old," but "very frisky," and "wore a wig to hide her gray hairs." At the death of her husband, the slaves believed, from what they had heard their master say, that they would be freed, each at the age of thirty. But no will was found, which caused Elizabeth, as well as the rest of the slaves, to distrust the mistress more than ever, as they suspected that she knew something of its disappearance. Her mistress belonged to the Presbyterian Church, but would have "family prayers only when the minister would stop;" Elizabeth thought that she took greater pains to please the minister than her Maker. Elizabeth had no faith in such religion. Both Elizabeth and her husband were members of the Methodist Church. Neither had ever been permitted to learn to read or write, but they were naturally very smart. John left his mother and one sister in bondage. One of his brothers fled to Canada fifteen years before their escape. His name was Abraham. Charles Connor, the third person in the party, was twenty-seven years of age--fast color, and a tough-looking "article," who would have brought twelve hundred dollars or more in the hands of a Baltimore trader. The man from whom Charles fled was known by the name of John Chipman, and was described as "a fleshy man, with rank beard and quick temper, very hard--commonly kept full of liquor, though he would not get so drunk that he could not go about." For a long time Charles had been the main dependence on his master's place, as he only owned two other slaves. Charles particularly remarked, that no weather was too bad for them to be kept at work in the field. Charles was a fair specimen of the "corn-field hand," but thought that he could take care of himself in Canada. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM ALEXANDRIA, 1857. OSCAR D. BALL, AND MONTGOMERY GRAHAM. FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD.--Ran away from the owner in Alexandria, Va., on the night of the 13th inst., two young negro men, from twenty to twenty-five years of age. MONTGOMERY is a very bright mulatto, about five feet, six inches in height, of polite manners, and smiles much when speaking or spoken to. OSCAR is of a tawny complexion, about six feet high, sluggish in his appearance and movements, and of awkward manners. One hundred dollars each will be paid for the delivery of the above slaves if taken in a slave state, or two hundred dollars each if taken in a free state. One or more slaves belonging to other owners, it is supposed, went in their company. Address: JOHN T. GORDON, Alexandria, Va. [Illustration: ] Although the name of John T. Gordon appears signed to the above advertisement, he was not the owner of Montgomery and Oscar. According to their own testimony they belonged to a maiden lady, by the name of Miss Elizabeth Gordon, who probably thought that the business of advertising for runaway negroes was rather beneath her. While both these passengers manifested great satisfaction in leaving their mistress they did not give her a bad name. On the contrary they gave her just such a character as the lady might have been pleased with in the main. They described her thus: "Mistress was a spare woman, tolerably tall, and very kind, except when sick, she would not pay much attention then. She was a member of the Southern Methodist Church, and was strict in her religion." Having a good degree of faith in his mistress, Oscar made bold one day to ask her how much she would take for him. She agreed to take eight hundred dollars. Oscar wishing to drive a pretty close bargain offered her seven hundred dollars, hoping that she would view the matter in a religious light, and would come down one hundred dollars. After reflection instead of making a reduction, she raised the amount to one thousand dollars, which Oscar concluded was too much for himself. It was not, however, as much as he was worth according to his mistress' estimate, for she declared that she had often been offered fifteen hundred dollars for him. Miss Gordon raised Oscar from a child and had treated him as a pet. When he was a little "shaver" seven or eight years of age, she made it a practice to have him sleep with her, showing that she had no prejudice. Being rather of a rare type of slave-holders she is entitled to special credit. Montgomery the companion of Oscar could scarcely be distinguished from the white folks. In speaking of his mistress, however, he did not express himself in terms quite so complimentary as Oscar. With regard to giving "passes," he considered her narrow, to say the least. But he was in such perfectly good humor with everybody, owing to the fact that he had succeeded in getting his neck out of the yoke, that he evidently had no desire to say hard things about her. Judging from his story he had been for a long time desiring his freedom and looking diligently for the Underground Rail Road, but he had had many things to contend with when looking the matter of escape in the face. Arriving in Philadelphia, and finding himself breathing free air, receiving aid and encouragement in a manner that he had never known before, he was one of the happiest of creatures. Oscar left his wife and one child, one brother and two sisters. Montgomery left one sister, but no other near kin. Instead of going to Canada, Oscar and his comrade pitched their tents in Oswego, N.Y., where they changed their names, and instead of returning themselves to their kind mistress they were wicked enough to be plotting as to how some of their friends might get off on the Underground Rail Road, as may be seen from the appended letters from Oscar, who was thought to be sluggish, etc. OSWEGO, Oct 25th, 1857. DEAR SIR:--I take this opportunity of writing you these few lines to inform you that I am well and hope these few lines will find you the same (and your family you must excuse me for not writing to you before. I would have written to you before this but I put away the card you gave me and could not find it until a few days sins). I did not go to Canada for I got work in Oswego, but times are very dull here at present. I have been out of employ about five weeks I would like to go to Australia. Do you know of any gentleman that is going there or any other place, except south that wants a servant to go there with him to wait on him or do any other work, I have a brother that wants to come north. I received a letter from him a few days ago. Can you tell me of any plan that I can fix to get him give my respects to Mrs. Still and all you family. Please let me know if you hear of any berth of that kind. Nothing more at present I remain your obedient servant, OSCAR D. BALL But my name is now John Delaney. Direct your letter to John Delaney Oswego N.Y. care of R. Oliphant. OSWEGO, Nov. 21st, 1857. MR. WILLIAM STILL, ESQ. DEAR SIR:--Your letter of the 19th came duly to hand I am glad to hear that the Underground Rail Road is doing so well I know those three well that you said come from alex I broke the ice and it seems as if they are going to keep the track open, but I had to stand and beg of those two that started with me to come and even give one of them money and then he did not want to come. I had a letter from my brother a few days ago, and he says if he lives and nothing happens to him he will make a start for the north and there is many others there that would start now but they are afraid of getting frost bitten. there was two left alex about five or six weeks ago. ther names are as follows Lawrence Thornton and Townsend Derrit. have they been to philadelphia from what I can learn they will leave alex in mourning next spring in the last letter I got from my brother he named a good many that wanted to come when he did and the are all sound men and can be trusted. he reads and writes his own letters. William Triplet and Thomas Harper passed through hear last summer from my old home which way did those three that you spoke of go times are very dull here at present and I can get nothing to do. but thank God have a good boarding house and will be sheltered from the weather this winter give my respects to your family Montgomery sends his also Nothing more at presant Yours truly JOHN DELANEY. THE ACTING COMMITTEE [Illustration: N.W. DEPEE.] [Illustration: JACOB C. WHITE.] [Illustration: CHARLES WISE,] [Illustration: EDWIN H. COATES] * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM UNIONVILLE, 1857. CAROLINE ALDRIDGE AND JOHN WOOD. Caroline was a stout, light-complexioned, healthy-looking young woman of twenty-three years of age. She fled from Thornton Poole, of Unionville, Md. She gave her master the character of being a "very mean man; with a wife meaner still," "I consider them mean in every respect," said Caroline. No great while before she escaped, one of her brothers and a sister had been sent to the Southern market. Recently she had been apprized that herself and a younger brother would have to go the same dreadful road. She therefore consulted with the brother and a particular young friend, to whom she was "engaged," which resulted in the departure of all three of them. Though the ordinary steps relative to marriage, as far as slaves were allowed, had been complied with, nevertheless on the road to Canada, they availed themselves of the more perfect way of having the ceremony performed, and went on their way rejoicing. Since the sale of Caroline's brother and sister, just referred to, her mother and three children had made good their exit to Canada, having been evidently prompted by said sale. Long before that time, however, three other brothers fled on the Underground Rail Road. They were encouraged to hope to meet each other in Canada. JOHN WOOD. John was about twenty-eight years of age, of agreeable manners, intelligent, and gave evidence of a strong appreciation of liberty. Times with John had "not been very rough," until within the last year of his bondage. By the removal of his old master by death, a change for the worse followed. The executors of the estate--one of whom owed him an old grudge--made him acquainted with the fact, that amongst certain others, he would have to be sold. Judge Birch (one of the executors), "itching" to see him "broke in," "took particular pains" to speak to a notorious tyrant by the name of Boldin, to buy him. Accordingly on the day of sale, Boldin was on hand and the successful bidder for John. Being familiar with, the customs of this terrible Boldin,--of the starving fare and cruel flogging usual on his farm, John mustered courage to declare at the sale, that he "_would not serve him_." In the hearing of his new master, he said, "_before I will serve him I will_ CUT _my throat_!" The master smiled, and simply asked for a rope; "had me tied and delivered into the hands of a constable," to be sent over to the farm. Before reaching his destination, John managed to untie his hands and feet and flee to the woods. For three days he remained secreted. Once or twice he secretly managed to get an interview with his mother and one of his sisters, by whom he was persuaded to return to his master. Taking their advice, he commenced service under circumstances, compared with which, the diet, labor and comforts of an ordinary penitentiary would have been luxurious. The chief food allowed the slaves on the plantation consisted of the pot liquor in which the pork was boiled, with Indian-meal bread. The merest glance at what he experienced during his brief stay on the plantation must suffice. In the field where John, with a number of others was working, stood a hill, up which they were repeatedly obliged to ascend, with loads on their backs, and the overseer at their heels, with lash in hand, occasionally slashing at first one and then another; to keep up, the utmost physical endurance was taxed. John, though a stout young man, and having never known any other condition than that of servitude, nevertheless found himself quite unequal to the present occasion. "I was surprised," said he, "to see the expertness with which all flew up the hill." "_One woman, quite_ LUSTY, _unfit to be out of the house, on_ RUNNING UP THE HILL, fell; in a moment she was up again with her brush on her back, and an hour afterwards the overseer was whipping her." "My turn came." "What is the reason you can't get up the hill faster?" exclaimed the overseer, at the same time he struck me with a cowhide. "I told him I would not stand it." "Old Uncle George Washington never failed to get a whipping every day." So after serving at this only a few days, John made his last solemn vow to be free or die; and off he started for Canada. Though he had to contend with countless difficulties he at last made the desired haven. He hailed from one of the lower counties of Maryland. John was not contented to enjoy the boon alone, but like a true lover of freedom he remembered those in bonds as bound with them, and so was scheming to make a hazardous "adventure" South, on the express errand of delivering his "family," as the subjoined letter will show: GLANDFORD, August 15th, 1858. DEAR SIR:--I received your letter and was glad to hear that your wife and family was all well and I hope it will continue so. I am glad to inform you that this leaves me well. Also, Mr. Wm. Still, I want for you to send me your opinion respecting my circumstances. I have made up my mind to make an adventure after my family and I want to get an answer from you and then I shall know how to act and then I will send to you all particulars respecting my starting to come to your house. Mr. Still I should be glad to know whare Abraham Harris is, as I should be as glad to see him as well as any of my own brothers. His wife and my wife's mother is sisters. My wife belongs to Elson Burdel's estate. Abraham's wife belongs to Sam Adams. Mr. Still you must not think hard of me for writing you these few lines as I cannot rest until I release my dear family. I have not the least doubt but I can get through without the least trouble. So no more at present from your humble servant, JOHN B. WOODS. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM NEW ORLEANS, 1857. JAMES CONNER, SHOT IN DIFFERENT PARTS OF THE BODY. James stated to the Committee that he was about forty-three years of age, that he was born a slave in Nelson county, Ky., and that he was first owned by a widow lady by the name of Ruth Head. "She (mistress) was like a mother to me," said Jim. "I was about sixteen years old when she died; the estate was settled and I was sold South to a man named Vincent Turner, a planter, and about the worst man, I expect, that ever the sun shined on. His slaves he fairly murdered; two hundred lashes were merely a promise for him. He owned about three hundred slaves. I lived with Turner until he died. After his death I still lived on the plantation with his widow, Mrs. Virginia Turner." About twelve years ago (prior to Jim's escape) she was married to a Mr. Charles Parlange, "a poor man, though a very smart man, bad-hearted, and very barbarous." Before her second marriage cotton had always been cultivated, but a few years later sugar had taken the place of cotton, and had become the principal thing raised in that part of the country. Under the change sugar was raised and the slaves were made to experience harder times than ever; they were allowed to have only from three to three and a half pounds of pork a week, with a peck of meal; nothing else was allowed. They commenced work in the morning, just when they could barely see; they quit work in the evening when they could not see to work longer. Mistress was a large, portly woman, good-looking, and pretty well liked by her slaves. The place where the plantation was located was at Point Copee, on Falls River, about one hundred and fifty miles from New Orleans. She also owned property and about twenty slaves in the city of New Orleans. "I lived there and hired my time for awhile. I saw some hard times on the plantation. Many a time I have seen slaves whipped almost to death--well, I tell you I have seen them whipped to death. A slave named Sam was whipped to death tied to the ground. Joe, another slave, was whipped to death by the overseer: running away was the crime. "Four times I was shot. Once, before I would be taken, all hands, young and old on the plantation were on the chase after me. I was strongly armed with an axe, tomahawk, and butcher knife. I expected to be killed on the spot, but I got to the woods and stayed two days. At night I went back to the plantation and got something to eat. While going back to the woods I was shot in the thigh, legs, back and head, was badly wounded, my mind was to die rather than be taken. I ran a half mile after I was shot, but was taken. I have shot in me now. Feel here on my head, feel my back, feel buck shot in my thigh. I shall carry shot in me to my grave. I have been shot four different times. I was shot twice by a fellow servant; it was my master's orders. Another time by the overseer. Shooting was no uncommon thing in Louisiana. At one time I was allowed to raise hogs. I had twenty-five taken from me without being allowed the first copper. "My mistress promised me at another time forty dollars for gathering honey, but when I went to her, she said, by and by, but the by and by never came. In 1853 my freedom was promised; for five years before this time I had been overseer; during four years of this time a visit was made to France by my owners, but on their return my freedom was not given me. My mistress thought I had made enough money to buy myself. They asked eleven hundred and fifty dollars for me. I told them that I hadn't the money. Then they said if I would go with them to Virginia after a number of slaves they wished to purchase, and would be a good boy, they would give me my freedom on the return of the trip. We started on the 8th of June, 1857. I made fair promises wishing to travel, and they placed all confidence in me. I was to carry the slaves back from Virginia. "They came as far as Baltimore, and they began to talk of coming farther North, to Philadelphia. They talked very good to me, and told me that if they brought me with them to a free State that I must not leave them; talked a good deal about giving me my freedom, as had been promised before starting, etc. I let on to them that I had no wish to go North; that Baltimore was as far North as I wished to see, and that I had rather be going home than going North. I told them that I was tired of this country. In speaking of coming North, they made mention of the Alleghany mountains. I told them that I would like to see that, but nothing more. They hated the North, and I made believe that I did too. Mistress said, that if I behaved myself I could go with them to France, when they went again, after they returned home--as they intended to go again. "So they decided to take me with them to Philadelphia, for a short visit, before going into Virginia to buy up their drove of slaves for Louisiana. My heart leaped for joy when I found we were going to a free State; but I did not let my owners know my feelings. "We reached Philadelphia and went to the Girard Hotel, and there I made up my mind that they should go back without me. I saw a colored man who talked with me, and told me about the Committee. He brought me to the anti-slavery office," etc., etc., etc. The Committee told Jim that he could go free immediately, without saying a word to anybody, as the simple fact of his master's bringing him into the State was sufficient to establish his freedom before the Courts. At the same time the Committee assured him if he were willing to have his master arrested and brought before one of the Judges of the city to show cause why he held him a slave in Pennsylvania, contrary to the laws of the State, that he should lack neither friends nor money to aid him in the matter; and, moreover, his freedom would be publicly proclaimed. Jim thought well of both ways, but preferred not to meet his "kind-hearted" master and mistress in Court, as he was not quite sure that he would have the courage to face them and stand by his charges. This was not strange. Indeed not only slaves cowed before the eye of slave-holders. Did not even Northern men, superior in education and wealth, fear to say their souls were their own in the same presence? Jim, therefore, concluded to throw himself upon the protection of the Committee and take an Underground Rail Road ticket, and thereby spare himself and his master and mistress the disagreeableness of meeting under such strange circumstances. The Committee arranged matters for him to the satisfaction of all concerned, and gave him a passport for her British majesty's possession, Canada. The unvarnished facts, as they were then recorded substantially from the lips of Jim, and as they are here reproduced, comprise only a very meagre part of his sadly interesting story. At the time Jim left his master and mistress so unceremoniously in Philadelphia, some excitement existed at the attempt of his master to recover him through the Police of Philadelphia, under the charge that he (Jim) had been stealing, as may be seen from the following letter which appeared in the "National Anti-Slavery Standard:" ANOTHER SLAVE HUNT IN PHILADELPHIA. _Philadelphia, Monday, July_ 27, 1857. Yesterday afternoon a rumor was afloat that a negro man named Jim, who had accompanied his master (Mr. Charles Parlange), from New Orleans to this city, had left his master for the purpose of tasting the sweets of freedom. It was alleged by Mr. Parlange that the said "Jim" had taken with him two tin boxes, one of which contained money. Mr. Parlange went, on his way to New York, _viâ_ the Camden and Amboy Railroad, and upon his arrival at the Walnut street wharf, with two ladies, "Jim" was missing. Mr. Parlange immediately made application to a Mr. Wallace, who is a Police officer stationed at the Walnut street depot. Mr. Wallace got into a carriage with Mr. Parlange and the two ladies, and, as Mr. Wallace stated, drove back to the Girard House, where "Jim" had not been heard of since he had left for the Walnut street wharf. A story was then set afloat to the effect, that a negro of certain, but very particular description (such as a Louisiana nigger-driver only can give), had stolen two boxes as stated above. A notice signed "Clarke," was received at the Police Telegraph Office by the operator (David Wunderly) containing a full description of Jim, also offering a reward of $100 for his capture. This notice was telegraphed to all the wards in every section. This morning Mr. Wunderly found fault with the reporters using the information, and, in presence of some four or five persons, said the notice signed "Clarke," was a private paper, and no reporter had a right to look at it; at the same time asserting, that if he knew where the nigger was he would give him up, as $100 did not come along every day. The policeman, Wallace, expressed the utmost fear lest the name of Mr. Parlange should transpire, and stated, that he was an intimate friend of his. It does not seem that the matter was communicated to the wards by any official authority whatever, and who the "Clarke" is, whose name was signed to the notice, has not yet transpired. Some of the papers noticed it briefly this morning, which has set several of the officers on their tips. There is little doubt, that "Jim" has merely exercised his own judgment about remaining with his master any longer, and took this opportunity to betake himself to freedom. It is assumed, that he was to precede his master to Walnut street wharf with the baggage; but, singular enough to say, no complaint has been made about the baggage being missed, simply the two tin boxes, and particularly the one containing money. This is, doubtless, a ruse to engage the services of the Philadelphia police in the interesting game of nigger hunting. Mr. Parlange, if he is sojourning in your city, will doubtless be glad to learn that the matter of his man "Jim" and the two tin boxes has received ample publicity. W.H. Rev. Hiram Wilson, the Underground Rail Road agent at St. Catharines, C.W., duly announced his safe arrival as follows: BUFFALO, Aug. 12th, 1857. MY DEAR FRIEND--WM. STILL:--I take the liberty to inform you, that I had the pleasure of seeing a man of sable brand at my house in St. C. yesterday, by name of James Connor, lately from New Orleans, more recently from the city of Brotherly love, where he took French leave of his French master. He desired me to inform you of his safe arrival in the glorious land of Freedom, and to send his kind regards to you and to Mr. Williamson; also to another person, (the name I have forgotten). Poor Malinda Smith, with her two little girls and young babe is with us doing well. Affectionately yours, HIRAM WILSON. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM WASHINGTON, D.C. HARRISON CARY. The passenger bearing this name who applied to the Committee for assistance, was a mulatto of medium size, with a prepossessing countenance, and a very smart talker. With only a moderate education he might have raised himself to the "top round of the ladder," as a representative of the down-trodden slave. Seeking, as usual, to learn his history, the subjoined questions and answers were the result of the interview: Q. "How old are you?" A. "Twenty-eight years of age this coming March." Q. "To whom did you belong?" A. "Mrs. Jane E. Ashley." Q. "What kind of a woman was she?" A. "She was a very clever woman; never said anything out of the way." Q. "How many servants had she?" A. "She had no other servants." Q. "Did you live with her?" A. "No. I hired my time for twenty-two dollars a month." Q. "How could you make so much money?" A. "I was a bricklayer by trade, and ranked among the first in the city." As Harrison talked so intelligently, the member of the Committee who was examining him, was anxious to know how he came to be so knowing, the fact that he could read being very evident. Harrison proceeded to explain how he was led to acquire the art both of reading and writing: "Slaves caught out of an evening without passes from their master or mistress, were invariably arrested, and if they were unable to raise money to buy themselves off, they were taken and locked up in a place known as the 'cage,' and in the morning the owner was notified, and after paying the fine the unfortunate prisoner had to go to meet his fate at the hands of his owner." Often he or she found himself or herself sentenced to take thirty-nine or more lashes before atonement could be made for the violated law, and the fine sustained by the enraged owner. Harrison having strong aversion to both of the "wholesome regulations" of the peculiar institution above alluded to, saw that the only remedy that he could avail himself of was to learn to write his own passes. In possessing himself of this prize he knew that the law against slaves being taught, would have to be broken, nevertheless he was so anxious to succeed, that he was determined to run the risk. Consequently he grasped the boon with but very little difficulty or assistance. Valuing his prize highly, he improved more and more until he could write his own passes satisfactorily. The "cage" he denounced as a perfect "hog hole," and added, "it was more than I could bear." He also spoke with equal warmth on the pass custom, "the idea of working hard all day and then being obliged to have a pass," etc.,--his feelings sternly revolted against. Yet he uttered not a disrespectful word against the individual to whom he belonged. Once he had been sold, but for what was not noted on the record book. His mother had been sold several times. His brother, William Henry Gary, escaped from Washington, D.C., when quite a youth. What became of him it was not for Harrison to tell, but he supposed that he had made his way to a free State, or Canada, and he hoped to find him. He had no knowledge of any other relatives. In further conversation with him, relative to his being a single man, he said, that he had resolved not to entangle himself with a family until he had obtained his freedom. He had found it pretty hard to meet his monthly hire, consequently he was on the look-out to better his condition as soon as a favorable opportunity might offer. Harrison's mistress had a son named John James Ashley, who was then a minor. On arriving at majority, according to the will of this lad's father, he was to have possession of Harrison as his portion. Harrison had no idea of having to work for his support--he thought that, if John could not take care of himself when he grew up to be a man, there was a place for all such in the poor-house. Harrison was also moved by another consideration. His mistress' sister had been trying to influence the mistress to sell him; thus considering himself in danger, he made up his mind that the time had come for him to change his habitation, so he resolved to try his fortune on the Underground Rail Road. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1857. JOE ELLIS. The subject of this sketch was one of two hundred slaves, owned by Bolling Ellis, who possessed large plantations at Cabin Point, Surrey Co., Va. Joe pictured his master, overseers, and general treatment of slaves in no favorable light. The practice of punishing slaves by putting them in the stocks and by flogging, was dwelt upon in a manner that left no room to doubt but that Joe had been a very great sufferer under his master's iron rule. As he described the brutal conduct of overseers in resorting to their habitual modes of torturing men, women, and children, it was too painful to listen to with composure, much more to write down. Joe was about twenty-three years of age, full black, slender, and of average intellect, considering the class which he represented. On four occasions previous to the final one he had made fruitless efforts to escape from his tormentors in consequence of brutal treatment. Although he at last succeeded, the severe trials through which he had to pass in escaping, came very near costing him his life. The effects he will always feel; prostration and sickness had already taken hold upon him in a serious degree. During Joe's sojourn under the care of the Committee, time would not admit of the writing out of further details concerning him. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. CHRISTOPHER GREEN AND WIFE, ANN MARIA, AND SON NATHAN. Christopher had a heavy debt charged against Clayton Wright, a commission merchant, of Baltimore, who claimed him as his property, and was in the habit of hiring him out to farmers in the country, and of taking all his hire except a single dollar, which was allotted him every holiday. The last item in his charge against Wright, suggested certain questions: "How have you been used?" was the first query. "Sometimes right smart, and then again bad enough for it," said Christopher. Again he was asked, "What kind of a man was your master?" "He was only tolerable, I can't say much good for him. I got tired of working and they getting my labor and I getting nothing for my labor." At the time of his escape, he was employed in the service of a man by the name of Cook. Christopher described him as "a dissatisfied man, who couldn't be pleased at nothing and his wife was like him." This passenger was quite black, medium size, and in point of intellect, about on a par with ordinary field hands. His wife, Ann, in point of go-ahead-ativeness, seemed in advance of him. Indeed, she first prompted her husband to escape. Ann bore witness against one James Pipper, a farmer, whom she had served as a slave, and from whom she fled, saying that "he was as mean a man as ever walked--a dark-complected old man, with gray hair." With great emphasis she thus continued her testimony: "He tried to work me to death, and treated me as mean as he could, without killing me; he done so much I couldn't tell to save my life. I wish I had as many dollars as he has whipped me with sticks and other things. His wife will do tolerable." "I left because he was going to sell me and my son to Georgia; for years he had been threatening; since the boys ran away, last spring, he was harder than ever. One was my brother, Perry, and the other was a young man by the name of Jim." "David, my master, drank all he could get, poured it down, and when drunk, would cuss, and tear, and rip, and beat. He lives near the nine bridges, in Queen Ann county." Ann was certainly a forcible narrator, and was in every way a wideawake woman, about thirty-seven years of age. Among other questions they were asked if they could read, etc. "Read," said Ann. "I would like to see anybody (slave) that could read our way; to see you with a book in your hand they would almost cut your throat." Ann had one child only, a son, twenty years of age, who came in company with his parents. This son belonged to the said Pipper already described. When they started from the land of bondage they had large hopes, but not much knowledge of the way; however, they managed to get safely on the Underground Rail Road track, and by perseverance they reached the Committee and were aided in the usual manner. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM GEORGETOWN CROSS-ROADS, 1857. LEEDS WRIGHT AND ABRAM TILISON. For three years Leeds had been thirsting for his liberty; his heart was fixed on that one object. He got plenty to eat, drink, and wear, but was nevertheless dissatisfied. The name of his master was Rev. John Wesley Pearson, who was engaged in school teaching and preaching, and belonged to the more moderate class of slave-holders. Once when a boy Leeds had been sold, but being very young, he did not think much about the matter. For the last eight or ten years previous to his escape he had not seen his relatives, his father (George Wright) having fled to Canada, and the remainder of the family lived some fifty miles distant, beyond the possibility of intercourse; therefore, as he had no strong ties to break, he could look to the time of leaving the land of bondage without regret. Abram, the companion of Leeds, had been less comfortably situated. His lot in Slavery had been cast under Samuel Jarman, by whom he had been badly treated. Abram described him as a "big, tall, old man, who drank and was a real wicked man; he followed farming; had thirteen children. His wife was different; she was a pretty fine woman, but the children were all bad; the young masters followed playing cards." No chance at all had been allowed them to learn to read, although Abram and Leeds both coveted this knowledge. As they felt that they would never be able to do anything for their improvement by remaining, they decided to follow the example of Abram's father and others and go to Canada. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM ALEXANDRIA. WILLIAM TRIPLETT AND THOMAS HARPER. Ran away from the subscriber, on Saturday night, 22d instant, WILLIAM TRIPLETT, a dark mulatto, with whiskers and mustache, 23 to 26 years of age; lately had a burn on the instep of his right foot, but perhaps well enough to wear a boot or shoe. He took with him very excellent clothing, both summer and winter, consisting of a brown suit in cloth, summer coats striped, check cap, silk hat, &c. $50 reward will be paid if taken within thirty miles of Alexandria or in the State of Virginia, and $150 and necessary expenses if taken out of the State and secured so that I get him again. He is the property of Mrs. A.B. Fairfax, of Alexandria, and is likely to make his way to Cincinnati, where he has friends, named Hamilton and Hopes, now living. ROBT. W. WHEAT. [Illustration: ] William, answering to the above description, arrived safely in company with Thomas Harper, about six days after the date of their departure from the house of bondage. Mrs. A.B. Fairfax was the loser of this "article." William spoke rather favorably of her. He said he did not leave because he was treated badly, but simply because he wanted to own himself--to be free. He also said that he wanted to be able to take care of his family if he should see fit to marry. As to Slavery, he could see no justice in the system; he therefore made up his mind no longer to yield submission thereto. Being a smart "chattel," he reasoned well on the question of Slavery, and showed very conclusively that even under the kindest mistress it had no charms for him--that at best, it was robbery and an outrage. Thomas Harper, his comrade, fled from John Cowling, who also lived near Alexandria. His great trouble was, that he had a wife and family, but could do nothing for them. He thought that it was hard to see them in want and abused when he was not at liberty to aid or protect them. He grew very unhappy, but could see no remedy except in flight. Cowling, his master, was an Englishman by birth, and followed black-smithing for a living. He was a man in humble circumstances, trying to increase his small fortune by slave-labor. He allowed Thomas to hire himself for one hundred dollars a year, which amount he was required to raise, sick or well. He did not complain, however, of having received any personal abuse from his blacksmith master. It was the system which was daily grinding the life out of him, that caused him to suffer, and likewise escape. By trade Thomas was also a blacksmith. He left a wife and three children. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. HARRY WISE. $100 REWARD.--Ran away, on the 11th inst., negro man, Harry Wise. He is about 24 years of age, and 5 feet 4 inches high; muscular, with broad shoulders, and black or deep copper color; roundish, smooth face, and rather lively expression. He came from Harford county, and is acquainted about Belair market, Baltimore. I will pay $50 reward for him, if taken in this or Prince George's county, or $100 if arrested elsewhere. [Illustration: ] ELLIOTT BURWELL, a29-eo3t* West River, Anne Arundel county. Harry reached the station in Philadelphia, the latter part of August, 1857. His excuse for leaving and seeking a habitation in Canada, was as follows: "I was treated monstrous bad; my master was a very cross, crabbed man, and his wife was as cross as he was. The day I left they had to tie me to beat me, what about I could not tell; this is what made me leave. I escaped right out of his hands the day he had me; he was going with me to the barn to tie me across a hogshead, but I broke loose from him and ran. He ran and got the gun to shoot me, but I soon got out of his reach, and I have not seen him since." Harry might never have found the Underground Rail Road, but for this deadly onslaught upon him by his master. His mind was wrought up to a very high state of earnestness, and he was deemed a very fitting subject for Canada. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM NORFOLK, VA. ABRAM WOODERS. Although slave-holders had spared no pains to keep Abram in the dark and to make him love his yoke, he proved by his actions, that he had no faith in their doctrines. Nor did he want for language in which to state the reasons for his actions. He was just in the prime of life, thirty-five years of age, chestnut color, common size, with a scar over the left eye, and another on the upper lip. Like many others, he talked in a simple, earnest manner, and in answer to queries as to how he had fared, the following is his statement: "I was held as the property of the late Taylor Sewell, but when I escaped I was in the service of W.C. Williams, a commission merchant. My old master was a very severe man, but he was always very kind to me. He had a great many more colored folks, was very severe amongst them, would get mad and sell right away. He was a drinking man, dissipated and a gambler, a real sportsman. He lived on Newell Creek, about twelve miles from Norfolk. For the last eight years I was hired to W.C. Williams, for $150 a year--if I had all that money, it might do me some good. I left because I wanted to enjoy myself some. I felt if I staid and got old no one would care for me, I wouldn't be of no account to nobody." "But are not the old slaves well cared for by their masters?" a member of the Committee here remarked. "Take care of them! no!" Abram replied with much earnestness, and then went on to explain how such property was left to perish. Said Abram, "There was an old man named Ike, who belonged to the same estate that I did, he was treated like a dog; after they could get no more work out of him, they said, 'let him die, he is of no service; there is no use of getting a doctor for him.' Accordingly there could be no other fate for the old man but to suffer and die with creepers in his legs." It was sickening to hear him narrate instances of similar suffering in the case of old slaves. Abram left two sisters and one brother in bondage. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM WASHINGTON, D.C. GEORGE JOHNSON, THOMAS AND ADAM SMITH. $300 REWARD.--Ran away from Kalorama, near Washington City, D.C., on Saturday night, the 22d of August, 1857, negro man, George Johnson, aged about 25 years. Height about six feet; of dark copper color; bushy hair; erect in stature and polite in his address. [Illustration: ] I will give the above reward if taken in a free State; $100 if taken within the District of Columbia, or $200 if taken in Maryland. In either case he must be secured so that I get him. MISS ELEANOR J. CONWAY, Baltimore, Md., or OLIVER DUFOUR, Washington City, D.C. sl-eod 2w. "Polite in his address" as George was, he left his mistress, Eleanor J. Conway, without bidding her good-bye, or asking for a pass. But he did not leave his young mistress in this way without good reasons for so doing. In his interview with the Committee about five days after his departure from his old home, he stated his grievances as follows: "I was born the slave of a Mr. Conway, of Washington, D.C." Under this personage George admitted that he had experienced slavery in rather a mild form until death took the old man off, which event occurred when George was quite young. He afterwards served the widow Conway until her death, and lastly he fell into the hands of Miss Eleanor J. Conway, who resided in Baltimore, and derived her support from the labor of slaves whom she kept hired out as was George. Of the dead, George did not utter very hard things, but he spoke of his young mistress as having a "very mean principle." Said George, "She has sold one of my brothers and one of my cousins since last April, and she was very much opposed to freedom." Judging from the company that she kept she might before a great while change her relations in life. George thought, however agreeable to her, it might not be to him. So he made up his mind that his chances for freedom would not be likely to grow any better by remaining. In the neighborhood from which he fled he left his father, mother and two sisters, each having different owners. Two brothers had been sold South. Whether they ever heard what had become of the runaway George is not known. Thomas, the companion of George, was of a truly remarkable structure; physically and mentally he belonged to the highest order of the bond class. His place of chains was in the city of Washington, and the name of the man for whom he had been compelled to do unrequited labor was William Rowe, a bricklayer, and a "pretty clever fellow,--always used me well," said Thomas. "Why did you leave then?" asked a member of the Committee. He replied, "I made a proposition to my master to buy myself for eight hundred dollars, but he refused, and wanted a thousand. Then I made up my mind that I would make less do." Thomas had been hired out at the National Hotel for thirty dollars a month. Adam was well described in the following advertisement taken from the _Baltimore Sun_: $300 REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, near Beltsville, Prince George's county, Md., on Saturday night, the 22d of August, 1857, Negro Man, Adam Smith, aged about 30. Height 5 feet 4 or 5 inches; black bushy hair, and well dressed. He has a mother living at Mr. Hamilton's, on Capitol Hill, Washington, D.C. [Illustration: ] I will give the above reward if taken in a free State; $50 if taken in the District of Columbia or counties of Montgomery and Prince George's, or $100 if taken elsewhere and secured so that I get him. ISAAC SCAGGS. a27-6t* With his fellow-passengers, George and Thomas, he greatly enjoyed the hospitalities of the Underground Rail Road in the city of Brotherly Love, and had a very high idea of Canada, as he anticipated becoming a British subject at an early day. The story which Adam related concerning his master and his reasons for escaping ran thus: "My master was a very easy man, but would work you hard and never allow you any chance night or day; he was a farmer, about fifty, stout, full face, a real country ruffian; member of no church, a great drinker and gambler; will sell a slave as quick as any other slave-holder. He had a great deal of cash, but did not rank high in society. His wife was very severe; hated a colored man to have any comfort in the world. They had eight adult and nine young slaves." Adam left because he "didn't like the treatment." Twice he had been placed on the auction-block. He was a married man and left a wife and one child. * * * * * FOUR ABLE-BODIED "ARTICLES" IN ONE ARRIVAL, 1857. EDWARD, AND JOSEPH HAINES, THOMAS HARRIS, AND JAMES SHELDON. "This certainly is a likely-looking party," are the first words which greet the eye, on turning to the record, under which their brief narratives were entered at the Philadelphia station, September 7th, 1857. Edward was about forty-four years of age, of unmixed blood, and in point of natural ability he would rank among the most intelligent of the oppressed class. Without owing thanks to any body he could read and write pretty well, having learned by his own exertions. Tabby and Eliza Fortlock, sisters, and single women, had been deriving years of leisure, comfort, and money from the sweat of Edward's brow. The maiden ladies owned about eighteen head of this kind of property, far more than they understood how to treat justly or civilly. They bore the name of being very hard to satisfy. They were proverbially "stingy." They were members of the Christ Episcopal Church. Edward, however, remembered very sensibly that his own brother had been sold South by these ladies; and not only he, but others also, had been sent to the auction-block, and there made merchandise of. Edward, therefore, had no faith in these lambs of the flock, and left them because he thought there was reason in all things. "Yearly my task had been increased and made heavier and heavier, until I was pressed beyond what I could bear." Under this pressure no hope, present, or future, could be discerned, except by escaping on the Underground Rail Road. Joseph was also one of the chattels belonging to the Misses Portlock. A more active and wide-awake young man of twenty years of age, could not easily be found among the enslaved; he seemed to comprehend Slavery in all its bearings. From a small boy he had been hired out, making money for the "pious ladies" who owned him. His experience under these protectors had been similar to that of Edward given above. Joseph was of a light brown color, (some of his friends may be able to decide by this simple fact whether he is a relative, etc.). Tom, a full-faced, good-natured-looking young man, was also of this party. He was about twenty-seven years of age, and was said to be the slave of John Hatten, Esq., Cashier of the Virginia Bank of Portsmouth. Tom admitted that he was treated very well by Mr. Hatten and his family, except that he was not allowed his freedom; besides he felt a little tired of having to pay twelve dollars a month for his hire, as he hired his time of his master. Of course he was not insensible to the fact also that he was liable to be sold any day. In pondering over these slight drawbacks, Tom concluded that Slavery was no place for a man who valued his freedom, it mattered not how kind masters or mistresses might be. Under these considerations he made up his mind that he would have to let the cashier look out for himself, and he would do the same. In this state of mind he joined the party for Canada. James was another associate passenger, and the best-looking "article" in the party; few slaves showed a greater degree of intelligence and shrewdness. He had acquired the art of reading and writing very well, and was also a very ready talker. He was owned by Mrs. Maria Hansford of New York. When he was quite small he remembered seeing his mistress, but not since. He was raised with her sister, who resided in Norfolk, the place of James' servitude. James confessed that he had been treated very kindly, and had been taught to read by members of the family. This was an exceptional case, worthy of especial note. Notwithstanding all the kindness that James had received, he hated Slavery, and took a deep interest in the Underground Rail Road, and used his intelligence and shrewdness to good purpose in acting as an Underground Rail Road agent for a time. James was a young man, about twenty-five years of age, well made, and of a yellow complexion. Although none of this party experienced brutal treatment personally, they had seen the "elephant" quite to their satisfaction in Norfolk and vicinity. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM ARLINGTON, MD. 1857. JOHN ALEXANDER BUTLER, WILLIAM HENRY HIPKINS, JOHN HENRY MOORE AND GEORGE HILL. This party made, at first sight, a favorable impression; they represented the bone and sinew of the slave class of Arlington, and upon investigation the Committee felt assured that they would carry with them to Canada industry and determination such as would tell well for the race. John Alexander Butler was about twenty-nine years of age, well made, dark color, and intelligent. He assured the Committee that he had been hampered by Slavery from his birth, and that in consequence thereof he had suffered serious hardships. He said that a man by the name of Wm. Ford, belonging to the Methodist Church at Arlington, had defrauded him of his just rights, and had compelled him to work on his farm for nothing; also had deprived him of an education, and had kept him in poverty and ignorance all his life. In going over the manner in which he had been treated, he added that not only was his master a hard man, but that his wife and children partook of the same evil spirit; "they were all hard." True, they had but three slaves to oppress, but these they spared not. John was a married man, and spoke affectionately of his wife and children, whom he had to leave behind at Cross-Roads. William Henry, who was heart and soul in earnest with regard to reaching Canada, and was one of this party, was twenty-three years of age, and was a stout, yellow man with a remarkably large head, and looked as if he was capable of enjoying Canada and caring for himself. In speaking of the fettered condition from which he had escaped, the name of Ephraim Swart, "a gambler and spree'r" was mentioned as the individual who had wronged him of his liberty most grievously. Against Swart he expressed himself with much manly feeling, and judging from his manner he appeared to be a dangerous customer for master Swart to encounter north of Mason and Dixon's line. William complained that Swart "would come home late at night drunk, and if he did not find us awake he would not attempt to wake us, but would begin cutting and slashing with a cowhide. He treated his wife very bad too; sometimes when she would stand up for the servants he would knock her down. Many times at midnight she would have to leave the house and go to her mother's for safety; she was a very nice woman, but he was the very old Satan himself." While William Henry was debarred from learning letters under his brutal overseer, he nevertheless learned how to plan ways and means by which to escape his bondage. He left his old mother and two brothers wholly ignorant of his movements. John Henry Moore, another one of the Arlington party, was about twenty-four years of age, a dark, spare-built man. He named David Mitchell, of Havre-de-Grace, as the individual above all others who had kept his foot on his neck. Without undertaking to give John Henry's description of Mitchell in full, suffice it to give the following facts: "Mitchell would go off and get drunk, and come home, and if the slaves had not as much work done as he had tasked them with, he would go to beating them with clubs or anything he could get in his hand. He was a tall, spare-built man, with sandy hair. He had a wife and family, but his wife was no better than he was." When charges or statements were made by fugitives against those from whom they escaped, particular pains were taken to find out if such statements could be verified; if the explanation appeared valid, the facts as given were entered on the books. John Henry could not read, but greatly desired to learn, and he looked as though he had a good head for so doing. Before he left there had been some talk of selling him South. This rumor had a marked effect upon John Henry's nervous system; it also expanded his idea touching traveling, the Underground Rail Road, etc. As he had brothers and sisters who had been sold to Georgia he made up his mind that his master was not to be trusted for a single day; he was therefore one of the most willing-hearted passengers in the party. George Hill, also a fellow-passenger, was about twenty-four years of age, quite black, medium size, and of fair, natural mother wit. In looking back upon his days of bondage, his mind reverted to Dr. Savington, of Harford county, as the person who owed him for years of hard and unrequited toil, and at the same time was his so-called owner. The Doctor, it seemed, had failed to treat George well, for he declared that he had never received enough to eat the whole time that he was with him. "The clothes I have on I got by overwork of nights. When I started I hadn't a shoe on my foot, these were given to me. He was an old man, but a very wicked man, and drank very hard." George had been taught field work pretty thoroughly, but nothing in the way of reading and writing. George explained why he left as follows: "I left because I had got along with him as well as I could. Last Saturday a week he was in a great rage and drunk. He shot at me. He never went away but what he would come home drunk, and if any body made him angry out from home, he would come home and take his spite out of his people." He owned three grown men, two women and six children. Thus hating Slavery heartily, George was enthusiastically in favor of Canada. * * * * * FIVE PASSENGERS, 1857. ELIZA JANE JOHNSON, HARRIET STEWART, AND HER DAUGHTER MARY ELIZA, WILLIAM COLE, AND HANSON HALL. Eliza Jane was a tall, dark, young woman, about twenty-three years of age, and had been held to service by a widow woman, named Sally Spiser, who was "anything but a good woman." The place of her habitation was in Delaware, between Concord and Georgetown. Eliza Jane's excuse for leaving was this: She charged her mistress with trying to work her to death, and with unkind treatment generally. When times became so hard that she could not stand her old mistress "Sally" any longer, she "took out." Harriet did not come in company with Eliza Jane, but by accident they met at the station in Philadelphia. Harriet and daughter came from Washington, D.C. Harriet had treasured up a heavy account against a white man known by the name of William A. Linton, whom she described as a large, red-faced man, who had in former years largely invested in slave property, but latterly he had been in the habit of selling off, until only seven remained, and among them she and her child were numbered; therefore, she regarded him as one who had robbed her of her rights, and daily threatened her with sale. Harriet was a very likely-looking woman, twenty-nine years of age, medium size, and of a brown color, and far from being a stupid person. Her daughter also was a smart, and interesting little girl of eight years of age, and seemed much pleased to be getting out of the reach of slave-holders. The mother and daughter, however, had not won their freedom thus far, without great suffering, from the long and fatiguing distance which they were obliged to walk. Sometimes the hardness of the road made them feel as though they would be compelled to give up the journey, whether or not; but they added to their faith, patience, and thus finally succeeded. Heavy rewards were offered through advertisements in the Baltimore Sun, but they availed naught. The Vigilance Committee received them safely, fully cared for them, and safely sent them through to the land of refuge. Harriet's daring undertaking obliged her to leave her husband, John Stewart, behind; also one sister, a slave in Georgetown. One brother had been sold South. Her mother she had laid away in a slave's grave: but her father she hoped to find in Canada, he having escaped thither when she was a small girl; at least it was supposed that he had gone there. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM HOWARD CO., MD., 1857. BILL COLE AND HANSON. $500 REWARD.--Ran away on Saturday night, September 5th, Bill Cole, aged about 37 years, of copper complexion, stout built, ordinary height, walks very erect, earnest but squint look when spoken to. [Illustration: ] Also, Hanson, copper complexion, well made, sickly look, medium height, stoops when walking, quick when spoken to; aged about 30 years. Three hundred dollars will be paid for the apprehension and delivery of Bill, if caught out of the State, and two hundred if in the State. Two hundred dollars for Hanson if out of the State, and one hundred dollars if in the State. W. BAKER DORSEY, HAMMOND DORSEY, Savage P.O., Howard county, Md. Such notoriety as was given them by the above advertisement, did not in the least damage Bill and Hanson in the estimation of the Committee. It was rather pleasing to know that they were of so much account as to call forth such a public expression from the Messrs. Dorsey. Besides it saved the Committee the necessity of writing out a description of them, the only fault found with the advertisement being in Reference to their ages. Bill, for instance, was put down ten years younger than he claimed to be. Which was correct, Bill or his master? The Committee were inclined to believe Bill in preference to his master, for the simple reason that he seemed to account satisfactorily for his master's making him so young: he (the master) could sell him for much more at thirty-seven than at forty-seven. Unscrupulous horse-jockies and traders in their fellow-men were about on a par as to that kind of sharp practice. Hanson, instead of being only thirty, declared that he was thirty-seven the fifteenth of February. These errors are noticed and corrected because it is barely possible that Bill and Hanson may still be lost to their relatives, who may be inquiring and hunting in every direction for them, and as many others may turn to these records with hope, it is, therefore, doubly important that these descriptions shall be as far as possible, correct, especially as regards ages. Hanson laughed heartily over the idea that he looked "sickly." While on the Underground Rail Road, he looked very far from sickly; on the contrary, a more healthy, fat, and stout-looking piece of property no one need wish to behold, than was this same Hanson. He confessed, however, that for some time previous to his departure, he had feigned sickness,--told his master that he was "sick all over." "Ten times a day Hanson said they would ask him how he was, but was not willing to make his task much lighter." The following description was given of his master, and his reason for leaving him: "My master was a red-faced farmer, severe temper, would curse, and swear, and drink, and sell his slaves whenever he felt like it. My mistress was a pretty cross, curious kind of a woman too, though she was a member of the Protestant Church. They were rich, and had big farms and a good many slaves. They didn't allow me any provisions hardly; I had a wife, but they did not allow me to go see her, only once in a great while." Bill providentially escaped from a well-known cripple, whom he undertook to describe as a "very sneaking-looking man, medium size, smooth face; a wealthy farmer, who owned eighteen or twenty head of slaves, and was Judge of the Orphans' Court." "He sells slaves occasionally." "My mistress was a very large, rough, Irish-looking woman, with a very bad disposition; it appeared like as if she hated to see a 'nigger,' and she was always wanting her husband to have some one whipped, and she was a member of the Methodist Church. My master was a trustee in the Episcopal Church." In consequence of the tribulation Bill had experienced under his Christian master and mistress, he had been led to disbelieve in the Protestant faith altogether, and declared that he felt persuaded that it was all a "pretense," and added that he "never went to Church; no place was provided in church for 'niggers' except a little pen for the coachmen and waiters." Bill had been honored with the post of "head man on the place," but of this office he was not proud. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM PRINCE GEORGE'S COUNTY, MD. "JIM BELLE." $100 REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber on Saturday night, Negro Man JIM BELLE. Jim is about five feet ten inches high, black color, about 26 years of age has a down look; speaks slow when spoken to; he has large, thick lips, and a mustache. He was formerly owned by Edward Stansbury, late of Baltimore county, and purchased by Edward Worthington, near Reisterstown, in Baltimore county, at the late Stansbury's sale, who sold him to B.M. and W.L. Campbell, of Baltimore city, of whom I purchased Jim on the 13th of June last. His wife lives with her mother, Ann Robertson, in Corn Alley, between Lee and Hill streets, Baltimore city, where he has other relations, and where he is making his way. I will give the above reward, no matter where taken, so he is brought home or secured in jail so I get him again. [Illustration: ] ZACHARIAH BERRY, of W., near Upper Marlboro', Prince George's county, Md. Mr. Zachariah Berry, who manifested so much interest in Jim, may be until this hour in ignorance of the cause of his running off without asking leave, etc. Jim stated, that he was once sold and flogged unmercifully simply for calling his master "Mr.," instead of master, and he alleged that this was the secret of his eyes being opened and his mind nerved to take advantage of the Underground Rail Road. While it may not now do Zachariah Berry much good to learn this secret, it may, nevertheless, be of some interest to those who were of near kin to Jim to glean even so small a ray of light. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM RAPPAHANNOCK COUNTY, 1857. PASCAL QUANTENCE. Pascal fled from Virginia, and accused Bannon and Brady of doing violence to his liberty. He had, however, been in their clutches only a short while before escaping, but that short while seemed almost an age, as he was treated so meanly by them compared with the treatment which he had experienced under his former master. According to Pascal's story, which was evidently true, his previous master was his own father (John Quantence), who had always acknowledged Pascal as his child, whom he did not scruple to tell people he should set free; that he did not intend that he should serve anybody else. But, while out riding one day, he was thrown from his horse and instantly killed. Naturally enough, no will being found, his effects were all administered upon and Pascal was sold with the farm. Bannon and Brady were the purchasers, at least of Pascal. In their power, immediately the time of trouble began with Pascal, and so continued until he could no longer endure it. "Hoggishness," according to Pascal's phraseology, was the most predominant trait in the character of his new masters. In his mournful situation and grief he looked toward Canada and started with courage and hope, and thus succeeded. Such deliverances always afforded very great joy to the Committee. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM NORTH CAROLINA, 1857. HARRY GRIMES, GEORGE UPSHER, AND EDWARD LEWIS. FEET SLIT FOR RUNNING AWAY, FLOGGED, STABBED, STAYED IN THE HOLLOW OF A BIG POPLAR TREE, VISITED BY A SNAKE, ABODE IN A CAVE. The coming of the passengers here noticed was announced in the subjoined letter from Thomas Garrett: WILMINGTON, 11th Mo. 25th, 1857. RESPECTED FRIEND, WILLIAM STILL:--I write to inform thee, that Captain Fountain has arrived this evening from the South with three men, one of which is nearly naked, and very lousy. He has been in the swamps of Carolina for eighteen months past. One of the others has been some time out. I would send them on to-night, but will have to provide two of them with some clothes before they can be sent by rail road. I have forgotten the number of thy house. As most likely all are more or less lousy, having been compelled to sleep together, I thought best to write thee so that thee may get a suitable place to take them to, and meet them at Broad and Prime streets on the arrival of the cars, about 11 o'clock to-morrow evening. I have engaged one of our men to take them to his house, and go to Philadelphia with them to-morrow evening. Johnson who will accompany them is a man in whom we can confide. Please send me the number of thy house when thee writes. THOMAS GARRETT. This epistle from the old friend of the fugitive, Thomas Garrett, excited unusual interest. Preparation was immediately made to give the fugitives a kind reception, and at the same time to destroy their plagues, root and branch, without mercy. They arrived according to appointment. The cleansing process was carried into effect most thoroughly, and no vermin were left to tell the tale of suffering they had caused. Straightway the passengers were made comfortable in every way, and the spirit of freedom seemed to be burning like "fire shut up in the bones." The appearance alone of these men indicated their manhood, and wonderful natural ability. The examining Committee were very desirous of hearing their story without a moment's delay. As Harry, from having suffered most, was the hero of this party, and withal was an intelligent man, he was first called upon to make his statement as to how times had been with him in the prison house, from his youth up. He was about forty-six years of age, according to his reckoning, full six feet high, and in muscular appearance was very rugged, and in his countenance were evident marks of firmness. He said that he was born a slave in North Carolina, and had been sold three times. He was first sold when a child three years of age, the second time when he was thirteen years old, and the third and last time he was sold to Jesse Moore, from whom he fled. Prior to his coming into the hands of Moore he had not experienced any very hard usage, at least nothing more severe than fell to the common lot of slave-boys, therefore the period of his early youth was deemed of too little interest to record in detail. In fact time only could be afforded for noticing very briefly some of the more remarkable events of his bondage. The examining Committee confined their interrogations to his last taskmaster. "How did Moore come by you?" was one of the inquiries. "He bought me," said Harry, "of a man by the name of Taylor, nine or ten years ago; he was as bad as he could be, couldn't be any worse to be alive. He was about fifty years of age, when I left him, a right red-looking man, big bellied old fellow, weighs about two hundred and forty pounds. He drinks hard, he is just like a rattlesnake, just as cross and crabbed when he speaks, seems like he could go through you. He flogged Richmond for not ploughing the corn good, that was what he pretended to whip him for. Richmond ran away, was away four months, as nigh as I can guess, then they cotched him, then struck him a hundred lashes, and then they split both feet to the bone, and split both his insteps, and then master took his knife and stuck it into him in many places; after he done him that way, he put him into the barn to shucking corn. For a long time he was not able to work; when he did partly recover, he was set to work again." We ceased to record anything further concerning Richmond, although not a fourth part of what Harry narrated was put upon paper. The account was too sickening and the desire to hear Harry's account of himself too great to admit of further delay; so Harry confined himself to the sufferings and adventures which had marked his own life. Briefly he gave the following facts: "I have been treated bad. One day we were grubbing and master said we didn't do work enough. 'How came there was no more work done that day?' said master to me. I told him I did work. In a more stormy manner he 'peated the question. I then spoke up and said: 'Massa, I don't know what to say.' At once massa plunged his knife into my neck causing me to stagger. Massa was drunk. He then drove me down to the black folk's houses (cabins of the slaves). He then got his gun, called the overseer, and told him to get some ropes. While he was gone I said, 'Massa, now you are going to tie me up and cut me all to pieces for nothing. I would just as leave you would take your gun and shoot me down as to tie me up and cut me all to pieces for nothing.' In a great rage he said 'go.' I jumped, and he put up his gun and snapped both barrels at me. He then set his dogs on me, but as I had been in the habit of making much of them, feeding them, &c. they would not follow me, and I kept on straight to the woods. My master and the overseer cotched the horses and tried to run me down, but as the dogs would not follow me they couldn't make nothing of it. It was the last of August a year ago. The devil was into him, and he flogged and beat four of the slaves, one man and three of the women, and said if he could only get hold of me he wouldn't strike me, 'nary-a-lick,' but would tie me to a tree and empty both barrels into me. [Illustration: ] In the woods I lived on nothing, you may say, and something too. I had bread, and roasting ears, and 'taters. I stayed in the hollow of a big poplar tree for seven months; the other part of the time I stayed in a cave. I suffered mighty bad with the cold and for something to eat. Once I got me some charcoal and made me a fire in my tree to warm me, and it liked to killed me, so I had to take the fire out. One time a snake come to the tree, poked its head in the hollow and was coming in, and I took my axe and chopped him in two. It was a poplar leaf moccasin, the poisonest kind of a snake we have. While in the woods all my thoughts was how to get away to a free country." [Illustration: ] Subsequently, in going back over his past history, he referred to the fact, that on an occasion long before the cave and tree existence, already noticed, when suffering under this brutal master, he sought protection in the woods and abode twenty-seven months in a cave, before he surrendered himself, or was captured. His offence, in this instance, was simply because he desired to see his wife, and "stole" away from his master's plantation and went a distance of five miles, to where she lived, to see her. For this grave crime his master threatened to give him a hundred lashes, and to shoot him; in order to avoid this punishment, he escaped to the woods, etc. The lapse of a dozen years and recent struggles for an existence, made him think lightly of his former troubles and he would, doubtless, have failed to recall his earlier conflicts but for the desire manifested by the Committee to get all the information out of him they could. He was next asked, "Had you a wife and family?" "Yes, sir,". he answered, "I had a wife and eight children, belonged to the widow Slade." Harry gave the names of his wife and children as follows: Wife, Susan, and children, Oliver, Sabey, Washington, Daniel, Jonas, Harriet, Moses and Rosetta, the last named he had never seen. "Between my mistress and my master there was not much difference." [Illustration: ] Of his comrades time admitted of writing out only very brief sketches, as follows: EDWARD LEWIS. $100 REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, on the 7th of November, negro slave, EDGAR. He is 36 years old, 6 feet high, of dark brown complexion, very high forehead, is a little bald, and is inclined to stoop in the shoulders. Edgar says he was raised in Norfolk county, has worked about Norfolk several years. I bought him at the Auction house of Messrs. Pulham & Davis, the 20th of July, 1856. The bill of sale was signed by W.Y. Milmer for Jas. A. Bilisoly, administrator of G.W. Chambers, dec'd. He told one of my negroes he was going to Norfolk to sell some plunder he had there, then go to Richmond, steal his wife, get on board a boat about Norfolk, and go to a free State. He can read and write well, and I have no doubt he has provided himself with papers of some kind. He may have purchased the papers of some free negro. I will give the above reward of One Hundred Dollars to any person who will arrest and confine him, so I can get him. [Illustration: ] C.H. GAY. My Post office is Laurel, N.C. no. 21. The above advertisement, which was cut from a Southern paper, brought light in regard to one of the passengers at least. It was not often that a slave was so fortunate as to get such a long sketch of himself in a newspaper. The description is so highly complimentary, that we simply endorse it as it stands. The sketch as taken for the record book is here transcribed as follows: "Edward reported himself from Franklin county, N.C., where, according to statement, a common farmer by the name of Carter Gay owned him, under whose oppression his life was rendered most unhappy, who stinted him daily for food and barely allowed him clothing enough to cover his nakedness, who neither showed justice nor mercy to any under his control, the 'weaker vessels' not excepted; therefore Edward was convinced that it was in vain to hope for comfort under such a master. Moreover, his appetite for liquor, combined with a high temper, rendered him a being hard to please, but easy to excite to a terrible degree. Scarcely had Edward lived two years with this man (Gay) when he felt that he had lived with him long enough. Two years previous to his coming into the hands of Gay, he and his wife were both sold; the wife one day and he the next. She brought eleven hundred and twenty-five dollars, and he eight hundred and thirty-five dollars; thus they were sold and resold as a matter of speculation, and husband and wife were parted." After the fugitives had been well cared for by the Committee, they were forwarded on North; but for some reason they were led to stop short of Canada, readily finding employment and going to work to take care of themselves. How they were received and in what way they were situated, the subjoined letter from Edward will explain: SKANEATELES, Dec. 17, 1857. DEAR SIR:--As I promised to let you hear from me as soon as I found a home, I will now fulfill my promise to you and say that I am alive and well and have found a stopping place for the winter. When we arrived at Syracuse we found Mr. Loguen ready to receive us, and as times are rather hard in Canada he thought best for us not to go there, so he sent us about twenty miles west of Syracuse to Skaneateles, where George Upshur and myself soon found work. Henry Grimes is at work in Garden about eight miles from this place. If you should chance to hear any of my friends inquiring for me, please direct them to Skaneateles, Onondaga county, N.Y. If you can inform me of the whereabouts of Miss Alice Jones I shall be very much obliged to you, until I can pay you better. I forgot to ask you about her when I was at your house. She escaped about two years ago. Please not to forget to inquire of my wife, Rachel Land, and if you should hear of her, let me know immediately, George Upshur and myself send our best respects to you and your family. Remember us to Mrs. Jackson and Miss Julia. I hope to meet you all again, if not on earth may we so live that we shall meet in that happy land where tears and partings are not known. Let me hear from you soon. This from your friend and well wisher, EDWARD LEWIS, formerly, but now WILLIAM BRADY. GEORGE UPSHER.--The third in this arrival was also a full man. Slavery had robbed him shamefully it is true; nevertheless he was a man of superior natural parts, physically and intellectually. Despite the efforts of slave-holders to keep him in the dark, he could read and write a little. His escape in the manner that he did, implied a direct protest against the conduct of Dr. Thomas W. Upsher, of Richmond, Va., whom, he alleged, deprived him of his hire, and threatened him with immediate sale. He had lived in North Carolina with the doctor about two years. As a slave, his general treatment had been favorable, except for a few months prior to his flight, which change on the part of his master led him to fear that a day of sale was nigh at hand. In fact the seventh of July had been agreed upon when he was to be in Richmond, to take his place with others in the market on sale day; his hasty and resolute move for freedom originated from this circumstance. He was well-known in Norfolk, and had served almost all his days in that city. These passengers averaged about six feet, and were of uncommonly well-developed physical structure. The pleasure of aiding such men from the horrors of Carolina Slavery was great. * * * * * ALFRED HOLLON, GEORGE AND CHARLES N. RODGERS. The loss of this party likewise falls on Maryland. With all the efforts exerted by slave-holders, they could not prevent the Underground Rail Road from bringing away passengers. Alfred was twenty-eight years of age, with sharp features, dark color, and of medium size. He charged one Elijah J. Johnson, a commissioner of Baltimore Co., with having deprived him of the fruits of his labor. He had looked fully into his master's treatment of him, and had come to the conclusion that it was wrong in every respect, for one man to make another work and then take all his wages from him; thus decided, Alfred, desiring liberty, whereby he could do better for himself felt that he must "took out" and make his way to Canada. Nevertheless, he admitted that he had been "treated pretty well" compared with others. True, he had "not been fed very well;" Elijah, his master, was an old man with a white head, tall and stout, and the owner of fifteen head of slaves. At the same time, a member of St. John's church. Alfred had treasured up the sad remembrance against him of the sale of his mother from him when a little boy, only three years old. While he was then too young to have retained her features in his memory, the fact had always been a painful one to reflect upon. George was twenty-six years of age, stout, long-faced, and of dark complexion. He looked as though he might have eagerly grasped education if the opportunity had been allowed him. He too belonged to Elijah J. Johnson, against whom he entertained much more serious objections than Alfred. Indeed, George did not hesitate to say with emphasis, that he neither liked his old master, mistress, nor any of the family. Without recording his grievances in detail, a single instance will suffice of the kind of treatment to which he objected, and which afforded the pretext for his becoming a patron of the Underground Rail Road. It was this, said George: "I went into the corn-field and got some corn. This made my master and mistress very mad, and about it Dr. Franklin Rodgers, my young mistress' husband, struck me some pretty heavy blows, and knocked me with his fist, etc." Thus, George's blood was raised, and he at once felt that it was high time to be getting away from such patriarchs. It was only necessary to form a strong resolution and to start without delay. There were two others who, he believed, could be trusted, so he made known his intentions to them, and finding them sound on the question of freedom he was glad of their company. For an emergency, he provided himself with a pair of pistols and a formidable-looking knife, and started, bent on reaching Canada; determined at least, not to be taken back to bondage alive. Charles was twenty-four years of age, a very dark-colored individual, and also belonged to said Johnson. Charles was well acquainted with his old master and mistress, and made very quick work of giving his experience. After hearing him, from the manner in which he expressed himself, no one could doubt his earnestness and veracity. His testimony ran substantially thus: "For the last three years I have been treated very hard. In the presence of the servants, old Johnson had me tied, stripped, and with his own hands, flogged me on the naked back shamefully. The old mistress was cross too." It was some time before the smarting ceased, but it was not long ere the suffering produced very decided aspirations to get over to John Bull's Dominions. He resolved to go, at all hazards. In order that he might not be surprised on the Underground Rail Road without any weapons of defense, determined as he was to fight rather than be dragged back, he provided himself with a heavy, leaden ball and a razor. They met, however, with no serious difficulty, save from hard walking and extreme hunger. In appearance, courage, and mother-wit, this party was of much promise. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM KENT COUNTY, 1857. SAMUEL BENTON, JOHN ALEXANDER, JAMES HENRY, AND SAMUEL TURNER. These passengers journeyed together from the land of whips and chains. Sam Benton was about twenty-six years of age, medium size, pretty dark color, and possessed a fair share of intelligence. He understood very well how sadly Slavery had wronged him by keeping him in ignorance and poverty. He stated as the cause of his flight that William Campbell had oppressed him and kept him closely at hard labor without paying him, and at the same time "did not give him half enough to eat, and no clothing." John Alexander was about forty-four years of age, a man of ordinary size, quite black, and a good specimen of a regular corn-field hand. "Why did you leave, John?" said a member of the Committee. He coolly replied that "Handy (his master was named George Handy) got hold of me twice, and I promised my Lord that he should never get hold of me another time." Of course it was the severity of these two visitations that made John a thinker and an actor at the same time. The evil practices of the master produced the fruits of liberty in John's breast. James Henry, the third passenger, was about thirty-two years of age, and quite a spirited-looking "article." A few months before he fled he had been sold, at which time his age was given as "only twenty." He had suffered considerably from various abuses; the hope of Canada however tended to make him joyful. The system of oppression from which these travelers fled had afforded them no privileges in the way of learning to read. All that they had ever known of civilization was what they perchance picked up in the ordinary routine of the field. Notice of the fourth passenger unfortunately is missing. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM BALTIMORE COUNTY, 1857. ELIZABETH WILLIAMS. Elizabeth fled in company with her brother the winter previous to her arrival at the Philadelphia station. Although she reached free land the severe struggle cost her the loss of all her toes. Four days and nights out in the bitter cold weather without the chance of a fire left them a prey to the frost, which made sad havoc with their feet especially--particularly Elizabeth's. She was obliged to stop on the way, and for seven months she was unable to walk. Elizabeth was about twenty years of age, chestnut color, and of considerable natural intellect. Although she suffered so severely as the result of her resolution to throw off the yoke, she had no regrets at leaving the prison-house; she seemed to appreciate freedom all the more in consequence of what it cost her to obtain the prize. In speaking of the life she had lived, she stated that her mistress was "good enough," but her "master was a very bad man." His name was Samuel Ward; he lived in Baltimore county, near Wrightstown. Elizabeth left her mother, four brothers and one sister under the yoke. * * * * * MARY COOPER AND MOSES ARMSTEAD, 1857. Mary arrived from Delaware, Moses from Norfolk, Virginia, and happened to meet at the station in Philadelphia. Mary was twenty years of age, of a chestnut color, usual size, and well disposed. She fled from Nathaniel Herne, an alderman. Mary did not find fault with the alderman, but she could not possibly get along with his wife; this was the sole cause of her escape. Moses was twenty-four years of age, of a chestnut color, a bright-looking young man. He fled from Norfolk, Virginia, having been owned by the estate of John Halters. Nothing but the prevailing love of liberty in the breast of Moses moved him to seek his freedom. He did not make one complaint of bad treatment. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM NEAR WASHINGTON, D.C. JOHN JOHNSON AND LAWRENCE THORNTON. John escaped from near Washington. He stated that he was owned by an engraver, known by the name of William Stone, and added that himself and seven others were kept working on the farm of said Stone for nothing. John did not, however, complain of having a hard master in this hard-named personage, (Stone); for, as a slave, he confessed that he had seen good times. Yet he was not satisfied; he felt that he had a right to his freedom, and that he could not possibly be contented while deprived of it, for this reason, therefore, he dissolved his relationship with his kind master. John was about twenty-seven years of age, smart, possessed good manners, and a mulatto. Lawrence was about twenty-three years of age, tall and slender, of dark complexion, but bright intellectually. With Lawrence times had been pretty rough. Dr. Isaac Winslow of Alexandria was accused of defrauding Lawrence of his hire. "He was anything else but a gentleman," said Lawrence. "He was not a fair man no way, and his wife was worse than he was, and she had a daughter worse than herself." "Last Sunday a week my master collared me, for my insolence he said, and told me that he would sell me right off. I was tied and put up stairs for safe keeping. I was tied for about eight hours. I then untied myself, broke out of prison, and made for the Underground Rail Road immediately." Lawrence gave a most interesting account of his life of bondage, and of the doctor and his family. He was overjoyed at the manner in which he had defeated the doctor, and so was the Committee. * * * * * HON. L. McLANE'S PROPERTY, SOON AFTER HIS DEATH, TRAVELS _viâ_ THE UNDERGROUND RAIL ROAD.--WILLIAM KNIGHT, ESQ., LOSES A SUPERIOR "ARTICLE." JIM SCOTT, TOM PENNINGTON, SAM SCOTT, BILL SCOTT, ABE BACON, AND JACK WELLS. An unusual degree of pleasure was felt in welcoming this party of young men, not because they were any better than others, or because they had suffered more, but simply because they were found to possess certain knowledge and experience of slave life, as it existed under the government of the chivalry; such information could not always be obtained from those whose lot had been cast among ordinary slave-holders. Consequently the Committee interviewed them closely, and in point of intellect found them to be above the average run of slaves. As they were then entered on the record, so in like manner are the notes made of them transferred to these pages. Jim was about nineteen years of age, well grown, black, and of prepossessing appearance. The organ of hope seemed very strong in him. Jim had been numbered with the live stock of the late Hon. L. McLane, who had been called to give an account of his stewardship about two months before Jim and his companions "took out." As to general usage, he made no particular charge against his distinguished master; he had, however, not been living under his immediate patriarchal government, but had been hired out to a farmer by the name of James Dodson, with whom he experienced life "sometimes hard and sometimes smooth," to use his own words. The reason of his leaguing with his fellow-servants to abandon the old prison-house, was traceable to the rumor, that he and some others were to appear on the stage, or rather the auction-block, in Baltimore, the coming Spring. Tom, another member of the McLane institution, was about twenty-five years of age, of unmixed blood, and a fair specimen of a well-trained field-hand. He conceived that he had just ground to bring damages against the Hon. L. McLane for a number of years of hard service, and for being deprived of education. He had been compelled to toil for the Honorable gentleman, not only on his own place, but on the farms of others. At the time that Tom escaped, he was hired for one hundred dollars per annum (and his clothes found him), which hire McLane had withheld from him contrary to all justice and fair dealing; but as Tom was satisfied, that he could get no justice through the Maryland courts, and knew that an old and intimate friend of his master had already proclaimed, that "negroes had no rights which white men are bound to respect;" also, as his experience tended to confirm him in the belief, that the idea was practically carried out in the courts of Maryland; he thought, that it would be useless to put in a plea for justice in Maryland. He was not, however, without a feeling of some satisfaction, that his old master, in giving an account of his stewardship at the Bar of the Just One, would be made to understand the amount of his indebtedness to those whom he had oppressed. With this impression, and the prospects of equal rights and Canada, under her British Majesty's possessions, he manifested as much delight as if he was traveling with a half million of dollars in his pocket. Sam, another likely-looking member of this party, was twenty-two years of age, and a very promising-looking young fugitive, having the appearance of being able to take education without difficulty. He had fully made up his mind, that slavery was never intended for man, and that he would never wear himself out working for the "white people for nothing." He wanted to work for himself and enjoy the benefits of education, etc. Bill Scott, another member of the McLane party, was twenty-one years of age, "fat and slick," and fully satisfied, that Canada would agree with him in every particular. Not a word did he utter in favor of Maryland, but said much against the manner in which slaves were treated, how he had felt about the matter, etc. Abe was also from the McLane estate. He possessed apparently more general intelligence than either of his companions. He was quite bright-witted, a ready talker, and with his prospects he was much satisfied. He was twenty-two years of age, black, good-looking, and possessed very good manners. He represented, that his distinguished master died, leaving thirteen head of slaves. His (Abe's) father, Tom's mother and the mother of the Scotts were freed by McLane. Strong hopes were entertained that before the old man's death he would make provision in his will for the freedom of all the other slaves; when he died, the contrary was found to be the fact; they were still left in chains. The immediate heirs consisted of six sons and five daughters, who moved in the first circle, were "very wealthy and aristocratic." Abe was conversant with the fact, that his master, the "Hon. L. McLane, was once Secretary under President Jackson;" that he had been "sent to England on a mission for the Government," and that he had "served two terms in Congress." Some of the servants, Abe said, were "treated pretty well, but some others could not say anything in the master's favor." Upon the whole, however, it was manifest that the McLane slaves had not been among the number who had seen severe hardships. They came from his plantation in Cecil county, Maryland, where they had been reared. In order to defend themselves on the Underground Rail Road, they were strongly armed. Sam had a large horse pistol and a butcher knife; Jack had a revolver; Abe had a double-barrelled pistol and a large knife; Jim had a single-barrelled pistol and counted on "blowing a man down if any one touched" him. Bill also had a single-barrelled pistol, and when he started resolved to "come through or die." Although this party was of the class said to be well fed, well clothed, and not over-worked, yet to those who heard them declare their utter detestation of slavery and their determination to use their instruments of death, even to the taking of life, rather than again be subjected to the yoke, it was evident that even the mildest form of slavery was abhorrent. They left neither old nor young masters, whom they desired to serve any longer or look up to for care and support. Jack, who was not of the McLane party, but who came with them, had been kept in ignorance with regard to his age. He was apparently middle-aged, medium size, dark color, and of average intelligence. He accused William Knight, a farmer, of having enslaved him contrary to his will or wishes, and averred that he fled from him because he used him badly and kept mean overseers. Jack said that his master owned six farms and kept three overseers to manage them. The slaves numbered twenty-one head. The names of the overseers were given in the following order: "Alfred King, Jimmy Allen, and Thomas Brockston." In speaking of their habits, Jack said, that they were "very smart when the master was about, but as soon as he was gone they would instantly drop back." "They were all mean, but the old boss was meaner than them all," and "the overseers were 'fraider' of him than what I was," said Jack. His master (Mr. Knight), had a wife and seven children, and was a member of the Episcopal Church, in "good and regular standing." He was rich, and, with his family, moved in good society. "His wife was too stingy to live, and if she was to die, she would die holding on to something," said Jack. Jack had once had a wife and three children, but as they belonged to a slave-holder ("Jim Price") Jack's rights were wholly ignored, and he lost them. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM HARFORD CO., 1857. JOHN MYERS. John fled from under the yoke of Dr. Joshua R. Nelson. Until within two years of "Jack's" flight, the doctor "had been a very fine man," with whom Jack found no fault. But suddenly his mode of treatment changed; he became very severe. Nothing that Jack could do, met the approval of the doctor. Jack was constantly looked upon with suspicion. The very day that Jack fled, four men approached him (the doctor one of them), with line in hand; that sign was well understood, and Jack resolved that they should not get within tying distance of him. "I dodged them," said Jack. Never afterwards was Jack seen in that part of the country, at least as long as a fetter remained. The day that he "dodged" he also took the Underground Rail Road, and although ignorant of letters, he battled his way out of Maryland, and succeeded in reaching Pennsylvania and the Committee. He was obliged to leave four children behind--John, Abraham, Jane and Ellen. Jack's wife had been freed and had come to Philadelphia two years in advance of him. His master evidently supposed that Jack would be mean enough to wish to see his wife, even in a free State, and that no slave, with such an unnatural desire, could be tolerated or trusted, that the sooner such "articles" were turned into cash the better. This in substance, was the way Jack accounted for the sudden change which had come over his master. In defense of his course, Jack referred to the treatment which he had received while in servitude under his old master, in something like the following words: "I served under my young master's father, thirty-five years, and from him received kind treatment. I was his head man on the place, and had everything to look after." * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1857. WILLIAM LEE, SUSAN JANE BOILE AND AMARIAN LUCRETIA RISTER. Although these three passengers arrived in Philadelphia at the same time, they did not come from Maryland together. William Lee found himself under the yoke on a farm in the possession of Zechariah Merica, who, Wm. said, was a "low ignorant man, not above a common wood-chopper, and owned no other slave property than William." Against him, however, William brought no accusation of any very severe treatment; on the contrary, his master talked sometimes "as though he wanted to be good and get religion, but said he could not while he was trying to be rich." Everything looked hopeless in William's eyes, so far as the master's riches and his own freedom were concerned. He concluded that he would leave him the "bag to hold alone." William therefore laid down "the shovel and the hoe," and, without saying a word to his master, he took his departure, under the privacy of the night, for Canada. William represented the white and colored races about equally; he was about twenty-seven years of age, and looked well fitted for a full day's work on a farm. Susan Jane came from New Market, near Georgetown Cross-Roads, where she had been held to unrequited labor by Hezekiah Masten, a farmer. Although he was a man of fair pretensions, and a member of the Methodist Church, he knew how to draw the cords very tightly, with regard to his slaves, keeping his feet on their necks, to their sore grievance. Susan endured his bad treatment as long as she could, then left, destitute and alone. Her mother and father were at the time living in Elkton, Md. Whether they ever heard what became of their daughter is not known. Amarian was twenty-one years of age, a person of light color, medium size, with a prepossessing countenance and smart; she could read, write, and play on the piano. From a child, Amarian had been owned by Mrs. Elizabeth Key Scott, who resided near Braceville, but at the time of her flight she was living at Westminster, in the family of a man named "Boile," said to be the clerk of the court. In reference to treatment, Amarian said: "I have always been used very well; have had it good all my life, etc." This was a remarkable case, and, at first, somewhat staggered the faith of the Committee, but they could not dispute her testimony, consequently they gave her the benefit of the doubt. She spoke of having a mother living in Hagerstown, by the name of Amarian Ballad, also three sisters who were slaves, and two who were free; she also had a brother in chains in Mississippi. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM NORFOLK, VA. 1857. WILLIAM CARNEY AND ANDREW ALLEN. William was about fifty-one years of age, a man of unmixed blood. Physically he was a superior man, and his mental abilities were quite above the average of his class. He belonged to the estate of the late Mrs. Sarah Twyne, who bore the reputation of being a lady of wealth, and owned one hundred and twelve slaves. Most of her slave property was kept on her plantation not far from Old Point Comfort. According to William's testimony "of times Mrs. Twyne would meddle too freely with the cup, and when under its influence she was very desperate, and acted as though she wanted to kill some of the slaves." After the evil spirit left her and she had regained her wonted composure, she would pretend that she loved her "negroes," and would make a great fuss over them. Not infrequently she would have very serious difficulty with her overseers. Having license to do as they pleased, they would of course carry their cruelties to the most extreme verge of punishment. If a slave was maimed or killed under their correction, it was no loss of theirs. "One of the overseers by the name of Bill Anderson once shot a young slave man called Luke and wounded him so seriously that he was not expected to live." "At another time one of the overseers beat and kicked a slave to death." This barbarity caused the mistress to be very much "stirred up," and she declared that she would not have any more white overseers; condemned them for everything, and decided to change her policy in future and to appoint her overseers from her own slaves, setting the property to watch the property. This system was organized and times were somewhat better. William had been hired out almost his entire life. For the last twelve or fifteen years he had been accustomed to hire his time for one hundred and thirty dollars per annum. In order to meet this demand he commonly resorted to oystering. By the hardest toil he managed to maintain himself and family in a humble way. For the last twenty years (prior to his escape) the slaves had constantly been encouraged by their mistress' promises to believe that at her death all would be free, and transported to Liberia, where they would enjoy their liberty and be happy the remainder of their days. With full faith in her promises year by year the slaves awaited her demise with as much patience as possible, and often prayed that her time might be shortened for the general good of the oppressed. Fortunately, as the slaves thought, she had no children or near relatives to deprive them of their just and promised rights. In November, previous to William's escape, her long looked-for dissolution took place. Every bondman who was old enough to realize the nature and import of the change felt a great anxiety to learn what the will of their old mistress said, whether she had actually freed them or not. Alas! when the secret was disclosed, it was ascertained that not a fetter was broken, not a bond unloosed, and that no provision whatever had been made looking towards freedom. In this sad case, the slaves could imagine no other fate than soon to be torn asunder and scattered. The fact was soon made known that the High Sheriff had administered on the estate of the late mistress; it was therefore obvious enough to William and the more intelligent slaves that the auction block was near at hand. The trader, the slave-pen, the auction-block, the coffle gang, the rice swamp, the cotton plantation, bloodhounds, and cruel overseers loomed up before him, as they had never done before. Without stopping to consider the danger, he immediately made up his mind that he would make a struggle, cost what it might. He knew of no other way of escape than the Underground Rail Road. He was shrewd enough to find an agent, who gave him private instructions, and to whom he indicated a desire to travel North on said road. On examination he was deemed reliable, and a mutual understanding was entered into between. William and one of the accommodating Captains running on the Richmond and Philadelphia Line, to the effect that he, William, should have a first class Underground Rail Road berth, so perfectly private that even the law-officers could not find him. The first ties to be severed were those which bound him to his wife and children, and next to the Baptist Church, to which he belonged. His family were slaves, and bore the following names: his wife, Nancy, and children, Simon Henry, William, Sarah, Mary Ann, Elizabeth, Louis, and Cornelius. It was no light matter to bid them farewell forever. The separation from them was a trial such as rarely falls to the lot of mortals; but he nerved himself for the undertaking, and when the hour arrived his strength was sufficient for the occasion. Thus in company with Andrew they embarked for an unknown shore, their entire interests entrusted to a stranger who was to bring them through difficulties and dangers seen and unseen. Andrew was about twenty-four years of age, very tall, quite black, and bore himself manfully. He too was of the same estate that William belonged to. He had served on the farm as a common farm laborer. He had had it "sometimes rough and sometimes smooth," to use his own language. The fear of what awaited the slaves prompted Andrew to escape. He too was entangled with a wife and one child, with whom he parted only as a friend parts with a companion when death separates them. Catharine was the name of Andrew's wife; and Anna Clarissa the name of his child left in chains. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM HOOPESVILLE, MD., 1857. JAMES CAIN, "GENERAL ANDREW JACKSON," AND ANNA PERRY. These passengers came from the field where as slaves very few privileges had been afforded them. Jim was about thirty-five years of age, a dark brown skin with average intellect for one in his condition. He had toiled under John Burnham, in Dorchester county, from whom he had received hard treatment, but harder still from his mistress. He averred that she was the cause of matters being so hard with the slaves on the place. Jim contented himself under his lot as well as be could until within a short time of his escape when he learned that measures were on foot to sell him. The fear of this change brought him directly to meditate upon a trip to Canada. Being a married man he found it hard to leave his wife, Mary, but as she was also a slave, and kept in the employment of her owners at some distance from where he lived, he decided to say nothing to her of his plans, but to start when ready and do the best he could to save himself, as he saw no chance of saving her. "GENERAL ANDREW JACKSON." When the above "article" gave the Committee his name they were amused and thought that he was simply jesting, having done a smart thing in conquering his master by escaping; but on a fuller investigation they found that he really bore the name, and meant to retain it in Canada. It had been given him when a child, and in Slavery he had been familiarly called "Andy," but since he had achieved his freedom he felt bound to be called by his proper name. General Andrew was about twenty-seven years of age, a full black, and a man of extraordinary muscular powers, with coarse hard features, such as showed signs that it would not be safe for his master to meddle with him when the General's blood was up. He spoke freely of the man who claimed him as a slave, saying that his name was Shepherd Houston, of Lewistown, Delaware, and that he owned seven head of "God's poor," whom he compelled to labor on his farm without a cent of pay, a day's schooling, or an hour's freedom; furthermore, that he was a member of the Ebenezer Methodist Church, a class-leader, and an exhorter, and in outward show passed for a good Christian. But in speaking of his practical dealings with his slaves, General said that he worked them hard, stinted them shamefully for food, and kept them all the time digging. Also when testifying with regard to the "weaker vessel," under whose treatment he had suffered much, the General said that his master's wife had a meaner disposition than he had; she pretended to belong to church too, said General, but it was nothing but deceit. This severe critic could not read, but he had very clear views on the ethics of his master and mistress, agreeing with Scripture concerning whited sepulchres, etc. The question of Christian slave-holders, for a great while, seriously puzzled the wise and learned, but for the slave it was one of the easiest of solution. All the slaves came to the same conclusion, notwithstanding the teaching of slave-holders on the one idea, that "servants should obey their masters," etc. General had a brother in Baltimore, known by the name of Josephus, also two sisters Anna and Annie; his father was living at Cannon's Ferry. Anna Perry was the intended of General. She was about nineteen years of age, of a dark brown color, and came from the same neighborhood. According to law Anna was entitled to her freedom, but up to the time of her escape she had not been permitted to enjoy the favor. She found that if she would be free she would have to run for it. John Smith. A better specimen of one who had been ill treated, and in every way uncared for, could not be easily found. In speech, manners, and whole appearance he was extremely rude. He was about twenty years of age, and in color was of a very dark hue. That John had received only the poorest kind of "corn-field fare" was clearly evidenced both by body and mind. Master George H. Morgan was greatly blamed for John's deficiencies; it was on his farms, under mean overseers that John had been crushed and kept under the harrow. His mother, Mary Smith, he stated, his master had sold away to New Orleans, some two years before his escape. The sad effect that this cruel separation had upon him could only be appreciated by hearing him talk of it in his own untutored tongue. Being himself threatened with the auction-block, he was awakened to inquire how he could escape the danger, and very soon learned that by following the old methods which had been used by many before him, resolution and perseverance, he might gain the victory over master and overseers. As green as he seemed he had succeeded admirably in his undertaking. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1858. GEORGE RUSSELL AND JAMES HENRY THOMPSON. James, for convenience' sake, was supplied with two other names (Milton Brown and John Johnson), not knowing exactly how many he would need in freedom or which would be the best adapted to keep his whereabouts the most completely veiled from his master. George reported that he fled from Henry Harris, who lived near Baltimore on the Peach Orchard Road, and that he had lived with said Harris all his life. He spoke of him as being a "blustering man, who never liked the slaves to make anything for themselves." George bore witness that the usage which he had received had been hard; evidently his intellect had been seriously injured by what he had suffered under his task-master. George was of a very dark hue, but not quite up to medium size. James Henry Thompson did not accompany George, but met him at the station in Philadelphia. He contrasted favorably with George, being about twenty-eight years of age, with a countenance indicative of intelligence and spirit. He was of a chestnut color and of average size. He charged one Dennis Mannard, of Johnsonville, with being his personal enemy as an oppressor, and added that he could "say nothing good of him." He could say, however, that Mannard was bitterly opposed to a slave's learning how to read, would not listen to the idea of giving them any privileges, and tried to impress them with the idea that they needed to know nothing but simply how to work hard for the benefit of their masters and mistresses; in fulfilling these conditions faithfully the end for which they had been designed would be accomplished according to his doctrine. Notwithstanding so much pains had been resorted to throughout the South to impress these ideas upon the slaves, no converts were made. James thought that the doctrine was infamous, and that it was dangerous to live with such a man as his master; that freedom was as much his right as it was his master's; and so he resolved to leave for Canada as soon as he could see any chance for escape. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM QUEEN ANN COUNTY, 1858. CATHARINE JONES AND SON HENRY, ETNA ELIZABETH DAUPHUS, AND GEORGE NELSON WASHINGTON. These passengers, although interesting, and manifesting a strong desire to be free, had no remarkable tales of personal suffering to relate; their lot had evidently been cast among the more humane class of slave-holders, who had acted towards their slaves with some moderation. Catharine was twenty-four years of age, of a dark chestnut color, possessed a fair share of mother wit, and was fitted to make a favorable impression. In no degree whatever did she think well of slavery; she had had, as she thought, sufficient experience under Joshua Duvall (who professed to own her) to judge as to the good or evil of the system. While he was by no means considered a hard man, he would now and then buy and sell a slave. She had no fault to find with her mistress. Etna was about twenty years of age, of a "ginger-bread" color, modest in demeanor, and appeared to have a natural capacity for learning. She was also from under the Duvall yoke. In setting forth her reasons for escaping she asserted that she was tired of slavery and an unbeliever in the doctrine that God made colored people simply to be slaves for white people; besides, she had a strong desire to "see her friends in Canada." George also escaped from Duvall; happily he was only about nineteen years of age, not too old to acquire some education and do well by himself. He was greatly elated at the prospect of freedom in Canada. William Henry was a plump little fellow only two years of age. At the old price (five dollars per pound) he was worth something, fat as he was. Being in the hands of his mother, the Committee considered him a lucky child. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM BALTIMORE. ELIJAH BISHOP AND WILLIAM WILLIAMSON. Elijah represented to the Committee that he had been held under the enthrallment of a common "gambler and drunkard," who called himself by the name of Campbell, and carried on his sporting operations in Baltimore. Under this gambler Elijah had been wronged up to the age of twenty-eight years, when he resolved to escape. Having had several opportunities of traveling through the United States and South America with his sporting master, he managed to pick up quite an amount of information. For the benefit of Elijah's relatives, if any should have occasion to look for particulars concerning this lost individual, we add, that he was a spare-built man of a dark color. William Williamson fled from Mrs. Rebecca Davidge, of Perrymanville. He declared that he had been used badly--had been worked hard and had been fed and clothed but poorly. Under such treatment he had reached his twenty-fourth year. Being of a resolute and determined mind, and feeling considerably galled by the burdens heaped upon him, he resolved that he would take his chances on the Underground Rail Road. The only complaint that he had to make against his mistress was, that she hired him to a man named Smith, a farmer, and a slave-holder of the meanest type, in William's opinion. For many a day William will hold her responsible for abuses he received from him. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM DUNWOODY COUNTY, 1858. DARIUS HARRIS. One of the most encouraging signs connected with the travel _viâ_ the Underground Rail Road was, that passengers traveling thereon were, as a general thing, young and of determined minds. Darius, the subject of this sketch, was only about twenty-one when he arrived. It could be seen in his looks that he could not be kept in the prison-house unless constantly behind bars. His large head and its formation indicated a large brain. He stated that "Thomas H. Hamlin, a hard case, living near Dunwoody," had professed to own him. Darius alleged that this same Hamlin, who had thus stripped him of every cent of his earnings was doing the same thing by sixty others, whom he held in his grasp. With regard to "feeding and clothing" Darius set Hamlin down as "very hoggish;" he also stated that he would sell slaves whenever he could. He (Darius), had been hired out in Petersburg from the age of ten; for the last three years previous to his escape he had been bringing one hundred and fifty dollars a year into the coffers of his owners. Darius had not been ignorant of the cruelties of the slave system up to the time of his escape, for the fetters had been galling his young limbs for several years; especially had the stringent slave laws given him the horrors. Loathing the system of slavery with his whole heart, he determined to peril his all in escaping therefrom; seeking diligently, he had found means by which he could carry his designs into execution. In the way of general treatment, however, Darius said that bodily he had escaped "abuses tolerably well." He left in slavery his father and mother, four brothers and one sister. He arrived by one of the Richmond boats. * * * * * ARRIVED FROM ALEXANDRIA, VA., 1857. TOWNSEND DERRIX. The above-named escaped from a "Dutchman" by the name of Gallipappick, who was in the confectionery business. For the credit of our German citizens, it may be said, that slave-holders within their ranks were very few. This was a rare case. The Committee were a little curious to know how the German branch of civilization conducted when given unlimited control over human beings. In answering the requisite questions, and in making his statement, Townsend gave entire satisfaction. His German master he spoke of as being a tolerably fair man, "considering his origin." At least he (Townsend), had not suffered much from him; but he spoke of a woman, about sixty, who had been used very badly under this Dutchman. He not only worked her very hard, but, at the same time, he would beat her over the head, and that in the most savage manner. His mistress was also "Dutch," a "great swabby, fat woman," with a very ill disposition. Master and mistress were both members of the Episcopal Church. "Mistress drank, that was the reason she was so disagreeable." Townsend had been a married man for about seven months only. In his effort to obtain his own freedom he sought diligently to deliver his young wife. They were united heart and hand in the one great purpose to reach free land, but unfortunately the pursuers were on their track; the wife was captured and carried back, but the husband escaped. It was particularly with a view of saving his poor wife that Townsend was induced to peril his life, for she (the wife) was not owned by the same party who owned Townsend, and was on the eve of being taken by her owners some fifty miles distant into the country, where the chances for intercourse between husband and wife would no longer be favorable. Rather than submit to such an outrage, Townsend and his wife made the attempt aforementioned. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1858. EDWARD CARROLL. Edward, a youthful passenger about twenty-one years of age, slow of speech, with a stammering utterance, and apparently crushed in spirits, claimed succor and aid of the Committee. At first the Committee felt a little puzzled to understand, how one, apparently so deficient, could succeed in surmounting the usual difficulties consequent upon traveling, via the Underground Rail Road; but in conversing with him, they found him possessed of more intelligence than they had supposed; indeed, they perceived that he could read and write a little, and that what he lacked in aptness of speech, he supplied as a thinker, and although he was slow he was sure. He was owned by a man named John Lewis, who also owned about seventy head of slaves, whom he kept on farms near the mouth of the Sassafras River, in Sussex county. Lewis had not only held Edward in bondage, but had actually sold him, with two of his brothers, only the Saturday before his escape, to a Georgia trader, named Durant, who was to start south with them on the subsequent Monday. Moved almost to desperation at their master's course in thus selling them, the three brothers, after reflection, determined to save themselves if possible, and without any definite knowledge of the journey, they turned their eyes towards the North Star, and under the cover of night they started for Pennsylvania, not knowing whether they would ever see the goodly land of freedom. After wandering for about two weeks, having been lost often and compelled to lie out in all weathers, a party of pursuers suddenly came upon them. Both parties were armed; the fugitives therefore resolved to give their enemies battle, before surrendering. Edward felt certain that one of the pursuers received a cut from his knife, but the extent of the injury was unknown to him. For a time the struggle was of a very serious character; by using his weapons skillfully, however, Edward managed to keep the hand-cuff off of himself, but was at this point separated from his two brothers. No further knowledge of them did he possess; nevertheless, he trusted that they succeeded in fighting their way through to freedom. How any were successful in making their escape under such discouraging circumstances is a marvel. Edward took occasion to review his master's conduct, and said that he "could not recommend him," as he would "drink and gamble," both of which, were enough to condemn him, in Edward's estimation, even though he were passable in other respects. But he held him doubly guilty for the way that he acted in selling him and his brothers. So privately had his master transacted business with the trader, that they were within a hair's breadth of being hand-cuffed, ere they knew that they were sold. Probably no outrage will be remembered with feelings of greater bitterness, than this proceeding on the part of the master; yet, when he reflected that he was thereby prompted to strike for freedom, Edward was disposed to rejoice at the good which had come out of the evil. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM PETERSBURG, 1858. JAMES MASON. This passenger brought rare intelligence respecting the manner in which he had been treated in Slavery. He had been owned by a lady named Judith Burton, who resided in Petersburg, and was a member of the Baptist Church. She was the owner of five other slaves. James said that she had been "the same as a mother" to him; and on the score of how he came to escape, he said: "I left for no other cause than simply to get my liberty." This was an exceptional case, yet he had too much sense to continue in such a life in preference to freedom. When he fled he was only twenty-four years of age. Had he remained, therefore, he might have seen hard times before he reached old age; this fact he had well considered, as he was an intelligent young man. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. ROBERT CARR. $300 REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, on the 26th December, 1857, Negro Man ROBERT CARR. He had on when last seen on West River, a close-bodied blue cloth coat with brass buttons, drab pantaloons, and a low crown and very narrow brim beaver hat; he wore a small goatee, is pleasant when spoken to, and very polite; about five feet ten inches high; copper-colored. I will give $125 if taken in Anne Arundel, Prince George's, Calvert or Montgomery county, $150 if taken in the city of Baltimore; or $300 if taken out of the State and secured so that I get him again. [Illustration: ] THOS. J. RICHARDSON, West River, Anne Arundel county, Maryland. j13-w&s3w Robert was too shrewd to be entrapped by the above reward. He sat down and counted the cost before starting; then with his knowledge of slaveholders when traveling he was cautious enough not to expose himself by day or night where he was liable to danger. He had reached the age of thirty, and despite the opposition he had had to encounter, unaided he had learned to read, which with his good share of native intelligence, he found of service. Whilst Robert did not publish his mistress, he gave a plain statement of where he was from, and why he was found in the city of Brotherly Love in the dead of Winter in a state of destitution. He charged the blame upon a woman, whose name was Richardson, who, he said, was quite a "fighter, and was never satisfied, except when quarreling and fighting with some of the slaves." He also spoke of a certain T.J. Richardson, a farmer and a "very driving man" who was in the habit of oppressing poor men and women by compelling them to work in his tobacco, corn, and wheat fields without requiting them for their labor. Robert felt if he could get justice out of said Richardson he would be the gainer to the amount of more than a thousand dollars in money besides heavy damages for having cheated him out of his education. In this connection, he recalled the fact of Richardson's being a member of the church, and in a sarcastic manner added that his "religious pretensions might pass among slave-holders, but that it would do him no good when meeting the Judge above." Being satisfied that he would there meet his deserts Robert took a degree of comfort therefrom. * * * * * ARRIVAL OF A PARTY OF SIX, 1858. PLYMOUTH CANNON, HORATIO WILKINSON, LEMUEL MITCHELL, JOSIAH MITCHELL, GEORGE HENRY BALLARD, AND JOHN MITCHELL. Thomas Garrett announced the coming of this party in the subjoined letter: WILMINGTON, 2 MO. 5th, 1858. ESTEEMED FRIEND:--WILLIAM STILL:--I have information of 6 able-bodied men that are expected here to-morrow morning; they may, to-morrow afternoon or evening, take the cars at Chester, and most likely reach the city between 11 and 12 at night; they will be accompanied by a colored man that has lived in Philadelphia and is free; they may think it safer to walk to the city than to go in the cars, but for fear of accident it may be best to have some one at the cars to look out for them. I have not seen them yet, and cannot certainly judge what will be best. I gave a man 3 dollars to bring those men 15 miles to-night, and I have been two miles in the country this afternoon, and gave a colored man 2 dollars to get provisions to feed them. Hoping all will be right, I remain thy friend, HUMANITAS. Arriving as usual in due time these fugitives were examined, and all found to be extra field hands. Plymouth was forty-two years of age, of a light chestnut color, with keen eyes, and a good countenance, and withal possessed of shrewdness enough to lead double the number that accompanied him. He had a strong desire to learn to read, but there was no possible way of his gaining the light; this he felt to be a great drawback. The name of the man who had made merchandise of Plymouth was Nat Horsey, of Horsey's Cross Roads. The most striking characteristic in Horsey's character, according to Plymouth's idea was, that he was very "hard to please, did not know when a slave did enough, had no idea that they could get tired or that they needed any privileges." He was the owner of six slaves, was engaged in farming and mercantile pursuits, and the postmaster of the borough in which he lived. When Plymouth parted with his wife with a "full heart," he bade her good-night, without intimating to her that he never expected to see her again in this world; she evidently supposed that he was going home to his master's place as usual, but instead he was leaving his companion and three children to wear the yoke as hitherto. He sympathized with them deeply, but felt that he could render them no real good by remaining; he could neither live with his wife nor could he have any command over one of his children. Slavery demanded all, but allowed nothing. Notwithstanding, Plymouth admitted that he had been treated even more favorably than most slaves. The family thus bound consisted of his wife Jane, and four children, as follows: Dorsey, William Francis, Mary Ellen, and baby. Horatio was a little in advance of Plymouth in years, being forty-four years of age. His physical outlines gave him a commanding appearance for one who had worn the yoke as he had for so many years. He was of a yellow complexion, and very tall. As a slave laborer he had been sweating and toiling to enrich a man by the name of Thomas J. Hodgson, a farmer on a large scale, and owning about a dozen slaves. Horatio gave him the character of being "a man of a hidden temper," and after the election of Buchanan he considered him a great deal worse than ever. Horatio told of a visit which his master made to Canada, and which, on his return, he had taken much pains to report to the slaves to the effect that he had been there the previous summer, and saw the country for himself, adding in words somewhat as follows: "Canada is the meanest part of the globe that I ever found or heard of;--did not see but one black or colored person in Canada,--inquired at the custom-house to know what became of all the blacks from the South, and was told that they shipped them off occasionally and sent them round Cape Horn and sold them." In addition to this report he said that "the suffering from deep snows and starvation was fearful," all of which Horatio believed "to be a lie." Of course he concealed this opinion from his master. Many such stories were sounded in the ears of slaves but without much effect. Lemuel, John and Josiah were brothers. Lemuel was thirty-five, and might be called a jet-black. He was uncommonly stout, with a head indicative of determination of purpose, just suited to an Underground Rail Road passenger. He fled from James R. Lewis, "a tall, stout man, very wealthy and close." Lemuel said that he fed and clothed the slaves pretty well. He had invested to the extent of twelve head. No money or privileges were allowed, and for a small offence the threat to sell was made. It was Lemuel's opinion that his master's wife made him worse than he otherwise would have been. John was twenty-four years of age, of unmixed blood, and of a quiet demeanour. He belonged to Miss Catharine Cornwell, of Viana. John described her as "tolerable good-looking, but real bad." His sister and one other slave besides himself comprised her entire stock (of slaves). According to John's story, his mistress was in the habit of telling her slaves that she did not "intend that any of them should be free if she could help it;" this sentiment was uttered so "scornfully" that it "insulted" Jack very much. Indeed, it was this that put the idea of Canada into his mind. The more she kept the idea of perpetual Slavery before the slaves, the more Jack resolved to make her arrogance cost her one slave at least. Miss Cornwell was not only a warm advocate of Slavery, but was likewise a member of the Methodist church, under the pastoral charge of the Rev. J.C. Gregg. On one occasion, when the minister was visiting Miss C., the subject of Slavery was introduced in John's hearing. The reverend gentleman took the ground that it was not right to hold slaves,--said there were none in Pennsylvania, etc. The young mistress showed little or no sign of thinking otherwise while he remained, "but, after he was gone, she raved and went on in a great way, and told her brother if he (the minister), ever married her, he would have to come out of his notions about freedom." It was John's opinion that the subject of matrimony was then under consideration between them. For himself, he was highly delighted with the minister's "notions of freedom," as he had heard so many high notions of Slavery. In reference to the labor usage under the young mistress, John said that they had been "worked very hard, and especially last, and the present year." "Last year," he stated, "they had hardly any meat, but were fed chiefly on herring. Seeing that it was going to be the same thing this year too, I thought that if I could make my escape to Canada, I would do it." He had strong parental and kindred ties to break, but resolved to break them rather than remain under Miss Cornwell. Josiah was twenty-three. A more promising-looking subject to represent the fugitives in Canada, was not readily to be found. His appearance indicated that he was a young man of extra physical powers, at least, one not likely to turn his face again towards Egypt. Josiah's gain was the loss of Thomas J. Hodgson (above alluded to). For full three years this desire and determination to be free had been in Josiah's heart. The denial of his manhood nerved him to seek for refuge in a foreign clime. George, the last named in this party, gave his age as twenty-six. In appearance he was not behind any of his comrades. He fled from a farmer, (the late William Jackson), who owned, it was said, "sixteen head." He had recently died, leaving all his slaves in bondage. Seeing that the settlement of the estate might necessitate the sale of some of the slaves, George thought that he had better not wait for the division of the property or anything else, but push ahead with the first train for Canada. Slavery, as he viewed it, was nothing more nor less than downright robbery. He left his mother, one sister, and other near kin. After George went to Canada, his heart yearned tenderly after his mother and sister, and, as the following letter will show, he was prepared to make commendable exertions in their behalf: ST. CATHARINES, JULY 19th, 1858. DEAR SIR:--With pleasure I now inform you that I am well, and hope this may find you and yours the same also. I hope kind sir you will please to see Mr. Paul Hammon, to know when he will try to get my Mother and Sister I wish him to send me word when he will go so I may meet him in Philadelphia. And I will Endevor to meet him there With some money to assist him in getting them. Let me know when you start for them so I may be able to meet you there, please after this letter passes from you sir, give it to John Camper tell him to give it to his Mother, so that my Mother can get it, be careful and not let no white man get hold of it. I am now living with my cousin Leven Parker, near Saint Catharines, $10 a month. No more at present, from your friend, GEORGE BALLARD. The inquiry may arise, as to how such passengers managed to get through Maryland and Delaware. But it cannot be expected that the manner in which each arrival traveled should be particularly described. It might not be prudent even now, to give the names of persons still living in the South, who assisted their fellow-men in the dark days of Slavery. In order, however, that some idea may be gathered as to the workings of one branch of the road in Delaware (with names suppressed) we insert the following original letter for what it may be worth. CAMDEN, June 13, 1858. MR. STILL:--I writ to inform you that we stand in need of help if ever we wonted help it is in theas day, we have Bin trying to rais money to By a hors but there is so few here that we can trust our selves with for fear that they may serve us as tom otwell served them when he got them in dover Jail. But he is dun for ever, i wont to no if your friends can help us, we have a Road that more than 100 past over in 1857. it is one we made for them, 7 in march after the lions had them there is no better in the State, we are 7 miles from Delaware Bay. you may understand what i mean. I wrote last december to the anti Slavery Society for James Mot and others concerning of purchasing a horse for this Bisnes if your friends can help us the work must stil go on for ther is much frait pases over this Road, But ther has Ben but 3 conductors for sum time, you may no that there is but few men, sum talks all dos nothing, there is horses owned by Collard peopel but not for this purpose. We wont one for to go when called for, one of our best men was nigh Cut By keeping of them too long, By not having means to convay them tha must Be convad if they pass over this Road safe tha go through in 2 nights to Wilmington, for i went there with 28 in one gang last November, tha had to ride for when thea com to us we go 15 miles, it is hard Road to travel i had sum conversation with mr. Evens and wos down here on a visit, pleas try what you can do for us this is the place we need help, 12 mile i live from mason and Dixson Line. I wod have come but cant have time, as yet there has been some fuss about a boy ho lived near Camden, he has gone away, he ses me and my brother nose about it but he don't. There is but 4 slaves near us, never spoke to one of them but wonce she never gos out pleas to tri and help, you can do much if you will it will be the means of saving ourselves and others. Ancer this letter. Pleas to writ let me no if you can do anything for us. I still remain your friend. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1858. EBENEZER ALLISON. "Eb" was a bright mulatto, handsome, well-made, and barely twenty years of age. He reported that he fled from Mr. John Tilghman Foster, a farmer, living in the vicinity of Richmond. His master, Ebenezer unhesitatingly declared, was a first-rate man. "I had no right to leave him in the world, but I loved freedom better than Slavery." After fully setting forth the kind treatment he had been accustomed to receive under his master, a member of the Committee desired to know of him if he could read, to which he answered that he could, but he admitted that what knowledge he had obtained in this direction was the result of efforts made stealthily, not through any license afforded by his master. John Tilghman Foster held deeds for about one hundred and fifty head of slaves, and was a man of influence. Ebenezer had served his time in the barber's shop. On escaping he forsook his parents, and eight brothers and sisters. As he was so intelligent, the Committee believed he would make his mark in life some time. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1858. JOHN THOMPSON CARR, ANN MOUNTAIN AND CHILD, AND WILLIAM BOWLER. John was a sturdy-looking chattel, but possessed far less intelligence than the generality of passengers. He was not too old, however, to improve. The fact that he had spirit enough to resent the harsh treatment of one Albert Lewis, a small farmer, who claimed to own him, showed that he was by no means a hopeless case. With all his apparent stupidity he knew enough to give his master the name of a "free whiskey drinker," likewise of "beating and fighting the slaves." It was on this account that John was compelled to escape. Ann Mountain arrived from Delaware with her child about the same time that John did, but not in company with him; they met at the station in Philadelphia. That Slavery had crippled her in every respect was very discernible; this poor woman had suffered from cuffing, etc., until she could no longer endure her oppression. Taking her child in her arms, she sought refuge beyond the borders of slave territory. Ann was about twenty-two years of age, her child not quite a year old. They were considered entitled to much pity. William was forty-one years of age, dark, ordinary size, and intelligent. He fled from Richmond, where he had been held by Alexander Royster, the owner of fifteen slaves, and a tobacco merchant. William said that his master was a man of very savage temper, short, and crabbed. As to his social relations, William said that he was "a member of nothing now but a liquor barrel." Knowing that his master and mistress labored under the delusion that he was silly enough to look up to them as kind-hearted slave-holders, to whom he should feel himself indebted for everything, William thought that they would be sadly puzzled to conjecture what had become of him. He was sure that they would be slow to believe that he had gone to Canada. Until within the last five years he had enjoyed many privileges as a slave, but he had since found it not so easy to submit to the requirements of Slavery. He left his wife, Nancy, and two children. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM BALTIMORE, 1858. ROBERTA TAYLOR. The subject of this sketch was a young mulatto woman, twenty-three years of age, who fled from the City of Baltimore. Both before and after her escape Roberta appeared to appreciate her situation most fully. Her language concerning freedom had in it the ring of common sense, as had her remarks touching her slave life. In making her grievances known to the Committee she charged Mr. and Mrs. McCoy with having done great violence to her freedom and degrading her womanhood by holding her in bonds contrary to her wishes. Of Mr. McCoy, however, she spoke less severely than she did of his "better half." Indeed she spoke of some kind traits in his character, but said that his wife was one of "the torn down, devilish dispositions, all the time quarreling and fighting, and would swear like an old sailor." It was in consequence of these evil propensities that her ladyship was intolerable to Roberta. Without being indebted to her owners for any privileges, she had managed to learn to read a little, which knowledge she valued highly and meant to improve in Canada. Roberta professed to be a Christian, and was a member of the Bethel Methodist Church. Her servitude, until within four years of her escape, had been passed in Virginia, under Mrs. McCoy's father, when to accommodate the daughter she was transferred to Baltimore. Of her parentage or relatives no note was made on the book. It was sad to see such persons destitute and homeless, compelled to seek refuge among strangers, not daring to ask the slightest favor, sympathy or prayer to aid her, Christian as she was, from any Christian of Baltimore, wearing a fair skin. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM HIGHTSTOWN, 1858. ROBERT THOMPSON (A PREACHER). Slavery exempted from the yoke no man with a colored skin no matter what his faith, talent, genius, or worth might be. The person of Christ in a black skin would scarcely have caused it to relinquish its tyrannical grasp; neither God nor man was regarded by men who dealt in the bodies and souls of their fellow-men. Robert stated to the Committee that he fled from "John R. Laten, a very harsh kind of a farmer, who drank right smart," that on the morning he "took out," while innocent of having committed any crime, suddenly in a desperate fit of passion, his master took him "by the collar," at the same time calling loudly to "John" for "ropes." This alarming assault on the part of his master made the preacher feel as though his Satanic majesty had possession of him. In such a crisis he evidently felt that preaching would do no good; he was, however, constrained to make an effort. To use his own words, he said: "I gave a sudden jerk and started off on a trot, leaving my master calling, 'stop! stop!' but I kept on running, and was soon out of sight." The more he thought over the brutal conduct of his master the more decided he became never to serve him more, and straightway he resolved to try to reach Canada. Being in the prime of his life (thirty-nine years of age) and having the essential qualifications for traveling over the Underground Rail Road, he was just the man to endure the trials consequent upon such an undertaking. Said Robert: "I always thought slavery hard, a very dissipated life to live. I always thought we colored people ought to work for ourselves and wives and children like other people." The Committee saw that Robert's views were in every word sound doctrine, and for further light asked him some questions respecting the treatment he had received at the hands of his mistress, not knowing but that he had received kindness from the "weaker vessel;" while enduring suffering under his master; but Robert assured them in answer to this inquiry that his mistress was a very "ill, dissipated woman," and "was not calculated to sympathize with a poor slave." Robert was next interviewed with regard to religious matters, when it was ascertained that he bore the name of being a "local preacher of the gospel of the Bethel Methodist denomination." Thus in leaving slavery he had to forsake his wife and three children, kinfolks and church, which arduous task but for the brutal conduct of the master he might have labored in vain for strength to perform. As he looked calmly back upon the past, and saw how he and the rest of the slaves had been deprived of their just rights he could hardly realize how Providence could suffer slave-holders to do as they had been doing in trampling upon the poor and helpless slaves. Yet he had strong faith that the Almighty would punish slave-holders severely for their wickedness. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1858. ALFRED S. THORNTON. The subject of this sketch was a young man about twenty-two years of age, of dark color, but bright intellectually. Alfred found no fault with the ordinary treatment received at the hands of his master; he had evidently been on unusually intimate terms with him. Nor was any fault found with his mistress, so far as her treatment of him was concerned; thus, comparatively, he was "happy and contented," little dreaming of trader or a change of owners. One day, to his utter surprise, he saw a trader with a constable approaching him. As they drew nearer and nearer he began to grow nervous. What further took place will be given, as nearly as possible, in Alfred's own words as follows: "William Noland (a constable), and the trader was making right up to me almost on my heels, and grabbed at me, they were so near. I flew, I took off-my hat and run, took off my jacket and run harder, took off my vest and doubled my pace, the constable and the trader both on the chase hot foot. The trader fired two barrels of his revolver after me, and cried out as loud as he could call, G----d d----n, etc., but I never stopped running, but run for my master. Coming up to him, I cried out, Lord, master, have you sold me? 'Yes,' was his answer. 'To the trader,' I said. 'Yes,' he answered. 'Why couldn't you sold me to some of the neighbors?' I said. 'I don't know,' he said, in a dry way. With my arms around my master's neck, I begged and prayed him to tell me why he had sold me. The trader and constable was again pretty near. I let go my master and took to my heels to save me. I run about a mile off and run into a mill dam up to my head in water. I kept my head just above and hid the rest part of my body for more than two hours. I had not made up my mind to escape until I had got into the water. I run only to have little more time to breathe before going to Georgia or New Orleans; but I pretty soon made up my mind in the water to try and get to a free State, and go to Canada and make the trial anyhow, but I didn't know which way to travel." Such great changes in Alfred's prospects having been wrought in so short a while, together with such a fearful looking-for of a fate in the far South more horrid than death, suddenly, as by a miracle, he turns his face in the direction of the North. But the North star, as it were, hid its face from him. For a week he was trying to reach free soil, the rain scarcely ceasing for an hour. The entire journey was extremely discouraging, and many steps had to be taken in vain, hungry and weary. But having the faith of those spoken of in the Scriptures, who wandered about in dens and caves of the earth, being destitute, afflicted and tormented, he endured to the end and arrived safely to the Committee. [Illustration: ] He left his father and mother, both slaves, living near Middleburg, in Virginia, not far from where he said his master lived, who went by the name of C.E. Shinn, and followed farming. His master and mistress were said to be members of the "South Baptist Church," and both had borne good characters until within a year or so previous to Alfred's departure. Since then a very serious disagreement had taken place between them, resulting in their separation, a heavy lawsuit, and consequently large outlays. It was this domestic trouble, in Alfred's opinion, that rendered his sale indispensable. Of the merits of the grave charges made by his master against his mistress, Alfred professed to have formed no opinion; he knew, however, that his master blamed a school-master, by the name of Conway, for the sad state of things in his household. Time would fail to tell of the abundant joy Alfred derived from the fact, that his "heels" had saved him from a Southern market. Equally difficult would it be to express the interest felt by the Committee in this passenger and his wonderful hair-breadth escape. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM BELLEAIR. JULIUS SMITH, WIFE MARY, AND BOY JAMES, HENRY AND EDWARD SMITH, AND JACK CHRISTY. While this party was very respectable in regard to numbers and enlisted much sympathy, still they had no wounds or bruises to exhibit, or very hard reports to make relative to their bondage. The treatment that had been meted out to them was about as tolerant as Slavery could well afford; and the physical condition of the passengers bore evidence that they had been used to something better than herring and corn cake for a diet. Julius, who was successful enough to bring his wife and boy with him, was a wonderful specimen of muscular proportions. Although a young man, of but twenty-five, he weighed two hundred and twenty-five pounds; he was tall and well-formed from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. Nor was he all muscle by a great deal; he was well balanced as to mother wit and shrewdness. In looking back into the pit from whence he had been delivered he could tell a very interesting story of what he had experienced, from which it was evident that he had not been an idle observer of what had passed relative to the Peculiar Institution; especially was it very certain that he had never seen anything lovely or of good report belonging to the system. So far as his personal relations were concerned, he acknowledged that a man named Mr. Robert Hollan, had assumed to impose himself upon him as master, and that this same man had also wrongfully claimed all his time, denied him all common and special privileges; besides he had deprived him of an education, etc., which looked badly enough before he left Maryland, but in the light of freedom, and from a free State stand-point, the idea that "man's inhumanity to man" should assume such gigantic proportions as to cause him to seize his fellow-man and hold him in perpetual bondage, was marvellous in the extreme. Julius had been kept in the dark in Maryland, but on free soil, the light rushed in upon his astonished vision to a degree almost bewildering. That his master was a man of "means and pretty high standing"--Julius thought was not much to his credit since they were obtained from unpaid labor. In his review allusion was made not only to his master, but also to his mistress, in which he said that she was "a quarrelsome and crabbed woman, middling stout." In order to show a reason why he left as he did, he stated that "there had been a fuss two or three times" previous to the escape, and it had been rumored "that somebody would have to be sold soon." This was what did the mischief so far as the "running away" was concerned. Julius' color was nearly jet black, and his speech was very good considering his lack of book learning; his bearing was entirely self-possessed and commendable. His wife and boy shared fully in his affections, and seemed well pleased to have their faces turned Canada-ward. It is hardly necessary to say more of them here. Henry was about twenty-three years of age, of an active turn, brown skin, and had given the question of freedom his most serious attention, as his actions proved. While he could neither read nor write, he could think. From the manner in which he expressed himself, with regard to Robert Hollan, no man in the whole range of his recollections will be longer remembered than he; his enthralment while under Hollan will hardly ever be forgotten. Any being who had been thus deprived of his rights, could hardly fail to command sympathy; in cases like this, however, the sight and language of such an one was extremely impressive. Of this party, Edward, a boy of seventeen, called forth much sympathy; he too was claimed by Hollan. He was of a good physical make-up, and seemed to value highly the great end he had in view, namely, a residence in Canada. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1858. JOHN WESLEY COMBASH, JACOB TAYLOR, AND THOMAS EDWARD SKINNER. The revelations made by these passengers were painful to listen to, and would not have been credited if any room had existed for doubt. John Wesley was thirty-two years of age, of a lively turn, pleasant countenance, dark color, and ordinary size. In unburdening his mind to the Committee the all-absorbing theme related to the manner in which he had been treated as a slave, and the character of those who had oppressed him. He stated that he had been the victim of a man or party, named Johnson, in whose family John had been a witness to some of the most high-handed phases of barbarism; said he, "these Johnsons were notorious for abusing their servants. A few years back one of their slaves, a coachman, was kept on the coach box one cold night when they were out at a ball until he became almost frozen to death, in fact he did die in the infirmary from the effects of the frost about one week afterwards." "Another case was that of a slave woman in a very delicate state, who was one day knocked down stairs by Mrs. Johnson herself, and in a few weeks after, the poor woman died from the effects of the injury thus received. The doctor who attended the injured creature in this case was simply told that she slipped and fell down stairs as she was coming down. Colored witnesses had no right to testify, and the doctor was mute, consequently the guilty escaped wholly unpunished." "Another case," said John Wesley, "was a little girl, half-grown, who was washing windows up stairs one day, and unluckily fell asleep in the window, and in this position was found by her mistress; in a rage the mistress hit her a heavy slap, knocked her out of the window, and she fell to the pavement, and died in a few hours from the effects thereof. The mistress professed to know nothing about it, simply said, 'she went to sleep and fell out herself.' As usual nothing was done in the way of punishment." These were specimens of the inner workings of the peculiar institution. John, however, had not only observed Slavery from a domestic stand-point, he had also watched master and mistress abroad as visitors and guests in other people's houses, noticed not only how they treated white people, but also how they treated black people. "These Johnsons thought that they were first-rate to their servants. When visiting among their friends they were usually very polite, would bow and scrape more than a little, even to colored people, knowing that their names were in bad odor, on account of their cruelty, for they had been in the papers twice about how they abused their colored people." As to advertising him, John gave it as his opinion that they would be ashamed to do it from the fact that they had already rendered themselves more notorious than they had bargained for, on account of their cruelty towards their slaves; they were wealthy, and courted the good opinion of society. Besides they were members of the Presbyterian Church, and John thought that they were very willing that people should believe that they were great saints. On the score of feeding and clothing John gave them credit, saying that "the clothing was good enough, they liked to see the house servants dressed;" he spoke too of the eating as being all right, but added, that "very often time was not allowed them to finish their meals." Respecting work, John bore witness that they were very sharp. With John's intelligence, large observation, good memory, and excellent natural abilities, with the amount of detail that he possessed, nothing more would have been needed for a thrilling book than the facts and incidents of slave life, as he had been conversant with it under the Johnsons in Maryland. As the other two companions of John Wesley were advertised in the _Baltimore Sun_, we avail ourselves of the light thus publicly afforded: $2000 REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, living on the York Turnpike, eight miles from Baltimore city, on Sunday, April 11th, my negro man, JACOB, aged 20 years: 5 feet 10 inches high; chestnut color; spare made; good features. I will give $50 reward if taken in Baltimore city or county, and $200 if taken out of the State and secured in jail so that I get him again. [Illustration: ] WM. J.B. PARLETT. a13-3t*|| "Jacob," answering to the description in Mr. Wm. J.B. Parlett's advertisement, gave his views of the man who had enslaved him. His statement is here transferred from the record book: "My master," said Jacob, "was a farmer, a very rough man, hard to satisfy. I never knew of but one man who could ever please him. He worked me very hard; he wanted to be beating me all the time." This was a luxury which Jacob had no appetite for, consequently he could not resist signifying his unwillingness to yield, although resistance had to be made at some personal risk, as his master had "no more regard for a colored man than he had for a stone under his feet." With him the following expression was common: "The niggers are not worth a d----n." Nor was his wife any better, in Jacob's opinion. "She was a cross woman, and as much of a boss as he was." "She would take a club and with both hands would whack away as long as you would stand it." "She was a large, homely woman; they were common white people, with no reputation in the community." Substantially this was Jacob's unvarnished description of his master and mistress. As to his age, and also the name of his master, Jacob's statement varied somewhat from the advertisement. For instance, Jacob Taylor was noticed on the record book as being twenty-three years of age, and the name of his master was entered as "William Pollit;" but as Jacob had never been allowed to learn to read, he might have failed in giving a correct pronunciation of the name. When asked what first prompted him to seek his freedom, he replied, "Oh my senses! I always had it in my mind to leave, but I was 'jubus', (dubious?) of starting. I didn't know the way to come. I was afraid of being overtaken on the way." He fled from near Baltimore, where he left brothers and other relatives in chains. $20 REWARD.--Ran way at the same time and in company with the above negro man, a bright mulatto boy named THOMAS SKINNER, about 18 years old, 5 feet 8 inches high and tolerable stout made; he only has a term of years to serve. I will pay $20 reward if delivered to me or lodged in jail so I can get him again. [Illustration: ] GEO. H. CARMAN, Towsontown, Baltimore county, Md. a13-3t*||. About the same time that this advertisement came to hand a certain young aspirant for Canada was entered on the Underground Rail Road Book thus: "THOMAS EDWARD SKINNER, a bright mulatto, age eighteen years, well formed, good-looking, and wide awake; says, that he fled from one G.H. Carman, Esq., head Clerk of the County Court." He bore voluntary testimony to Carman in the following words: "He was a very good man; he fed and clothed well and gave some money too occasionally." Yet Thomas had no idea of remaining in Slavery under any circumstances. He hated everything like Slavery, and as young as he was, he had already made five attempts to escape. On this occasion, with older and wiser heads, he succeeded. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM NEW MARKET, 1858. ELIJAH SHAW. This "article" reported himself as having been deprived of his liberty by Dr. Ephraim Bell, of Baltimore County, Maryland. He had no fault to find with the doctor, however; on the contrary, he spoke of him as a "very clever and nice man, as much so as anybody need to live with;" but of his wife he could not speak so favorably; indeed, he described her as a most tyrannical woman. Said Elijah, "she would make a practice of rapping the broomstick around the heads of either men, women, or children when she got raised, which was pretty often. But she never rapped me, for I wouldn't stand it; I shouldn't fared any better than the rest if I hadn't been resolute. I declared over and over again to her that I would scald her with the tea kettle if she ever took the broomstick to me, and I meant it. She took good care to keep the broomstick from about my head. She was as mischievous and stingy as she could live; wouldn't give enough to eat or wear." These facts and many more were elicited from Elijah, when in a calm state of mind and when feeling much elated with the idea that his efforts in casting off the yoke were met with favor by the Committee, and that the accommodations and privileges on the road were so much greater than he had ever dreamed of. Such luck on the road was indeed a matter of wonder and delight to passengers generally. They were delighted to find that the Committee received them and forwarded them on "without money and without price." Elijah was capable of realizing the worth of such friendship. He was a young man twenty-three years of age, spare made, yellow complexion, of quick motion and decidedly collected in his bearing. In short, he was a man well adapted to make a good British subject. ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1858. MARY FRANCES MELVIN, ELIZA HENDERSON, AND NANCY GRANTHAM. Mary Frances hailed from Norfolk; she had been in servitude under Mrs. Chapman, a widow lady, against whom she had no complaint to make; indeed, she testified that her mistress was very kind, although fully allied to slavery. She said that she left, not on account of bad treatment, but simply because she wanted her freedom. Her calling as a slave had been that of a dress-maker and house servant. Mary Frances was about twenty-three years of age, of mixed blood, refined in her manners and somewhat cultivated. Eliza Henderson, who happened at the station at the same time that Frances was on hand, escaped from Richmond. She was twenty-eight years of age, medium size, quite dark color, and of pleasant countenance. Eliza alleged that one William Waverton had been wronging her by keeping her down-trodden and withholding her hire. Also, that this same Waverton had, on a late occasion, brought his heavy fist violently against her "jaws," which visitation, however "kindly" intended by her chivalrous master, produced such an unfavorable impression on the mind of Eliza that she at once determined not to yield submission to him a day longer than she could find an Underground Rail Road conductor who would take her North. The blow that she had thus received made her almost frantic; she had however thought seriously on the question of her rights before this outrage. In Waverton's household Eliza had become a fixture as it were, especially with regard to his children; she had won their affections completely, and she was under the impression that in some instances their influence had saved her from severe punishment; and for them she manifested kindly feelings. In speaking of her mistress she said that she was "only tolerable." It would be useless to attempt a description of the great satisfaction and delight evinced by Eliza on reaching the Committee in Philadelphia. Nancy Grantham also fled from near Richmond, and was fortunate in that she escaped from the prison-house at the age of nineteen. She possessed a countenance peculiarly mild, and was good-looking and interesting, and although evidently a slave her father belonged strictly to the white man's party, for she was fully half white. She was moved to escape simply to shun her master's evil designs; his brutal purposes were only frustrated by the utmost resolution. This chivalric gentleman was a husband, the father of nine children, and the owner of three hundred slaves. He belonged to a family bearing the name of Christian, and was said to be an M.D. "He was an old man, but very cruel to all his slaves." It was said that Nancy's sister was the object of his lust, but she resisted, and the result was that she was sold to New Orleans. The auction-block was not the only punishment she was called upon to endure for her fidelity to her womanhood, for resistance to her master, but before being sold she was cruelly scourged. Nancy's sorrows first commenced in Alabama. Five years previous to her escape she was brought from a cotton plantation in Alabama, where she had been accustomed to toil in the cotton-field. In comparing and contrasting the usages of slave-holders in the two States in which she had served, she said she had "seen more flogging under old Christian" than she had been accustomed to see in Alabama; yet she concluded, that she could hardly tell which State was the worst; her cup had been full and very bitter in both States. Nancy said, "the very day before I escaped, I was required to go to his (her master's) bed-chamber to keep the flies off of him as he lay sick, or pretended to be so. Notwithstanding, in talking with me, he said that he was coming to my pallet that night, and with an oath he declared if I made a noise he would cut my throat. I told him I would not be there. Accordingly he did go to my room, but I had gone for shelter to another room. At this his wrath waxed terrible. Next morning I was called to account for getting out of his way, and I was beaten awfully." This outrage moved Nancy to a death-struggle for her freedom, and she succeeded by dressing herself in male attire. After her harrowing story was told with so much earnestness and intelligence, she was asked as to the treatment she had received at the hand of Mrs. Christian (her mistress). In relation to her, Nancy said, "Mrs. Christian was afraid of him (master); if it hadn't been for that I think she would have been clever; but I was often threatened by her, and once she undertook to beat me, but I could not stand it. I had to resist, and she got the worst of it that time." All that may now be added, is, that the number of young slave girls shamefully exposed to the base lusts of their masters, as Nancy was--truly was legion. Nancy was but one of the number who resisted influences apparently overpowering. All honor is due her name and memory! She was brought away secreted on a boat, but the record is silent as to which one of the two or three Underground Rail Road captains (who at that time occasionally brought passengers), helped her to escape. It was hard to be definite concerning minor matters while absorbed in the painful reflections that her tale of suffering had naturally awakened. If one had arisen from the dead the horrors of Slavery could scarcely have been more vividly pictured! But in the multitude of travelers coming under the notice of the Committee, Nancy's story was soon forgotten, and new and marvellous narratives were told of others who had shared the same bitter cup, who had escaped from the same hell of Slavery, who had panted for the same freedom and won the same prize. ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1858. ORLANDO J. HUNT. When Orlando escaped from Richmond the Underground Rail Road business was not very brisk. A disaster on the road, resulting in the capture of one or two captains, tended to damp the ardor of some who wanted to come, as well as that of sympathizers. The road was not idle, however. Orlando's coming was hailed with great satisfaction. He was twenty-nine years of age, full black, possessed considerable intelligence, and was fluent in speech; fully qualified to give clear statements as to the condition of Slavery in Richmond, etc. While the Committee listened to his narrations with much interest, they only took note of how he had fared, and the character of the master he was compelled to serve. On these points the substance of his narrations may be found annexed: "I was owned by High Holser, a hide sorter, a man said to be rich, a good Catholic, though very disagreeable; he was not cruel, but was very driving and abusive in his language towards colored people. I have been held in bondage about eighteen years by Holser, but have failed, so far, to find any good traits in his character. I purchased my mother for one hundred dollars, when she was old and past labor, too old to earn her hire and find herself; but she was taken away by death, before I had finished paying for her; twenty-five dollars only remained to be paid to finish the agreement. Owing to her unexpected death, I got rid of that much, which was of some consequence, as I was a slave myself, and had hard work to raise the money to purchase her." Thus, finding the usages of Slavery so cruel and outlandish, he resolved to leave "old Virginny" and "took out," via the Underground Rail Road. He appeared to be of a religious turn of mind and felt that he had "a call to preach." After his arrival in Canada, the following letter was received from him: ST. CATHARINES, C.W., May 6th, 1858. MY DEAR FRIEND:--WM. STILL:--Mr. Orlando J. Hunt, who has just arrived here from Richmond, Va., desires me to address to you a line in his behalf. Mr. Hunt is expecting his clothing to come from Richmond to your care, and if you have received them, he desires you to forward them immediately to St. Catharines, in my care, in the safest and most expeditious way in your power. Mr. Hunt is much pleased with this land of freedom, and I hope he may do well for himself and much good to others. He preached here in the Baptist church, last evening. He sends his kind regards and sincere thanks to you and your family, and such friends as have favored him on his way. Very respectfully yours, HIRAM WILSON, for ORLANDO HUNT. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM NORFOLK, VA., 1858. WILLIAM MACKEY. William made no complaint against his master of a serious nature touching himself. True, he said his "master was a frolicker, and fond of drink," but he was not particularly unkind to him. His name was Tunis; he was a military man, and young; consequently William had not been in his hands long. Prior to his being owned by the young master, he had lived with old mistress Tunis. Concerning her the following is one of William's statements: "My sister about the first of this month, three weeks after her confinement, had word sent to her by her mistress, Mrs. Tunis, that she thought it was time for her to come out and go to work, as she had been laying by long enough." In reply to this message, William said that "his sister sent word to her mistress, that she was not well enough, and begged that her mistress would please send her some tea and sugar, until she got well enough to go to work. The mistress' answer was to the effect that she did not intend to give her anything until she went to work, and at the same time she sent word to her, that she had better take her baby down to the back of the garden and throw it away, adding 'I will sell her, etc.'" It was owing to the cruelty of Mrs. Tunis that William was moved to flee. According to his statement, which looked reasonable and appeared truthful, he had been willed free by his master, who died at the time that the plague was raging in Norfolk. At the same time his mistress also had the fever, and was dreadfully frightened, but recovered. Not long after this event it was William's belief that the will was made away with through the agency of a lawyer, and in consequence thereof the slaves were retained in bondage. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM NEAR BALTIMORE, 1858. HENRY TUCKER. Henry fled from Baltimore county; disagreement between him and his so-called master was the cause of his flight. Elias Sneveley, a farmer, known on the Arabella Creek Place as a "hard swearer," an "old bachelor," and a common tormentor of all around him, was the name of the man that Harry said he fled from. Not willing to be run over at the pleasure of Sneveley, on two occasions just before his escape serious encounters had arisen between master and slave. Henry being spirited and hungering for freedom, while his master was old and hardened in his habits, very grave results had well nigh happened; it was evident, therefore, in Harry's opinion that the sooner he took his departure for Canada the better. His father's example was ever present to encourage him, for he had escaped when Henry was a little boy; (his name was Benjamin Tucker). A still greater incentive, however, moved him, which was that his mother had been sold South five years prior to his escape, since which time he had heard of her but once, and that vaguely. Although education was denied him, Henry had too much natural ability to content himself under the heel of Slavery. He saw and understood the extent of the wrongs under which he suffered, and resolved not to abide in such a condition, if, by struggling and perseverance, he could avoid it. In his resolute attempt he succeeded without any very severe suffering. He was not large, rather below the ordinary size, of a brown color, and very plucky. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1858. PETER NELSON. (RESEMBLED AN IRISHMAN.) The coming of this strange-looking individual caused much surprise, representing, as he did, if not a full-blooded Irishman, a man of Irish descent. He was sufficiently fair to pass for white anywhere, with his hat on--with it off, his hair would have betrayed him; it was light, but quite woolly. Nor was he likely to be called handsome; he was interesting, nevertheless. It was evident, that the "white man's party" had damaged him seriously. He represented that he had been in the bonds of one James Ford, of Stafford county, Virginia, and that this "Ford was a right tough old fellow, who owned about two dozen head." "How does he treat them?" he was asked. "He don't treat them well no way," replied the passenger. "Why did you leave?" was the next question. "Because of his fighting, knocking and carrying on so," was the prompt answer. The Committee fully interviewed him, and perceived that he had really worn the fetters of Slavery, and that he was justified in breaking his bonds and fleeing for refuge to Canada, and was entitled to aid and sympathy. Peter was about twenty-four years of age. He left nine brothers and sisters in bondage. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM WASHINGTON, 1858. MARY JONES AND SUSAN BELL. These "weaker vessels" came from the seat of government. Mary confessed that she had been held to service as the property of Mrs. Henry Harding, who resided at Rockville, some miles out of Washington. Both Mr. and Mrs Harding she considered "bad enough," but added, "if it had not been for the young set I could get along with them; they can't be pleased." Yet Mary had not fared half so hard under the Hardings as many slaves had under their claimants. Intellectually, she was quite above the average; she was tall, and her appearance was such as to awaken sympathy. Through the permission of her claimant she had been in the habit of hiring her time for three dollars per month and find herself; she was also allowed to live in Washington. Such privileges, with wages at so low a rate, were thought to be extra, and could only be obtained in exceptional cases. "In nine years," said Mary, "I have not even as much as received an apron from them," (her owners). The meanness of the system under which she had been required to live, hourly appeared clearer and clearer to her, as she was brought into contact with sympathizing spirits such as she had never known before. Susan, who was in Mary's charge, was an invalid child of four years of age, who never walked, and whose mother had escaped to Canada about three years before under circumstances which obliged her to leave this child, then only a year old. Susan had been a great sufferer, and so had her mother, who had been a long time anxiously looking and praying for her coming, as she had left her in charge of friends who were to take care of her until the way might open for her safe delivery to her mother. Many letters, fitted to awaken very deep feelings came from the mother about this child. It was a satisfaction to the Committee to feel that they could be the medium in aiding in the reunion of mother and child. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1858. WILLIAM CARPENTER. Escaped from the Father of the Fugitive Slave Law--Senator Mason. It was highly pleasing to have a visit from a "chattel" belonging to the leading advocate of the infamous Fugitive Slave Bill. He was hurriedly interviewed for the sake of reliable information. That William possessed a fair knowledge of slave life under the Senator there was no room to doubt, although incidents of extreme cruelty might not have been so common on Mason's place as on some others. While the verbal interchange of views was quite full, the hour for the starting of the Underground Rail Road train arrived too soon to admit of a full report for the record book. From the original record, however, the following statement is taken as made by William, and believed to be strictly true. We give it as it stands on the old Underground Rail Road book: "I belonged to Senator Mason. The Senator was down on colored people. He owned about eighty head--was very rich and a big man, rich enough to lose all of them. He kept terrible overseers; they would beat you with a stick the same as a dog. The overseers were poor white trash; he would give them about sixty dollars a year." The Fugitive Slave Law and its Father are both numbered with the "Lost Cause," and the "Year of Jubilee has come." * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM THE OLD DOMINION. NINE VERY FINE "ARTICLES." LEW JONES, OSCAR PAYNE, MOSE WOOD, DAVE DIGGS, JACK, HEN, AND BILL DADE, AND JOE BALL. The coming of this interesting party was as gratifying, as their departure must have been disagreeable to those who had been enjoying the fruits of their unpaid labor. Stockholders of the Underground Rail Road, conductors, etc., about this time were well pleased with the wonderful success of the road, especially as business was daily increasing. Upon inquiry of these passengers individually, the following results were obtained: Lewis was about fifty-two years of age, a man of superior stature, six feet high, with prominent features, and about one third of Anglo-Saxon blood in his veins. The apparent solidity of the man both with respect to body and mind was calculated to inspire the idea that he would be a first-rate man to manage a farm in Canada. Of his bondage and escape the following statement was obtained from him: "I was owned by a man named Thomas Sydan, a Catholic, and a farmer. He was not a very hard man, but was very much opposed to black folks having their liberty. He owned six young slaves not grown up. It was owing to Sydan's mother's estate that I came into his hands; before her death I had hoped to be free for a long time as soon as she died. My old mistress' name was Nancy Sydan; she was lame for twenty years, and couldn't walk a step without crutches, and I was her main support. I was foreman on the farm; sometimes no body but me would work, and I was looked up to for support. A good deal of the time I would have to attend to her. If she was going to ride, I would have to pick her up in my arms and put her in the carriage, and many times I would have to lift her in her sick room. No body couldn't wait upon her but me. She had a husband, and he had a master, and that was rum; he drank very hard, he killed himself drinking. He was poor support. When he died, fifteen years ago, he left three sons, Thomas, James, and Stephen, they were all together then, only common livers. After his death about six years mistress died. I felt sure then I would be free, but was very badly disappointed. I went to my young masters and asked them about my freedom; they laughed at me and said, no such thought had entered their heads, that I was to be free. The neighbors said it was a shame that they should keep me out of my freedom, after I had been the making of the family, and had behaved myself so faithful. One gentleman asked master John what he would take for me, and offered a thousand dollars; that was three months before I ran away, and massa John said a thousand dollars wouldn't buy one leg. I hadn't anything to hope for from them. I served them all my life, and they didn't thank me for it. A short time before I come away my aunt died, all the kin I had, and they wouldn't let me go to the funeral. They said 'the time couldn't be spared.'" This was the last straw on the camel's back. In Lewis' grief and disappointment he decided that he would run away the first chance that he could get, and seek a home in Canada. He held counsel with others in whom he could confide, and they fixed on a time to start, and resolved that they would suffer anything else but Slavery. Lewis was delighted that he had managed so cunningly to leave master Tom and mistress Margaret, and their six children to work for their own living. He had an idea that they would want Lew for many things; the only regret he felt was that he had served them so long, that they had received his substance and strength for half a century. Fortunately Lewis' wife escaped three days in advance of him, in accordance with a mutual understanding. They had no children. The suffering on the road cost Lewis a little less than death, but the joy of success came soon to chase away the effects of the pain and hardship which had been endured. Oscar, the next passenger, was advertised as follows: $200 REWARD.--Ran away from the service of the Rev. J.P. McGuire, Episcopal High School, Fairfax county, Va., on Saturday, 10th inst, Negro Man, Oscar Payne aged 30 years, 5 feet 4 inches in height, square built, mulatto color, thick, bushy suit of hair, round, full face, and when spoken to has a pleasant manner--clothes not recollected. [Illustration: ] I will give $200 for his recovery if taken out of the State, or $150 if taken in the State, and secured that I can get him. T.D. FENDALL. jyl7-6t. Such announcements never frightened the Underground Rail Road Committee; indeed, the Committee rather preferred seeing the names of their passengers in the papers, as, in that case, they could all the more cautiously provide against Messrs. slave-hunters. Oscar was a "prime, first-class article," worth $1800. The above description of him is endorsed. His story ran thus: "I have served under Miss Mary Dade, of Alexandria--Miss Dade was a very clever mistress, she hired me out. When I left I was hired at the school--High School of Virginia. With me times had been very well. No privilege was allowed me to study books. I cannot say that I left for any other cause than to get my freedom, as I believe I have been used as well as any slave in the District. I left no relatives but two cousins; my two brothers ran away, Brooks and Lawrence, but where they went I can't tell, but would be pleased to know. Three brothers and one sister have been sold South, can't tell where they are." Such was Oscar's brief narrative; that he was truthful there was no room to doubt. The next passenger was MOSES or "Mose," who looked as though he had been exceedingly well-cared for, being plump, fat, and extra-smart. He declared that General Briscoe, of Georgetown, D.C., had been defrauding him out of thirteen dollars per month, this being the amount for which he was hired, and, instead of being allowed to draw it for himself, the general pocketed it. For this "kind treatment" he summed up what seemed to be a true bill for ten years against the general. But he made another charge of a still graver character: he said that the general professed to own him. But as he (Moses) was thoroughly tired, and believed that Slavery was no more justifiable than murder, he made up his mind to leave and join the union party for Canada. He stated that the general owned a large number of slaves, which he hired out principally. Moses had no special fault to find with his master, except such as have been alluded to, but as to mistress Briscoe, he said, that she was pretty rough. Moses left four sisters in bondage. David, the next member of this freedom-loving band, was an intelligent man; his manners and movements were decidedly prepossessing. He was about thirty-seven years of age, dark, tall, and rather of a slender stature, possessing very large hopes. He charged Dr. Josiah Harding of Rockville, Montgomery county, with having enslaved him contrary to his wish or will. As a slave, David had been required at one time to work on a farm, and at another time to drive carriage, of course, without pay. Again he had been bound as a waiter on the no pay system, and again he had been called into the kitchen to cook, all for the benefit of the Doctor--the hire going into the Dr.'s pocket. This business David protested against in secret, but when on the Underground Rail Road his protestations were "over and above board." Of the Doctor, David said, that "he was clever, but a Catholic;" he also said, that he thought his wife was "tolerable clever," although he had never been placed under her where he would have had an opportunity of learning her bad traits if she had any. The Doctor had generously bargained with David, that he could have himself by paying $1000; he had likewise figured up how the money might be paid, and intimated what a nice thing it would be for "Dave" to wake up some morning and find himself his own man. This was how it was to be accomplished: Dave was to pay eighty-five dollars annually, and in about twelve years he would have the thousand, and a little over, all made up. On this principle and suggestion Dave had been digging faithfully and hard, and with the aid of friends he had nearly succeeded. Just when he was within sight of the grand prize, and just as the last payment was about to be made, to Dave's utter surprise the Doctor got very angry one day about some trifling matter (all pretension) and in his pretended rage he said there were too many "free niggers" going about, and he thought that Dave would do better as a slave, etc. After that, all the satisfaction that he was able to get out of the Doctor, was simply to the effect, that he had hired him to Mr. Morrison for one hundred and fifty dollars a year. After his "lying and cheating" in this way, David resolved that he would take his chances on the Underground Rail Road. Not a spark of faith did he have in the Doctor. For a time, however, before the opportunity to escape offered, he went to Mr. Morrison as a waiter, where it was his province to wait on six of the Judges of the Supreme Court of the United States. In the meantime his party matured arrangements for their trip, so Dave "took out" and left the Judges without a waiter. The more he reflected over the nature of the wrongs he had suffered under, the less he thought of the Doctor. Joe, who also came with this band, was half Anglo-Saxon; an able-bodied man, thirty-four years of age. He said, that "Miss Elizabeth Gordon, a white woman living in Alexandria," claimed him. He did not find much fault with her. She permitted him to hire his time, find his own clothing, etc., by which regulation Joe got along smoothly. Nevertheless he declared, that he was tired of wearing the yoke, and felt constrained to throw it off as soon as possible. Miss Gordon was getting old, and Joe noticed that the young tribe of nephews and nieces was multiplying in large numbers. This he regarded as a very bad sign; he therefore, gave the matter of the Underground Rail Road his serious attention, and it was not long ere he was fully persuaded that it would be wisdom for him to tarry no longer in the prison-house. Joe had a wife and four children, which were as heavy weights to hold him in Virginia, but the spirit of liberty prevailed. Joe, also, left two sisters, one free, the other a slave. His wife belonged to the widow Irwin. She had assured her slaves, that she had "provided for them in her will," and that at her death all would be freed. They were daily living on the faith thus created, and obviously thought the sooner the Lord relieved the old mistress of her earthly troubles the better. Although Joe left his wife and children, he did not forget them, but had strong faith they would be reunited. After going to Canada, he addressed several letters to the Secretary of the Committee concerning his family, and as will be seen by the following, he looked with ardent hopes for their arrival: TORONTO, Nov. 7th, 1857. DEAR MR. STILL:--As I must again send you a letter fealing myself oblidge to you for all you have done and your kindness. Dear Sir my wife will be on to Philadelphia on the 8th 7th, and I would you to look out for her and get her an ticket and send her to me Toronto. Her name are May Ball with five children. Please send her as soon as you can. Yours very truly, JOSEPH BALL. Will you please to telegrape to me, No. 31 Dummer st. Jake, another member of the company of nine, was twenty-two years of age, of dark hue, round-made, keen eyes, and apparently a man of superior intelligence. Unfortunately his lot had been of such a nature that no helping opportunity had been afforded for the cultivation of his mind. He condemned in very strong terms a man by the name of Benjamin B. Chambers, who lived near Elkton, but did not there require the services of Jake, hiring Jake out just as he would have hired a horse, and likewise keeping his pay. Jake thought that if justice could have been awarded him, Chambers would either have had to restore that of which he had wronged him, or expiate the wrong in prison. Jake, however, stood more in awe of a young master, who was soon likely to come into power, than he did of the old master. This son had already given Jake to understand that once in his hands it "wouldn't be long before he would have him jingling in his pocket," signifying, that he would sell him as soon as his father was gone. The manner of the son stirred Jake's very blood to boiling heat it seemed. His suffering, and the suffering of his fellow-bondsmen had never before appeared so hard. The idea that he must work, and be sold at the pleasure of another, made him decide to "pull up stakes," and seek refuge elsewhere. Such a spirit as he possessed could not rest in servitude. Mary Ann, the wife of Jake, who accompanied him, was a pleasant-looking bride. She said that she was owned by "Elias Rhoads, a farmer, and a pretty fair kind of a man." She had been treated very well. John and Henry Dade, ages twenty and twenty-five years, were from Washington. They belonged to the class of well-cared for slaves; at least they said that their mistress had not dealt severely with them, and they never would have consented to pass through the severe sufferings encountered on their journey, but for the strong desire they had to be free. From Canada John wrote back as follows: ST. CATHARINES, Canada. MR. STILL, SIR:--I ar rivd on Friday evenen bot I had rite smart troble for my mony gave out at the bridge and I had to fot et to St. Catherin tho I went rite to worke at the willard house for 8 dolor month bargend for to stae all the wentor bot I havent eny clouse nor money please send my tronke if et has come. Derate et to St. Catharines to the willard house to John Dade and if et ant come plice rite for et soon as posable deract your letter to Rosenen Dade Washington send your deraction please tend to this rite a way for I haf made a good start I think that I can gate a longe en this plase. If my brother as well send him on for I haf a plase for him ef he ant well please don't send him for this as no plase for a sik possan. The way I got this plase I went to see a fran of myen from Washington. Dan al well and he gave me werke. Pleas ancer this as soon as you gat et you must excues this bad riting for my chance wars bot small to line this mouch, JOHN H. DADE. If yon haf to send for my tronke to Washington send the name of John Trowharte. Sir please rite as soon as you gat this for et as enporten. JOHN H. DADE. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM DELAWARE, 1858. GEORGE LAWS AND COMRADE--TIED AND HOISTED WITH BLOCK AND TACKLE, TO BE COWHIDED. George represented the ordinary young slave men of Delaware. He was of unmixed blood, medium size and of humble appearance. He was destitute of the knowledge of spelling, to say nothing of reading. Slavery had stamped him unmistakably for life. To be scantily fed and clothed, and compelled to work without hire, George did not admire, but had to submit without murmuring; indeed, he knew that his so-called master, whose name was Denny, would not be likely to hear complaints from a slave; he therefore dragged his chain and yielded to his daily task. One day, while hauling dirt with a fractious horse, the animal manifested an unwillingness to perform his duty satisfactorily. At this procedure the master charged George with provoking the beast to do wickedly, and in a rage he collared George and bade him accompany him "up stairs" (of the soap house). Not daring to resist, George went along with him. Ropes being tied around both his wrists, the block and tackle were fastened thereto, and George soon found himself hoisted on tip-toe with his feet almost clear of the floor. [Illustration: ] The "kind-hearted master" then tore all the poor fellow's old shirt off his back, and addressed him thus: "You son of a b----h, I will give you pouting around me; stay there till I go up town for my cowhide." George begged piteously, but in vain. The fracas caused some excitement, and it so happened that a show was to be exhibited that day in the town, which, as is usual in the country, brought a great many people from a distance; so, to his surprise, when the master returned with his cowhide, he found that a large number of curiosity-seekers had been attracted to the soap house to see Mr. Denny perform with his cowhide on George's back, as he was stretched up by his hands. Many had evidently made up their minds that it would be more amusing to see the cowhiding than the circus. The spectators numbered about three hundred. This was a larger number than Mr. Denny had been accustomed to perform before, consequently he was seized with embarrassment; looking confused he left the soap house and went to his office, to await the dispersion of the crowd. The throng finally retired, and left George hanging in mortal agony. Human nature here made a death-struggle; the cords which bound his wrists were unloosed, and George was then prepared to strike for freedom at the mouth of the cannon or point of the bayonet. How Denny regarded the matter when he found that George had not only cheated him out of the anticipated delight of cowhiding him, but had also cheated him out of himself is left for the imagination to picture. George fled from Kent; he was accompanied by a comrade whose name inadvertently was not recorded; he, however, was described as a dark, round, and full-faced, stout-built man, with bow legs, and bore the appearance of having been used hard and kept down, and in ignorance, &c. Hard usage constrained him to flee from his sore oppression. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM DELAWARE, 1858. JOHN WEEMS, ALIAS JACK HERRING. Although Jack was but twenty-three years of age, he had tasted the bitter cup of Slavery pretty thoroughly under Kendall B. Herring, who was a member of the Methodist Church, and in Jack's opinion a "mere pretender, and a man of a very bad disposition." Jack thought that he had worked full long enough for this Herring for nothing. When a boy twelve years of age, his mother was sold South; from that day, until the hour that he fled he had not heard a word from her. In making up his mind to leave Slavery, the outrage inflicted upon his mother only tended to increase his resolution. In speaking of his mistress, he said that "she was a right fine woman." Notwithstanding all his sufferings in the Kendall family, he seemed willing to do justice to his master and mistress individually. He left one sister free and one brother in the hands of Herring. Jack was described as a man of dark color, stout, and well-made. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1858. RUTH HARPER, GEORGE ROBINSON, PRISCILLA GARDENER, AND JOSHUA JOHN ANDERSON. Ruthie's course in seeking her freedom left John McPherson a woman less to work for him, and to whip, sell, or degrade at his pleasure. It is due to candor, however, to say that she admitted that she had not been used very roughly by Mr. McPherson. Ruth was rather a nice-looking young woman, tall, and polite in her manners. She came from Frederick, Maryland. George Robinson stated that he came from a place about one and a half miles from the Chesapeake Bay, one mile from Old town, and five miles from Elkton, and was owned by Samuel Smith, a farmer, who was "pretty cross and an ill man." George's excuse for withdrawing his valuable services from Mr. Smith at the time that he did, was attributable to the fact, that he entertained fears that they were about to sell him. Having cautiousness largely developed he determined to reach Canada and keep out of danger. George was only twenty-one, passable-looking in appearance, and of a brown color, and when speaking, stammered considerably. Priscilla Gardener fled from the widow Hilliard. Her master departed to his long home not a great while before she left. Priscilla was a young woman of about thirty years of age, ordinary size, and of a ginger-bread color; modest in demeanor. She first commenced her bondage in Richmond, under the late Benjamin Hilliard, of whom she said that he was "a very bad man, who could never be pleased by a servant," and was constantly addicted to fighting not only with others, but also with herself. So cruelly had Priscilla been treated, that when he died she did not hesitate to say that she was glad. Soon after this event, sick of Slavery and unwilling to serve the widow any longer, she determined to escape, and succeeded. Joshua John Anderson fled from a farmer who was said to be a poor man, by the name of Skelton Price, residing in Baltimore county, near a little village called Alexandria, on the Harford county turn-pike road. Price, not able to own a farm and slaves too, rented one, and was trying to "get up in the world." Price had a wife and family, but in the way of treatment, Joshua did not say anything very hard against him. As his excuse for leaving them, he said, coolly, that he had made up his mind that he could get along better in freedom than he could in Slavery, and that no man had a right to his labor without paying him for it. He left his mother and also three brothers and two sisters owned by Price. Joshua was about twenty-two years of age, of a coarse make, and a dark hue; he had evidently held but little intercourse with any class, save such as he found in the corn-field and barn-yard. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM NORTH CAROLINA AND DELAWARE. "DICK BEESLY",MURRAY YOUNG AND CHARLES ANDREW BOLDEN. Physically, Dick was hardly up to the ordinary stature of slaves, but mentally he had the advantage of the masses; he was too sharp to be kept in Slavery. His hue was perfect, no sign of white about him, if that were any advantage. From Dick's story, it appeared that he had seen hard times in North Carolina, under a man he designated by the name of Richard Smallwood. He was a farmer, living near Wheldon. One of the faults that he found with Smallwood was, that he was a "tough, drinking man"--he also charged him with holding "two hundred and sixty slaves in bonds," the most of whom he came in possession of through his wife. "She," Dick thought "was pretty fair." He said that no slave had any reason to look for any other than hard times under his master, according to what he had seen and known since he had been in the "institution," and he fancied that his chances for observation had been equally as good as the great majority of slaves. Young as he was, Dick had been sold three times already, and didn't know how much oftener he might have to submit to the same fate if he remained; so, in order to avoid further trouble, he applied his entire skill to the grand idea of making his way to Canada. Manfully did he wrestle with difficulty after difficulty, until he finally happily triumphed and reached Philadelphia in a good condition--that is, he was not sick, but he was without money--home--education or friends, except as he found them among strangers. He was hopeful, nevertheless. Murray Young was also of the unmixed-blood class, and only twenty-one years of age. The spirit of liberty in him was pretty largely developed. He entertained naught against Dr. Lober, of Newcastle, but rather against the Doctor's wife. He said that he could get along pretty well with the Doctor, but, he could not get along with Mrs. Lober. But the very idea of Slavery was enough for him. He did not mean to work for any body for nothing. Andrew Bolden was still younger than Charles Murray, being only eighteen years of age, but he was very well grown, and on the auction-block he would, doubtless, have brought a large price. He fled from Newark. His story contained nothing of marked importance. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. JOHN JANNEY, TALBOT JOHNSON, SAM GROSS, PETER GROSS, JAMES HENRY JACKSON, AND SAM SMITH. $1.000 REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, August 14th, two negro men, viz: [Illustration: ] BILL HUTTON, aged 48 or 50 years, dark brown, round face, 5 feet 7 or 8 inches high, rather stout, has a waddling walk, and small bald spot on the top of his head. TALBOT JOHNSON, aged about 35, is black, spare, and lean-visaged, about 5 feet 10 inches high, has lost some of his front teeth, leans forward as he walks. If taken in a slave State I will give $200 each for their recovery. For their recovery from a free State I will give one-half their value. B.D. BOND, Port Republic, Md. Ran away at the same time and in company, negro man SAM GROSS, aged about 33, is 5 feet 8 or 9 inches high, black color, rather bad teeth. For his recovery, if taken in a slave State, I will give $200. For his recovery from a free State, I will give half his value. GEO. IRELAND, Port Republic, Md. Ran away at the same time and in company, two negro men, viz:> PETER GROSS, aged 33, is light-brown color, 5 feet 9 or 10 inches high, has a small scar over his right eyebrow, usually wears a goatee, has a pleasant countenance. JOHN JANNEY, aged 22, light-brown color, 5 feet 6 or seven inches high, broad across the shoulders, has one of his front upper teeth broken, has a scar upon one of his great toes from the cut of an axe. For their recovery, if taken in a slave State, I will give $200 each. For their recovery from a free State I will give half their value. JOS. GRIFFISS, St. Leonards, Calvert county, Md. Refer to N.E. BERRY, No. 63 Pratt street, Baltimore. So far as Messrs. Bond, Ireland, and Griffiss may be concerned (if they are still living), they may not care to have the reward kept in view, or to hear anything about the "ungrateful" fellows. It may be different, however, with other parties concerned. This company, some of whom bore names agreeing with those in the above advertisement, are found described in the record book as follows: Sept. 10th, 1858. John Janney is a fine specimen of the peculiar institution; color brown, well-formed, self-possessed and intelligent. He says that he fled from master Joseph Griffiss of Culbert county, Maryland; that he has been used to "tight work," "allowed no chances," and but "half fed." His reason for leaving was partly "hard treatment," and partly because he could "get along better in freedom than in slavery." He found fault with his master for not permitting him to "learn to read," etc. He referred to his master as a man of "fifty years of age, with a wife and three children." John said that "she was a large, portly woman, with an evil disposition, always wanted to be quarreling and fighting, and was stingy." He said, however, that his "master's children, Ann Rebecca, Dorcas, and Joe were not allowed to meddle with the slaves on the farm." Thirty head of slaves belonged on the place. Peter Gross says that he too was owned by Joseph Griffiss. Peter is, he thinks, thirty-nine years of age,--tall, of a dark chestnut color, and in intellect mediocre. He left his wife and five children behind. He could not bring them with him, therefore he did not tell them that he was about to leave. He was much dissatisfied with Slavery and felt that he had been badly dealt with, and that he could do better for himself in Canada. Talbot Johnson, is thirty-five years of age, quite dark, and substantially built. He says that he has been treated very badly, and that Duke Bond was the name of the "tyrant" who held him. He pictured his master as "a lean-faced man--not stout--of thirty-eight or thirty-nine years of age, a member of the Episcopal Church." "He had a wife and two children; his last wife was right pleasant--he was a farmer, and was rich, had sold slaves, and was severe when he flogged." Talbot had been promised a terrible beating on the return of his master from the Springs, whither he had gone to recruit his health, "as he was poorly." This was the sole cause of Talbot's flight. Sam Gross is about forty, a man of apparent vigor physically, and wide awake mentally. He confesses that he fled from George Island, near Port Republic, Md. He thought that times with him had been bad enough all his life, and he would try to get away where he could do better. In referring to his master and mistress, he says that "they are both Episcopalians, hard to please, and had as bad dispositions as could be,--would try to knock the slaves in the head sometimes." This spirit Sam condemned in strong terms, and averred that it was on account of such treatment that he was moved to seek out the Underground Rail Road. Sam left his wife, Mary Ann, and four children, all under bonds. His children, he said, were treated horribly. They were owned by Joseph Griffiss spoken of above. James Henry Jackson is seventeen years of age; he testifies that he fled from Frederica, Delaware, where he had been owned by Joseph Brown. Jim does not make any serious complaint against his master, except that he had him in the market for sale. To avert this fate, Jim was moved to flee. His mother, Ann Jackson, lived nine miles from Milford, and was owned by Jim Loflin, and lived on his place. Of the going of her son she had no knowledge. These narratives have been copied from the book as they were hastily recorded at the time. During their sojourn at the station, the subjoined letter came to hand from Thomas Garrett, which may have caused anxiety and haste: WILMINGTON, 9th mo. 6th, 1858. ESTEEMED FRIENDS, J.M. McKIM AND WM. STILL:--I have a mixture of good and bad news for you. Good in having passed five of God's poor safely to Jersey, and Chester county, last week; and this day sent on four more, that have caused me much anxiety. They were within twenty miles of here on sixth day last, and by agreement I had a man out all seventh day night watching for them, to pilot them safely, as 1,000 dollars reward was offered for four of the five; and I went several miles yesterday in the country to try to learn what had become of them, but could not hear of them. A man of tried integrity just called to say that they arrived at his house last night, about midnight, and I employed him to pilot them to a place of safety in Pennsylvania, to-night, after which I trust they will be out of reach of their pursuers. Now for the bad news. That old scoundrel, who applied to me some three weeks since, pretending that he wished me to assist him in getting his seven slaves into a free state, to avoid the sheriff, and which I agreed to do, if he would bring them here; but positively refused to send for them. Ten days since I received another letter from him, saying that the sheriff had been there, and taken away two of the children, which he wished me to raise money to purchase and set free, and then closed by saying that his other slaves, a man, his wife, and three children had left the same evening and he had no doubt I would find them at a colored man's house, he named, here, and wished me to ascertain at once and let him know. I at once was convinced he wished to know so as to have them arrested and taken back. I found the man had arrived; but the woman and children had given out, and he left them with a colored family in Cecil. I wrote him word the family had not got here, but said nothing of the man being here. On seventh day evening I saw a colored woman from the neighborhood; she told me that the owner and sheriff were out hunting five days for them before they found them, and says there is not a greater hypocrite in that part of the world. I wrote him a letter yesterday letting him know just what I thought of him. Your Friend, THOS. GARRETT. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. BIRTH-DAY PRESENT FROM THOMAS GARRETT. WILMINGTON, 8th mo. 21st, 1858. ESTEEMED FRIEND:--WILLIAM STILL:--This is my 69th birth-day, and I do not know any better way to celebrate it in a way to accord with my feelings, than to send to thee two fugitives, man and wife; the man has been here a week waiting for his wife, who is expected in time to leave at 9 this evening in the cars for thy house with a pilot, who knows where thee lives, but I cannot help but feel some anxiety about the woman, as there is great commotion just now in the neighborhood where she resides. There were 4 slaves betrayed near the Maryland line by a colored man named Jesse Perry a few nights since. One of them made a confidant of him, and he agreed to pilot them on their way, and had several white men secreted to take them as soon as they got in his house; he is the scoundrel that was to have charge of the 7 I wrote you about two weeks since; their master was to take or send them there, and he wanted me to send for them. I have since been confirmed it was a trap set to catch one of our colored men and me likewise, but it was no go. I suspected him from the first, but afterwards was fully confirmed in my suspicions. We have found the two Rust boys, John and Elsey Bradley, who the villain of a Bust took out of jail and sold to a trader of the name of Morris, who sold them to a trader who took them to Richmond, Virginia, where they were sold at public sale two days before we found them, for $2600, but fortunately the man had not paid for them; our Attorney had them by habeas corpus before a Judge, who detained them till we can prove their identity and freedom; they are to have a hearing on 2d day next, when we hope to have a person on there to prove them. In haste, thine, THOS. GARRETT. Unfortunately all the notice that the record contains of the two passengers referred to, is in the following words: "Two cases not written out for want of time." The "boys" alluded to as having been "found" &c., were free-born, but had been kidnapped and carried south and sold. Three days after the above letter, the watchful Garrett furnished further light touching the hair-breadth escape of the two that he had written about, and at the same time gave an interesting account of the efforts which were made to save the poor kidnapped boys, &c. SECOND LETTER FROM THOMAS GARRETT. WILMINGTON, 8th mo. 25th, 1858. ESTEEMED FRIEND:--WILLIAM STILL:--Thine was received yesterday. Those two I wrote about to be with thee last 7th day evening, I presume thee has seen before this. A. Allen had charge of them; he had them kept out of sight at the depot here till the cars should be ready to start, in charge of a friend, while he kept a lookout and got a ticket. When the Delaware cars arrived, who should step out but the master of both man and woman, (as they had belonged to different persons); they knew him, and he knew them. He left in a different direction from where they were secreted, and got round to them and hurried them off to a place of safety, as he was afraid to take them home for fear they would search the house. On 1st day morning the boat ran to Chester to take our colored people to the camp at Media; he had them disguised, and got them in the crowd and went with them; when he got to Media, he placed them in care of a colored man, who promised to hand them over to thee on 2d day last; we expect 3 more next 7th day night, but how we shall dispose of them we have not yet determined; it will depend on circumstances. Judge Layton has been on with a friend to Richmond, Virginia, and fully identified the two Bradley boys that were kidnapped by Clem Rust. He has the assurance of the Judge there that they will be tried and their case decided by Delaware Laws, by which they must be declared free and returned here. We hope to be able to bring such proof against both Rust and the man he sold them to, who took them out of the State, to teach them a lesson they will remember. Thy friend, THOS. GARRETT. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, 1858. REBECCA JACKSON AND DAUGHTER, AND ROBERT SHORTER. The road to Washington was doing about this time a marvellously large business. "William Penn" and other friends in Washington were most vigilant, and knew where to find passengers who were daily thirsting for deliverance. Rebecca Jackson was a woman of about thirty-seven years of age, of a yellow color, and of bright intellect, prepossessing in her manners. She had pined in bondage in Georgetown under Mrs. Margaret Dick, a lady of wealth and far advanced in life, a firm believer in slavery and the Presbyterian Church, of which she was a member. Rebecca had been her chief attendant, knew all her whims and ways to perfection. According to Rebecca's idea, "she was a peevish, fretful, ill-natured, but kind-hearted creature." Being very tired of her old mistress and heartily sick of bondage, and withal desiring to save her daughter, she ascertained the doings of the Underground Rail Road,--was told about Canada, &c. She therefore resolved to make a bold adventure. Mrs. Dick had resided a long time in Georgetown, but owned three large plantations in the country, over which she kept three overseers to look after the slaves. Rebecca had a free husband, but she was not free to serve him, as she had to be digging day and night for the "white people." Robert, a son of the mistress lived with his mother. While Rebecca regarded him as "a man with a very evil disposition," she nevertheless believed that he had "sense enough to see that the present generation of slaves would not bear so much as slaves had been made to bear the generation past." * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM HONEY BROOK TOWNSHIP, 1858. FRANK CAMPBELL. Frank was a man of blunt features, rather stout, almost jet black, and about medium height and weight. He was not certain about his age, rather thought that he was between thirty and forty years. He had been deprived of learning to read or write, but with hard treatment he had been made fully acquainted under a man named Henry Campbell, who called himself Frank's master, and without his consent managed to profit by his daily sweat and toil. This Campbell was a farmer, and was said to be the owner of about one hundred head of slaves, besides having large investments in other directions. He did not hesitate to sell slaves if he could get his price. Every now and then one and another would find it his turn to be sold. Frank resolved to try and get out of danger before times were worse. So he struck out resolutely for freedom and succeeded. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM ALEXANDRIA, VA., 1858. RICHARD BAYNE, CARTER DOWLING AND BENJAMIN TAYLOR. Richard stated that a man named "Rudolph Massey, a merchant tailor, hard rum-drinker, card player, etc." claimed to own him, and had held him, up to the time of his escape, as with bands of brass. Richard said, "I was hired out for ten dollars a month, but I never suffered like many--didn't leave because I have been abused, but simply to keep from falling into the hands of some heirs that I had been willed to." In case of a division, Richard did not see how he could be divided without being converted into money. Now, as he could have no fore-knowledge as to the place or person into whose hands he might be consigned by the auctioneer, he concluded that he could not venture to risk himself in the hands of the young heirs. Richard began to consider what Slavery was, and his eyes beheld chains, whips, hand-cuffs, auction-blocks, separations and countless sufferings that had partially been overlooked before; he felt the injustice of having to toil hard to support a drunkard and gambler. At the age of twenty-three Richard concluded to "lay down the shovel and the hoe," and look out for himself. His mother was owned by Massey, but his father belonged to the "superior race" or claimed so to do, and if anything could be proved by appearances it was evident that he was the son of a white man. Richard was endowed with a good share of intelligence. He not only left his mother but also one sister to clank their chains together. Carter, who accompanied Richard, had just reached his majority. He stated that he escaped from a "maiden lady" living in Alexandria, known by the name of Miss Maria Fitchhugh, the owner of twenty-five slaves. Opposed to Slavery as he was, he nevertheless found no fault with his mistress, but on the contrary, said that she was a very respectable lady, and a member of the Episcopal Church. She often spoke of freeing her servants when she died; such talk was too uncertain for Carter, to pin his faith to, and he resolved not to wait. Such slave-holders generally lived a great while, and when they did die, they many times failed to keep their promises. He concluded to heed the voice of reason, and at once leave the house of bondage. His mother, father, five brothers and six sisters all owned by Miss Fitchhugh, formed a strong tie to keep him from going; he "conferred not with flesh and blood," but made a determined stroke for freedom. Benjamin, the third in this company, was only twenty years of age, but a better-looking specimen for the auction-block could hardly be found. He fled from the Meed estate; his mistress had recently died leaving her affairs, including the disposal of the slaves, to be settled at an early date. He spoke of his mistress as "a very clever lady to her servants," but since her death he had realized the danger that he was in of being run off south with a coffle gang. He explained the course frequently resorted to by slave-holders under similar circumstances thus: "frequently slaves would be snatched up, hand cuffed and hurried off south on the night train without an hour's notice." Fearing that this might be his fate, he deemed it prudent to take a northern train via the Underground Rail Road without giving any notice. He left no parents living, but six brothers and four sisters, all slaves with the exception of one brother who had bought himself. In order to defend themselves if molested on the road, the boys had provided themselves with pistols and dirks, and declared that they were fully bent on using them rather than be carried back to slavery. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM THE SEAT OF GOVERNMENT. HANSON WILLIAMS, NACE SHAW, GUSTA YOUNG, AND DANIEL M'NORTON SMITH. $200 REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, (Levi Pumphrey,) two NEGRO MEN--one, named "Hanson," about forty years old, with one eye out, about 5 feet 4 inches in height, full, bushy hair and whiskers and copper color. "Gusta" is about 21 years or 22 years of age, smooth face and thick lips, and stoops in his walk; black color, about 5 feet 5 or 6 inches in height; took away sundry articles of clothing. [Illustration: ] I will give one hundred dollars for each of them, if secured in jail so that I can get them. LEVI PUMPHREY, Washington City, D.C. s14-6t. These four fugitives were full of enthusiasm for Canada, although by no means among the worst abused of their class. Hanson was about forty years of age, with apparently a good degree of intellect, and of staid principles. In the above advertisement clipped from the Baltimore Sun, he is more fully described by Mr. Levi Pumphrey; it can now be taken for what it is worth. But, as Hanson left home suddenly without apprising his owner, or any of his owner's intimate white friends, of the circumstances which led him to thus leave, his testimony and explanation, although late, may not be wholly uninteresting to Mr. Levi Pumphrey and others who took an interest in the missing "Hanson." "How have you had it in slavery?" he was asked. "I have had it pretty rough," answered Hanson. "Who held you in bondage, and how have you been treated?" "I was owned by Levi Pumphrey, an old man with one eye, a perfect savage; he allowed no privileges of any kind, Sunday or Monday." Gusta, who was also described in Pumphrey's advertisement, was a rugged-looking specimen, and his statement tended to strengthen Hanson's in every particular. It was owing to the bad treatment of Pumphrey, that Gusta left in the manner that he did. After deciding to take his departure for Canada, he provided himself with a Colt's revolver, and resolved that if any man should attempt to put his hand on him while he was on the "King's highway," he would shoot him down, not excepting his old master. $150 REWARD.--Ran away from the subscriber, living near Upper Marlboro', Prince George's county, Md., on the 11th day of September, 1858, a negro man, "Nace," who calls himself "Nace Shaw;" is forty-five years of age, about five feet 8 or 9 inches high, of a copper color, full suit of hair, except a bald place upon the top of his head. He has a mother living in Washington city, on South B street, No. 212 Island. [Illustration: ] I will pay the above reward no matter where taken, if secured in jail so that I get him again. SARAH ANN TALBURTT. sl5-eotf. Nace, advertised by Miss Sarah Ann Talburtt, was a remarkably good-natured looking piece of merchandise. He gave a very interesting account of his so called mistress, how he came to leave her, etc. Said Nace: "My mistress was an old maid, and lived on a farm. I was her foreman on the farm. She lived near Marlborough Forest, in Prince George's county, Md., about twelve miles from Washington; she was a member of the Episcopal Church. She fed well, and quarrelled a caution, from Monday morning till Saturday night, not only with the slaves, but among the inmates of the big house. My mistress had three sisters, all old maids living with her, and a niece besides; their names were Rebecca, Rachel, Caroline, and Sarah Ann, and a more disagreeable family of old maids could not be found in a year's time. To arise in the morning before my mistress, Sarah Ann, was impossible." Then, without making it appear that he or other of the slaves had been badly treated under Miss Talburtt, he entered upon the cause of escape, and said; "I left simply because I wanted a chance for my life; I wanted to die a free man if it pleased God to have it so." His wife and a grown-up son he was obliged to leave, as no opportunity offered to bring them away with him. Dan was also of this party. He was well tinctured with Anglo-Saxon blood. His bondage had been in Alexandria, with a mill-wright, known by the name of James Garnett. Dan had not been in Garnett's hands a great while. Mr. Garnett's ways and manners were not altogether pleasing to him; besides, Dan stated that he was trying to sell him, and he made up his mind that at an early opportunity, he would avail himself of a ticket for Canada, via the Underground Rail Road. He left his mother and brothers all scattered. * * * * * CROSSING THE BAY IN A SKIFF. WILLIAM THOMAS COPE, JOHN BOICE GREY, HENRY BOICE AND ISAAC WHITE. These young bondmen, whilst writhing under the tortures heaped upon them, resolved, at the cost of life, to make a desperate trial for free land; to rid themselves of their fetters, at whatever peril they might have to encounter. The land route presented less encouragement than by water; they knew but little, however, concerning either way. After much anxious reflection, they finally decided to make their Underground Rail Road exit by water. Having lived all their lives not far from the bay, they had some knowledge of small boats, skiffs in particular, but of course they were not the possessors of one. Feeling that there was no time to lose, they concluded to borrow a skiff, though they should never return it. So one Saturday evening, toward the latter part of January, the four young slaves stood on the beach near Lewes, Delaware, and cast their longing eyes in the direction of the Jersey shore. A fierce gale was blowing, and the waves were running fearfully high; not daunted, however, but as one man they resolved to take their lives in their hands and make the bold adventure. With simple faith they entered the skiff; two of them took the oars, manfully to face uncertain dangers from the waves. But they remained steadfast, oft as they felt that they were making the last stroke with their oars, on the verge of being overwhelmed with the waves. At every new stage of danger they summoned courage by remembering that they were escaping for their lives. [Illustration: ] Late on Sunday afternoon, the following day, they reached their much desired haven, the Jersey shore. The relief and joy were unspeakably great, yet they were strangers in a strange land. They knew not which way to steer. True, they knew that New Jersey bore the name of being a Free State; but they had reason to fear that they were in danger. In this dilemma they were discovered by the captain of an oyster boat whose sense of humanity was so strongly appealed to by their appearance that he engaged to pilot them to Philadelphia. The following account of them was recorded: William Thomas was a yellow man, twenty-four years of age, and possessing a vigorous constitution. He accused Shepherd P. Houston of having restrained him of his liberty, and testified that said Houston was a very bad man. His vocation was that of a farmer, on a small scale; as a slave-holder he was numbered with the "small fry." Both master and mistress were members of the Methodist Church. According to William Thomas' testimony his mistress as well as his master was very hard on the slaves in various ways, especially in the matter of food and clothing. It would require a great deal of hard preaching to convince him that such Christianity was other than spurious. John stated that David Henry Houston, a farmer, took it upon himself to exercise authority over him. Said John, "If you didn't do the work right, he got contrary, and wouldn't give you anything to eat for a whole day at a time; he said a 'nigger and a mule hadn't any feeling.'" He described his stature and circumstances somewhat thus: "Houston is a very small man; for some time his affairs had been in a bad way; he had been broke, some say he had bad luck for killing my brother. My brother was sick, but master said he wasn't sick, and he took a chunk, and beat on him, and he died a few days after." John firmly believed that his brother had been the victim of a monstrous outrage, and that he too was liable to the same treatment. John was only nineteen years of age, spare built, chestnut color, and represented the rising mind of the slaves of the South. Henry was what might be termed a very smart young man, considering that he had been deprived of a knowledge of reading. He was a brother of John, and said that he also had been wrongfully enslaved by David Houston, alluded to above. He fully corroborated the statement of his brother, and declared, moreover, that his sister had not long since been sold South, and that he had heard enough to fully convince him that he and his brother were to be put up for sale soon. Of their mistress John said that she was a "pretty easy kind of a woman, only she didn't want to allow enough to eat, and wouldn't mend any clothes for us." Isaac was twenty-two, quite black, and belonged to the "rising" young slaves of Delaware. He stated that he had been owned by a "blacksmith, a very hard man, by the name of Thomas Carper." Isaac was disgusted with his master's ignorance, and criticised him, in his crude way, to a considerable extent. Isaac had learned blacksmithing under Carper. Both master and mistress were Methodists. Isaac said that he "could not recommend his mistress, as she was given to bad practices," so much so that he could hardly endure her. He also charged the blacksmith with being addicted to bad habits. Sometimes Isaac would be called upon to receive correction from his master, which would generally be dealt out with a "chunk of wood" over his "no feeling" head. On a late occasion, when Isaac was being _chunked_ beyond measure, he resisted, but the persistent blacksmith did not yield until he had so far disabled Isaac that he was rendered helpless for the next two weeks. While in this state he pledged himself to freedom and Canada, and resolved to win the prize by crossing the Bay. While these young passengers possessed brains and bravery of a rare order, at the same time they brought with them an unusual amount of the soil of Delaware; their persons and old worn-out clothing being full of it. Their appearance called loudly for immediate cleansing. A room--free water--free soap, and such other assistance as was necessary was tendered them in order to render the work as thorough as possible. This healthy process over, clean and comfortable clothing were furnished, and the change in their appearance was so marked, that they might have passed as strangers, if not in the immediate corn-fields of their masters, certainly among many of their old acquaintances, unless subjected to the most careful inspection. Raised in the country and on farms, their masters and mistresses had never dreamed of encouraging them to conform to habits of cleanliness; washing their persons and changing their garments were not common occurrences. The coarse garment once on would be clung to without change as long as it would hold together. The filthy cabins allotted for their habitations were in themselves incentives to personal uncleanliness. In some districts this was more apparent than in others. From some portions of Maryland and Delaware, in particular, passengers brought lamentable evidence of a want of knowledge and improvement in this direction. But the master, not the slave, was blameworthy. The master, as has been intimated, found but one suit for working (and sometimes none for Sunday), consequently if Tom was set to ditching one day and became muddy and dirty, and the next day he was required to haul manure, his ditching suit had to be used, and if the next day he was called into the harvest-field, he was still obliged to wear his barn-yard suit, and so on to the end. Frequently have such passengers been thoroughly cleansed for the first time in their lives at the Philadelphia station. Some needed practical lessons before they understood the thoroughness necessary to cleansing. Before undertaking the operation, therefore, in order that they might be made to feel the benefit to be derived therefrom, they would need to have the matter brought home to them in a very gentle way, lest they might feign to fear taking cold, not having been used to it, etc. It was customary to say to them: "We want to give you some clean clothing, but you need washing before putting them on. It will make you feel like a new man to have the dirt of slavery all washed off. Nothing that could be done for you would make you feel better after the fatigue of travel than a thorough bath. Probably you have not been allowed the opportunity of taking a good bath, and so have not enjoyed one since your mother bathed you. Don't be afraid of the water or soap--the harder you rub yourself the better you will feel. Shall we not wash your back and neck for you? We want you to look well while traveling on the Underground Rail Road, and not forget from this time forth to try to take care of yourself," &c., &c. By this course the reluctance where it existed would be overcome and the proposition would be readily acceded to, if the water was not too cool; on the other hand, if cool, a slight shudder might be visible, sufficient to raise a hearty laugh. Yet, when through, the candidate always expressed a hearty sense of satisfaction, and was truly thankful for this attention. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM KENT COUNTY, MD., 1858. ASBURY IRWIN, EPHRAIM ENNIS, AND LYDIA ANN JOHNS. The party whose narratives are here given brought grave charges against a backsliding member of the Society of Friends--a renegade Quaker. Doubtless rare instances may be found where men of the Quaker persuasion, emigrating from free and settling in slave States and among slaveholders, have deserted their freedom-loving principle and led captive by the force of bad examples, have linked hands with the oppressor against the oppressed. It is probable, however, that this is the only case that may turn up in these records to the disgrace of this body of Christians in whom dwelt in such a signal degree large sympathy for the slave and the fleeing bondman. Many fugitives were indebted to Friends who aided them in a quiet way, not allowing their left hand to know what their right hand did, and the result was that Underground Rail Road operations were always pretty safe and prosperous where the line of travel led through "Quaker settlements." We can speak with great confidence on this point especially with regard to Pennsylvania, where a goodly number might be named, if necessary, whose hearts, houses, horses, and money were always found ready and willing to assist the fugitive from the prison-house. It is with no little regret that we feel that truth requires us to connect the so-called owner of Asbury, Ephraim, and Lydia with the Quakers. Asbury was first examined, and his story ran substantially thus: "I run away because I was used bad; three years ago I was knocked dead with an axe by my master; the blood run out of my head as if it had been poured out of a tumbler; you can see the mark plain enough--look here," (with his finger on the spot). "I left Millington, at the head of Chester in Kent County, Maryland, where I had been held by a farmer who called himself Michael Newbold. He was originally from Mount Holly, New Jersey, but had been living in Maryland over twenty years. He was called a Hickory Quaker, and he had a real Quaker for a wife. Before he was in Maryland five years he bought slaves, became a regular slave-holder, got to drinking and racing horses, and was very bad--treated all hands bad, his wife too, so that she had to leave him and go to Philadelphia to her kinsfolks. It was because he was so bad we all had to leave," &c. While Asbury's story appeared truthful and simple, a portion of it was too shocking to morality and damaging to humanity to be inserted in these pages. Asbury was about forty years of age, a man of dark hue, size and height about mediocrity, and mental ability quite above the average. Ephraim was a fellow-servant and companion of Asbury. He was a man of superior physical strength, and from all outward appearance, he possessed qualities susceptible of ready improvement. He not only spoke of Newbold in terms of strong condemnation but of slave-holders and slavery everywhere. The lessons he had learned gave him ample opportunity to speak from experience and from what he had observed in the daily practices of slave-holders; consequently, with his ordinary gifts, it was impossible for him to utter his earnest feelings without making a deep impression. Lydia also fled from Michael Newbold. She was a young married woman, only twenty-two years of age, of a chestnut color and a pleasant countenance. Her flight for liberty cost her her husband, as she was obliged to leave him behind. What understanding was entered into between them prior to her departure we failed to note at the time. It was very clear that she had decided never to wear the yoke again. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM WASHINGTON, 1858. JOSEPHINE ROBINSON. Many reasons were given by Josephine for leaving the sunny South. She had a mistress, but was not satisfied with her--hadn't a particle of love for her; "she was all the time fussing and scolding, and never could be satisfied." She was very well off, and owned thirteen or fourteen head of slaves. She was a member of the Methodist Church, was stingy and very mean towards her slaves. Josephine having lived with her all her life, professed to have a thorough knowledge of her ways and manners, and seemed disposed to speak truthfully of her. The name of her mistress was Eliza Hambleton, and she lived in Washington. Josephine had fully thought over the matter of her rights, so much so, that she was prompted to escape. So hard did she feel her lot to be, that she was compelled to resign her children, uncle and aunt to the cruel mercy of slavery. What became of the little ones, David, Ogden and Isaiah, is a mystery. ARRIVAL FROM CECIL COUNTY, 1858. ROBERT JOHNS AND HIS WIFE "SUE ANN." Fortunately, in this instance, man and wife succeeded in making their way out of Slavery together. Robert was a man of small stature, and the farthest shade from white. In appearance and intellect he represented the ordinary Maryland slave, raised on a farm, surrounded with no refining influences or sympathy. He stated that a man by the name of William Cassey had claimed the right to his labor, and that he had been kept in bondage on his farm. For a year or more before setting out for freedom, Robert had watched his master pretty closely, and came to the conclusion, that he was "a monstrous blustery kind of a man; one of the old time fellows, very hard and rash--not fit to own a dog." He owned twelve slaves; Robert resolved that he would make one less in a short while. He laid the matter before his wife, "Sue," who was said to be the property of Susan Flinthrew, wife of John Flinthrew, of Cecil county, Maryland. "Sue" having suffered severely, first from one and then another, sometimes from floggings, and at other times from hunger, and again from not being half clothed in cold weather, was prepared to consider any scheme that looked in the direction of speedy deliverance. The way that they were to travel, and the various points of danger to be passed on the road were fully considered; but Robert and Sue were united and agreed that they could not fare much worse than they had fared, should they be captured and carried back. In this state of mind, as in the case of thousands of others, they set out for a free State, and in due time reached Pennsylvania and the Vigilance Committee, to whom they made known the facts here recorded, and received aid and comfort in return. Sue was a young woman of twenty-three, of a brown color, and somewhat under medium size. ARRIVAL FROM GEORGETOWN, D.C., 1858. PERRY CLEXTON, JIM BANKS AND CHARLES NOLE. This party found no very serious obstacles in their travels, as their plans were well arranged, and as they had at least natural ability sufficient for ordinary emergencies. Perry reported that he left "a man by the name of John M. Williams, of Georgetown, D.C., who was in the wood business, and kept a wharf." As to treatment, he said that he had not been used very hard, but had been worked hard and allowed but few privileges. The paltry sum of twenty-five cents a week, was all that was allowed him out of his hire. With a wife and one child this might seem a small sum, but in reality it was a liberal outlay compared with what many slaves were allowed. Perry being a ready-witted article, thought that it was hardly fair that Mr. Williams should live by the sweat of his brow instead of his own; he was a large, portly man, and able to work for himself in Perry's opinion. For a length of time, the notion of leaving and going to Canada was uppermost in his heart; probably he would have acted with more promptness but for the fact that his wife and child rested with great weight on his mind. Finally the pressure became so great that he felt that he must leave at all hazards, forsaking wife and child, master and chains. He was a young man, of about twenty-five years of age, of a dark shade, ordinary build, and full of grit. His wife was named Amelia; whether she ever afterwards heard from her husband is a question. Jim, who accompanied Perry, brought the shoe-making art with him. He had been held a slave under John J. Richards, although he was quite as much a white man as he was black. He was a mulatto, twenty-nine years of age, well-made, and bore a grum countenance, but a brave and manly will to keep up his courage on the way. He said that he had been used very well, had no fault to find with John J. Richards, who was possibly a near relative of his. He forsook his mother, four brothers and three sisters with no hope of ever seeing them again. Charles bore strong testimony in favor of his master, Blooker W. Hansborough, a farmer, a first-rate man to his servants, said Charles. "I was used very well, can't complain." "Why did you not remain then?" asked a member of the Committee. "I left," answered C., "because I was not allowed to live with my wife. She with our six children, lived a long distance from my master's place, and he would not hire me out where I could live near my wife, so I made up my mind that I would try and do better. I could see no enjoyment that way." As the secret of his master's treatment is here brought to light, it is very evident that Charles, in speaking so highly in his favor, failed to take a just view of him, as no man could really be first-rate to his servants, who would not allow a man to live with his wife and children, and who would persist in taking from another what he had no right to take. Nevertheless, as Charles thought his master "first-rate," he shall have the benefit of the opinion, but it was suspected that Charles was not disposed to find fault with his kin, as it was very likely that the old master claimed some of the white blood in his veins. ARRIVAL FROM SUSSEX COUNTY, 1858. JACOB BLOCKSON, GEORGE ALLIGOOD, JIM ALLIGOOD, AND GEORGE LEWIS. The coming of Jacob and his companions was welcomed in the usual way. The marks of Slavery upon them were evident; however they were subjected to the usual critical examination, which they bore with composure, and without the least damage. The following notes in the main were recorded from their statements: Jacob was a stout and healthy-looking man, about twenty-seven years of age, with a countenance indicative of having no sympathy with Slavery. Being invited to tell his own story, describe his master, etc., he unhesitatingly relieved himself somewhat after this manner; "I escaped from a man by the name of Jesse W. Paten; he was a man of no business, except drinking whiskey, and farming. He was a light complected man, tall large, and full-faced, with a large nose. He was a widower. He belonged to no society of any kind. He lived near Seaford, in Sussex county, Delaware." "I left because I didn't want to stay with him any longer. My master was about to be sold out this Fall, and I made up my mind that I did not want to be sold like a horse, the way they generally sold darkies then; so when I started I resolved to die sooner than I would be taken back; this was my intention all the while. "I left my wife, and one child; the wife's name was Lear, and the child was called Alexander. I want to get them on soon too. I made some arrangements for their coming if I got off safe to Canada." George was next called upon to give his statement concerning where he was from, etc. I "scaped" from Sussex too, from a man by the name of George M. Davis, a large man, dark-complected, and about fifty years of age; he belonged to the old side Methodist Church, was a man with a family, and followed farming, or had farming done by me and others. Besides he was a justice of the peace. I always believed that the Master above had no wish for me to be held in bondage all my days; but I thought if I made up my mind to stay in Slavery, and not to make a desperate trial for my freedom, I would never have any better times. I had heard that my old mistress had willed me to her children, and children's children. I thought at this rate there was no use of holding on any longer for the good time to come, so here I said, I am going, if I die a trying. I got me a dagger, and made up my mind if they attempted to take me on the road, I would have one man. As for my part, I have not had it so slavish as many, but I have never had any privileges to learn to read, or to go about anywhere. Now and then they let me go to church. My master belonged to church, and so did I. For a young man, being only twenty-two years of age, who had been kept from the light of freedom, as much as he had, his story was thought to be exceedingly well told throughout. James, a brother of George, said: "I came from Horse's Cross-Roads, not far from where my brother George came from. William Gray, rail road ticket agent at Bridgewater, professed to own me. He was a tolerable sized man, with very large whiskers, and dark hair; he was rather a steady kind of a man, he had a wife, but no child. The reason I left, I thought I had served Slavery long enough, as I had been treated none the best. I did not believe in working my life out just to support some body else. My master had as many hands and feet as I have, and is as able to work for his bread as I am; and I made up my mind that I wouldn't stay to be a slave under him any longer, but that I would go to Canada, and be my own master." James left his poor wife, and three children, slaves perhaps for life. The wife's name was Esther Ann, the children were called Mary, Henry, and Harriet. All belonged to Jesse Laten. George Lewis had more years than any of his companions, being about forty years of age. He had been kept in as low a state of ignorance as the ingenuity of a slave-holder of Delaware could keep one possessed of as much mother-wit as he was, for he was not quite so ignorant as the interests of the system required. His physical make and mental capacity were good. He was decidedly averse to the peculiar institution in every particular. He stated, that a man named Samuel Laws had held him in bondage--that this "Laws was a man of no business--just sat about the house and went about from store to store and sat; that he was an old man, pretty grey, very long hair. He was a member of a church in the neighborhood, which was called Radical." Of this church and its members he could give but little account, either of their peculiarities or creed; he said, however, that they worshipped a good deal like the Methodists, and allowed their members to swear heartily for slavery. "Something told" George that he had worked long enough as a slave, and that he should be man enough to take the Underground Rail Road and go off to a free country. Accordingly George set out. When he arrived at the station he was so highly delighted with his success and the prospect before him, that he felt very sorry that he hadn't started ten years sooner. He said that he would have done so, but he was afraid, as slave-holders were always making the slaves believe that if they should ever escape they would catch them and bring them back and sell them down South, certain; that they always did catch every one who ran off, but never brought them home, but sold them right off where they could never run away any more, or get to see their relatives again. This threat, George said, was continually rung in the ears of the slaves, and with the more timid it was very effective. Jacob Blockson, after reaching Canada, true to the pledge that he made to his bosom companion, wrote back as follows: SAINT CATHARINES. Cannda West, Dec. 26th, 1858. DEAR WIFE:--I now infom you I am in Canada and am well and hope you are the same, and would wish you to be here next august, you come to suspension bridge and from there to St. Catharines, write and let me know. I am doing well working for a Butcher this winter, and will get good wages in the spring I now get $2,50 a week. I Jacob Blockson, George Lewis, George Alligood and James Alligood are all in St. Catharines, and met George Ross from Lewis Wright's, Jim Blockson is in Canada West, and Jim Delany, Plunnoth Connon. I expect you my wife Lea Ann Blockson, my son Alexander & Lewis and Ames will all be here and Isabella also, if you cant bring all bring Alexander surely, write when you will come and I will meet you in Albany. Love to you all, from your loving Husband, JACOB BLOCKSON. fare through $12,30 to here. MR. STILL: SIR:--you will please Envelope this and send it to John Sheppard Bridgeville P office in Sussex county Delaware, seal it in black and oblige me, write to her to come to you. SUNDRY ARRIVALS IN 1859. SARAH ANN MILLS, Boonsborough; CAROLINE GASSWAY, Mt. Airy; LEVIN HOLDEN, Laurel; WILLIAM JAMES CONNER, with his wife, child, and four brothers; JAMES LAZARUS, Delaware; RICHARD WILLIAMS, Richmond, Virginia; SYDNEY HOPKINS and HENRY WHEELER, Havre de Grace. Sarah Mills set out for freedom long before she reached womanhood; being about sixteen years of age. She stated that she had been very cruelly treated, that she was owned by a man named Joseph O'Neil, "a tax collector and a very bad man." Under said O'Neil she had been required to chop wood, curry horses, work in the field like a man, and all one winter she had been compelled to go barefooted. Three weeks before Sarah fled, her mistress was called away by death; nevertheless Sarah could not forget how badly she had been treated by her while living. According to Sarah's testimony the mistress was no better than her husband. Sarah came from Boonsborough, near Hagerstown, Md., leaving her mother and other relatives in that neighborhood. It was gratifying to know that such bond-women so early got beyond the control of slave-holders; yet girls of her age from having had no pains taken for their improvement, appealed loudly for more than common sympathy and humanity, but rarely ever found it; on the contrary, their paths were beset with great danger. Caroline Gassway, after being held to service by Summersett Walters, until she had reached her twenty-seventh year, was forced, by hard treatment and the love of freedom, to make an effort for deliverance. Her appearance at once indicated, although she was just out of the prison-house, that she possessed more than an ordinary share of courage, and that she had had a keen insight into the system under which she had been oppressed. She was of a dark chestnut color, well-formed, with a large and high forehead, indicative of intellect. She had much to say of the ways and practices of slave-holders; of the wrongs of the system. She dwelt especially upon her own situation as a slave, and the character of her master; she told not only of his ill treatment of her, but described his physical appearance as well. "He was a spare-made man, with a red head and quick temper: he would go off in a flurry like a flash of powder, and would behave shamefully towards the slaves when in these fits of passion." His wife, however, Caroline confessed was of a different temper, and was a pretty good kind of a woman. If he had been anything like his wife in disposition, most likely Caroline would have remained in bondage. Fortunately, Caroline was a single woman. She left her mother. Levin Holden, having been sold only a few weeks prior to his escape, was so affected by the change which awaited him, that he was irresistibly led to seek the Underground Rail Road. Previous to being sold he was under a master by the name of Jonathan Bailey, who followed farming in the neighborhood of Laurel, Delaware, and, as a master, was considered a moderate man--was also well to do in the world; but the new master he could not endure, as he had already let the secret out that Levin was to be sent South. Levin had a perfect horror of a more Southern latitude; he made up his mind that he would try his luck for Canada. Levin was a man of twenty-seven years of age, smart, dark color, and of a good size for all sorts of work. William James Conner, his wife, child, and four brothers came next. The brothers were hale-looking fellows, and would have commanded high prices in any market South of Mason and Dixon's Line. It was said, that they were the property of Kendall Major Lewis, who lived near Laurel, Delaware. It was known, however, that he never had any deed from the Almighty, but oppressed them without any just right so to do; they were perfectly justifiable in leaving Kendall Major Lewis, and all his sympathizers, to take care of themselves as best they could. No very serious charges were made against Lewis, but on the contrary they said, that he had been looked upon as a "moderate slave-holder;" they also said, that "he had been a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church for fifty years, and stood high in that body." Furthermore they stated, that he sold slaves occasionally. Eight had been sold by him some time before this party escaped (two of them to Georgia); besides William James had been sold and barely found opportunity to escape. Wm. James, Major Lewis, Dennis Betts, Peter, and Lazarus, with the wife and child of the former, not only found themselves stripped from day to day of their hard earnings, but fearful forebodings of the auction-block were ever uppermost in their minds. While they spoke of Lewis as "moderate," etc., they all said that he allowed no privileges to his slaves. Richard Williams gave a full account of himself, but only a meagre report was recorded. He said that he came from Richmond, and left because he was on the point of being sold by John A. Smith, who owned him. He gave Smith credit for being a tolerable fair kind of a slave-holder, but added, that "his wife was a notoriously hard woman;" she had made a very deep impression on Richard's mind by her treatment of him. In finding himself on free ground, however, with cheering prospects ahead, he did not stop to brood over the ills that he had suffered, but rejoiced heartily. He left his wife, Julia, who was free. Sydney Hopkins and Henry Wheeler. These young men made their way out of Slavery together. While Sydney lives he will forever regard Jacob Hoag, of Havre-de-Grace, as the person who cheated him out of himself, and prevented him from becoming enlightened and educated. Henry, his companion, was also from Havre De Grace. He had had trouble with a man by the name of Amos Barnes, or in other words Barnes claimed to own him, just as he owned a horse or a mule, and daily controlled him in about the same manner that he would manage the animals above alluded to. Henry could find no justification for such treatment. He suffered greatly under the said Barnes, and finally his eyes were open to see that there was an Underground Rail Road for the benefit of all such slavery-sick souls as himself. So he got a ticket as soon as possible, and came through without accident, leaving Amos Barnes to do the best he could for a living. This candidate for Canada was twenty-one years of age, and a likely-looking boy. Joseph Henry Hill. The spirit of freedom in this passenger was truly the "one idea" notion. At the age of twenty-eight his purpose to free himself by escaping on the Underground Rail Road was successfully carried into effect, although not without difficulty. Joseph was a fair specimen of a man physically and mentally, could read and write, and thereby keep the run of matters of interest on the Slavery question. James Thomas, Jr., a tobacco merchant, in Richmond, had Joe down in his ledger as a marketable piece of property, or a handy machine to save labor, and make money. To Joe's great joy he heard the sound of the Underground Rail Road bell in Richmond,--had a satisfactory interview with the conductor,--received a favorable response, and was soon a traveler on his way to Canada. He left his mother, a free woman, and two sisters in chains. He had been sold twice, but he never meant to be sold again. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1859. CORNELIUS HENRY JOHNSON. FACE CANADA-WARD FOR YEARS. Quite an agreeable interview took place between Cornelius and the Committee. He gave his experience of Slavery pretty fully, and the Committee enlightened him as to the workings of the Underground Rail Road, the value of freedom, and the safety of Canada as a refuge. Cornelius was a single man, thirty-six years of age, full black, medium size, and intelligent. He stated that he had had his face set toward Canada for a long while. Three times he had made an effort to get out of the prison-house. "Within the last four or five years, times have gone pretty hard with me. My mistress, Mrs. Mary F. Price, had lately put me in charge of her brother, Samuel M. Bailey, a tobacco merchant of Richmond. Both believed in nothing as they did in Slavery; they would sooner see a black man dead than free. They were about second class in society. He and his sister own well on to one hundred head, though within the last few years he has been thinning off the number by sale. I was allowed one dollar a week for my board; one dollar is the usual allowance for slaves in my situation. On Christmas week he allowed me no board money, but made me a present of seventy-five cents; my mistress added twenty-five cents, which was the extent of their liberality. I was well cared for. When the slaves got sick he doctored them himself, he was too stingy to employ a physician. If they did not get well as soon as he thought they should, he would order them to their work, and if they did not go he would beat them. My cousin was badly beat last year in the presence of his wife, and he was right sick. Mr. Bailey was a member of St. James' church, on Fifth street, and my mistress was a communicant of the First Baptist church on Broad Street. She let on to be very good." "I am one of a family of sixteen; my mother and eleven sisters and brothers are now living; some have been sold to Alabama, and some to Tennessee, the rest are held in Richmond. My mother is now old, but is still in the service of Bailey. He promised to take care of her in her old age, and not compel her to labor, so she is only required to cook and wash for a dozen slaves. This they consider a great favor to the old 'grandmother.' It was only a year ago he cursed her and threatened her with a flogging. I left for nothing else but because I was dissatisfied with Slavery. The threats of my master caused me to reflect on the North and South. I had an idea that I was not to die in Slavery. I believed that God would assist me if I would try. I then made up my mind to put my case in the hands of God, and start for the Underground Rail Road. I bade good-bye to the old tobacco factory on Seventh street, and the First African Baptist church on Broad street (where he belonged), where I had so often heard the minister preach 'servants obey your masters;' also to the slave pens, chain-gangs, and a cruel master and mistress, all of which I hoped to leave forever. But to bid good-bye to my old mother in chains, was no easy job, and if my desire for freedom had not been as strong as my desire for life itself, I could never have stood it; but I felt that I could do her no good; could not help her if I staid. As I was often threatened by my master, with the auction-block, I felt I must give up all and escape for my life." Such was substantially the story of Cornelius Henry Johnson. He talked for an hour as one inspired, and as none but fugitive slaves could talk. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM DELAWARE, 1858. THEOPHILUS COLLINS, ANDREW JACKSON BOYCE, HANDY BURTON AND ROBERT JACKSON. A DESPERATE, BLOODY STRUGGLE--GUN, KNIFE AND FIRE SHOVEL, USED BY AN INFURIATED MASTER. Judged from their outward appearance, as well as from the fact that they were from the neighboring State of Delaware, no extraordinary revelations were looked for from the above-named party. It was found, however, that one of their number, at least, had a sad tale of outrage and cruelty to relate. The facts stated are as follows: Theophilus is twenty-four years of age, dark, height and stature hardly medium, with faculties only about average compared with ordinary fugitives from Delaware and Maryland. His appearance is in no way remarkable. His bearing is subdued and modest; yet he is not lacking in earnestness. Says Theophilus, "I was in servitude under a man named Houston, near Lewes, Delaware; he was a very mean man, he didn't allow you enough to eat, nor enough clothes to wear. He never allowed a drop of tea, or coffee, or sugar, and if you didn't eat your breakfast before day he wouldn't allow you any, but would drive you out without any. He had a wife; she was mean, too, meaner than he was. Four years ago last Fall my master cut my entrails out for going to meeting at Daniel Wesley's church one Sabbath night. Before day, Monday morning, he called me up to whip me; called me into his dining-room, locked the doors, then ordered me to pull off my shirt. I told him no, sir, I wouldn't; right away he went and got the cowhide, and gave me about twenty over my head with the butt. He tore my shirt off, after I would not pull it off; he ordered me to cross my hands. I didn't do that. After I wouldn't do that he went and got his gun. and broke the breech of that over my head. He then seized up the fire-tongs and struck me over the head ever so often. The next thing he took was the parlor shovel and he beat on me with that till he broke the handle; then he took the blade and stove it at my head with all his might. I told him that I was bound to come out of that room. He run up to the door and drawed his knife and told me if I ventured to the door he would stab me. I never made it any better or worse, but aimed straight for the door; but before I reached it he stabbed me, drawing the knife (a common pocket knife) as hard as he could rip across my stomach; right away he began stabbing me about my head," (marks were plainly to be seen). After a desperate struggle, Theophilus succeeded in getting out of the building. [Illustration: ] "I started," said he, "at once for Georgetown, carrying a part of my entrails in my hands for the whole journey, sixteen miles. I went to my young masters, and they took me to an old colored woman, called Judah Smith, and for five days and nights I was under treatment of Dr. Henry Moore, Dr. Charles Henry Richards, and Dr. William Newall; all these attended me. I was not expected to live for a long time, but the Doctors cured me at last." Andrew reported that he fled from Dr. David Houston. "I left because of my master's meanness to me; he was a very mean man to his servants," said Andrew, "and I got so tired of him I couldn't stand him any longer." Andrew was about twenty-six years of age, ordinary size; color, brown, and was entitled to his freedom, but knew not how to secure it by law, so resorted to the Underground Rail Road method. Handy, another of this party, said that he left because the man who claimed to be his master "was so hard." The man by whom he had been wronged was known where he came from by the name of Shepherd Burton, and was in the farming business. "He was a churchman," said Handy, "but he never allowed me to go to church a half dozen times in my life." Robert belonged to Mrs. Mary Hickman, at least she had him in her possession and reaped the benefit of his hire and enjoyed the leisure and ease thereof while he toiled. For some time prior to his leaving, this had been a thorn in his side, hard to bear; so when an opening presented itself by which he thought he could better his condition, he was ready to try the experiment. He, however, felt that, while she would not have him to look to for support, she would not be without sympathy, as she was a member of the Episcopal Church; besides she was an old-looking woman and might not need his help a great while longer. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1859. STEPNEY BROWN. Stepney was an extraordinary man, his countenance indicating great goodness of heart, and his gratitude to his heavenly Father for his deliverance proved that he was fully aware of the Source whence his help had come. Being a man of excellent natural gifts, as well as of religious fervor and devotion to a remarkable degree, he seemed admirably fitted to represent the slave in chains, looking up to God with an eye of faith, and again the fugitive in Canada triumphant and rejoicing with joy unspeakable over his deliverance, yet not forgetting those in bonds, as bound with them. The beauty of an unshaken faith in the good Father above could scarcely have shone with a brighter lustre than was seen in this simple-hearted believer. Stepney was thirty-four years of age, tall, slender, and of a dark hue. He readily confessed that he fled from Mrs. Julia A. Mitchell, of Richmond; and testified that she was decidedly stingy and unkind, although a member of St. Paul's church. Still he was wholly free from acrimony, and even in recounting his sufferings was filled with charity towards his oppressors. He said, "I was moved to leave because I believed that I had a right to be a free man." He was a member of the Second Baptist church, and entertained strong faith that certain infirmities, which had followed him through life up to within seven years of the time of his escape, had all been removed through the Spirit of the Lord. He had been an eye-witness to many outrages inflicted on his fellow-men. But he spoke more of the sufferings of others than his own. His stay was brief, but interesting. After his arrival in Canada he turned his attention to industrial pursuits, and cherished his loved idea that the Lord was very good to him. Occasionally he would write to express his gratitude to God and man, and to inquire about friends in different localities, especially those in bonds. The following letters are specimens, and speak for themselves: CLIFTON HOUSE, NIAGARA FALLS, August the 27. DEAR BROTHER:--It is with pleasure i take my pen in hand to write a few lines to inform you that i am well hopeping these few lines may fine you the same i am longing to hear from you and your family i wish you would say to Julis Anderson that he must realy excuse me for not writing but i am in hopes that he is doing well. i have not heard no news from Virgina. plese to send me all the news say to Mrs. Hunt an you also forever pray for me knowing that God is so good to us. i have not seen brother John Dungy for 5 months, but we have corresponded together but he is doing well in Brandford. i am now at the falls an have been on here some time an i shall with the help of the lord locate myself somewhere this winter an go to school excuse me for not annser your letter sooner knowing that i cannot write well you please to send me one of the earliest papers send me word if any of our friends have been passing through i know that you are very busy but ask your little daughter if she will annser this letter for you i often feel that i cannot turn god thanks enough for his blessings that he has bestoueth upon me. Say to brother suel that he must not forget what god has consighn to his hand, to do that he must pray in his closet that god might teach him. say to mr. Anderson that i hope he have retrad an has seeked the lord an found him precious to his own soul for he must do it in this world for he cannot do it in the world to come, i often think about the morning that i left your house it was such a sad feeling but still i have a hope in crist do you think it is safe in boston my love to all i remain your brother, STEPNEY BROWN. BRANTFORD, March 3d, 1860. MR. WILLIAM STILL, DEAR SIR:--I now take the pleasure of writing to you a few lines write soon hoping to find you enjoying perfect health, as I am the same. My joy within is so great that I cannot find words to express it. When I met with my friend brother Dungy who stopped at your house on his way to Canada after having a long chase after me from Toronto to Hamilton he at last found me in the town of Brantford Canada West and ought we not to return Almighty God thanks for delivering us from the many dangers and trials that beset our path in this wicked world we live in. I have long been wanting to write to you but I entirely forgot the number of your house Mr. Dungy luckily happened to have your directions with him. Religion is good when we live right may God help you to pray often to him that he might receive you at the hour of your final departure. Yours most respectfully. STEPNEY BROWN, per Jas. A. Walk. P.S. Write as soon as possible for I wish very much to hear from you. I understand that Mrs. Hunt has been to Richmond, Va. be so kind as to ask her if she heard anything about that money. Give my love to all inquiring friends and to your family especially. I now thank God that I have not lost a day in sickness since I came to Canada. Kiss the baby for me. I know you are busy but I hope you will have time to write a few lines to me to let me know how you and your family are getting on. No more at present, but I am yours very truly, STEPNEY BROWN, per Jas. A. Walkinshaw. BRANTFORD, Oct. 25, '60 DEAR SIR:--I take the pleasure of dropping you a few lines, I am yet residing in Brantford and I have been to work all this summer at the falls and I have got along remarkably well, surely God is good to those that put their trust in him I suppose you have been wondering what has become of me but I am in the lands of living and long to hear from you and your family. I would have wrote sooner, but the times has been such in the states I have not but little news to send you and I'm going to school again this winter and will you be pleased to send me word what has become of Julius Anderson and the rest of my friends and tell him I would write to him if I knew where to direct the letter, please send me word whether any body has been along lately that knows me. I know that you are busy but you must take time and answer this letter as I am anxious to hear from you, but nevertheless we must not forget our maker, so we cannot pray too much to our lord so I hope that mr. Anderson has found peace with God for me myself really appreciate that hope that I have in Christ, for I often find myself in my slumber with you and I hope we will meet some day. Mr. Dungy sends his love to you I suppose you are aware that he is married, he is luckier than I am or I must get a little foothold before I do marry if I ever do. I am in a very comfortable room all fixed for the winter and we have had one snow. May the lord be with you and all you and all your household. I remain forever your brother in Christ, STEPNEY BROWN. ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1859. JIM KELL, CHARLES HEATH, WILLIAM CARLISLE, CHARLES RINGGOLD, THOMAS MAXWELL, AND SAMUEL SMITH. On the evening of the Fourth of July, while all was hilarity and rejoicing the above named very interesting fugitives arrived from the troubled district, the Eastern shore, of Maryland, where so many conventions had been held the previous year to prevent escapes; where the Rev. Samuel Green had been convicted and sent to the penitentiary for ten years for having a copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin in his humble home; where so many parties, on escaping, had the good sense and courage to secure their flight by bringing their masters' horses and carriages a good way on their perilous journey. Sam had been tied up and beat many times severely. William had been stripped naked, and frequently and cruelly cowhided. Thomas had been clubbed over his head more times than a few. Jim had been whipped with clubs and switches times without number. Charles had had five men on him at one time, with cowhides, his master in the lead. Charles Heath had had his head cut shockingly, with a club, in the hands of his master; this well cared-for individual in referring to his kind master, said: "I can give his character right along, he was a perfect devil. The night we left, he had a woman tied up--God knows what he done. He was always blustering, you could never do enough for him no how. First thing in the morning and last thing at night, you would hear him cussing--he would cuss in bed. He was a large farmer, all the time drunk. He had a good deal of money but not much character. He was a savage, bluff, red face-looking concern." Thus, in the most earnest, as well as in an intelligent manner, Charles described the man (Aquila Cain), who had hitherto held him under the yoke. James left his mother, Nancy Kell, two brothers, Robert and Henry, and two sisters, Mary and Annie; all living in the neighborhood whence he fled. Besides these, he had eight brothers and sisters living in Baltimore and elsewhere, under the yoke. He was twenty-four years of age, of a jet color, but of a manly turn. He fled from Thomas Murphy, a farmer, and regular slave-holder. Charles Heath was twenty-five years of age, medium size, full black, a very keen-looking individual. William was also of unmixed blood, shrewd and wide-awake for his years,--had been ground down under the heel of Aquila Cain. He left his mother and two sisters. Charles Ringgold was eighteen years of age; no white blood showed itself in the least in this individual. He fled from Dr. Jacob Preston, a member of the Episcopal Church, and a practical farmer with twenty head of slaves. "He was not so bad, but his wife was said to be a 'stinger.'" Charles left his mother and father behind, also four sisters. Thomas was of pure blood, with a very cheerful, healthy-looking countenance,--twenty-one years of age, and was to "come free" at twenty-five, but he had too much good sense to rely upon the promises of slave-holders in matters of this kind. He too belonged to Cain who, he said, was constantly talking about selling, etc. He left his father and mother. After being furnished with food, clothing, and free tickets, they were forwarded on in triumph and full of hope. * * * * * SUNDRY ARRIVALS, 1859. JOHN EDWARD LEE, JOHN HILLIS, CHARLES ROSS, JAMES RYAN, WILLIAM JOHNSTON, EDWARD WOOD, CORNELIUS FULLER AND HIS WIFE HARRIET, JOHN PINKET, ANSAL CANNON, AND JAMES BROWN. John came from Maryland, and brought with him a good degree of pluck. He satisfied the Committee that he fully believed in freedom, and had proved his faith by his works, as he came in contact with pursuers, whom he put to flight by the use of an ugly-looking knife, which he plunged into one of them, producing quite a panic; the result was that he was left to pursue his Underground Rail Road journey without further molestation. There was nothing in John's appearance which would lead one to suppose that he was a blood-thirsty or bad man, although a man of uncommon muscular powers; six feet high, and quite black, with resolution stamped on his countenance. But when he explained how he was enslaved by a man named John B. Slade, of Harford Co., and how, in some way or other, he became entitled to his freedom, and just as the time arrived for the consummation of his long prayed-for boon, said Slade was about to sell him,--after this provocation, it was clear enough to perceive how John came to use his knife. John Hillis was a tiller of the ground under a widow lady (Mrs. Louisa Le Count), of the New Market District, Maryland. He signified to the mistress, that he loved to follow the water, and that he would be just as safe on water as on land, and that he was discontented. The widow heard John's plausible story, and saw nothing amiss in it, so she consented that he should work on a schooner. The name of the craft was "Majestic." The hopeful John endeavored to do his utmost to please, and was doubly happy when he learned that the "Majestic" was to make a trip to Philadelphia. On arriving John's eyes were opened to see that he owed Mrs. Le Count nothing, but that she was largely indebted to him for years of unrequited toil; he could not, therefore, consent to go back to her. He was troubled to think of his poor wife and children, whom he had left in the hands of Mrs. Harriet Dean, three quarters of a mile from New Market; but it was easier for him to imagine plans by which he could get them off than to incur the hazard of going back to Maryland; therefore he remained in freedom. Charles Ross was clearly of the opinion that he was free-born, but that he had been illegally held in Slavery, as were all his brothers and sisters, by a man named Rodgers, a farmer, living near Greensborough, in Caroline county, Md. Very good reasons were given by Charles for the charge which he made against Rodgers, and it went far towards establishing the fact, that "colored men had no rights which white men were bound to respect," in Maryland. Although he was only twenty-three years of age, he had fully weighed the matter of his freedom, and appeared firmly set against Slavery. William Johnson was owned by a man named John Bosley, a farmer, living near Gun Powder Neck, Maryland. One morning he, unexpectedly to William, gave him a terrible cowhiding, which, contrary to the master's designs, made him a firm believer in the doctrine of immediate abolition, and he thought, that from that hour he must do something against the system--if nothing more than to go to Canada. This determination was so strong, that in a few weeks afterwards he found himself on the Underground Rail Road. He left one brother and one sister; his mother was dead, and of his father's whereabouts he knew nothing. William was nineteen years of age, brown color, smart and good-looking. Edward Wood was a "chattel" from Drummerstown, Accomac county, Virginia, where he had been owned by a farmer, calling himself James White; a man who "drank hard and was very crabbed," and before Edward left owned eleven head of slaves. Edward left a wife and three children, but the strong desire to be free, which had been a ruling passion of his being from early boyhood, rendered it impossible for him to stay, although the ties were very hard to break. Slavery was crushing him hourly, and he felt that he could not submit any longer. Cornelius Fuller, and his wife, Harriet, escaped together from Kent county, Maryland. They belonged to separate masters; Cornelius, it was said, belonged to the Diden Estate; his wife to Judge Chambers, whose Honor lived in Chestertown. "He is no man for freedom, bless you," said Harriet. "He owned more slaves than any other man in that part of the country; he sells sometimes, and he hired out a great many; would hire them to any kind of a master, if he half killed you." Cornelius and Harriet were obliged to leave their daughter Kitty, who was thirteen years of age. John Pinket and Ansal Cannon took the Underground Rail Road cars at New Market, Dorchester county, Maryland. John was a tall young man, of twenty-seven years of age, of an active turn of mind and of a fine black color. He was the property of Mary Brown, a widow, firmly grounded in the love of Slavery; believing that a slave had no business to get tired or desire his freedom. She sold one of John's sisters to Georgia, and before John fled, had still in her possession nine head of slaves. She was a member of the Methodist church at East New Market. From certain movements which looked very suspicious in John's eyes, he had been allotted to the Southern Market, he therefore resolved to look out for a habitation in Canada. He had a first-rate corn-field education, but no book learning. Up to the time of his escape, John had shunned entangling himself with a wife. Ansal was twenty-five years of age, well-colored, and seemed like a good-natured and well-behaved article. He escaped from Kitty Cannon, another widow, who owned nine chattels. "Sometimes she treated her slaves pretty well," was the testimony of Ansal. He ran away because he did not get pay for his services. In thus being deprived of his hire, he concluded that he had no business to stay if he could get away. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1859. JAMES BROWN. A more giant-like looking passenger than the above named individual had rarely ever passed over the road. He was six feet three inches high, and in every respect, a man of bone, sinew and muscle. For one who had enjoyed only a field hand's privileges for improvement, he was not to be despised. Jim owed service to Henry Jones; at least he admitted that said Jones claimed him, and had hired him out to himself for seven dollars per month. While this amount seemed light, it was much heavier than Jim felt willing to meet solely for his master's benefit. After giving some heed to the voice of freedom within, he considered that it behooved him to try and make his way to some place where men were not guilty of wronging their neighbors out of their just hire. Having heard of the Underground Rail Road running to Canada, he concluded to take a trip and see the country, for himself; so he arranged his affairs with this end in view, and left Henry Jones with one less to work for him for nothing. The place that he fled from was called North Point, Baltimore county. The number of fellow-slaves left in the hands of his old master, was fifteen. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM DELAWARE, 1859. EDWARD, JOHN, AND CHARLES HALL. The above named individuals were brothers from Delaware. They were young; the eldest being about twenty, the youngest not far from seventeen years of age. Edward was serving on a farm, under a man named Booth. Perceiving that Booth was "running through his property" very fast by hard drinking, Edward's better judgment admonished him that his so-called master would one day have need of more rum money, and that he might not be too good to offer him in the market for what he would bring. Charles resolved that when his brothers crossed the line dividing Delaware and Pennsylvania, he would not be far behind. The mother of these boys was freed at the age of twenty-eight, and lived in Wilmington, Delaware. It was owing to the fact that their mother had been freed that they entertained the vague notion that they too might be freed; but it was a well established fact that thousands lived and died in such a hope without ever realizing their expectations. The boys, more shrewd and wide awake than many others, did not hearken to such "stuff." The two younger heard the views of the elder brother, and expressed a willingness to follow him. Edward, becoming satisfied that what they meant to do must be done quickly, took the lead, and off they started for a free State. John was owned by one James B. Rodgers, a farmer, and "a most every kind of man," as John expressed himself; in fact John thought that his owner was such a strange, wicked, and cross character that he couldn't tell himself what he was. Seeing that slaves were treated no better than dogs and hogs, John thought that he was none too young to be taking steps to get away. Charles was held by James Rodgers, Sr., under whom he said that he had served nine years with faint prospects of some time becoming free, but when, was doubtful. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1859. JAMES TAYLOR, ALBERT GROSS, AND JOHN GRINAGE. To see mere lads, not twenty-one years of age, smart enough to outwit the very shrewdest and wisest slave-holders of Virginia was very gratifying. The young men composing this arrival were of this keen-sighted order. James was only a little turned of twenty, of a yellow complexion, and intelligent. A trader, by the name of George Ailer, professed to own James. He said that he had been used tolerable well, not so bad as many had been used. James was learning the carpenter trade; but he was anxious to obtain his freedom, and finding his two companions true on the main question, in conjunction with them he contrived a plan of escape, and 'took out.' His father and mother, Harrison and Jane Taylor, were left at Fredericksburg to mourn the absence of their son. Albert was in his twentieth year, the picture of good health, not homely by any means, although not of a fashionable color. He was under the patriarchal protection of a man by the name of William Price, who carried on farming in Cecil county, Maryland. Albert testified that he was a bad man. John Grinage was only twenty, a sprightly, active young man, of a brown color. He came from Middle Neck, Cecil county, where he had served under William Flintham, a farmer. * * * * * SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM MARYLAND (1859) AND OTHER PLACES. JAMES ANDY WILKINS, and wife LUCINDA, with their little boy, CHARLES, CHARLES HENRY GROSS, A WOMAN with her TWO CHILDREN--one in her arms--JOHN BROWN, JOHN ROACH, and wife LAMBY, and HENRY SMALLWOOD. The above-named passengers did not all come from the same place, or exactly at the same time; but for the sake of convenience they are thus embraced under a general head. James Andy Wilkins "gave the slip" to a farmer, by the name of George Biddle, who lived one mile from Cecil, Cecil county, Maryland. While he hated Slavery, he took a favorable view of his master in some respects at least, as he said that he was a "moderate man in talk;" but "sly in action." His master provided him with two pairs of pantaloons in the summer, and one in the winter, also a winter jacket, no vest, no cap, or hat. James thought the sum total for the entire year's clothing would not amount to more than ten dollars. Sunday clothing he was compelled to procure for himself by working of nights; he made axe handles, mats, etc., of evenings, and caught musk rats on Sunday, and availed himself of their hides to procure means for his most pressing wants. Besides these liberal privileges his master was in the habit of allowing him two whole days every harvest, and at Christmas from twenty-five cents to as high as three dollars and fifty cents, were lavished upon him. His master was a bachelor, a man of considerable means, and "kept tolerable good company," and only owned two other slaves, Rachel Ann Dumbson and John Price. Lucinda, the companion of James, was twenty-one years of age, good-looking, well-formed and of a brown color. She spoke of a man named George Ford as her owner. He, however, was said to be of the "moderate class" of slave-holders; Lucinda being the only slave property he possessed, and she came to him through his wife (who was a Methodist). The master was an outsider, so far as the Church was concerned. Once in a great while Lucinda was allowed to go to church, when she could be spared from her daily routine of cooking, washing, etc. Twice a week she was permitted the special favor of seeing her husband. These simple privations not being of a grave character, no serious fault was found with them; yet Lucinda was not without a strong ground of complaint. Not long before escaping, she had been threatened with the auction-block; this fate she felt bound to avert, if possible, and the way she aimed to do it was by escaping on the Underground Rail Road. Charley, a bright little fellow only three years of age, was "contented and happy" enough. Lucinda left her father, Moses Edgar Wright, and two brothers, both slaves. One belonged to "Francis Crookshanks," and the other to Capt. Jim Mitchell. Her mother, who was known by the name of Betsy Wright, escaped when she (Lucinda) was seven years of age. Of her whereabouts nothing further had ever been heard. Lucinda entertained strong hopes that she might find her in Canada. Charles Henry Gross began life in Maryland, and was made to bear the heat and burden of the day in Baltimore, under Henry Slaughter, proprietor of the Ariel Steamer. Owing to hard treatment, Charles was induced to fly to Canada for refuge. A woman with two children, one in her arms, and the other two years of age (names, etc., not recorded), came from the District of Columbia. Mother and children, appealed loudly for sympathy. John Brown, being at the beck of a man filling the situation of a common clerk (in the shoe store of McGrunders), became dissatisfied. Asking himself what right Benjamin Thorn (his professed master) had to his hire, he was led to see the injustice of his master, and made up his mind, that he would leave by the first train, if he could get a genuine ticket _viâ_ the Underground Rail Road. He found an agent and soon had matters all fixed. He left his father, mother and seven sisters and one brother, all slaves. John was a man small of stature, dark, with homely features, but he was very determined to get away from oppression. John and Lamby Roach had been eating bitter bread under bondage near Seaford. John was the so-called property of Joshua O'Bear, "a fractious, hard-swearing man, and when mad would hit one of his slaves with anything he could get in his hands." John and his companion made the long journey on foot. The former had been trained to farm labor and the common drudgery of slave life. Being a man of thirty-three years of age, with more than ordinary abilities, he had given the matter of his bondage considerable thought, and seeing that his master "got worse the older he got," together with the fact, that his wife had recently been sold, he was strongly stirred to make an effort for Canada. While it was a fact, that his wife had already been sold, as above stated, the change of ownership was not to take place for some months, consequently John "took out in a hurry." His wife was the property of Dr. Shipley, of Seaford, who had occasion to raise some money for which he gave security in the shape of this wife and mother. Horsey was the name of the gentleman from whom it was said that he obtained the favor; so when the time was up for the payment to be made, the Dr. was not prepared. Horsey, therefore, claimed the collateral (the wife) and thus she had to meet the issue, or make a timely escape to Canada with her husband. No way but walking was open to them. Deciding to come this way, they prosecuted their journey with uncommon perseverance and success. Both were comforted by strong faith in God, and believed that He would enable them to hold out on the road until they should reach friends. Henry Smallwood saw that he was working every day for nothing, and thought that he would do better. He described his master (Washington Bonafont) as a sort of a rowdy, who drank pretty hard, leaving a very unfavorable impression on Henry's mind, as he felt almost sure such conduct would lead to a sale at no distant day. So he was cautious enough to "take the hint in time." Henry left in company with nine others; but after being two days on the journey they were routed and separated by their pursuers. At this point Henry lost all trace of the rest. He heard afterwards that two of them had been captured, but received no further tidings of the others. Henry was a fine representative for Canada; a tall, dark, and manly-looking individual, thirty-six years of age. He left his father and mother behind. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1859. HENRY JONES AND TURNER FOSTER. Henry was left free by the will of his mistress (Elizabeth Mann), but the heirs were making desperate efforts to overturn this instrument. Of this, there was so much danger with a Richmond court, that Henry feared that the chances were against him; that the court was not honest enough to do him justice. Being a man of marked native foresight, he concluded that the less he talked about freedom and the more he acted the sooner he would be out of his difficulties. He was called upon, however, to settle certain minor matters, before he could see his way clear to move in the direction of Canada; for instance, he had a wife on his mind to dispose of in some way, but how he could not tell. Again, he was not in the secret of the Underground Rail Road movement; he knew that many got off, but how they managed it he was ignorant. If he could settle these two points satisfactorily, he thought that he would be willing to endure any sacrifice for the sake of his freedom. He found an agent of the Underground Rail Road, and after surmounting various difficulties, this point was settled. As good luck would have it, his wife, who was a free woman, although she heard the secret with great sorrow, had the good sense to regard his step for the best, and thus he was free to contend with all other dangers on the way. He encountered the usual suffering, and on his arrival experienced the wonted pleasure. He was a man of forty-one years of age, spare made, with straight hair, and Indian complexion, with the Indian's aversion to Slavery. Turner, who was a fellow-passenger with Henry, arrived also from Richmond. He was about twenty-one, a bright, smart, prepossessing young man. He fled from A.A. Mosen, a lawyer, represented to be one of the first in the city, and a firm believer in Slavery. Turner differed widely with his master with reference to this question, although, for prudential reasons, he chose not to give his opinion to said Mosen. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. TWO YOUNG MOTHERS, EACH WITH BABES IN THEIR ARMS--ANNA ELIZABETH YOUNG AND SARAH JANE BELL--WHIPPED TILL THE BLOOD FLOWED. The appearance of these young mothers at first produced a sudden degree of pleasure, but their story of suffering quite as suddenly caused the most painful reflections. It was hardly possible to listen to their tales of outrage and wrong with composure. Both came from Kent county, Maryland, and reported that they fled from a man by the name of Massey; a man of low stature, light-complexioned, with dark hair, dark eyes, and very quick temper; given to hard swearing as a common practice; also, that the said Massey had a wife, who was a very tall woman, with blue eyes, chestnut-colored hair, and a very bad temper; that, conjointly, Massey and his wife were in the habit of meting out cruel punishment to their slaves, without regard to age or sex, and that they themselves, (Anna Elizabeth and Sarah Jane), had received repeated scourgings at the hands of their master. Anna and Sarah were respectively twenty-four and twenty-five years of age; Anna was of a dark chestnut color, while Sarah was two shades lighter; both had good manners, and a fair share of intelligence, which afforded a hopeful future for them in freedom. Each had a babe in her arms. Sarah had been a married woman for three years; her child, a boy, was eight months old, and was named Garrett Bell. Elizabeth's child was a girl, nineteen months old, and named Sarah Catharine Young. Elizabeth had never been married. They had lived with Massey five years up to the last March prior to their escape, having been bought out of the Baltimore slave-pen, with the understanding that they were to be free at the expiration of five years' service under him. The five years had more than expired, but no hope or sign of freedom appeared. On the other hand, Massey was talking loudly of selling them again. Threats and fears were so horrifying to them, that they could not stand it; this was what prompted them to flee. "As often as six or seven times," said Elizabeth, "I have been whipped by master, once with the carriage whip, and at other times with a raw hide trace. The last flogging I received from him, was about four weeks before last Christmas; he then tied me up to a locust tree standing before the door, and whipped me to his satisfaction." Sarah had fared no better than Elizabeth, according to her testimony. "Three times," said she, "I have been tied up; the last time was in planting corn-time, this year. My clothing was all stripped off above my waist, and then he whipped me till the blood ran down to my heels." Her back was lacerated all over. She had been ploughing with two horses, and unfortunately had lost a hook out of her plough; this, she declared was the head and front of her offending, nothing more. Thus, after all their suffering, utterly penniless, they reached the Committee, and were in every respect, in a situation to call for the deepest commiseration. They were helped and were thankful. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, VIRGINIA, AND THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA. JOHN WESLEY SMITH, ROBERT MURRAY, SUSAN STEWART, AND JOSEPHINE SMITH. Daniel Hubert was fattening on John Wesley's earnings contrary to his, John's, idea of right. For a long time John failed to see the remedy, but as he grew older and wiser the scales fell from his eyes and he perceived that the Underground Rail Road ran near his master's place, Cambridge, Md., and by a very little effort and a large degree of courage and perseverance he might manage to get out of Maryland and on to Canada, where slave-holders had no more rights than other people. These reflections came seriously into John's mind at about the age of twenty-six; being about this time threatened with the auction-block he bade slavery good-night, jumped into the Underground Rail Road car and off he hurried for Pennsylvania. His mother, Betsy, one brother, and one sister were left in the hands of Hubert. John Wesley could pray for them and wish them well, but nothing more. Robert Murray became troubled in mind about his freedom while living in London county, Virginia, under the heel of Eliza Brooks, a widow woman, who used him bad, according to his testimony. He had been "knocked about a good deal." A short while before he fled, he stated that he had been beat brutally, so much so that the idea of escape was beat into him. He had never before felt as if he dared hope to try to get out of bondage, but since then his mind had undergone such a sudden and powerful change, he began to feel that nothing could hold him in Virginia; the place became hateful to him. He looked upon a slave-holder as a kind of a living, walking, talking "Satan, going about as a roaring lion seeking whom he may destroy." He left his wife, with one child; her name was Nancy Jane, and the name of the offspring was Elizabeth. As Robert had possessed but rare privileges to visit his wife, he felt it less a trial to leave than if it had been otherwise. William Seedam owned the wife and child. Susan Stewart and Josephine Smith fled together from the District of Columbia. Running away had been for a long time a favorite idea with Susan, as she had suffered much at the hands of different masters. The main cause of her flight was to keep from being sold again; for she had been recently threatened by Henry Harley, who "followed droving," and not being rich, at any time when he might be in want of money she felt that she might have to go. When a girl only twelve years of age, her young mind strongly revolted against being a slave, and at that youthful period she tried her fortune at running away. While she was never caught by her owners, she had the misfortune to fall into the hands of another slaveholder no better than her old master, indeed she thought that she found it even worse under him, so far as severe floggings were concerned. Susan was of a bright brown color, medium size, quick and active intellectually and physically, and although she had suffered much from Slavery, as she was not far advanced in years, she might still do something for herself. She left no near kin that she was aware of. Josephine fled from Miss Anna Maria Warren, who had previously been deranged from the effects of paralysis. Josephine regarded this period of her mistress' sickness as her opportunity for planning to get away before her mistress came to her senses. * * * * * SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM MARYLAND AND VIRGINIA. HENRY FIELDS, CHARLES RINGGOLD, WILLIAM RINGGOLD, ISAAC NEWTON AND JOSEPH THOMAS. ["Five other cases were attended to by Dillwyn Parish and J.C. White"--other than this no note was made of them.] Henry Fields took the benefit of the Underground Rail Road at the age of eighteen. He fled from the neighborhood of Port Deposit while being "broke in" by a man named Washington Glasby, who was wicked enough to claim him as his property, and was also about to sell him. This chattel was of a light yellow complexion, hearty-looking and wide awake. Charles Ringgold took offence at being whipped like a dog, and the prospect of being sold further South; consequently in a high state of mental dread of the peculiar institution, he concluded that freedom was worth suffering for, and although he was as yet under twenty years of age, he determined not to remain in Perrymanville, Maryland, to wear the chains of Slavery for the especial benefit of his slave-holding master (whose name was inadvertently omitted). William Ringgold fled from Henry Wallace, of Baltimore. A part of the time William said he "had had it pretty rough, and a part of the time kinder smooth," but never had had matters to his satisfaction. Just before deciding to make an adventure on the Underground Rail Road his owner had been talking of selling him. Under the apprehension that this threat would prove no joke, Henry began to study what he had better do to be saved from the jaws of hungry negro traders. It was not long before he came to the conclusion that he had best strike out upon a venture in a Northern direction, and do the best he could to get as far away as possible from the impending danger threatened by Mr. Wallace. After a long and weary travel on foot by night, he found himself at Columbia, where friends of the Underground Rail Road assisted him on to Philadelphia. Here his necessary wants were met, and directions given him how to reach the land of refuge, where he would be out of the way of all slave-holders and slave-traders. Six of his brothers had been sold; his mother was still in bondage in Baltimore. Isaac Newton hailed from Richmond, Virginia. He professed to be only thirty years of age, but he seemed to be much older. While he had had an easy time in slavery, he preferred that his master should work for himself, as he felt that it was his bounden duty to look after number one; so he did not hesitate about leaving his situation vacant for any one who might desire it, whether white or black, but made a successful "took out." Joseph Thomas was doing the work of a so-called master in Prince George's county, Maryland. For some cause or other the alarm of the auction-block was sounded in his ears, which at first distracted him greatly; upon sober reflection it worked greatly to his advantage. It set him to thinking seriously on the subject of immediate emancipation, and what a miserable hard lot of it he should have through life if he did not "pick up" courage and resolution to get beyond the terror of slave-holders; so under these reflections he found his nerves gathering strength, his fears leaving him, and he was ready to venture on the Underground Rail Road. He came through without any serious difficulty. He left his father and mother, Shadrach and Lucinda Thomas. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM SEAFORD, 1859. ROBERT BELL AND TWO OTHERS. Robert came from Seaford, where he had served under Charles Wright, a farmer, of considerable means, and the owner of a number of slaves, over whom he was accustomed to rule with much rigor. Although Robert's master had a wife and five children, the love which Robert bore them was too weak to hold him; and well adapted as the system of Slavery might be to render him happy in the service of young and old masters, it was insufficient for him. Robert found no rest under Mr. Wright; no privileges, scantily clad, poor food, and a heavy yoke, was the policy of this "superior." Robert testified, that for the last five years, matters had been growing worse and worse; that times had never been so bad before. Of nights, under the new regime, the slaves were locked up and not allowed to go anywhere; flogging, selling, etc., were of every-day occurrence throughout the neighborhood. Finally, Robert became sick of such treatment, and he found that the spirit of Canada and freedom was uppermost in his heart. Slavery grew blacker and blacker, until he resolved to "pull up stakes" upon a venture. The motion was right, and succeeded. Two other passengers were at the station at the same time, but they had to be forwarded without being otherwise noticed on the book. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM TAPPS' NECK, MD., 1859. LEWIS WILSON, JOHN WATERS, ALFRED EDWARDS AND WILLIAM QUINN. Lewis' grey hairs signified that he had been for many years plodding under the yoke. He was about fifty years of age, well set, not tall, but he had about him the marks of a substantial laborer. He had been brought up on a farm under H. Lynch, whom Lewis described as "a mean man when drunk, and very severe on his slaves." The number that he ruled over as his property, was about twenty. Said Lewis, about two years ago, he shot a free man, and the man died about two hours afterwards; for this offence he was not even imprisoned. Lynch also tried to cut the throat of John Waters, and succeeded in making a frightful gash on his left shoulder (mark shown), which mark he will carry with him to the grave; for this he was not even sued. Lewis left five children in bondage, Horace, John, Georgiana, Louisa and Louis, Jr., owned by Bazil and John Benson. John was forty years of age, dark, medium size, and another of Lynch's "articles." He left his wife Anna, but no children; it was hard to leave her, but he felt that it would be still harder to live and die under the usage that he had experienced on Lynch's farm. Alfred was twenty-two years of age; he was of a full dark color, and quite smart. He fled from John Bryant, a farmer. Whether he deserved it or not, Alfred gave him a bad character, at least, with regard to the treatment of his slaves. He left his father and mother, six brothers and sisters. Traveling under doubts and fears with the thought of leaving a large family of his nearest and dearest friends, was far from being a pleasant undertaking with Alfred, yet he bore up under the trial and arrived in peace. "William is twenty-two, black, tall, intelligent, and active," are the words of the record. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1859. ANN MARIA JACKSON AND HER SEVEN CHILDREN--MARY ANN, WILLIAM HENRY, FRANCES SABRINA, WILHELMINA, JOHN EDWIN, EBENEZER THOMAS, AND WILLIAM ALBERT. The coming of the above named was duly announced by Thomas Garrett: [Illustration: ] WILMINGTON, 11th mo., 21st, 1858. DEAR FRIENDS--McKIM AND STILL:--I write to inform you that on the 16th of this month, we passed on four able bodied men to Pennsylvania, and they were followed last night by a woman and her six children, from three or four years of age, up to sixteen years, I believe the whole belonged to the same estate, and they were to have been sold at public sale, I was informed yesterday, but preferred seeking their own master; we had some trouble in getting those last safe along, as they could not travel far on foot, and could not safely cross any of the bridges on the canal, either on foot or in carriage. A man left here two days since, with carriage, to meet them this side of the canal, but owing to spies they did not reach him till 10 o'clock last night; this morning he returned, having seen them about one or two o'clock this morning in a second carriage, on the border of Chester county, where I think they are all safe, if they can be kept from Philadelphia. If you see them they can tell their own tales, as I have seen one of them. May He, who feeds the ravens, care for them. Yours, THOS. GARRETT. The fire of freedom obviously burned with no ordinary fervor in the breast of this slave mother, or she never would have ventured with the burden of seven children, to escape from the hell of Slavery. Ann Maria was about forty years of age, good-looking, pleasant countenance, and of a chestnut color, height medium, and intellect above the average. Her bearing was humble, as might have been expected, from the fact that she emerged from the lowest depths of Delaware Slavery. During the Fall prior to her escape, she lost her husband under most trying circumstances: he died in the poor-house, a raving maniac. Two of his children had been taken from their mother by her owner, as was usual with slave-holders, which preyed so severely on the poor father's mind that it drove him into a state of hopeless insanity. He was a "free man" in the eye of Delaware laws, yet he was not allowed to exercise the least authority over his children. Prior to the time that the two children were taken from their mother, she had been allowed to live with her husband and children, independently of her master, by supporting herself and them with the white-wash brush, wash-tub, etc. For this privilege the mother doubtless worked with double energy, and the master, in all probability, was largely the gainer, as the children were no expense to him in their infancy; but when they began to be old enough to hire out, or bring high prices in the market, he snatched away two of the finest articles, and the powerless father was immediately rendered a fit subject for the mad-house; but the brave hearted mother looked up to God, resolved to wait patiently until in a good Providence the way might open to escape with her remaining children to Canada. Year in and year out she had suffered to provide food and raiment for her little ones. Many times in going out to do days' work she would be compelled to leave her children, not knowing whether during her absence they would fall victims to fire, or be carried off by the master. But she possessed a well tried faith, which in her flight kept her from despondency. Under her former lot she scarcely murmured, but declared that she had never been at ease in Slavery a day after the birth of her first-born. The desire to go to some part of the world where she could have the control and comfort of her children, had always been a prevailing idea with her. "It almost broke my heart," she said, "when he came and took my children away as soon as they were big enough to hand me a drink of water. My husband was always very kind to me, and I had often wanted him to run away with me and the children, but I could not get him in the notion; he did not feel that he could, and so he stayed, and died broken-hearted, crazy. I was owned by a man named Joseph Brown; he owned property in Milford, and he had a place in Vicksburg, and some of his time he spends there, and some of the time he lives in Milford. This Fall he said he was going to take four of my oldest children and two other servants to Vicksburg. I just happened to hear of this news in time. My master was wanting to keep me in the dark about taking them, for fear that something might happen. My master is very sly; he is a tall, slim man, with a smooth face, bald head, light hair, long and sharp nose, swears very hard, and drinks. He is a widower, and is rich." On the road the poor mother, with her travel-worn children became desperately alarmed, fearing that they were betrayed. But God had provided better things for her; her strength and hope were soon fully restored, and she was lucky enough to fall into the right hands. It was a special pleasure to aid such a mother. Her arrival in Canada was announced by Rev. H. Wilson as follows: NIAGARA CITY, Nov. 30th, 1858. DEAR BRO. STILL:--I am happy to inform you that Mrs. Jackson and her interesting family of seven children arrived safe and in good health and spirits at my house in St. Catharines, on Saturday evening last. With sincere pleasure I provided for them comfort quarters till this morning, when they left for Toronto. I got them conveyed there at half fare, and gave them letters of introduction to Thomas Henning, Esq., and Mrs. Dr. Willis, trusting that they will be better cared for in Toronto than they could be at St. Catharines. We have so many coming to us we think it best for some of them to pass on to other places. My wife gave them all a good supply of clothing before they left us. James Henry, an older son is, I think, not far from St. Catharine, but has not as yet reunited with the family. Faithfully and truly yours, HIRAM WILSON. * * * * * SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM VIRGINIA, MARYLAND AND DELAWARE. LEWIS LEE, ENOCH DAVIS, JOHN BROWN, THOMAS EDWARD DIXON, AND WILLIAM OLIVER. Slavery brought about many radical changes, some in one way and some in another. Lewis Lee was entirely too white for practical purposes. They tried to get him to content himself under the yoke, but he could not see the point. A man by the name of William Watkins, living near Fairfax, Virginia, claimed Lewis, having come by his title through marriage. Title or no title, Lewis thought that he would not serve him for nothing, and that he had been hoodwinked already a great while longer than he should have allowed himself to be. Watkins had managed to keep him in the dark and doing hard work on the no-pay system up to the age of twenty-five. In Lewis' opinion, it was now time to "strike out on his own hook;" he took his last look of Watkins (he was a tall, slim fellow, a farmer, and a hard drinker), and made the first step in the direction of the North. He was sure that he was about as white as anybody else, and that he had as good a right to pass for white as the white folks, so he decided to do so with a high head and a fearless front. Instead of skulking in the woods, in thickets and swamps, under cover of the darkness, he would boldly approach a hotel and call for accommodations, as any other southern gentleman. He had a little money, and he soon discovered that his color was perfectly orthodox. He said that he was "treated first-rate in Washington and Baltimore;" he could recommend both of these cities. But destitute of education, and coming among strangers, he was conscious that the shreds of slavery were still to be seen upon him. He had, moreover, no intention of disowning his origin when once he could feel safe in assuming his true status. So as he was in need of friends and material aid, he sought out the Vigilance Committee, and on close examination they had every reason to believe his story throughout, and gave him the usual benefit. Enoch Davis came from within five miles of Baltimore, having been held by one James Armstrong, "an old grey-headed man," and a farmer, living on Huxtown Road. Judged from Davis' stand-point, the old master could never be recommended, unless some one wanted a very hard place and a severe master. Upon inquiry, it was ascertained that Enoch was moved to leave on account of the "riot," (John Brown's Harper's Ferry raid), which he feared would result in the sale of a good many slaves, himself among the number; he, therefore, "laid down the shovel and the hoe," and quit the place. John Brown (this was an adopted name, the original one not being preserved), left to get rid of his connection with Thomas Stevens, a grocer, living in Baltimore. John, however, did not live in the city with said Stevens, but on the farm near Frederick's Mills, Montgomery county, Maryland. This place was known by the name of "White Hall Farm;" and was under the supervision of James Edward Stevens, a son of the above-named Stevens. John's reasons for leaving were not noted on the book, but his eagerness to reach Canada spoke louder than words, signifying that the greater the distance that separated him from the old "White Hall Farm" the better. Thomas Edward Dixon arrived from near the Trap, in Delaware. He was only about eighteen years of age, but as tall as a man of ordinary height;--dark, with a pleasant countenance. He reported that he had had trouble with a man known by the name of Thomas W.M. McCracken, who had treated him "bad;" as Thomas thought that such trouble and bad treatment might be of frequent occurrence, he concluded that he had better go away and let McCracken get somebody else to fill his place, if he did not choose to fill it himself. So off Thomas started, and as if by instinct, he came direct to the Committee. He passed a good examination and was aided. William Oliver, a dark, well-made, young man with the best of country manners, fled from Mrs. Marshall, a lady living in Prince George's county, Maryland. William had recently been in the habit of hiring his time at the rate of ten dollars per month, and find himself everything. The privilege of living in Georgetown had been vouchsafed him, and he preferred this locality to his country situation. Upon the whole he said he had been treated pretty well. He was, nevertheless, afraid that times were growing "very critical," and as he had a pretty good chance, he thought he had better make use of it, and his arrangements were wisely made. He had reached his twenty-sixth year, and was apparently well settled. He left one child, Jane Oliver, owned by Mrs. Marshall. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM DIFFERENT POINTS. JACOB BROWN, JAMES HARRIS, BENJAMIN PINEY, JOHN SMITH, ANDREW JACKSON, WILLIAM HUGHES, WESLEY WILLIAMS, ROSANNA JOHNSON, JOHN SMALLWOOD, AND HENRY TOWNSEND. Jacob Brown was eating the bread of Slavery in North Carolina. A name-sake of his by the name of Lewis Brown, living in Washington, according to the slave code of that city had Jacob in fetters, and was exercising about the same control over him that he exercised over cattle and horses. While this might have been a pleasure for the master, it was painful for the slave. The usage which Jacob had ordinarily received made him anything but contented. At the age of twenty, he resolved that he would run away if it cost him his life. This purpose was made known to a captain, who was in the habit of bringing passengers from the South to Philadelphia. With an unwavering faith he took his appointed place in a private part of the vessel, and as fast as wind and tide would bring the boat he was wafted on his way Canada-ward. Jacob was a dark man, and about full size, with hope large. James Harris escaped from Delaware. A white woman, Catharine Odine by name, living near Middletown, claimed James as her man; but James did not care to work for her on the unrequited labor system. He resolved to take the first train on the Underground Rail Road that might pass that way. It was not a great while ere he was accommodated, and was brought safely to Philadelphia. The regular examination was made and he passed creditably. He was described in the book as a man of yellow complexion, good-looking, and intelligent. After due assistance, he was regularly forwarded on to Canada. This was in the month of November, 1856. Afterwards nothing more was heard of him, until the receipt of the following letter from Prof. L.D. Mansfield, showing that he had been reunited to his wife, under amusing, as well as touching circumstances: AUBURN, Dec. 15th, '56. DEAR BRO. STILL:--A very pleasant circumstance has brought you to mind, and I am always happy to be reminded of you, and of the very agreeable, though brief acquaintance which we made at Philadelphia two years since. Last Thursday evening, while at my weekly prayer meeting, our exercises were interrupted by the appearance of Bro. Loguen, of Syracuse, who had come on with Mrs. Harris in search of her husband, whom he had sent to my care three weeks before. I told Bro. L. that no such man had been at my house, and I knew nothing of him. But I dismissed the meeting, and went with him immediately to the African Church, where the colored brethren were holding a meeting. Bro. L. looked through the door, and the first person whom he saw was Harris. He was called out, when Loguen said, in a rather reproving and excited tone, "What are you doing here; didn't I tell you to be off to Canada? Don't you know they are after you? Come get your hat, and come with us, we'll take care of you." The poor fellow was by this time thoroughly frightened, and really thought he had been pursued. We conducted him nearly a mile, to the hotel where his wife was waiting for him, leaving him still under the impression that he was pursued and that we were conducting him to a place of safety, or were going to box him up to send him to Canada. Bro. L. opened the door of the parlor, and introduced him; but he was so frightened that he did not know his wife at first, until she called him James, when they had a very joyful meeting. She is now a servant in my family, and he has work, and doing well, and boards with her. We shall do all we can for them, and teach them to read and write, and endeavor to place them in a condition to take care of themselves. Loguen had a fine meeting in my Tabernacle last night, and made a good collection for the cause of the fugitives. I should be happy to hear from you and your kind family, to whom remember me very cordially. Believe me ever truly yours, L.D. MANSFIELD. Mr. and Mrs. Harris wish to be gratefully remembered to you and yours. Benjamin Piney reported that he came from Baltimore county, Maryland, where he had been held in subjection to Mary Hawkins. He alleged that he had very serious cause for grievance; that she had ill-treated him for a long time, and had of late, threatened to sell him to Georgia. His brothers and sisters had all been sold, but he meant not to be if he could help himself. The sufferings that he had been called upon to endure had opened his eyes, and he stood still to wait for the Underground Rail Road car, as he anxiously wished to travel north, with all possible speed. He waited but a little while, ere he was on the road, under difficulties it is true, but he arrived safely and was joyfully received. He imagined his mistress in a fit of perplexity, such as he might enjoy, could he peep at her from Canada, or some safe place. He however did not wish her any evil, but he was very decided that he did not want any more to do with her. Benjamin was twenty years of age, dark complexion, size ordinary, mental capacity, good considering opportunities. John Smith was a yellow boy, nineteen years of age, stout build, with, marked intelligence. He held Dr. Abraham Street responsible for treating him as a slave. The doctor lived at Marshall District, Harford county, Maryland. John frankly confessed, to the credit of the doctor, that he got "a plenty to eat, drink and wear," yet he declared that he was not willing to remain a slave, he had higher aims; he wanted to be above that condition. "I left," said he, "because I wanted to see the country. If he had kept me in a hogshead of sugar, I wouldn't stayed," said the bright-minded slave youth. "They told me anything--told me to obey my master, but I didn't mind that. I am going off to see the Scriptures," said John. Andrew Jackson "took out" from near Cecil, Delaware, where he had been owned by a man calling himself Thomas Palmer, who owned seven or eight others. His manners were by no means agreeable to Andrew; he was quite too "blustery," and was dangerous when in one of his fits. Although Andrew was but twenty-three years of age, he thought that Palmer had already had much more of his valuable services than he was entitled to, and he determined, that if he (the master), ever attempted to capture him, he would make him remember him the longest day he lived. William Hughes was an Eastern Shore "piece of property" belonging to Daniel Cox. William had seen much of the dark doings of Slavery, and his mind had been thoroughly set against the system. True, he had been but twenty-two years under the heel of his master, but that was sufficient. Wesley Williams, on his arrival from Warrick, Maryland, testified that he had been in the hands of a man known by the name of Jack Jones, from whom he had received almost daily floggings and scanty food. Jones was his so-called owner. These continual scourgings stirred the spirit of freedom in Wesley to that degree, that he was compelled to escape for his life. He left his mother (a free woman), and one sister in Slavery. Rosanna Johnson, alias Catharine Beige. The spot that Rosanna looked upon with most dread and where she had suffered as a slave, under a man called Doctor Street, was near the Rock of Deer Creek, in Harford county, Maryland. In the darkness in which Slavery ordinarily kept the fettered and "free niggers," it was a considerable length of time ere Rosanna saw how barbarously she and her race were being wronged and ground down--driven to do unrequited labor--deprived of an education, obliged to receive the cuffs, kicks, and curses of old or young, who might happen to claim a title to them. But when she did see her true condition, she was not content until she found herself on the Underground Rail Road. Rosanna was about thirty years of age, of a dark color, medium stature, and intelligent. She left two brothers and her father behind. The Committee forwarded her on North. From Albany Rose wrote back to inquire after particular friends, and to thank those who had aided her--as follows: ALBANY, Jan. the 30, 1858. Mrs. William Still:--i sit don to rite you a fue lines in saying hav you herd of John Smith or Bengernin Pina i have cent letters to them but i hav know word from them John Smith was oned by Doker abe Street Bengermin oned by Mary hawkings i wish to kno if you kno am if you will let me know as swon as you get this. My lov to Mis Still i am much oblige for those articales. My love to mrs george and verry thankful to her Rosean Johnson oned by docter Street when you cend the letter rite it Cend it 63 Gran St in the car of andrue Conningham rite swon dela it not write my name Cathrin Brice. Let me know swon as you can. Smallwood reported that he came from Ellicott's Mills, Maryland; that he had been restrained of his liberty all his life, by one Samuel Simons, who had treated him "bad" all the time that he had held him in his possession. He had, therefore, persuaded himself that Ellicott's Mills was a poor neighborhood for a colored man who wanted his freedom, and that all Maryland was no better. He had heard but little of Canada, but what he had heard pleased him. As to how he should get there, he knew not; a whisper pointed him to the Underground Rail Road, and told him to be fearless and take the first train. Sam considered the matter carefully and concluded that that would be the only way to get off. Unfortunately his mother and two brothers were left behind in the hands of Simons. Henry Townsend ran away from Caroline county, near Purnell P.O., Maryland. The name of his reputed owner, according to his statement, was E. Townsend, a farmer. Against him Henry harbored a very heavy grudge, and will long hold said Townsend in remembrance for the injury he had received at his hands on his naked back. The back was shown, and a most frightful picture was presented; it had been thoroughly cut in all directions. Henry was about twenty-one years of age, dark chesnut color, build substantial. He left behind two brothers and one sister in Slavery. The Committee comforted him with the usual hospitality. These passengers arrived the latter part of 1856 and the beginning of 1857. * * * * * SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM MARYLAND, 1860. WILLIAM CHION AND HIS WIFE, EMMA, EVAN GRAFF, AND FOUR OTHERS. William and Emma came from Dorchester county, Maryland. The cords of Slavery had been tightly drawn around them. William was about twenty-seven years of age, of a dark hue, and of a courageous bearing. On the score of treatment he spake thus: "I have been treated as bad as a man could be." Emma, his wife, had seen about the same number of years that he had, and her lot had been similar to his. Emma said, "My master never give me the second dress, never attempted such a thing." The master was called Bushong Blake. William was owned by a Mr. Tubman. After leaving Slavery, William changed his last name to Williams, and if he and his wife are now living, they are known only by their adopted names. Evan Graff was of square solid build, dark, and smart, age twenty-five. He fled in company with four others (whose narratives were not written), from Frederick county, Maryland. Henry Heart, residing at Sam's Creek, exercised authority over Evan. With this master, said Evan, I have known hard times. I have been treated as bad as a man could be. I have been married three years and have not received five dollars in money since, towards supporting my family. "How have you lived then?" inquired one who sympathized. "My wife has kept house for a colored gentleman, and got her board for her services," said Evan. "In what other particulars have you been treated hard?" was next asked. "Sometimes I hadn't half clothes enough to keep me warm, through all weathers," answered Evan. "What put it into your head to leave?" was the third query. "Well, sir," said Evan, "I thought to try and do better." How did you make up your mind to leave your wife and child in Slavery? "Well, sir, I was very loth to leave my wife and child, but I just thought in this way: I had a brother who was entitled to his freedom, but he fell out with one of his young masters, and was just taken up and sold South, and I thought I might be taken off too, so I thought I would stand as good a chance in leaving, as if I stayed." Had you a mother and father, brothers and sisters? inquired a member of the Committee. "Yes, sir," was the prompt reply. Evan then gave their names thus: "My father's name was Sam Graff, my mother's name was Becky." Ruth Ann Dorsey, Isaac Hanson (and two brothers of Evan), Grafton and Allen accompanied him in his flight. James, Harriet, Charles Albert, Thomas Ephraim, Adeline Matilda, John Israel and Daniel Buchanan (brothers and sisters of Evan), were all left in Slavery. Polly Pool was their mistress, rather had owned them up to within a short time before the flight of Evan and his comrades, but she had lately been unfortunate in business, which resulted in a thorough scattering of the entire family. Some fell into the hands of the mistress' children, and some into the hands of the grandchildren. In Evan's opinion she was a tolerable good mistress; his opportunities of judging, however, had not been very favorable, as he had not been in her hands a great while. Luke Goines came from Harper's Ferry, where he was owned by Mrs. Carroll. Luke first made his way to Baltimore and afterwards to Philadelphia. Henson Kelly was owned by Reason Hastell, of Baltimore. Slavery did not agree with him, and he left to better his condition. Stafford Smith fled from Westmoreland county, Virginia, where he was owned by Harriet Parker, a single woman, advanced in years, and the owner of many slaves "As a mistress, she was very hard. I have been hired to first one and then another, bad man all along. My mistress was a Methodist, but she seemed to know nothing about goodness. She was not in the habit of allowing the slaves any chance at all." * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1860. JENNY BUCHANAN. A KIND MASTER; JENNY CHASTISED ONE OF HIS SONS FOR AN INSULT, AND AS A PUNISHMENT SHE WAS SOLD--SEIZED FOR DEBT--SOLD A SECOND TIME. Jenny was about forty-five years of age, a dark mulatto, stature medium, manners modest and graceful; she had served only in high life; thus she had acquired a great deal of information. She stated that she was born a slave, under John Bower, of Rockbridge, Virginia, and that he was the owner of a large plantation, with a great number of slaves. He was considered to be a good man to his servants, and was generally beloved by them. Suddenly, however, he was taken ill with paralysis, which confined him to his bed. During this illness one of the sons, a young gentleman, offered an insult to Jenny, for which she felt justified in administering to him, a severe chastisement. For this grave offence she was condemned to be sold to a trader by the name of William Watts, who owned a place in Mississippi. The conditions of sale were that she was to be taken out of the state and never to be allowed to return. It so happened, however, before she was removed that Watts, the trader, failed in order to cheat his creditors it was supposed. Governor McDowell, of Virginia, was one of those to whom he was largely indebted for a number of slaves which he, the Governor, had placed in his hands for disposal, some time before the trader took the benefit. Therefore, as the Governor was anxious to recover his loss as much as possible, he seized on Jenny. It was through this interference that the condition relative to her being sent out of the state was broken. "The Governor," said Jenny, "was a very fine gentleman, as good as I could expect of Virginia. He allowed his slaves to raise fowl and hogs, with many privileges of one kind and another; besides he kept them all together; but he took sick and died. There was a great change shortly after that. The slaves were soon scattered like the wind. The Governor had nine sons and daughters. After his death Mrs. McDowell, alias Mrs. Sally Thomas, took possession, and employed an overseer, by the name of Henry Morgan. He was a very good man in his looks, but a very rascally man; would get drunk, and sell her property to get whisky. Mrs. McDowell would let him do just as he pleased. For the slightest complaint the overseer might see fit to make against any of the slaves, she would tell him to sell them"--"Sell, Mr. Morgan." "He would treat them worse than he would any dog; would beat them over the head with great hickory sticks, the same as he would beat an ox. He would pasture cows and horses on the plantation, and keep the money. We slaves all knew it, and we told her; but our words would not go in court against a white man, and until she was told by Mr. White, and her cousin, Dr. Taylor, and Mr. Barclay, she would not believe how shamefully this overseer was cheating her. But at last she was convinced, and discharged him, and hired another by the name of John Moore. The new one, if anything, was worse than the old one, for he could do the most unblushing acts of cruelty with pleasure. He was a demon." Finally the estate had to be settled, and the property divided. At this time it was in the hands of the oldest daughter, Mistress Sally, who had been married to Frank Thomas, the Governor of Maryland. But the Governor had discarded her for some reason or other, and according to his published account of her it might seem that he had good reason for doing so. It was understood that he gave her a divorce, so she was considered single for life. It was also understood that she was to buy in the homestead at a moderate price, with as many slaves as she might desire. Said Jenny, "I was sold at this settlement sale, and bought in by the 'grass widow' for four hundred dollars." The place and a number of slaves were bought in on terms equally as low. After this the widow became smitten with a reverend gentleman, by the name of John Miller, who had formerly lived North; he had been a popular preacher. After a courtship, which did not last very long, they were married. This took place three years ago, prior to the writing of this narrative. After the marriage, Rev. Mr. Miller took up his abode on the old homestead, and entered upon his duties as a slave-holder in good earnest. "How did you like him?" inquired a member of the Committee. "I despised him," was Jenny's prompt answer. "Why did you despise him?" "Because he had such mean ways with him," said Jenny. She then went on to remark as follows:--"Coming there, taking so much authority over other people's servants. He was so mean that he broke up all the privileges the servants had before he came. He stopped all hands from raising chickens, pigs, etc. He don't like to see them hold up their heads above their shoulders." Didn't he preach? she was asked. "Yes, but I never heard him preach; I have heard him pray though. On Thursday nights, when he would not want the servants to go into town to meeting, he would keep up until it would be too late for them to go. He is now carrying on the farm, and follows butchering. He has not yet sold any of the slaves, but has threatened to sell all hands to the trader." Jenny once had a husband, but he went to Canada, and that was all she could tell about him, as she had never had a letter or any direct information from him since he left. That she was childless, she regarded as a matter of great satisfaction, considering all the circumstances. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM BALTIMORE, 1860. WILLIAM BROWN, AND JAMES HENSON Considering themselves trampled upon by their fellow-men, unitedly resolved to seek a better country. William was pained with the idea that so much of his time had already been used up, as he was then thirty-six years of age. Yet he thought that it would do no good to mourn over the past, but do what he intended to do quickly. The master whom he had served, he called, "Master Lynchum." He was a farmer, and knew full well how to use severity with the slaves; but had never practiced showing favors, or allowing privileges of any kind. True he did not flog, but he resorted to other means of punishment when he desired to make the slaves feel that he was master. William left his mother, Harriet Brown, three sisters, and one brother,--Francis, Mary, Eliza, and Robert. They were all free but Eliza. Seven weeks William and James were under the painful anxiety of trying to escape, but conscious of the snares and dangers on the road, and desirous of success, they did not feel at liberty to move, save as they saw their way clear. This well-exercised sagacity was strongly marked in the intellectual region of William's head. James Henson was a man of rather slender build. From exposure in traveling he took a severe cold and was suffering with sore throat. He and Mrs. Maria Thomas disagreed. She set herself up to be "Jim's" mistress and owner. For some cause or other Jim was unwilling to fill this station longer. He had been hired out by his mistress, who received one hundred dollars per annum; and, for aught Jim knew, she was pretty well pleased with him and the money also. She coolly held eleven others in the same predicament. While Jim found no fault with the treatment received at the hands of his mistress, he went so far as to say that "she was a right fine woman," yet, the longer he lived her slave, the more unhappy he became. Therefore, he decided that he would try and do better, and accordingly, in company with William he started, success attending their efforts. James left three sisters and one brother, Charlotte, Susan, Ellen and Johnson, all slaves. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. PHILIP STANTON, RANDOLPH NICHOLS, AND THOMAS DOUGLASS. Philip had a master by the name of John Smith, whom he was very anxious to get rid of, but hardly knew how. For a long time, Philip was annoyed in various ways. Being the only slave on the place, there was no rest for him. Said Smith was a bachelor, and his mother, who kept house for him, was quite aged; "she was worse than the old boy wanted her to be, a more contrary woman never was; she was bad in this way, she was quarrelsome, and then again she would not give you as much to eat as you ought to have, and it was pretty rough; nothing but corn bread and the fattest pork, that was about all. She was a Catholic, and was known by the name of Mary Eliza Smith." This was Philip's testimony against his master and mistress. Working on a farm, driving carriage, etc., had been Philip's calling as a slave. His father and mother were free. His father had been emancipated, and afterwards had purchased his wife. One sister, however, was still in Slavery. Philip had scarcely reached his twenty-second year; he was nevertheless wide-awake and full of courage. Randolph was still younger; he had only just reached his twentieth year; was nearly six feet high, athletic, and entertained quite favorable notions of freedom. He was owned by Mrs. Caroline Brang, a widow; he had never lived with her, however. Notwithstanding the fact that he had been held in such unpleasant relations, Randolph held the opinion, that "she was a tolerable good woman." He had been hired out under Isaac Howard, a farmer, who was described by Randolph as "a rough man to everybody around him; he was the owner of slaves, and a member of the Methodist Church, in the bargain." As if actuated by an evil spirit continually, he seemed to take delight in "knocking and beating the slaves," and would compel them to "be out in all weathers not fit to be out in." Randolph declared that "he had never been allowed a day's schooling in his life. On the contrary, he had often been threatened with sale, and his mind had finally become so affected by this fearful looking-for of evil, that he thought he had better make tracks." He left his mother, Louisa, three brothers and three sisters, namely: Andrew, Mary, Charity, Margaret, Lewis and Samuel, all slaves. His desire to escape brought the thought home to his mind with great emphasis, that he was parting with his kinsfolk, to see them perhaps, no more on earth; that however, happily he might be situated in freedom, he would have the painful reflection ever present with him, that those he most loved in this world, were slaves--"knocked and beat about--and made to work out in all weathers." It was this that made many falter and give up their purpose to gain their freedom by flight, but Randolph was not one of this class. His young heart loved freedom too well to waver. True to his love of liberty, he left all, followed the north star, and was delivered. Thomas, an older companion of Philip and Randolph, was twenty-five years of age, full black, and looked as if he could appreciate the schoolroom and books, and take care of himself in Canada or any other free country. Mary Howard was the name of the individual that he was compelled to address as "mistress." He said, however, that "she was a very good woman to her servants," and she had a great many. She had sons, but they turned out to be drunkards, and followed no business; at one time, each of them had been set up in business, but as they would not attend to it, of course they failed. Money was needed more than ever, through their intemperate course, consequently the mistress was induced to sell her large household, as well as her plantation slaves, to Georgia. Thomas had seen the most of them take up their sorrowful march for said State, and the only reason that he was not among them, was attributable to the fact, that he had once been owned and thought pretty well of by the brother of his mistress, who interceded in Thomas' behalf. This interference had the desired effect, and Thomas was not sold. Still, his eyes were fairly opened to see his danger and to learn a valuable lesson at the same time; he, therefore, profited by it in escaping the first chance. He left his mother Ann Williams, and one brother, James Douglass, both slaves. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM FREDERICKSBURG, 1860. HENRY TUDLE AND WIFE, MARY WILLIAMS. Henry affirmed, that for the last twenty years, his freedom had been promised him, and during all these long years, hardly a month had passed, that he had not fixed his hopes upon a definite time, when his bondage would end and his freedom commence. But he had been trusting the word of a slave-holder, who had probably adopted this plan simply with a view of drawing more willing toil out of him than he could have accomplished in any other way. Mary complained that she had suffered severely for food, and likewise for privileges. Ezra Houpt was the name of Henry's master, and the name of his mistress was Catharine, she was hasty and passionate; slaves were shown no quarter under her. Mary was owned by Christian Thomas. He was said to be not so hard, but his wife was very hard, so much so, that she would rule both master and slaves. Her name was Mary Elizabeth. SUNDRY ARRIVALS FROM MARYLAND, 1860. SAM ARCHER, LEWIS PECK, DAVID EDWARDS, EDWARD CASTING, JOE HENRY, GEORGE AND ALBERT WHITE, JOSEPH C. JOHNSON, DAVID SNIVELY, AND HENRY DUNMORE. Sam Archer was to "become free at thirty-five years of age." He had already served thirty years of this time; five years longer seemed an age to him. The dangers from other sources presented also a frightful aspect. Sam had seen too many who had stood exactly in the same relations to Slavery and freedom, and not a few were held over their time, or cheated out of their freedom altogether. He stated that his own mother was "kept over her time," simply "that her master might get all her children." Two boys and two girls were thus gained, and were slaves for life. These facts tended to increase Sam's desire to get away before his time was out; he, therefore, decided to get off via the Underground Rail Road. He grew very tired of Bell Air, Harford county, Maryland, and his so-called owner, Thomas Hayes. He said that Hayes had used him "rough," and he was "tired of rough treatment." So when he got his plans arranged, one morning when he was expected to go forth to an unrequited day's labor, he could not be found. Doubtless, his excited master thought Sam a great thief, to take himself away in the manner that he did, but Sam was not concerned on this point; all that concerned him was as to how he could get to Canada the safest and the quickest. When he reached the Philadelphia station, he felt that the day dawned, his joy was full, despite the Fugitive Slave Law. Lewis Peck was a man six feet high, and of the darkest hue. He reported that he fled from Joseph Bryant, a farmer, who lived near Patapsco River. Bryant was in the habit of riding around to look after the slaves. Lewis had become thoroughly disgusted with this manner of superintending. "I got tired of having Bryant riding after me, working my life out of me," said Lewis. He was also tired of Bryant's wife; he said "she was always making mischief, and he didn't like a mischief maker." Thus he complained of both master and mistress, seeming not to understand that he "had no rights which they were bound to respect." David Edwards broke away from the above named Bryant, at the age of twenty-four. His testimony fully corroborated that of his comrade, Lewis Peck. He was also a man of the darkest shade, tall, intellect good, and wore a pleasant countenance. The ordinary difficulties were experienced, but all were surmounted without serious harm. Edward Casting and Joseph Henry were each about seventeen years of age. Boys, as they were, with no knowledge of the world, they had wisely resolved not to remain in that condition. Edward fled from Robert Moore, who lived at Duck Creek. He gave his master the name of being a "bad man," and refused to recommend him for anything. Being a likely-looking chattel, he would have doubtless brought seven hundred dollars in the market. Joseph Henry came from Queen Ann county, Maryland. He was a well-grown lad, and showed traces of having been raised without proper care, or training. For deficiencies in this direction, he charged Greenberry Parker, his claimant, who he said had treated him "bad." Friends had helped these boys along. George and Albert White were brothers. They fled from Cecil county, Maryland. They escaped from William Parker. "What kind of a man was William Parker?" they were asked. "He was a big, bad man, no goodness in him," quickly replied one of the brothers. Their lot in Slavery had not been different from that of numbers coming from that section of the State. Joseph G. Johnson fled from William Jones of Baltimore. He said that his master kept a grocery store in Pratt street, and owned six head of slaves; that he was a "good man, and always treated his servants very well," until about three weeks before he escaped. For some reason unknown to Joseph, within the time just alluded to, he had sold all his slaves, with the exception of himself. Joseph was far from being at ease, as he hourly felt oppressed with the fear that he was to be sold at an early day. Summoning courage he started by the Baltimore and Wilmington Rail Road. In this way he reached Wilmington where he unfortunately fell into the hands of his master's son, who resided in Wilmington, and happened to discover Joseph in the cars, (most likely he had been telegraphed to) and had him arrested and returned. But Joseph did not allow a week to pass over him before he was ready to make even a still more daring adventure for his liberty. This time he concluded to try the water; by great economy he had saved up twenty-five dollars. This was a great deal to him, but he resolved to give it all willingly to any man who would secrete him, or procure him a passage to Philadelphia. The right man was soon found, and Joseph was off again. Good luck attended him, and he reached the Committee safely. He was in his twenty-third year, a man of medium size, copper-colored, and of a prepossessing countenance. David Snively ran away from Frederick, Maryland. He was moved to escape solely by the love of freedom. His services had been required in the blacksmith shop, and on the farm under Charles Preston, who claimed to own him. He had been sold once and brought nine hundred dollars; he resolved that a similar fate should never overtake him, unless his owner moved very suddenly in that direction. While Joseph was working daily in the blacksmith shop, he was planning how to make good his escape. No way was open but the old route, which led "hard by" many dangers, and was only accessible now and then through regions where friends were few and far between. Howbeit he possessed the faith requisite, and was victorious. Joseph was twenty-six years of age, of unmixed blood, ordinary size, and had a commendable share of courage and intellect. He could recommend no good traits as his master's. Henry Dunmore had served as a slave up to the age of thirty-five, and was then on the eve of being sold. As he had endured severe hardship under his old master John Maldon he was unwilling to try another. While he gave Maldon credit for being a member of the Methodist Church, he charged him with treating himself in a most unchristian-like manner. He testified that Maldon did not allow him half enough to eat; and once he kept him out in the cold until his toes were frozen off. Consequently it was not in the heart of Henry to give his master any other than a bad name. He lived about sixteen miles from Elkton, near Charleston, Maryland. He was of a dark chestnut color, well-made, and active. * * * * * CROSSING THE BAY IN A BATTEAU. SHARP CONTEST WITH PURSUERS ON WATER. FUGITIVES VICTORIOUS. THOMAS SIPPLE, and his wife, MARY ANN, HENRY BURKETT, and ELIZABETH, his wife, JOHN PURNELL, and HALE BURTON. This party were slaves, living near Kunkletown, in Worcester county, Maryland, and had become restive in their fetters. Although they did not know a letter of the alphabet, they were fully persuaded that they were entitled to their freedom. In considering what way would be safest for them to adopt, they concluded that the water would be less dangerous than any other route. As the matter of freedom had been in their minds for a long time, they had frequently counted the cost, and had been laying by trifling sums of money which had fallen perchance into their hands. Among them all they had about thirty dollars. As they could not go by water without a boat, one of their number purchased an old batteau for the small sum of six dollars. The Delaware Bay lay between them and the Jersey shore, which they desired to reach. They did not calculate, however, that before leaving the Delaware shore they would have to contend with the enemy. That in crossing, they would lose sight of the land they well understood. They managed to find out the direction of the shore, and about the length of time that it might take them to reach it. Undaunted by the perils before them the party repaired to the bay, and at ten o'clock, P.M. embarked direct for the other shore. [Illustration: ] Near Kate's Hammock, on the Delaware shore, they were attacked by five white men in a small boat. One of them seized the chain of the fugitives' boat, and peremptorily claimed it. "This is not your boat, we bought this boat and paid for it," spake one of the brave fugitives. "I am an officer, and must have it," said the white man, holding on to the chain. Being armed, the white men threatened to shoot. Manfully did the black men stand up for their rights, and declare that they did not mean to give up their boat alive. The parties speedily came to blows. One of the white men dealt a heavy blow with his oar upon the head of one of the black men, which knocked him down, and broke the oar at the same time. The blow was immediately returned by Thomas Sipple, and one of the white men was laid flat on the bottom of the boat. The white men were instantly seized with a panic, and retreated; after getting some yards off they snapped their guns at the fugitives several times, and one load of small shot was fired into them. John received two shot in the forehead, but was not dangerously hurt. George received some in the arms, Hale Burton got one about his temple, and Thomas got a few in one of his arms; but the shot being light, none of the fugitives were seriously damaged. Some of the shot will remain in them as long as life lasts. The conflict lasted for several minutes, but the victorious bondmen were only made all the more courageous by seeing the foe retreat. They rowed with a greater will than ever, and landed on a small island. Where they were, or what to do they could not tell. One whole night they passed in gloom on this sad spot. Their hearts were greatly cast down; the next morning they set out on foot to see what they could see. The young women were very sick, and the men were tried to the last extremity; however, after walking about one mile, they came across the captain of an oyster boat. They perceived that he spoke in a friendly way, and they at once asked directions with regard to Philadelphia. He gave them the desired information, and even offered to bring them to the city if they would pay him for his services. They had about twenty-five dollars in all. This they willingly gave him, and he brought them according to agreement. When they found the captain they were not far from Cape May light-house. Taking into account the fact that it was night when they started, that their little boat was weak, combined with their lack of knowledge in relation to the imminent danger surrounding them, any intelligent man would have been justified in predicting for them a watery grave, long before the bay was half crossed. But they crossed safely. They greatly needed food, clothing, rest, and money, which they freely received, and were afterwards forwarded to John W. Jones, Underground Rail Road agent, at Elmira. The subjoined letter giving an account of their arrival was duly received: ELMIRA, June 6th, 1860. FRIEND WM. STILL:--All six came safe to this place. The two men came last night, about twelve o'clock; the man and woman stopped at the depot, and went east on the next train, about eighteen miles, and did not get back till to-night, so that the two men went this morning, and the four went this evening. O, old master don't cry for me, For I am going to Canada where colored men are free. P.S. What is the news in the city? Will you tell me how many you have sent over to Canada? I would like to know. They all send their love to you. I have nothing new to tell you. We are all in good health. I see there is a law passed in Maryland not to set any slaves free. They had better get the consent of the Underground Rail Road before they passed such a thing. Good night from your friend, JOHN W. JONES. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM DORCHESTER CO., 1860. HARRIET TUBMAN'S LAST "TRIP" TO MARYLAND. STEPHEN ENNETS and wife, MARIA, with three children, whose names were as follows: HARRIET, aged six years; AMANDA, four years, and a babe (in the arms of its mother), three months old. The following letter from Thomas Garrett throws light upon this arrival: WILMINGTON, 12th mo., 1st, 1860. RESPECTED FRIEND:--WILLIAM STILL:--I write to let thee know that Harriet Tubman is again in these parts. She arrived last evening from one of her trips of mercy to God's poor, bringing two men with her as far as New Castle. I agreed to pay a man last evening, to pilot them on their way to Chester county; the wife of one of the men, with two or three children, was left some thirty miles below, and I gave Harriet ten dollars, to hire a man with carriage, to take them to Chester county. She said a man had offered for that sum, to bring them on. I shall be very uneasy about them, till I hear they are safe. There is now much more risk on the road, till they arrive here, than there has been for several months past, as we find that some poor, worthless wretches are constantly on the look out on two roads, that they cannot well avoid more especially with carriage, yet, as it is Harriet who seems to have had a special angel to guard her on her journey of mercy, I have hope. Thy Friend, THOMAS GARRETT. N.B. We hope all will be in Chester county to-morrow. These slaves from Maryland, were the last that Harriet Tubman piloted out of the prison-house of bondage, and these "came through great tribulation." Stephen, the husband, had been a slave of John Kaiger, who would not allow him to live with his wife (if there was such a thing as a slave's owning a wife.) She lived eight miles distant, hired her time, maintained herself, and took care of her children (until they became of service to their owner), and paid ten dollars a year for her hire. She was owned by Algier Pearcy. Both mother and father desired to deliver their children from his grasp. They had too much intelligence to bear the heavy burdens thus imposed without feeling the pressure a grievous one. Harriet Tubman being well acquainted in their neighborhood, and knowing of their situation, and having confidence that they would prove true, as passengers on the Underground Rail Road, engaged to pilot them within reach of Wilmington, at least to Thomas Garrett's. Thus the father and mother, with their children and a young man named John, found aid and comfort on their way, with Harriet for their "Moses." A poor woman escaping from Baltimore in a delicate state, happened to meet Harriet's party at the station, and was forwarded on with them. They were cheered with clothing, food, and material aid, and sped on to Canada. Notes taken at that time were very brief; it was evidently deemed prudent in those days, not to keep as full reports as had been the wont of the secretary, prior to 1859. The capture of John Brown's papers and letters, with names and plans in full, admonished us that such papers and correspondence as had been preserved concerning the Underground Rail Road, might perchance be captured by a pro-slavery mob. For a year or more after the Harper's Ferry battle, as many will remember, the mob spirit of the times was very violent in all the principal northern cities, as well as southern ("to save the Union.") Even in Boston, Abolition meetings were fiercely assailed by the mob. During this period, the writer omitted some of the most important particulars in the escapes and narratives of fugitives. Books and papers were sent away for a long time, and during this time the records were kept simply on loose slips of paper. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND, 1860. JERRY MILLS, AND WIFE, DIANA, SON, CORNELIUS, AND TWO DAUGHTERS, MARGARET, AND SUSAN. The father of this family was sixty-five years of age, and his working days were apparently well nigh completed. The mother was fifty-seven years of age; son twenty-seven; daughters seventeen and fifteen years of age. The old man was smart for his years, but bore evidence that much hard labor had been wrung out of him by Slavery. Diana said that she had been the mother of twelve children; five had escaped to Canada, three were in their graves, and three accompanied her; one was left in Maryland. They had seen hard times, according to the testimony of the old man and his companion, especially under David Snively, who, however, had been "removed by the Lord" a number of years prior to their escape; but the change proved no advantage to them, as they found Slavery no better under their mistress, the widow, than under their master. Mistress Snively was said to be close and stingy, and always unfriendly to the slave. "She never thought you were doing enough." For her hardness of heart they were sure she would repent some time, but not while she could hold slaves. The belief was pretty generally entertained with the slaves that the slaveholder would have to answer for his evil doings in another world. * * * * * TWELVE MONTHS IN THE WOODS, 1860. HENRY COTTON. As a slave, subjected to the whims and passions of his master, Henry made up his mind that he could not stand it longer. The man who mastered it over him was called Nathaniel Dixon, and lived in Somerset Co., near Newtown. This Dixon was not content with his right to flog and abuse Henry as he saw fit, but he threatened to sell him, as he would sell a hog. At this time Henry was about twenty-four years of age, but a man of more substantial parts physically was rarely to be seen. Courage was one of his prominent traits. This threat only served to arouse him completely. He had no friends save such as were in the same condition with himself, nevertheless he determined not to be sold. How he should escape this fate did not at first present itself. Every thing looked very gloomy; Slavery he considered as death to him; and since his master had threatened him, he looked upon him as his greatest enemy, and rather than continue a slave he preferred living in the swamps with wild animals. Just one year prior to the time that he made his way North, determined not to be a slave any longer, he fled to a swamp and made his way to the most secluded spot that he could find,--to places that were almost impenetrable so dense were the trees and undergrowth. This was all the better for Henry, he wanted to get safety; he did not wish company. He made known his plans to a dear brother, who engaged to furnish him occasionally with food. Henry passed twelve months in this way, beholding no human soul save his brother. His brother faithfully took him food from time to time. The winter weather of 1859 was very hard, but it was not so hard to bear as his master Nathaniel Dixon. The will of Henry's old master entitled him to his freedom, but the heirs had rendered said will null and void; this act in addition to the talk of selling had its effect in driving him to the woods. For a time he hid in the hollow of a tree, which went very hard with him, yet he was willing to suffer anything rather than go back to his so-called master. He managed finally to make good his escape and came to the Committee for aid and sympathy, which he received. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM MARYLAND. WILLIAM PIERCE. But few passengers expressed themselves in stronger terms in regard to their so-called masters, than William Pierce, from Long Green. "I fled," said he, "from John Hickol, a farmer, about fifty years old, grey-headed and drinks whiskey very hard--was always a big devil--ill-grained. He owned fifteen head; he owns three of my brothers. He has a wife, a big devil, red head; her servants, she wouldn't feed 'em none, except on corn bread; she would fight and swear too, when she got ready. She and her husband would quarrel too. A slave man, a deceitful fellow, who had been put up to watch on one occasion, when the rest of the slaves had helped themselves to a chicken, and cooked and ate it about midnight, though he was allowed to share a portion of the feast, was ready enough to betray them by times next morning. This made master and mistress 'cuss' all hands at a great rate, and master beat all hands except the one that told. I was caned so badly that it laid me up for several weeks. I am a little lame yet from the beating." Such was William's story. He was twenty-three years of age, of a light brown color, well-made. Judging from his expressions and apparent feelings against his master and mistress, he would be willing to endure many years of suffering in Canada snows, before he would apply to them for care and protection. * * * * * A SLAVE CATCHER CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP. GEORGE F. ALBERTI PERSONATED BY A MEMBER OF THE VIGILANCE COMMITTEE--A LADY FRIGHTENED BY A PLACARD. One afternoon, the quiet of the Anti-Slavery Office was suddenly agitated by the contents of a letter, privately placed in the hands of J. Miller McKim by one of the clerks of the Philadelphia Ledger office. Said letter it would seem, had been dropped into the box of the Ledger office, instead of the U.S. box (one of which, was also in the Ledger office), through a mistake, and seeing that it bore the name of a well-known slave-catcher, Alberti, the clerk had a great desire to know its import. Whether it was or was not sealed, the writer cannot say, it certainly was not sealed when it reached the Anti-Slavery office. It stated that a lady from Maryland was then in Philadelphia, stopping at a boarding-house on Arch Street, and that she was very desirous of seeing the above-mentioned Alberti, with a view of obtaining his services to help catch an Underground Rail Road sojourner, whom she claimed as her property. That she wrote the letter could not be proved, but that it was sent by her consent, there was no doubt. In order to save the poor fellow from his impending doom, it seemed that nothing would avail but a bold strategical movement. Mr. McKim proposed to find some one who would be willing to answer for Alberti. Cyrus Whitson, a member of the Committee, in Mr. McKim's judgment, could manage the matter successfully. At that time, C. Whitson was engaged in the Free Labor store, at the corner of Fifth and Cherry streets, near the Anti-Slavery office. On being sent for, he immediately answered the summons, and Mr. McKim at once made known to him his plan, which was to save a fellow-man from being dragged back to bondage, by visiting the lady, and ascertaining from her in conversation the whereabouts of the fugitives, the names of the witnesses, and all the particulars. Nothing could have delighted the shrewd Whitson better; he saw just how he could effect the matter, without the slightest probable failure. So off he started for the boarding-house. Arriving, he rang the bell, and when the servant appeared, he asked if Miss Wilson, from Maryland, was stopping there. "She is," was the answer. "I wish to see her." "Walk in the parlor, sir." In went Mr. W., with his big whiskers. Soon Miss Wilson entered the parlor, a tall, and rather fine-looking well dressed lady. Mr. Whitson bowing, politely addressed her, substantially thus: "I have come to see you instead of Mr. Geo. F. Alberti, to whom you addressed a note, this morning. Circumstances, over which Mr. A. had no control, prevented his coming, so I have come, madam, to look after your business in his place. Now, madam, I wish it to be distinctly understood in the outset, that whatever transpires between us, so far as this business is concerned, must be kept strictly confidential, by no means, must this matter be allowed to leak out; if it does, the darned abolitionists (excuse me), may ruin me; at any rate we should not be able to succeed in getting your slave. I am particular on this point, remember." "You are perfectly right, Sir, indeed I am very glad that your plan is to conduct this matter in this manner, for I do not want my name mixed up with it in any way." "Very well, madam, I think we understand each other pretty well; now please give me the name of the fugitive, his age, size, and color, and where he may be found, how long he has been away, and the witness who can be relied on to identify him after he is arrested." Miss Wilson carefully communicated these important particulars, while Mr. Whitson faithfully penciled down every word. At the close of the interview he gave her to understand that the matter should be attended to immediately, and that he thought there would be no difficulty in securing the fugitive. "You shall hear from me soon, madam, good afternoon." In five minutes after this interview Whitson was back to the Anti-slavery Office with all Miss Wilson's secrets. The first thing to be attended was to send a messenger to the place where the fugitive was at work, with a view of securing his safety; this was a success. The man was found, and, frightened almost out of his wits, he dropped all and followed the messenger, who bore him the warning. In the meanwhile Mr. McKim was preparing, with great dispatch, the subjoined document for the enlightenment and warning of all. TO WHOM IT MAY CONCEEN: BEWARE OF SLAVE-CATCHERS. Miss WILSON, of Georgetown Cross Roads, Kent county, Md., is now in the city in pursuit of her alleged slave man, BUTLER. J.M. Cummings and John Wilson, of the same place, are understood to be here on a similar errand. This is to caution BUTLER and his friends to be on their guard. Let them keep clear of the above-named individuals. Also, let them have an eye on all persons known to be friends of Dr. High, of Georgetown Cross Roads, and Mr. D.B. Cummings, who is not of Georgetown Cross Roads. It is requested that all parties to whom a copy of this may be sent will post it in a public place, and that the friends of Freedom and Humanity will have the facts herein contained openly read in their respective churches. "Hide the outcast; bewray not him that wandereth." Isaiah xvi. 3. "Thou shalt not deliver unto his master the servant that has escaped from his master unto thee." Deut. xxiii. 15. This document printed as a large poster, about three feet square, and displayed in large numbers over the city, attracted much attention and comment, which facts were quickly conveyed to Miss Wilson, at her boarding-house. At first, as it was understood, she was greatly shocked to find herself in everybody's mouth. She unhesitatingly took her baggage and started for "My Maryland." Thus ended one of the most pleasant interviews that ever took place between a slave-hunter and the Vigilance Committee of Philadelphia. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1858. HENRY LANGHORN _alias_ WM. SCOTT. This "chattel" from Richmond, Virginia, was of a yellow complexion, with some knowledge of the arts of reading and writing; he was about twenty-three years of age and considered himself in great danger of being subjected to the auction-block by one Charles L. Hobson. Hobson and Henry had grown up from boyhood together; for years they had even occupied the same room,--Henry as a servant-boy and protector of his prospective young master. Under these relations quite strong affinities were cemented between them, and Henry succeeded in gaining a knowledge of the alphabet with an occasional lesson in spelling. Both reached their majority. William was hired out at the American Hotel, and being a "smart, likely-looking boy," commanded good wages for his young master's benefit, who had commenced business as a tobacco merchant, with about seven head of slaves in his possession. A year or two's experiment proved that the young master was not succeeding as a merchant, and before the expiration of three years he had sold all his slaves except Henry. From such indications, Henry was fully persuaded that his time was well nigh at hand, and great was his anxiety as he meditated over the auction-block. "In his heart" he resolved time and again that he would never be sold. It behooved him, therefore, to avert that ill fate. He at first resolved to buy himself, but in counting the cost he found that he would by no means be able to accumulate as much money as his master would be likely to demand for him; he, therefore, abandoned this idea and turned his attention straightway to the Underground Rail Road, by which route he had often heard of slaves escaping. He felt the need of money and that he must make and save an extra quarter whenever he could; he soon learned to be a very rigid economist, and being exceedingly accommodating in waiting upon gentlemen at the hotel and at the springs, he found his little "pile" increasing weekly. His object was to have enough to pay for a private berth on one of the Richmond steamers and also to have a little left to fall back on after landing in a strange land and among strangers. He saved about two hundred dollars in cash; he was then ready to make a forward move, and he arranged all his plans with an agent in Richmond to leave by one of the steamers during the Christmas holidays. "You must come down to the steamer about dark," said the agent "and if all is right you will see the Underground Rail Road agent come out with some ashes as a signal, and by this you may know that all is ready." "I will be there certain," said Henry. Christmas week he was confident would be granted as usual as a holiday week; a few days before Christmas he went to his master and asked permission to spend said holiday with his mother, in Cumberland county, adding that he would need some spending money, enough at least to pay his fare, etc. Young master freely granted his request, wrote him a pass, and doled him out enough money to pay his fare thence, but concluded that Henry could pay his way back out of his extra change. Henry expressed his obligations, etc., and returned to the American Hotel. The evening before the time appointed for starting on his Underground Rail Road voyage, he had occasion to go out to see the Underground Rail Road agent, and asked the clerk to give him a pass. This favor was peremptorily refused. Henry, "not willing to give it up so," sat down to write a pass for himself; he found it all that was necessary, and was thus enabled to accomplish his business satisfactorily. Next day his Christmas holiday commenced, but instead of his enjoying the sight of his mother, he felt that he had seen her for the last time in the flesh. It was a sad reflection. That evening at dark, he was at the wharf, according to promise. The man with the ashes immediately appeared and signalled him. In his three suits of clothing (all on his back), he walked on the boat, and was conducted to the coal covering, where Egyptian darkness prevailed. The appointed hour for the starting of the steamer, was ten o'clock the following morning. By the aid of prayer, he endured the suffering that night. No sooner had the steamer got under way, than a heavy gale was encountered; for between three and four days the gale and fog combined, threatened the steamer with a total loss. All the freight on deck, consisting of tobacco and cotton, had to be thrown overboard, to save the passengers. Henry, in his state of darkness, saw nothing, nor could he know the imminent peril that his life was in. Fortunately he was not sea-sick, but slept well and long on the voyage. The steamer was five days coming. On landing at Philadelphia, Henry could scarcely see or walk; the spirit of freedom, however, was burning brightly in the hidden man, and the free gales of fresh air and a few hours on free soil soon enabled him to overcome the difficulties which first presented themselves, and he was soon one of the most joyful mortals living. He tarried two days with his friends in Philadelphia, and then hastened on to Boston. After being in Boston two months, he was passing through the market one day, when, to his surprise, he espied his young master, Charles L. Hobson. Henry was sure, however, that he was not recognized, but suspected that he was hunted. Instantly, Henry pulled up his coat collar, and drew his hat over his face to disguise himself as much as possible; but he could not wholly recover from the shock he had thus sustained. He turned aside from the market and soon met a friend formerly from Richmond, who had been in servitude in the tobacco factory owned by his master. Henry tried to prevail on him to spot out said Hobson, in the market, and see if there possibly could be any mistake. Not a step would his friend take in that direction. He had been away for several years, still he was a fugitive, and didn't like the idea of renewing his acquaintance with old or new friends with a white skin from Virginia. Henry, however, could not content himself until he had taken another good look at Mr. Hobson. Disguising himself he again took a stroll through the market, looking on the right and left as he passed along; presently he saw him seated at a butcher's stall. He examined him to his satisfaction, and then went speedily to headquarters (the Anti-Slavery Office), made known the fact of his discovery, and stated that he believed his master had no other errand to Boston than to capture him. Measures were at once taken to ascertain if such a man as Charles L. Hobson was booked at any of the hotels in Boston. On finding that this was really a fact, Henry was offered and accepted private quarters with the well-known philanthropist and friend of the fugitive, Francis Jackson. His house as well as his purse was always open to the slave. While under the roof of Mr. Jackson, as Hobson advertised and described Henry so accurately, and offered a reward of two hundred and fifty dollars for him, Henry's friends thought that they would return him the compliment by publishing him in the Boston papers quite as accurately if not with as high a reward for him; they advertised him after this manner: "Charles L. Hobson, twenty-two years of age, six feet high, with a slouched hat on, mixed coat, black pants, with a goatee, is stopping at the Tremont Hotel," &c., &c. This was as a bomb-shell to Mr. Hobson, and he immediately took the hint, and with his trunks steered for the sunny South. In a day or two afterwards Henry deemed it advisable to visit Canada. After arriving there he wrote back to his young master, to let him know where he was, and why he left, and what he was doing. How his letter was received Henry was never informed. For five years he lived in Boston and ran on a boat trading to Canada East. He saved up his money and took care of himself creditably. He was soon prepared to go into some business that would pay him better than running on the boat. Two of his young friends agreed with him that they could do better in Philadelphia than in Boston, so they came to the City of Brotherly Love and opened a first-class dining-saloon near Third and Chestnut streets. For a time they carried on the business with enterprise and commendable credit, but one of the partners, disgusted with the prejudices of the city passenger railway cars, felt that he could no longer live here. Henry, known after leaving Slavery only by the name of Wm. Scott, quitted the restaurant business and found employment as a messenger under Thomas A. Scott, Esq., Vice-President of the Pennsylvania Central Rail Road, where he has faithfully served for the last four years, and has the prospect of filling the office for many years to come. He is an industrious, sober, steady, upright, and intelligent young man, and takes care of his wife and child in a comfortable three story brick house of his own. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND, 1859. Miles Robinson was the slave of Mrs. Roberts, a widow lady living in York County, Virginia. He did not live with her, however, but was hired out in the city of Richmond. He had been fortunate in falling into hands that had not treated him harshly. He was not contented, however. Much of the leisure falling incidentally to his lot from hours of duty, he devoted to the banjo. As a player on this instrument he had become quite gifted, but music in Richmond was not liberty. The latter he craved, and in thought was often far beyond Mason and Dixon's line, enjoying that which was denied him in Virginia. Although but twenty-two years of age, Miles was manly, and determination and intelligence were traits strongly marked in his unusually well-shaped visage. Hearing that he was to be sold, he conferred not with his mother, brothers, or sisters, (for such he had living as slaves in Richmond) but resolved to escape by the first convenience. Turning his attention to the Underground Rail Road, he soon found an agent who communicated his wishes to one of the colored women running as cook or chambermaid on one of the Philadelphia and Richmond steamers, and she was bold enough to take charge of him, and found him a safe berth in one of the closets where the pots and other cooking utensils belonged. It was rather rough and trying, but Miles felt that it was for liberty, and he must pass through the ordeal without murmuring, which he did, until success was achieved and he found himself in Philadelphia. Boston being the haven on which his hopes were fixed, after recruiting a short while in the city he steered for said place. Finding liberty there as sweet as he had fondly hoped to find it, he applied himself unceasingly to industrial pursuits, economy, the improvement of his mind and the elevation of his race. Four years he passed thus, under the shadow of Bunker Hill, at the end of which time he invested the earnings, which he had saved, in a business with two young friends in Philadelphia. All being first-class waiters and understanding catering, they decided to open a large dining-saloon. Miles was one of the two friends mentioned in Wm. Scott's narrative, and as his success and consequent fortunes have been already referred to, it will suffice here to mention him simply in connection with two contests that he sustained with the prejudice that sought to drive colored people from the passenger cars. At the corner of Fourth and Walnut streets Miles, in company with two other young men, Wallace and Marshall, one evening in a most orderly manner, entered the cars and took their seats. The conductor ordered them on the front platform; they did not budge. He stopped the car and ordered them out; this did no good. He read rules, and was not a little embarrassed by these polite and well-dressed young men. Finally he called for the police, who arrested all three. Miles did not yield his seat without a struggle. In being pulled out his resistance was such that several window lights were broken in the car. The police being in strong force, however, succeeded in marching their prisoners to the Mayor's police station at the corner of Fifth and Chestnut streets where they were locked up to await further investigation. The prisoners thought they were back in "old Virginny" again. Miles gritted his teeth and felt very indignant, but what could he do? The infamous prejudice against which they had borne testimony was controlling all the lines of city passenger railways in Philadelphia. While Miles and his friends were willing to suffer for a principle, the dirt, filth, cold, and disagreeableness of the quarters that they most likely would be compelled to occupy all night and the following day (Sunday) forbade submission. Added to this Miles felt that his young wife would hardly be able to contain herself while he was locked up. They sent for the writer to intercede for them. At a late hour of the night, after going from the alderman's boardinghouse to a fire engine house and other places, where it was supposed that he might probably be found, on going a third time to his hotel, a little before midnight, he was discovered to be in bed, and it was then ascertained that he had not been out all the evening. The night was very stormy. We could not tell whether or not the fruitless chase on which we had been sent in search of the alderman, was in keeping with the spirit that had locked the men up, designed to mislead us; he condescended at last to appear, and accepted our offer to go bail for all of them, and finally issued a discharge. This was hastily delivered at the station, and the prisoners were released. But Miles was not satisfied; he had breathed free air in Massachusetts for four years, and being a man of high spirit he felt that he must further test the prejudices of the cars. Consequently one very cold night, when a deep snow covered the pavements, he was out with his wife, and thought that he would ride; his wife being fair, he put her on the car at the corner of Third and Pine streets, and walked to the corner of Fourth and Pine streets, where he stepped into the car and took his seat. The conductor straightway ordered him out, on the plea of color. God had shaded him a little too much. "How is this, my wife is in this car," spake Miles. All eyes gazed around to see who his wife was. By this time the car had been stopped, and the wrath of the conductor was kindled prodigiously. He did not, however, lay violent hands upon Miles. A late decision in court had taught the police that they had no right to interfere, except in cases where the peace was actually being broken; so in order to get rid of this troublesome customer, the car was run off the track, the shivering passengers all leaving it, as though flying from a plague, with the exception of Miles, his wife, and another colored gentleman, who got on with Miles. The conductor then hoisted all the windows, took out the cushions, and unhitched the horses. But Miles and his party stood it bravely; Miles burning all the time with indignation at this exhibition of prejudice in the city of Brotherly Love. The war was then raging fiercely, and as Miles then felt, he was almost prepared to say, he didn't care which beat, as the woman said, when she saw her husband and the bear wrestling. He was compelled to admit that this prejudice was akin to slavery, and gave to slavery its chief support. The occupants of the horseless car, which was being aired so thoroughly, remained in it for a length of time, until they had sufficiently borne their testimony, and they too quietly forsook it. Prior to this event, by his industry and hard-earned savings, Miles had become the owner of a comfortable brick house, and had made up his mind to remain a citizen of Philadelphia, but the spirit which prompted the aforesaid treatment called up within him reflections somewhat similar to those aroused by Slavery, and it was not a great while before he offered his property for sale, including his business stand, resolving to return to Boston. He received an offer for his property, accepted it, pulled up stakes, and again hopefully turned his face thitherward. The ambitious Miles commenced business in Chelsea, near Boston, where he purchased himself a comfortable home; and he has ever since been successfully engaged in the sale of kerosene oil. Instead of seeking pleasure in the banjo, as he was wont to do in Virginia, he now finds delight in the Baptist Church, Rev. Mr. Grimes', of which he is a prominent member, and in other fields of usefulness tending to elevate and better the condition of society generally. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM RICHMOND. JOHN WILLIAM DUNGY.--BROUGHT A PASS FROM EX. GOV. GREGORY. "He ought to be put in a cage and kept for a show," said Anna Brown, daughter of the hero, John Brown, at the house of the writer, where she happened to meet the above named Underground Rail Road passenger. He had then just returned from Canada, after being a Refugee four years. In the mean time through the war and the Proclamation of Father Abraham the fetters had been torn from the limbs of the slave, and the way to Richmond was open to all. John William on this occasion was on his way thither to see how his brethren together with their old oppressors looked facing each other as freemen. Miss Anna Brown was _en route_ to Norfolk, where she designed to teach a school of the unfettered bondmen. The return of the Refugee was as unexpected as it was gratifying. Scarcely had the cordial greetings of the writer and his family ended and the daughter of Brown been introduced before the writer was plying his Refugee guest with a multiplicity of questions relative to his sojourn in Canada, etc. "How have you been getting along in Canada? Do you like the country?" "First-rate," said John William. "You look as though you had neither been starved, nor frozen. Have you had plenty of work, made some money, and taken care of yourself?" "Yes." "When you were on the Underground Rail Road on your way to Canada you promised that you were going to keep from all bad habits; how about the 'crittur?' do you take a little sometimes?" "No, I have not drank a drop since I left the South" replied John William with emphasis. "Good!" "I suppose you smoke and chew at any rate?" "No, neither. I never think of such a thing." "Now don't you keep late hours at night and swear occasionally?" "No, Sir. All the leisure that I have of evenings is spent over my books as a general thing; I have not fallen into the fashionable customs of young men." Miss Brown, who had been an attentive listener, remarked: "HE OUGHT TO BE PUT IN A CAGE, ETC." [Illustration: ] He was twenty-seven years of age when he first landed in Philadelphia, in the month of February, 1860, per steamer Pennsylvania, in which he had been stowed away in a store-room containing a lot of rubbish and furniture; in this way he reached City Point; here a family of Irish emigrants, very dirty, were taken on board, and orders were given that accommodations should be made for them in the room occupied by J.W. Here was trouble, but only for a moment. Those into whose charge he had been consigned on the boat knew that the kettle and pot-closet had often been used for Underground Rail Road purposes, and he was safely conducted to quarters among the pots. The room was exceedingly limited, but he stood it bravely. On landing he was not able to stand. It required not only his personal efforts but the help of friends to get him in a condition to walk. No sooner had he stepped on shore, however, than he began to cry aloud for joy. "Thank God!" rang out sonorously from his overflowing soul. Alarmed at this indication of gratitude his friends immediately told him that that would never do; that all hands would be betrayed; that he was far from being safe in Philadelphia. He suppressed his emotion. After being delivered into the hands of the Acting Committee, where he was in more private quarters, he gave full vent to the joy he experienced on reaching this city. He said that he had been trying earnestly for five years to obtain his freedom. For this special object he had saved up sixty-eight dollars and fifteen cents, all of which but the fifteen cents he willingly paid for his passage on the boat. Fifteen cents, the balance of his entire capital, was all that he had when he landed in Philadelphia. Before leaving the South he was hired in the family of Ex-Governor Gregory. Of the Governor and his wife he spoke very highly,--said that they were kind to him and would readily favor him whenever he solicited them to do so. He stated that after making his arrangements to start, in order that he might be away several days before being missed, he told Mrs. Gregory that he would be glad to spend a week with his mother, (she lived some distance in the country). As he was not feeling very well she kindly acceded to his request, and told him to ask the Governor for a pass and some money. The Governor was busy writing, but he at once granted the prayer, wrote him a pass, gave John five dollars, adding that he was sorry that he had no more in his pocket, &c. John bowed and thanked the Governor, and soon got ready for his visit; but his route lay in a far different direction than that contemplated by the Governor and his lady. He was aiming for the Underground Rail Road. As has already been intimated, he was not owned by the Governor, but by the Ferrell heirs--five children who had moved from Virginia to Alabama years back. "Every Ferrell that lives is down on slaves; they are very severe," said John. Yet he had not suffered as many others had who belonged to them, as he had been a dining-room servant. At one time they had owned large numbers of slaves, but latterly they had been selling them off. Contrary to John's wishes his Alabama owners had notified him as well as the Governor, that in a short while he was to be taken to Alabama. This induced John to act with great promptness in leaving at the time that he did. After passing several years in Canada as has been already noticed, he returned to Richmond and paid a visit to his old home. He found that the governor and his wife had both departed, but two of the daughters (young ladies), still lived. They were both glad to see him; the younger especially; she told him that she was glad that he escaped, and that she "prayed for him." The elder remarked that she had always thought that he was too "good a Christian to run away." Another thing which she referred to, apparently with much feeling, was this: On his way to Canada, he wrote to the governor, from Rochester, "that he need put himself to no trouble in hunting him up, as he had made up his mind to visit Canada." She thought that John was rather "naughty," to write thus to her "papa," nevertheless, she was disposed to forgive him, after she had frankly spoken her mind. John found Richmond, which so long had held him in chains, fully humbled, and her slave power utterly cast down. His wondering eyes gazed until he was perfectly satisfied that it was the Lord's doings, and it was marvellous in his eyes. He was more than ever resolved to get an education, and go back to Virginia, to help teach his brethren who had been so long denied the privilege. It was not long before he was at Oberlin College, a faithful student, commanding the highest respect from all the faculty for his good deportment and studious habits. After advancing rapidly there, the way opened more fully to pursue his studies with greater facilities and less expense at a college in one of the Eastern States. He accepted the favors of friends who offered him assistance, with a view of preparing him for a mission among the freedmen, believing that he possessed in a high degree, the elements for a useful worker, preacher, organizer and teacher. As the friends alluded to, were about taking measures to start a college at Harper's Ferry, especially for the benefit of the Freedmen, they anticipated making this latitude the field of his future endeavors, at least for a time. Ere he graduated in view of the fact that the harvest in the South so urgently called for laborers, he was solicited to be an agent for the Storer College,[A] and subsequently to enter upon a mission under the auspices of the Free-Will Baptists, in Martinsburg, Virginia. For three or four years he labored in this field with commendable zeal and acceptably, gathering young and old in day and Sunday-schools, and also organizing churches. By his constant labors his health became impaired; receiving a call from a church in Providence, he accepted, not without knowing, however, that his mission was to be left in faithful hands, to carry on the good work. [Footnote A: The appended extract from an official circular, issued by the Board of Instruction of Storer College, will throw light upon this Institution: STORER COLLEGE, HARPER'S FERRY, WEST VIRGINIA. This Institution, deriving its name from John Storer, Esq., late of Sanford, Me., who gave ten thousand dollars to aid in its establishment, is located at Harper's Ferry, West Va., and has been chartered with full powers by a special act of the Legislature. The Corporation has been regularly organized, about thirty thousand dollars in money has been obtained, a large tract of land has been purchased, ample buildings have been secured, and a Normal School has been in successful operation during the last eighteen months. The U.S. authorities have repeatedly expressed their confidence in and sympathy with this undertaking, by liberal grants of money and buildings, and the agent for the distribution of the Peabody Fund, has pledged pecuniary aid to the best of the pupils in attendance, who may be in need of such assistance. REV. J. CALDER, D.D., _Pres._, Harrisburg, Penna. Harper's Ferry, West Va., March 1, 1869. REV. N.C. BRACKETT, _Act. Sec'y.,_ Harper's Ferry, West Va. ] There is still need of efficient laborers in the Shenandoah Valley. According to the testimony of Mr. Dungy, scores of places may still be found where the children have no school privileges, and where many, both old and young, have never had the opportunity of entering a meeting-house or church since the war, as the spirit of the white Christians in these regions is greatly embittered against the colored people, owing to the abolition of Slavery; and they do not invite them to either church or school. Indeed, the churches are closed against them. At different times, Mr. Dungy has eloquently represented the condition of the colored churches of the South, in the city of Philadelphia. As a speaker, Mr. Dungy is able and interesting, of good address, remarkably graceful in his manners, and possessing much general information. The subjoined letters received from him, while a fugitive in Canada, are characteristic of the man, and will repay a perusal. BRANTFORD, March 3d, 1860. MR. WM. STILL, DEAR SIR:--I have seated myself this evening to write you a few lines to inform you that I have got through my journey, and landed safely in Brantford, where I found my friend, Stepney Brown, and we expressed great joy at meeting each other, and had a great shaking of hands, and have not got done talking yet of the old times we had in Virginia. I thank God I am enjoying vigorous health, and hope you all are well, as it is written in the first Psalm, "Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful." I wish you may think of me often and pray for me that I may grow a man, one of the followers of our meek and lowly Saviour. Give my love to Mrs. Still, and family, and the Rev. Mr. Gibbs, that was residing with you when I was there. I must now inform you a little about Canada, at least as much of it as I have seen and heard. I arrived in the city of Hamilton, on the 15th February, 1860, at nine o'clock in the evening, and the weather was dreary and cold, and the cars laid over there until ten o'clock next day, and I went up into the city and saw a portion of it. I then started for Toronto, arrived there same day at 12 o'clock. There I met friends from Richmond, remained there several days; during the time we had a very extensive snow storm, and I took the opportunity of walking around the city looking at the elephants, and other great sights. I liked it very much; but upon hearing that my friend and brother Stepney Brown was in Brantford, I became disatisfied and left for Brantford on the 21st February, 1860. I have found it a very pleasant, and have been told it is the prettiest place in Canada. It is built upon the Grand River, which is two hundred miles long, and empties into Lake Erie. It rises to a great height every spring, and great masses of ice come down, bringing bridges, saw-logs, trees, and fairly sweeps everything before it. The people who live upon the flats are in great danger of being drowned in their houses. I got a situation immediately at the Kerby House, by the influence of my friend and brother, Stepney Brown, who I must say has been very kind to me, as also have the people of Brantford. The Kerbey House is the largest hotel in the town about 250 rooms, and a stable at the back, with a gas-house of its own. No more at present, but remain, Yours very respectfully, JOHN WILLIAM DUNGY. P.S. Write at your earliest convenience, and oblige your friend, J.W.D. BRANTFORD, April 20th. MR. STILL, DEAR SIR:--I feel myself quite lonesome this evening, and not hearing from you lately I take this opportunity to drop you a few lines. I have not much to say, brother Brown has left for the falls, and expects to return next winter. The weather is mild and warm at this time; the grass is putting up and begins to look like spring. I thank the Lord I am enjoying good health at this time. I hope this letter will find you and your family well, give my compliments to them all and Mr. Gibbs and the young lady that was at your house when I was there. Times has been hard this winter, but they are increasing for the better. I wrote to you a few days ago, I don't know whether you got my letter. I asked in my letter if Mr. Williams was on the pennsylvania, that runs from their to Richmond, Va. I should have written to him, but I did not know his number, I also named a friend of mine, Mr Plumer if he arrives their pleas to tell him to come to Brantford, where I am for there are good chances for business I think a great deal about my colored brethren in the South but I hope to be a benefit to them one of these days. We have quite a melancholy affair about one of our colored brothers who made his escape from the South those who took him up have gone back to obtain witness to convict him for murder. These witness is to be here on Monday 23 inst but the defendence of the law says they shant take him back unless they bring good witness and men of truth I will write you more about it after the trial comes of. I must say a little about myself. I want to devote myself to study if I can for the next twelve months. I expect to leave the Kirby House on the 5th of may. I have taken a barber shop which is a very good situation and one hand employed with me. I would be much oblige to you if you would give me some advice what to do. I sent you the morning herald yesterday which contained a accident which occurd on the G. trunk R.W. you will see in it that we don't have much politics here. The late destructive fire we had I thought it would have kept brantford back this summer but it is increasing slowly I have nothing more to say at this time. I hope the Lord may bless you all and take care of you in this world, and after time receive you in his everlasting kingdom through Jesus Christ our Lord. Answer this as soon as convenient. Good bye. Yours respectfully J.W. DUNGY. BRANTFORD, C.W., JANUARY 11th, 61. MR. WM. STILL, DEAR SIR:--I take this opportunity to drop you a few lines to let you hear from me. I am well at this time, hoping this will find you the same. I acknowledge my great neglectness of you with great regret that I have not answered your letter before this, I hope you will excuse me as I have succeeded in getting me a wife since I wrote to you last. My mind has been much taken up in so doing for several months past. Give my compliments to your wife and your family, and Mr. Gibbs, also hoping they are all well. Tell Mrs. Still to pray for me that I may grow in grace and the knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus. I often think of you all. I pray that the time may come when we will all be men in the United States. We have read here of the great disturbance in the South. My prayer is that this may be a deathblow to Slavery. Do you ever have any Underground Rail Road passengers now? Times have been very prosperous in Canada this year. The commercial trade and traffic on the railways has been very dull for these few months back. Business on the Buffalo and Lake Huron railway has been so dull that a great number of the hands have been discharged on account of the panic in the South. Canada yet cries, Freedom! Freedom! Freedom! I must now say a little about my friend and brother Stepney Brown, he lived about six months at the Niagara Falls and is now going to school here in Brantford, he sends his best respects to you all. He and I often sit together at night after the labor of the day is over talking about our absent friends wishing we could see them once more. Mr. Brown and myself have been wishing for one or two of your slavery standards and would be much obliged to you if you would send some of the latest. Please let me hear from you as soon as possible. I must now bring my letter to a close and remain your affectionate friend, J.W. DUNGY. P.S. May the Lord be with you. J.W. DUNGY. Address your letter to John W. Dungy, Brantford, C.W. "AUNT HANNAH MOORE." In 1854 in company with her so-called Mistress (Mary Moore) Aunt Hannah arrived in Philadelphia, from Missouri, being _en route_ to California, where she with her mistress was to join her master, who had gone there years before to seek his fortune. The mistress having relatives in this city tarried here a short time, not doubting that she had sufficient control over Aunt Hannah to keep her from contact with either abolitionists or those of her own color, and that she would have no difficulty in taking her with her to her journey's end. If such were her calculations she was greatly mistaken. For although Aunt Hannah was destitute of book-learning she was nevertheless a woman of thought and natural ability, and while she wisely kept her counsel from her mistress she took care to make her wants known to an abolitionist. She had passed many years under the yoke, under different owners, and now seeing a ray of hope she availed herself of the opportunity to secure her freedom. She had occasion to go to a store in the neighborhood where she was stopping, and to her unspeakable joy she found the proprietor an abolitionist and a friend who inquired into her condition and proffered her assistance. The store-keeper quickly made known her condition at the Anti-slavery Office, and in double-quick time J.M. McKim and Charles Wise as abolitionists and members of the Vigilance Committee repaired to the stopping-place of the mistress and her slave to demand in the name of humanity and the laws of Pennsylvania that Aunt Hannah should be no longer held in fetters but that she should be immediately proclaimed free. In the eyes of the mistress this procedure was so extraordinary that she became very much excited and for a moment threatened them with the "broomstick," but her raving had no effect on Messrs. McKim and Wise, who did not rest contented until Aunt Hannah was safely in their hands. She had lived a slave in Moore's family in the State of Missouri about ten years and said she was treated very well, had plenty to eat, plenty to wear, and a plenty of work. It was prior to her coming into the possession of Moore that Aunt Hannah had been made to drink the bitter waters of oppression. From this point, therefore, we shall present some of the incidents of her life, from infancy, and very nearly word for word as she related them: "Moore bought me from a man named McCaully, who owned me about a year. I fared dreadful bad under McCaully. One day in a rage he undertook to beat me with the limb of a cherry-tree; he began at me and tried in the first place to snatch my clothes off, but he did not succeed. After that he beat the cherry-tree limb all to pieces over me. The first blow struck me on the back of my neck and knocked me down; his wife was looking on, sitting on the side of the bed crying to him to lay on. After the limb was worn out he then went out to the yard and got a lath, and he come at me again and beat me with that until he broke it all to pieces. He was not satisfied then; he next went to the fence and tore off a paling, and with that he took both hands, 'cursing' me all the time as hard as he could. With an oath he would say, 'now don't you love me?' 'Oh master, I will pray for you, I would cry, then he would 'cuss' harder than ever.' He beat me until he was tired and quit. I crept out of doors and throwed up blood; some days I was hardly able to creep. With this beating I was laid up several weeks. Another time Mistress McCaully got very angry. One day she beat me as bad as he did. She was a woman who would get very mad in a minute. One day she began scolding and said the kitchen wasn't kept clean. I told her the kitchen was kept as clean as any kitchen in the place; she spoke very angry, and said she didn't go by other folks but she had rules of her own. She soon ordered me to come in to her. I went in as she ordered me; she met me with a mule-rope, and ordered me to cross my hands. I crossed my hands and she tied me to the bedstead. Here her husband said, 'my dear, now let me do the fighting.' In her mad fit she said he shouldn't do it, and told him to stand back and keep out of the way or I will give you the cowhide she said to him. He then 'sot' down in a 'cheer' and looked like a man condemned to be hung; then she whipped me with the cowhide until I sunk to the floor. He then begged her to quit. He said to his wife she has begged and begged and you have whipped her enough. She only raged 'wus;' she turned the butt end of the cowhide and struck me five or six blows over my head as hard as she could; she then throwed the cowhide down and told a little girl to untie me. The little girl was not able to do it; Mr. McCaully then untied me himself. Both times that I was beat the blood run down from my head to my feet. "They wouldn't give you anything to eat hardly. McCaully bore the name of coming by free colored children without buying them, and selling them afterwards. One boy on the place always said that he was free but had been kidnapped from Arkansas. He could tell all about how he was kidnapped, but could not find anybody to do anything for him, so he had to content himself. "McCaully bought me from a man by the name of Landers. While in Landers' hands I had the rheumatism and was not able to work. He was afraid I was going to die, or he would lose me, and I would not be of any service to him, so he took and traded me off for a wagon. I was something better when he traded me off; well enough to be about. My health remained bad for about four years, and I never got my health until Moore bought me. Moore took me for a debt. McCaully owed Moore for wagons. I was not born in Missouri but was born in Virginia. From my earliest memory I was owned by Conrad Hackler; he lived in Grason County. He was a very poor man, and had no other slave but me. He bought me before I was quite four years old, for one hundred dollars. Hackler bought me from a man named William Scott. I must go back by good rights to the beginning and tell all: Scott bought me first from a young man he met one day in the road, with a bundle in his arms. Scott, wishing to know of the young man what he had in his bundle, was told that he had a baby. 'What are you going to do with it?' said Scott. The young man said that he was going to take it to his sister; that its mother was dead, and it had nobody to take care of it. Scott offered the young man a horse for it, and the young man took him up. This is the way I was told that Scott came by me. I never knowed anything about my mother or father, but I have always believed that my mother was a white woman, and that I was put away to save her character; I have always thought this. Under Hackler I was treated more like a brute than a human being. I was fed like the dogs; had a trough dug out of a piece of wood for a plate. After I growed up to ten years old they made me sleep out in an old house standing off some distance from the main house where my master and mistress lived. A bed of straw and old rags was made for me in a big trough called the tan trough (a trough having been used for tanning purposes). The cats about the place came and slept with me, and was all the company I had. I had to work with the hoe in the field and help do everything in doors and out in all weathers. The place was so poor that some seasons he would not raise twenty bushels of corn and hardly three bushels of wheat. As for shoes I never knowed what it was to have a pair of shoes until I was grown up. After I growed up to be a woman my master thought nothing of taking my clothes off, and would whip me until the blood would run down to the ground. After I was twenty-five years old they did not treat me so bad; they both professed to get religion about that time; and my master said he would never lay the weight of his finger on me again. Once after that mistress wanted him to whip me, but he didn't do it, nor never whipped me any more. After awhile my master died; if they had gone according to law I would have been hired out or sold, but my mistress wanted to keep me to carry on the place for her support. So I was kept for seven or eight years after his death. It was understood between my mistress, and her children, and her friends, who all met after master died, that I was to take care of mistress, and after mistress died I should not serve anybody else. I done my best to keep my mistress from suffering. After a few years they all became dissatisfied, and moved to Missouri. They scattered, and took up government land. Without means they lived as poor people commonly live, on small farms in the woods. I still lived with my mistress. Some of the heirs got dissatisfied, and sued for their rights or a settlement; then I was sold with my child, a boy." Thus Aunt Hannah reviewed her slave-life, showing that she had been in the hands of six different owners, and had seen great tribulation under each of them, except the last; that she had never known a mother's or a father's care; that Slavery had given her one child, but no husband as a protector or a father. The half of what she passed through in the way of suffering has scarcely been hinted at in this sketch. Fifty-seven years were passed in bondage before she reached Philadelphia. Under the good Providence through which she came in possession of her freedom, she found a kind home with a family of Abolitionists, (Mrs. Gillingham's), whose hearts had been in deep sympathy with the slave for many years. In this situation Aunt Hannah remained several years, honest, faithful, and obliging, taking care of her earnings, which were put out at interest for her by her friends. Her mind was deeply imbued with religious feeling, and an unshaken confidence in God as her only trust; she connected herself with the A.M.E. Bethel Church, of Philadelphia, where she has walked, blameless and exemplary up to this day. Probably there is not a member in that large congregation whose simple faith and whose walk and conversation are more commendable than Aunt Hannah's. Although she has passed through so many hardships she is a woman of good judgment and more than average intellect; enjoys good health, vigor, and peace of mind in her old days, with a small income just sufficient to meet her humble wants without having to live at service. After living in Philadelphia for several years, she was married to a man of about her own age, possessing all her good qualities; had served a life-time in a highly respectable Quaker family of this city, and had so won the esteem of his kind employer that at his death he left him a comfortable house for life, so that he was not under the necessity of serving another. The name of the recipient of the good Quaker friend's bounty and Aunt Hannah's companion, was Thomas Todd. After a few years of wedded life, Aunt Hannah was called upon to be left alone again in the world by the death of her husband, whose loss was mourned by many friends, both colored and white, who knew and respected him. KIDNAPPING OF RACHEL AND ELIZABETH PARKER--MURDER OF JOSEPH C. MILLER IN 1851 AND 1852. Those who were interested in the Anti-Slavery cause, and who kept posted with reference to the frequent cases of kidnapping occurring in different Free States, especially in Pennsylvania, during the twenty years previous to emancipation, cannot fail to remember the kidnapping of Rachel and Elizabeth Parker, and the murder of Joseph C. Miller, who resided in West Nottingham township, Chester county, Pennsylvania, in the latter part of 1851, and the beginning of 1852. Both the kidnapping and the murder at the time of the occurrence shocked and excited the better thinking and humane classes largely, not only in Pennsylvania, but to a considerable extent over the Northern States. It may be said, without contradiction, that Chester county, at least, was never more aroused by any one single outrage that had taken place within her borders, than by these occurrences. For a long while the interest was kept alive, and even as lately as the past year (1870), we find the case still agitating the citizens of Chester county. Judge Benjamin I. Passmore, of said county, in defence of truth in an exhaustive article published in the "Village Record," West Chester, Oct. 12th, 1870, gives a reliable version of the matter, from beginning to end, which we feel constrained to give in full, as possessing great historical value, bearing on kidnapping in general, especially in Pennsylvania. TOM M'CREARY. FRIEND EVANS:--I noticed in the "Village Record," a short time since, an article taken from the Delaware "Transcript," an obituary notice of the death of the noted character, whose name heads this article, in which false statements were made, relative to the outrage he committed in kidnapping Rachel and Elizabeth Parker, two colored girls who were then, 1851, residing in the southern portion of Chester county. In your paper of the 13th ult., I also read an answer to the charges and insinuations made in the "Transcript," against Joseph C. Miller, (whose life was basely destroyed), and other citizens of Chester county; as the occurrence took place in my immediate neighborhood, and I was familiar with all the facts and circumstances, I propose to give a truthful history of that vile and wicked transaction. In the winter of 1851, the said McCreary in some unexplained way, took Elizabeth Parker, one of the said colored girls, from the house of one Donally (not McDonald), in the township of East Nottingham, where she was living; but little was said about it by Donally, or any one else. Soon after, McCreary with two or three others of like proclivities, called at the house of Joseph C. Miller, in West Nottingham, where Rachel was living, and seized her, gagged her, and placed her in a carriage and drove off. The screams of Mrs. Miller and her children, soon brought the husband and father to the rescue; he pursued them on foot, and at a short distance overtook them in a narrow private road, disputing with James Pollock, the owner of the land, whose wagon prevented them from passing. They turned and took another road, and came out at Stubb's Mill, making for the Maryland line with all possible speed; they arrived at Perryville before the train for Baltimore. Eli Haines and a young man named Wiley, who lived near Rising Sun, Maryland, about two miles from Joseph C. Miller's, arrived at the same place soon after, intending to go to Philadelphia. Mr. Haines knew Rachel, and seeing McCreary there, and her so overwhelmed in sorrow, at once guessed the situation of affairs, and he and Wiley changed their intentions of going to Philadelphia, and went in the same car with McCreary and his victim, to Baltimore, and quietly watched what disposition would be made of her, as they felt certain pursuit would be made. As soon as possible, after McCreary had escaped from West Nottingham, Joseph C. Miller, William Morris, Abner Richardson, Jesse B. Kirk, and H.G. Coates, started in pursuit on horseback; when they arrived at Perryville, the train had gone, with the kidnapper and the girl; they followed in the next train. Soon after they arrived in Baltimore, they were met by Haines and Wiley, who had been on the lookout for a pursuing party, and they gave the information that Rachel was deposited in Campbell's slave-pen. They were directed by an acquaintance of one of the party, to Francis S. Cochran, a prominent member of the Society of Friends. Francis informed them he was well acquainted with Campbell, and he at once accompained them. Campbell assured Friend Cochran that whilst he approved of Slavery and catching runaway slaves, he despised kidnapping and kidnappers; and on the arrival of McCreary, he ordered him to remove Rachel forthwith, which he proceeded to do. Friend Cochran insisted on going with them, and saw the girl deposited in jail to await a legal investigation. By this time it was evening, and the Chester county men all went home with Cochran, where they had their suppers; the excitement being great, Friend Cochran did not consider it safe for them to go to the depot direct; he procured their tickets and had them driven by a circuitous route to the depot, charging them to keep together, and take their seats in the cars at once. Soon after they were seated and before the cars started, Miller stepped out on the platform to smoke, against the expostulations of his friends. Jesse B. Kirk, his brother-in-law and Abner Richardson followed immediately, and although they were right at his heels, he was gone; they called him by name, and stepped down into the crowd, but soon became alarmed for their own safety, and returned to their seats. A consultation was held, and it was agreed that Wiley, who was least known, and not directly identified with the affair, should pass through the train when it started, and see if Miller had not mistakenly got into another car. At Stemen's Run station, Wiley returned to the party with the sad tidings that Joseph C. Miller was not in that train. On consultation, it was agreed that Jesse B. Kirk and Abner Richardson should return from Perryville in the next train, and prosecute further search for Miller. They did so return, and McCreary also returned to Baltimore in the same car, he having left Baltimore in the car in the evening with the Chester county men; they arrived late in the night, and locked themselves up in a room in the first hotel they came to. Their search was fruitless, and they were forced to return home with the sad tidings that Miller could not be found. This intelligence aroused the whole neighborhood; public meetings were held to consult about what was best to be done. The writer presided at one of those meetings, which was largely attended, and it was with difficulty that the people could be restrained from organizing an armed force to kidnap and lynch McCreary. Better counsels, however, finally prevailed and it was resolved to send a party to Baltimore to prosecute further the search for Miller. About twenty men volunteered for the service; I went to the house of Joseph C. Miller, the morning they were to start, but they had met at Lewis Mellrath's, a brother-in-law of Miller. I was there endeavoring to console the aged mother and distracted wife and children of Joseph C. Miller, when word came that he had been found hanging to a limb in the bushes near Stemen's Run station, and such a scene of distress I hope may never again be my lot to witness; it was heart-rending in the extreme. The party went to Baltimore, and such was the excitement that it was considered unsafe for the party to go out in a body in day-time. Levi K. Brown, who then resided in Baltimore, went with them by moonlight, and they disinterred the body, which they found about two feet under ground, in a rough box, with a narrow lid that freely admitted the dirt to surround his body in the box. No undertaker in Baltimore could be found that would allow the body left at his place of business whilst a coffin was prepared, and it was deposited in "Friends'" vault; a coffin was finally procured and William Morris and Abner Richardson started with it for his home. When they arrived at Perryville no one would render them any assistance, and they were compelled to leave the corpse in an old saw mill, and walk up to Port Deposit, a distance of five miles, in the night, the weather being extremely cold, and a deep snow on the ground. There they procured horses and a sled and started with the body, but when within a short distance of the Pennsylvania line they were overtaken by a messenger with a requisition from the Governor of Maryland to return the body to Baltimore county, in order that an inquisition and post-mortem examination might be held in legal form. With sorrowful hearts they turned back; (one of these young men told me that at no place south of Port Deposit could they get any one to assist them in handling the corpse). By this time the affair had created a great excitement, both in Chester county and the City of Baltimore. Rev. John M. Dickey, Hon. Henry S. Evans, then a member of the Senate. Brinton Darlington, then Sheriff of Chester county, and very many of the leading men took a deep interest in the matter; we all did our part. The Society of Friends in Baltimore took the matter in hand, and many other worthy citizens belonging to the Presbyterian Church and others lent their aid and influence. Hon. Henry S. Evans, who was then in the Senate of Pennsylvania, brought the matter before the Legislature, and the result was that the Governor appointed Judges Campbell and Bell, the latter of our county, to defend these two poor colored girls thus foully kidnapped. The body of Miller underwent a post-mortem examination in Baltimore county, at which a great number of rowdies attended, who occupied their time drinking whisky and cursing the Pennsylvania Abolitionists; the body finally reached its distressed home for interment. Drs. Hutchinson and Dickey were called upon to make an examination, at which I was present, and all were clearly of opinion that he had been foully murdered. His wrists and ankles bore the unmistakable marks of manacles; across the abdomen was a black mark as if made by a rope or cord; the end of his nose bore marks as if held by some instrument of torture. His funeral took place, and his remains were followed to the grave by an immense concourse of sympathizing friends and neighbors. Such, however, was the excitement, that the public demanded a further examination; he was disinterred again, and the same two eminent physicians made a thorough post-mortem examination, and one of them told the writer that there were not two ounces of contents in his stomach and bowels, and that there was abundant evidence of the presence of arsenic. His remains were again interred and suffered to remain undisturbed. The theory of his friends was that he had been suddenly snatched from the platform of the car in the Baltimore Depot, gagged, stripped, and lashed down by the ankles and wrists, and a rope across his abdomen, that his nose had been held by some instrument, and that he was in this situation drenched with arsenic, and puked and purged to death, and that McCreary, or some one for him, had heard Wiley repeat at Stemen's Run Station, that he was not on the train, conceived the idea of taking his body there and hanging it to a tree to convey the idea that he had committed suicide at that place, and such was the statement published by some of the Maryland newspapers. His companions said he eat a very hearty supper that evening at Francis S. Cochran's, which with the other facts that his clothing were not soiled, and his stomach and bowels were empty, goes strongly to substantiate the theory that he had been stripped and foully murdered, as above indicated. Never was there a more false assertion than that the "broad brimmed Quakers in Pennsylvania were accomplices of McCreary," as it is well known that opposition to slavery has been a cardinal principle of the Society of Friends for a century. And that Joseph C. Miller committed suicide because of his being implicated in the kidnapping is a base fabrication. I knew Joseph C. Miller from boyhood intimately, and I here take pleasure in saying that he was an honest, unassuming man, of good moral character and stern integrity, and would have spurned the idea of any complication, directly or indirectly, with slavery or kidnapping. It appears his foul murder was not sufficient to satisfy the friends of slavery and kidnapping, but an attempt is now made, after the victim has slumbered near twenty years in the grave, to blast his good name by insinuating that he was a party, or implicated in the vile transactions here narrated. Rachel remained in jail; Elizabeth, who had been sold to parties in New Orleans, was sent for by Campbell, ample security having been given that she should be returned if proved to be a slave. Their trial finally came on, and after a long and tedious investigation they were both proven, by hosts of respectable witnesses to be free. They returned to their mother, in Chester county, who was still living. The Grand Jury of Chester county found a true bill against McCreary for kidnapping, a requisition was obtained, and B. Darlington, Esq., then High Sheriff, proceeded with it to Annapolis; but the Governor of Maryland refused to allow McCreary to be arrested in that State. Thus terminated this terrible affair, which cost the State of Pennsylvania nearly $3000, as well as a heavy expense to many citizens of Baltimore, and those of this county who took an active part, and whilst it is to be hoped that the principal actor in this sad transaction fully atoned for his evil deeds, whilst living, and his friends may have had a right to eulogize him after death, they should not have gone out of their way to traduce other parties, dead and alive, whose reputations were known by living witnesses, to be beyond reproach. JUSTICE. * * * * * ARRIVAL FROM VIRGINIA, 1854. TUCKER WHITE. Tucker reported that he fled from Major Isaac Roney, of Dinwiddie Court-House, Virginia, in the Christmas week prior to his arrival; that he reached Petersburg and then encountered difficulties of the most trying nature; he next stopped at City Point, and was equally unfortunate there. From exposure in the cold he was severely frost-bitten. While suffering from the frost he was kept in the poor-house. After partial recovery he made his way to Baltimore and thence to Philadelphia. Once or twice he was captured and carried back. The Committee suspected that he was a cunning impostor who had learned how to tell a tale of suffering simply to excite the sympathies of the benevolent; yet, with the map of Virginia before them, he proved himself familiar with localities adjacent to the neighborhood in which he was raised. Although not satisfied with his statement, the Committee decided to aid him. Passmore Williamson, who had taken a deep interest in the examination of his case, in order to ascertain the facts, addressed the following note to Major Roney, using as his signature the name of his friend, Wm. J. Canby: PHILADELPHIA, June 24, 1854. MAJOR ISAAC RONEY: DEAR SIR:--Within a few days past a colored man has been traversing the streets of this city, exciting the sympathies of the benevolent by the recital of a tale of the hardships he has lately passed through. He represents himself to be Tucker White, your slave, a carpenter by trade, and that he escaped from your service last Christmas. He is quite dark in complexion, rather over the medium size, and a little lame; the latter, probably, from the effects of frost on his feet, from which, he alleges, he suffered severely. He seems to be well acquainted with the adjoining localities, but altogether his narrative is almost incredible, and I am therefore induced to make the inquiry whether such a man has escaped from your service or lately left your neighborhood. We are perfectly flooded with such vagrants. It would be a great relief if some measures could be resorted to to keep them under legal restraint. An answer addressed to No. 73 South 4th Street, above Walnut, will reach me, and oblige, Yours, &c. WM. J. CANBY. Weeks passed, but no answer came from the Major. All hope was abandoned of obtaining a more satisfactory clue to the history of Tucker White. About three months, however, after Mr. Williamson had written, the appended note came as an answer: MR. CANBY: Major Roney received a letter from you relative to his boy, Tucker White, and has sent me here to inquire of you his whereabouts now. If you know anything concerning him and will give me such information so I can get him, you will be rewarded for your trouble. You will please address, No. 147 American Hotel. The Major would have sent on sooner but he has been sick, and the letter laid in Office several days. Mr. Canby was at the time ill, and no attention was paid to the communication. After a day's delay the following note came to hand, but, as in the former instance, no answer was returned. MR. CANBY: You will confer a great favor on me by writing me whether you were really the author of a letter to Major Isaac Roney, of Dinwiddie Court House, Va., relative to his boy Tucker White, and if you were the author, please let me know when you last saw him, and where. I called at your office yesterday to see you, but your cousin (I think he said he was) told me you had the cholera, and if you felt well enough you were going to the country to-morrow. I hope you will excuse my writing to you to-day, on that account. I would not know where to direct a letter if I were to wait until to-morrow. If you know anything concerning him and will let me know it, so that I can find and arrest him, you will very much oblige Yours, &c., I.M. TUCKER. No. 147 American Hotel. Please write me an answer to-day, so I may know how to proceed to-morrow. If I find him I will be very happy to see you before I leave in behalf of Major Roney, in whose business I am now engaged. I.M.T. Some one, however, who had a hand in the first letter, referred the Major to Passmore Williamson, Seventh and Arch Streets. To Mr. Williamson's surprise the individual who had addressed Mr. C. appeared at his office with the identical letter in his hand that had been addressed him by Mr. W. (with W.J.C.'s signature.) On addressing Mr. W. he held out the letter and inquired: "Are you the author of this letter, sir?" Mr. W. looked at it and remarked that it appeared to have been written by a man named Canby. "My name is Williamson, but if you will walk in and take a seat I will attend to you in a few moments." Accordingly, after occupying a little time in adjusting some papers, he signified to the stranger that he was ready to answer any of his questions. Said Mr. W., "I say frankly that I am the author of that letter." He then paused for a reply. The stranger then said, "I have come from Virginia in behalf of Major Roney, in search of his boy, Tucker White; the Major was very anxious to recover him, and he would gladly reward Mr. W. or anybody else who would aid him in the matter." He then asked Mr. W. if he knew anything of his whereabouts. Mr. W. replied: "I do not at present; for a long time I have heard nothing of him. I must tell you that I am very sorry that Major Roney gave himself the trouble to send all the way to Philadelphia to re-capture his 'boy Tucker White,' and with regard to giving information or assistance, I know of but one or two men in this city who would be mean enough to stoop to do such dirty work. Geo. F. Alberti, a notorious kidnapper, and E.D. Ingraham, equally as notorious as a counsel of slave-hunters whom everybody here despises, might have served you in this matter. I know no others to recommend; if anybody can find the 'boy,' they can. But should they find him they will be obliged to take legal steps in arresting him before they can proceed. In such a case, instead of assisting Major Roney, I should feel bound to assist Tucker White by throwing every obstacle that I possibly could in the way of his being carried back to Virginia; and to close the matter I wish it to be understood that I do not desire to hold any further correspondence with Major Roney, of Dinwiddie, Virginia, about his 'boy,' Tucker White." ARRIVAL FROM NORFOLK. MARY MILLBURN, _alias_ LOUISA F. JONES, ESCAPED IN MALE ATTIRE. Neither in personal appearance, manners, nor language, were any traces of the Peculiar Institution visible in Mary Millburn. On the contrary, she represented a young lady, with a passable education, and very refined in her deportment. She had eaten the white bread of Slavery, under the Misses Chapman, and they had been singularly kind to her, taking special pains with her in regard to the company she should keep, a point important to young girls, so liable to exposure as were the unprotected young females of the South. She being naturally of a happy disposition, obliging, competent, there was but little room for any jars in the household, so far as Mary was concerned. Notwithstanding all this, she was not satisfied; Slavery in its most dreaded aspect, was all around her, continually causing the heart to bleed and eyes to weep of both young and old. The auction-block and slave-pen were daily in view. Young girls as promising as herself, she well knew, had to be exposed, examined, and sold to the vilest slave-holders living. [Illustration: ] With her knowledge of the practical wickedness of the system, how could she be satisfied? It was impossible! She determined to escape. She could be accommodated, but with no favored mode of travel. No flowery beds of ease could be provided in her case, any more than in the case of others. Mary took the Underground Rail Road enterprise into consideration. The opportunity of a passage on a steamer was before her to accept or refuse. The spirit of freedom dictated that she should accept the offer and leave by the first boat. Admonished that she could reach the boat and also travel more safely in male attire she at once said, "Any way so I succeed." It is not to be supposed for a moment, that the effort could be made without encountering a great "fight of affliction." When the hour arrived for the boat to start, Mary was nicely secreted in a box (place), where she was not discovered when the officers made their usual search. On arriving in Philadelphia, she mingled her rejoicings with the Committee in testifying to the great advantage of the Underground Rail Road, and to the carefulness of its agents in guarding against accidents. After remaining a short time in Philadelphia, she made choice of Boston as her future residence, and with a letter of introduction to William Lloyd Garrison, she proceeded thitherward. How she was received, and what she thought of the place and people, may be gleaned from this letter (written by herself.) BOSTON, May 15th, 1858. DEAR FRIEND:--I have selected this oppotunity to write you a few lines, hopeing thay may find you and yours enjoying helth and happiness. I arrived hear on Thirsday last, and had a lettor of intoduction giving to me by one of the gentlemen at the Antoslavery office in New York, to Mr. Garrison in Boston, I found him and his lady both to bee very clever. I stopped with them the first day of my arrivel hear, since that Time I have been living with Mrs. Hilliard I have met with so menny of my acquaintances hear, that I all most immagion my self to bee in the old country. I have not been to Canaday yet, as you expected. I had the pleasure of seeing the lettor that you wrote to them on the subject. I suffered much on the road with head ake but since that time I have no reason to complain, please do not for git to send the degarritips in the Shaimpain basket with Dr. Lundys, Mr. Lesley said he will send them by express, tell Julia kelly, that through mistake, I took one of her pocket handkerchift, that was laying on the table, but I shall keep it in remembranc of the onner. I must bring my lettor to a close as I have nothing more to say, and believe me to be your faithfull friend. LOUISA P. JONES. P.S. Remember me to each, and every member of your familly and all Enquiring Friends. Being of an industrious turn she found a situation immediately, and from that day to the present, she has sustained an excellent character in every respect, and as a fashionable dressmaker does a good business. * * * * * ARRIVAL OF FIFTEEN FROM NORFOLK, VIRGINIA. PER SCHOONER--TWICE SEARCHED--LANDED AT LEAGUE ISLAND. ISAAC FORMAN, HENRY WILLIAMS, WILLIAM SEYMOUR, HARRIET TAYLOR, MARY BIRD, MRS. LEWEY, SARAH SAUNDERS, SOPHIA GRAY, HENRY GRAY, MARY GRAY, WINFIELD SCOTT, and three children. About the 4th of July, 1856, a message reached the Secretary that a schooner containing fifteen Underground Rail Road passengers, from Norfolk, Virginia, would be landed near League Island, directly at the foot of Broad street, that evening at a late hour, and a request accompanied the message, to the effect that the Committee would be on hand to receive them. Accordingly the Secretary procured three carriages, with trustworthy drivers, and between ten and eleven o'clock at night arrived on the banks of the Schuylkill, where all was quiet as a "country grave-yard." The moon was shining and soon the mast of a schooner was discovered. No sign of any other vessel was then in sight. On approaching the bank, in the direction of the discovered mast, the schooner was also discovered. The hearts of those on board were swelling with unutterable joy; yet even at that dead hour of night, far away from all appearance of foes, no one felt at liberty to give vent to his feelings other than in a whisper. The name of the captain and schooner being at once recognized, the first impulse was to jump down on the deck. Upon second view it was seen that the descent was too great to admit of such a feat. In a moment we concluded that we could pull them up the embankment from the deck by taking hold of their hands as they stood on tip toe. One after another was pulled up, and warmly greeted, until it came the turn of a large object, weighing about two hundred and sixty pounds, full large enough to make two ordinary women. The captain, who had experienced much inconvenience with her on the voyage, owing to the space she required chuckled over the fact that the Committee would have their hands full for once. Poor Mrs. Walker, however, stretched out her large arms, we seized her hands vigorously; the captain laughing heartily as did the other passengers at the tug now being made. We pulled with a will, but Mrs. Walker remained on the deck. A one horse power was needed. The pullers took breath, and again took hold, this time calling upon the captain to lay-to a helping hand; the captain prepared to do so, and as she was being raised, he having a good foot-hold, placed himself in a position for pushing to the full extent of his powers, and thus she was safely landed. All being placed in the carriages, they were driven to the station and comfortably provided for. On the voyage they had encountered more than the usual dangers. Indeed troubles began with them before they had set sail from Norfolk. The first indication of danger manifested itself as they stood on the bank of the river awaiting the arrival of a small boat which had been engaged to row them to the schooner. Although they had sought as they supposed a safe place, sufficiently far from the bounds usually traversed by the police; still, in the darkness, they imagined they heard watchmen coming. Just on the edge of the river, opposite where they were waiting, a boat under repairs was in the stocks. In order to evade the advancing foe, they all marched into the river, the water being shallow, and with the vessel for a breastwork hiding them from the shore, there they remained for an hour and a half. They were thoroughly soaked if nothing more. However, about ten o'clock a small oyster boat came to their relief, and all were soon placed aboard the schooner, which was loaded with corn, etc. All, with the exception of the large woman above referred to, and one other female, were required to enter a hole apparently leading through the bottom of the boat, but in reality only a department which had been expressly constructed for the Underground Rail Road business, at the expense of the captain, and in accordance with his own plan. The entrance was not sufficiently large to admit Mrs. Walker, so she with another female who was thought "too fat" to endure the close confinement, was secreted behind some corn back of the cabin, a place so secluded that none save well-experienced searchers would be likely to find it. In this way the Captain put out to sea. After some fifteen hours he deemed it safe to bring his passengers up on deck where they could inhale pure air which was greatly needed, as they had been next-door to suffocation and death. The change of air had such an effect on one of the passengers (Scott) that, in his excitement, he refused to conform to the orders required; for prudential reasons the Captain, threatened to throw him over-board. Whereupon Scott lowered his tone. Before reaching the lock the Captain supposing that they might be in danger from contact with boats, men, etc., again called upon them "to go into their hole" under the deck. Not even the big woman was excused now. She pleaded that she could not get through, her fellow-sufferers said that she must be got through urging the matter on the ground that they would have great danger to face. The big woman again tried to effect an entrance, but in vain. Said one of the more resolute sisters "she must take off her clothes then, it will never do to have her staying up on deck to betray all the rest;" thus this resolute stand being unanimous, the poor woman had to comply, and except a single garment she was as destitute of raiment as was Mother Eve before she induced Adam to eat of the forbidden fruit in the garden of Eden. With the help of passengers below, she was squeezed through, but not without bruising and breaking the skin considerably where the rub was severest. All were now beneath the deck, the well-fitting oil-cloth was put over the hole covering the cabin-floor snugly, and a heavy table was set over the hole. They are within sight of the lock, but no human beings are visible about the schooner save the Captain, the mate and a small boy, the son of the Captain. At the lock not unexpectedly three officers came on board of the boat and stopped her. The Captain was told that they had received a telegraphic dispatch from Norfolk to the effect that his boat was suspected of having slaves secreted thereon. They talked with the Captain and mate separately for a considerable while, and more closely did they examine the boy, but gained no information except that "the yellow-fever had been raging very bad in Norfolk." At this fever-news the officers were not a little alarmed, and they now lost no time in attending to their official errand. They searched the cabin where the two fat women were first secreted, and other parts of the boat pretty thoroughly. They then commenced taking up the hatchways, but the place seemed so shockingly perfumed with foul air that the men started back and declared that nobody could live in such a place, and swore that it smelt like the yellow-fever; the Captain laughed at them, and signified that they were perfectly welcome to search to their hearts' content. The officers concluded that there were no slaves on that boat, that nobody could live there, etc., etc., asked for their charges ($3), and discharged the Captain. The children had been put under the influence of liquor to keep them still, so they made no noise; the others endured their hour of agony patiently until the lock was safely passed, and the river reached. Fresh air was then allowed them, and the great danger was considered overcome. The Captain, however, far from deeming it advisable to land his live cargo at the wharves of Philadelphia, delivered them at League Island. The passengers testified that Captain B. was very kind. They were noticed thus: Isaac, was about fifty years of age, dark, tall, well-made, intelligent, and was owned by George Brown, who resided at Deep Creek. Isaac testified that said Brown had invariably treated him cruelly. For thirty years Isaac had hired his time, found himself in food, clothing, and everything, yet as he advanced in years, neither his task, nor his hire was diminished, but on the contrary his hire of late years had been increased. He winced under the pressure, and gave himself up to the study of the Underground Rail Road. While arrangements for fleeing were pending, he broke the secret to his wife, Polly, in whom he trusted; she being true to freedom, although sorrowing to part with him, threw no obstacle in his way. Besides his wife, he had also two daughters, Amanda A. and Mary Jane, both slaves. Nevertheless, having made up his mind not to die a slave, he resolved to escape at all hazards. Henderson belonged to the estate of A. Briggs, which was about to be settled, and knowing that he was accounted on the inventory as personal property, he saw that he too would be sold with the rest of the movables, if he was not found among the missing. He began to consider what he had endured as a slave, and came to the conclusion that he had had a "rugged road to hoe all the way along" and that he might have it much worse if he waited to be sold. The voice of reason admonished him to escape for his life. In obeying this call he suffered the loss of his wife, Julia, and two children, who were fortunately free. Henderson was about thirty-one years of age, stout, and of healthy appearance, worth in cash perhaps $1200. William was thirty-four years of age, of a chestnut color, substantial physical structure, and of good faculties. The man who professed to own him he called William Taylor, and "he was a very hard man, one of the kind which could not be pleased, nor give a slave a pleasant answer one time in fifty." Being thoroughly sick of William Taylor, he fell in love with the Underground Rail Road and Canada. Mrs. Walker, the big fat woman, was thirty-eight years of age, and a pleasant-looking person, of a very dark hue. Besides the struggles already alluded to, she was obliged to leave her husband. Of her master she declared that she could "say nothing good." His name was Arthur Cooper, of Georgetown; she had never lived with him, however; for twenty years she had hired her time, paying five dollars per month. When young she scarcely thought of the gross wrongs that were heaped upon her; but as she grew older, and thought more about her condition, she scouted the idea that God had designed her to be a slave, and decided that she would be one to leave Dixey in the first Underground Rail Road train that might afford her the chance. She determined not to remain even for the sake of her husband, who was a slave. With such a will, therefore, she started. Upon leaving Philadelphia, she went with the most of her company to Boston, and thence to New Bedford, where she was living when last heard from. Rebecca Lewey was the wife of a man, who was familiarly known by the name of "Blue Beard," his proper name being Henry Lewey. For a long time, although a slave himself, he was one of the most dexterous managers in the Underground Rail Road agency in Norfolk. No single chapter in this work could be more interesting than a chapter of his exploits in this respect. The appearing of Mrs. Lewey, was a matter of unusual interest. Although she had worn the yoke, she was gentle in her manners, and healthy-looking, so much so that no life insurance agent would have had need to subject her to medical examination before insuring her. She was twenty-eight years of age, but had never known personal abuse as a slave; she was none the less anxious, however, to secure her freedom. Her husband, Blue Beard, judging from certain signs, that he was suspected by slave-holders, and might at any time be caged, (indeed he had recently been in the lions' den, but got out); in order to save his wife, sent her on in advance as he had decided to follow her soon in a similar manner. Rebecca was not without hope of again meeting her husband. This desire was gratified before many months had passed, as he was fortunate enough to make his way to Canada. Mary Knight was a single woman, twenty-six years of age, dark, stout, and of pleasing manners; she complained of having been used hard. Sarah Saunders had been claimed as the property of Richard Gatewood, a clerk in the naval service. According to Sarah he was a very clever slave-holder, and had never abused her. Nor was she aware that he had ever treated any of his servants cruelly. Sarah, however, had not lived in Gatewood's immediate family, but had been allowed to remain with her grandmother, rather as a privileged character. She was young, fair, and prepossessing. Having a sister living in Philadelphia, who was known to the agent in Norfolk, Sarah was asked one day if she would not like to see her sister. She at once answered "Yes." After further conversation the agent told her that if she would keep the matter entirely private, he would arrange for her to go by the Underground Rail Road. Being willing and anxious to go, she promised due obedience to the rules; she was not told, however, how much she would have to pass through on the way, else, according to her own admission, she never would have come as she did; her heart would have failed her. But when the goal was gained, like all others, she soon forgot her sufferings, and rejoiced heartily at getting out of Slavery, even though her condition had not been so bad as that of many others. Sophia Gray, with her son and daughter, Henry and Mary, was from Portsmouth. The mother was a tall, yellow woman, with well cut features, about thirty-three years of age, with manners indicative of more than ordinary intelligence. The son and daughter were between twelve and fourteen years of age; well-developed for their age, modest, and finely-formed mulattoes. All the material necessary for a story of great interest, might have readily been found in the story of the mother and her children. They were sent with others to New Bedford, Massachusetts. It was not long after being in New Bedford, before the boy was put to a trade, and the daughter was sent to Boston, where she had an aunt (a fugitive), living in the family of the Hon. George S. Hilliard. Mr. and Mrs. Hilliard were so impressed by Mary's intelligent countenance and her appearance generally, that they decided that she must have a chance for an education, and opened their hearts and home to her. On a visit to Boston, in 1859, the writer found Mary at Mr. Hilliard's, and in an article written for the "Anti-Slavery Standard," upon the condition of fugitive slaves in Boston and New Bedford, allusion was made particularly to her and several others, under this hospitable roof, in the following paragraph: "On arriving in Boston, the first persons I had the pleasure to converse with, were four or five uncommonly interesting Underground Rail Road passengers, who had only been out of bondage between three and five years. Their intelligent appearance contradicted the idea that they had ever been an hour in Slavery, or a mile on an Underground Rail Road. Two of them were filling trustworthy posts, where they were respected and well paid for their services. Two others were young people (one two, and the other three years out of Slavery), a girl of fifteen, and a boy of twelve, whose interesting appearance induced a noble-hearted Anti-Slavery lady to receive them into her own family, expressly to educate them; and thus, almost ever since their arrival, they have been enjoying this lady's kindness, as well as the excellent equal Free School privileges of Boston. The girl, in the Grammar School (chiefly composed of whites), has already distinguished herself, having received a diploma, with an excellent certificate of character; and the boy, naturally very apt, has made astonishing progress." The "boy of twelve," alluded to, was not Mary's brother. He was quite a genius of his age, who had escaped from Norfolk, stowed away in a schooner and was known by the name of "Dick Page." On arriving in Philadelphia, Dick was delivered, as usual, into the hands of the Committee. The extraordinary smartness of the little fellow (only ten years old), astonished all who saw him. The sympathies of a kind-hearted gentleman and his wife, living in Philadelphia, had been deeply awakened in his behalf, through their relative and friend, Mrs. Hilliard, in whose family, as has been already stated, the boy's aunt lived. So much were these friends interested to secure Dick's freedom, that they often contemplated buying him, although they did not like the idea of buying, as the money would go into the pocket of the master, who they considered had no just right to deprive any individual of his freedom. So when Dick arrived the Committee felt that it was as little as they could do, to give these friends the pleasure of seeing the little Underground Rail Road passenger. He was therefore conveyed to the residence of Prof. J.P. Lesley. He could not have been sent to a house in the great city of Brotherly Love, where he would have found a more cordial and sincere reception. After passing an hour or so with them, Dick was brought away, but he had been so touched by their kindness, that he felt that he must see them again, before leaving the city; so just before sundown, one evening, he was missed; search was made for him, but in vain. Great anxiety was felt for him, fearing that he was lost. During the early part of the evening, the writer, with a bell in hand, passed up one street and down another, in quest of the stranger, but no one could give any information of him. Finally about ten o'clock, the mayor's office was visited with a view of having the police stations telegraphed. Soon the mystery was solved; one of the policemen stated that he had noticed a strange colored boy with Professor Lesley's children. Hastening to the residence of the professor, sure enough, Dick was there, happy in bed and asleep. From that time to this, it has been a mystery to know how a boy, a perfect stranger, could make his way alone, (having passed over the route but once), without getting lost, so circuitous was the road that he had to travel, in order to reach Professor Lesley's house. Having said this much, the way is now open to refer to him again, in Boston at school. He was generously assisted through his education and trade, and was prepared to commence life at his majority, an intelligent mechanic, and a man of promise. THE CASE OF EUPHEMIA WILLIAMS, CLAIMED AS A FUGITIVE SLAVE UNDER THE FUGITIVE SLAVE-LAW AFTER HAVING LIVED IN PENNSYLVANIA FOR MORE THAN TWENTY YEARS. Scarcely had the infamous statute been in existence six months, ere the worst predictions of the friends of the slave were fulfilled in different Northern States. It is hardly too much to say, that Pennsylvania was considered wholly unsafe to nine-tenths of her colored population. The kidnapper is fully shown in the case of Rachel and Elizabeth Parker as he appeared on the soil of Pennsylvania, doing his vile work in the dead of night, entering the homes of unprotected females and children, therefore: The case of Euphemia Williams will serve to represent the milder form of kidnapping in open day, in the name of the law, by professed Christians in the city of Brotherly Love, and the home of William Penn. February 6, 1851, Euphemia Williams, the mother of six children, the youngest at the breast, was arrested in the upper part of the city (Philadelphia), and hurried before Edward D. Ingraham, a United States commissioner, upon the charge of being a fugitive from labor. She was claimed by William T.J. Purnell, of Worcester county, Maryland, who admitted that she had been away from him for twenty-two years, or since 1829. Her offspring were born on the soil of Pennsylvania, and the eldest daughter was seventeen years of age. Euphemia was living in her own house, and had been a member of church, in good and regular standing, for about seventeen years, and was about forty years of age. When the arrest was made, Euphemia had just risen from her bed, and was only partly dressed, when a little after daylight, several persons entered her room, and arrested her. Murder! murder! was cried lustily, and awakened the house. Her children screamed lamentably, and her eldest daughter cried "They've got my mother! they've got my mother!" "For God's sake, save me," cried Euphemia, to a woman in the second story, who was an eye-witness to this monstrous outrage. But despite the piteous appeals of the mother and children, the poor woman was hastened into a cab, and borne to the marshall's office. Through the vigilance of J.M. McKim and Passmore Williamson, a writ of habeas corpus returnable forthwith was obtained at about one o'clock. The heart-broken mother was surrounded by five of her children, three of whom were infants. It was a dark and dreadful hour. When her children were brought into the room where she was detained, great drops of sweat standing on her face plainly indicated her agony. By mutual arrangement between the claimants and the prisoner's counsel the hearing was fixed for the next day, at the hour of three o'clock. According to said arrangement, at three o'clock Euphemia was brought face to face with her claimant, William T.J. Purnell. The news had already gone out that the trial would come off at the time fixed; hence a multitude were on hand to witness the proceedings in the case. The sympathy of anti-slavery ladies was excited, and many were present in the court-room to manifest their feelings in behalf of the stricken woman. The eloquent David Paul Brown (the terror of slave-hunters) and William S. Pierce, Esqrs., appeared for Euphemia, R.C. McMurtrie, Esq., for the claimant. Mr. McMurtrie in the outset, arose and said, that it was with extreme regret that he saw an attempt to influence the decision of this case by tumult and agitation. The sympathy shown by so many friendly ladies, was not a favorable sign for the slave-holder. Notwithstanding, Mr. McMurtrie said that he would "prove that Mahala, sometimes called Mahala Purnell, was born and bred a slave of Dr. George W. Purnell, of Worcester county, Maryland, who was in the habit of hiring her to the neighbors, and while under a contract of hiring, she escaped with a boy, with whom she had taken up, belonging to the person who hired her." The present claimant claimed her as the administrator of Dr. George W. Purnell. In order to sustain this claim many witnesses and much positive swearing were called forth. Robert F. Bowen, the first witness, swore that he knew both Mahala and her master perfectly well, that he had worked as a carpenter in helping to build a house for the latter, and also had hired the former directly from her owner. Definite time and circumstances were all harmoniously fixed by this leading witness. One of the important circumstances which afforded him ground for being positive was, as he testified on cross-examination, that he was from home at a camp-meeting (when she run away); "our camp-meetings," said the witness, "are held in the last of August or the first of September; the year I fix by founding it upon knowledge; the year before she ran away, I professed religion; I have something at home to fix the year; she was with me a part of a year. I hired her for the year 1848 as a house servant; I hired her directly from Dr. George W. Purnell. When she ran away I proceeded after her. I advertised, in Delaware in written advertisements, in Georgetown, Milford and Millsborough, and described her and the boy; her general features. I have not the advertisement and can't tell how she was described; Dr. George Purnell united with me in the advertisement. I followed her to Delaware City; that's all I have done since, about inquiring after them. I came, after twenty-two years' absence, to seek my own rights, and as an evidence for my friend. I have not seen her more than once since she ran away, until she was arrested; I saw her two or three times in court. I saw her first in a wretched-looking room, at Fifth and Germantown Road; it was yesterday morning; it was the evening before at Congress Hall; I arrived here last Tuesday a week; a man told me where she was"--"I beg the court,"--here Mr. McMurtrie interposed an objection to his mentioning the person. The court, however, said the question could be put. _Witness_.--I was pledged not to tell the name; the person signed her name Louisa Truit; the information was got by letter; the reason I did not tell, because I thought she might be murdered; I have not the letters, and can't tell the contents; the letter that I received required a pledge that I would not tell: I was directed to send my letter to the post-office without any definite place; the representative of Louisa Truit was a man; I saw him in Market street between Third and Fourth, at Taylor and Paulding's store, in the course of last week; I was brought into contact with the representative of Louisa by appointment in the letter, to get the information; I never heard him tell his name; he was neither colored nor white; we call them with us mixed blood; (I should take you to be colored, said the witness to Mr. Brown.) I suppose he lives somewhere up there; I saw him at my room the next morning; I did not learn from him who wrote the letter; he did not describe the person of the woman in the letter written to me, only her general appearance; Purnell said he burnt the letter. Mr. Brown demanded the letter, or the proof of its destruction. I never wrote myself, but my friend, Mr. Henry did; he said so; I never received a letter; it was written to Robert J. Henry; part of the letter was written to me, but not directed to me; the Louisa Truit, who wrote, stated, that for the information he wanted $100 for one of the fugitives; he was referred to the store of Taylor & Paulding, and Mr. Henry would meet him there; when I got to the store, some of the concern let Mr. Henry know that a man wanted to see him; I heard this at the store; the man was there; he was a mulatto man, middle-aged, and middling tall; he is not here, that I know of; can't tell when I last saw him. His name I understood to be Gloucester. Under the severe cross-examination that the witness had been subjected to under D.P. Brown, he became very faint, and called for water. Large drops of sweat stood upon his forehead, and he was obliged to sit down, lest he should fall down. "Take a seat," said Mr. Brown tauntingly, "and enjoy yourself, while I proceed with my interrogations." But the witness was completely used up, and was allowed to withdraw to another room, where fresh air was more plentiful. The cause of the poor slave woman was greatly strengthened by this failure. Another witness, named Zachariah Bowen, for the claimants, swore positively that he knew the prisoner well, that she had been hired to his brother for three years by Dr. Purnell, whose slave she was; also he swore that he knew her parents, who were slaves to the said Doctor P.; that he last saw her in 1827, etc. On cross-examination he swore thus: "I last saw her in 1827, she was about sixteen or seventeen; she was about an ordinary size, not the smallest size, nor the largest; she was neither thick nor thin; there was nothing remarkable in her more than is common; nothing in her speech; she was about the same color as the woman here; I never saw a great deal of change in a nigger, from sixteen to thirty-five or forty, sometimes they grow fatter, and sometimes leaner. As to recognizing her in Philadelphia, he had not the slightest difficulty. He went on to swear, that he first saw her in a cab, in the city; I knew her yesterday; if you could see the rest of the family you could pick her out yourself in thirty: I knew her by her general favor, and have no particular mark; I would not attempt to describe features; her favor is familiar to me; I never saw any marks upon her." Here Mr. Brown said he would not examine this witness further until he had concluded the examination of the witness, who had become sick. The court then adjourned till nine o'clock the next morning. The avenues to the court were filled with anxious persons, and in the front and rear of the state house the crowd was very great. The next morning, at an early hour, the court-room, and all the avenues to it were densely crowded by people interested in behalf of the woman whose case was under trial. A large number of respectable ladies formed a part of the large gathering. Robert F. Bowen, the witness, who became sick, was recalled. _Witness_.--"I saw the colored person, who gave the information, the next evening; after I saw him in Market street, at Congress Hall, in our room; the gentleman who keeps the hotel we did not wish to place under any responsibility, as he might be accused of carrying on the business. (Of kidnapping, suggested Mr. Brown.) No, said witness, that is what you call it; the woman would have run away if it had gone out; I heard his name was Gloucester, that gave the information; I saw him three times; once on the street; I have never been in his house; I have been to a house where I heard he lived; I gave a pledge not to disclose the matter; I made a personal pledge to Gloucester in our room last week at Congress Hall; he said he was afraid of being abused by the population of his own color for telling that this girl run away from Dr. Purnell; I understood that Louisa Truit was Gloucester's wife." Under this searching cross-examination, Mr. Brown constrained him not only to tell all and more than he knew in favor of his friend, the claimant, but wrung from him the secrets which he stood pledged never to disclose. _Witness_.--"I know no marks; she was in the condition of a married woman when she left me; it was the particular favor of her father and mother that made me recognize her; nothing else; she was pretty well built for her size." While this witness remembered every thing so accurately occurring in relation to the life and escape of the girl of sixteen, and was prepared to swear to her identity simply "by her favor," as he termed it, he was found sadly deficient in memory touching the owner, whom he had known much longer, and more intimately than he had the girl, as will be seen from the following facts in this witness' testimony: _Witness_.--"I don't know when Dr. P. died; I can't tell the year; I should suppose about fourteen years ago; I was at the funeral, and helped to make his coffin; it was in the fall, I think; it was after the camp-meeting I spoke of; at that time I went regularly, but not of late; I have no certain recollection of the year he died; I kept a record of the event of my conversion, and have referred to it often. It has been a reference every year, and perhaps a thousand times a year; it was in the Bible, and I was in the habit of looking into it; I was in the habit of turning over the leaves of this precious book; I think it was eighteen years ago; can't say I'm certain; can't say it was more than twelve years; Dr. P. left six children; two remain in our country, and one in Louisiana, and the one, who is here, making four; I have no interest in the fugitive; I made no contract in regard to this case; there was an offer; are you waiting for an answer? the offer was this, that I was to come on after my fugitive, and if I did not get him they were to pay my expenses; I hesitated about coming; it was a long time before I made up my mind; they said they would pay my expenses if I didn't succeed in getting mine out of prison." In this way the above witness completely darkened counsel, and added to the weakness of his cause in a marked degree. THE OVERSEER IS NOW EXAMINED. _Zachariah Bowen_ recalled.--"I didn't come here on any terms; I hardly understand what you mean by terms; I made no contract; I came upon my own book; there was no contract; I have no expectations; I don't know that Dr. P. ever manumitted any female slaves; I never knew that she was in the family way when she ran away; I heard of it about that time; she ran off in the fall of 1828. Dr. P. told me so; in the fall of 1828; in 1825, '26, '27, she lived with my brother; in 1825 I lived there; in 1827 and '28 I lived with Dr. P. I moved there and was overseer for him; I was overseer for fifteen years for him; two years at his house; I ceased to be his overseer in 1841, I think; he was living in 1841; I am certain of that year, I think; Dr. Purnell died in 1844, I feel certain; I said to Mr. Purnell that I did not know what ailed the other Mr. Bowen, for the doctor died in 1844; he died in the latter part of the Spring of 1844; Mr. Bowen made a mistake in saying it was eighteen years ago; if you recall him he will rectify the mistake, I think; several slaves escaped from Dr. Purnell; a boy, that lived with my brother, ran away in 1827; the others were not hired to my brother; I don't know that I could tell the exact time, nor the year; the doctor used to say to us, there is another of my niggers ran away; the reason that I can tell when Mahala ran away, is because she took a husband and ran away; I was married that year; the reason I cannot tell about the others is, because they went at different times in five years; the first who ran away before Mahala, was named Grace; she went in 1827; I don't know when the last went, or who it was." * * * * * Gloucester said they had raised a mob on him, on account of this case, and he would have to leave the city; the case of this woman or these proceedings was not spoken of there; he staid but a short time; he said one of the witnesses had betrayed him in court, yesterday, and they attacked him last night; I asked him how he escaped from so many; he said very few were in the city who could outrun him; I asked him where he was going, he replied he had a notion to put for Canada; some of the gentlemen proposed his going to Baltimore; he said that would not do, as the laws of Maryland would catch him; he was going to get a boat and go to New Jersey, and then to New York; Mr. Purnell gave him just thirty-five dollars last night; he paused a while, and Mr. P. told him to hand it back; he then took out his money and put some more to it, and said: "Here is fifty dollars." Mr. P. said that if he got the slave he would leave fifty dollars more with a person in the city. * * * * * Question by the judge.--"You have spoken of a conversation in which Mr. P. told you of certain letters or correspondence, and that they had reference to this alleged fugitive. I want you to give me, to the best of your recollection, everything he said the letters contained." _Witness_.--Mr. P. told me when he first mentioned it to me, he said that he was going to mention something to me, that he did not want anything said, in regard to some negroes that had run away from his father; he said he wanted me to come on here, and he did not want me to tell any person before we left our county; that if the negroes heard of it, they could get information to the parties before he could get here; I told him I would not tell any person except my wife; he then said he had correspondence with a person here, for a month or two, and he had no doubt but that several of his negroes were here, from what he had heard from his correspondent; he asked me if I could recognize the favor of this Mahala? I told him I didn't know; he then said if anybody would know her, I would, as she had lived with my brother three years; he then said that he would want to start the next week, but he would see me again at that time; that was all he said at that time, only we turned into a hotel, and he said don't breathe this to anybody; on Saturday before we left home, he came to my house, and said: well, I shall want you to start for Philadelphia, on Monday morning; I suppose you will go? I told him I would rather not, if he could do without out me; but as I told him before, I would go, if he still requested it. I would go; that's all, sir, except that I said I would be along in the stage. * * * * * J.T. Hammond was then called, a young man who admitted he had never seen the respondent till he came to the court-house, but was ready to swear that he would have known her by her resemblance to Dr. Purnell's set of negroes. "His whole set?" said Mr. Brown. "Yes, sir." (Derisive laughter). * * * * * Mr. McMurtrie offered to prove, by persons who had known the two witnesses who had testified in this case, from their youth, that they were respectable and worthy men. D.P. Brown, said that if the gentleman found it necessary to sustain his witnesses' reputation, in consequence of the peculiar dilemma they had got into, he would object, and if he supposed that he was about to contradict them in some point in the defence, he certainly was right, but as the case could not be concluded to-day, he would like to have the matter adjourned over until Tuesday next. Mr. McMurtrie objected, by saying, that his client was anxious to have the matter disposed of as soon as possible, as he had been subjected to numerous insults since the matter had been before the court. Judge Kane intimated that no weight was to be attached to this consideration, as the full power of the court was at his disposal for the purpose of protecting his client from insult. Mr. McMurtrie replied that he did not know whether words spoken came within the meaning of the act of Congress, in such matters. The court took a recess until a quarter to three o'clock. The court met again at a quarter to three o'clock. Mr. McMurtrie asked that the witnesses for the defence be excluded from the court room, except the one upon the stand. This was objected to by Mr. Brown, as the witnesses for the prosecution had not been required so to do; but he afterwards withdrew his objections, and notified Mr. McMurtrie that he would require any witnesses he might have in addition, should retire also; as he would object to any of them being heard if they remained. _The Defence_.--Mr. Pierce opened the case by saying that the testimony for the defence would be clear and conclusive; that the witnesses for the prosecution are mistaken in the identity of the alleged fugitive. That at the time they allege her to have been in Maryland, on the plantation of Dr. Purnell, she was in Chester county, and in the year Lafayette visited this country, she was in this city. He would confine the testimony exclusively to these two counties, and show that she is not the alleged slave. Henry C. Cornish, sworn. I live in this city, and am a shoemaker; I came here in the year 1830; before that I lived in Chester county, East Whiteland township, with Wm. Latta; my father lived with Mr. Latta six or eight years; I lived there three years before that time, and was familiar with the place for more than six years before 1830; I saw the alleged fugitive some five years before 1830, at George Amos', in Uwchland township, some eight or ten miles from our house; I fix the time from a meeting being held on the Valley Hill by a minister, named Nathan D. Tierney; that must have been in 1825; I am positive it was before the beginning of the year 1828; I have not the least doubt; I joined church about that time; it was the first of my uniting with the church; it was in 1825; I joined the Methodist Episcopal Church; before they built a church they held meetings alternately at people's houses; I met her at Amos' house, I recollect my father going to dig the foundation of the church: I saw her there before the church was built; I knew her before she was married; and since I left there I have met her at the annual meetings of the church; I have kept up the acquaintance ever since; I knew that she had two children, that were buried as long as twenty-one or twenty-two years ago; if the boy had lived he would have been twenty-three or twenty-four years old; he was the oldest; she was not married when I first saw her in 1827; she did not appear to be anything but a girl, and was not married, and she of course could not be in the condition of a married woman; I was not at her wedding; if I had not continued to know her, I would not now know her; she was then a small person; age and flesh would change her a little; her complexion has not changed; I think she worked for Mrs. Amos; a church record is now kept very correct; but when I first went into the church, colored men could not read and write; I acted as the clerk of the church; I united with the church after I first saw her; I have seen her very often since I left Chester; five hundred times to speak safely; I worship down town and she up in Brown street; to the best of my recollection they moved over Schuylkill about twelve years ago; she has lived here about nine years; she has six children, I have heard; I have seen five; the oldest is eighteen or nineteen; the youngest a sucking babe; I have visited her house since I have been here; I was not sent for by my uncle, who was employed by Joseph Smith & Co., next to the Girard Bank; I was with Edward Biddle for four years, until he was elected President of the Morris Canal and Banking Company, and then I went to learn shoemaking under instructions, since which time I have been in business for myself; my father burnt limestone for Mr. Latta; he and his wife are dead; I was there a day or two ago for witnesses to testify in this case. _Cross-examined._--I was born in 1814, and am thirty-seven years of age; when I first knew her I suppose she was fifteen years old; she was married about three years afterwards; her husband's name is Micajah Williams; I heard he was in prison for stealing; her name before marriage was Phamie Coates; I didn't know her husband before they were married; don't know whether they came from Maryland; I never knew of Mahala Richardson before last evening in court; the difference in her appearance is a natural one, that every body is acquainted with; I mean that a little boy is not a man, and a growing girl is not a woman; age and flesh and size make a difference; if I had not conversed with her during the twenty-one years, I would not have known her; I never changed a word with her about the case, except to say I was sorry to see her here; I knew her the moment I saw her; her arrest could not have been in the newspapers of the morning as she was not arrested until seven o'clock that day; I went to Chester to look for witnesses; I came to the court because I am a vigilant man, and my principle is to save any person whose liberty is in danger; I had heard that a woman was arrested; her business is to get work wherever she can. Deborah Ann Boyer, sworn. I was thirty-three last January; I live within one mile of West Chester; I am a married woman; I have lived there since 1835. I went there with my mother; I can read; I have seen the alleged fugitive before this; I first knew her at Downingtown, when she came to my mother's house; that was before I had gone to West Chester with my mother; you can tell how long it was, for it was in 1826; my brother was born in that year; I was quite small then; don't know how she came there; she was with my mother during her confinement; my brother is dead; it is written down in our Testament; and I took an epitaph from it to put on the tombstone; the last time I saw it was when the fellow killed the school-mistress. I looked because about 1830, a man killed a woman, and was hung, and I wanted to see how long ago it was. I have seen her more or less ever since, until within two years. I don't remember when she went from mother, but I saw her at Mr. Latta's afterwards. I have no doubt she is the woman; she was then a slim, tall girl, larger than myself; she is not darker now, but heavier set every way. * * * * * Sarah Gayly affirmed.--I am between forty-seven and forty-eight years of age. I live in the city at this time. I was raised in Chester county, in 1824, and have been here about five years. I lived in Downingtown nine or ten years. I lived awhile in West Chester, and lived in Chester county until about five years ago. I know the alleged fugitive. I first saw her in the neighborhood of Downingtown, at a place they call Downing's old stage office; she worked in the house with me; it was somewhere near 1824, just before Lafayette came about; she worked off and on days' work, to wash dishes; she was a small girl then, very thin, and younger than me. I met with her, as near as I can tell you, down in the valley, at a place called the Valley Inn. I used to see her off and on at church, in 1826. I visited her at Mr. Latta's, after she lived at the Valley Inn. I don't know when she left that county. I know the alleged fugitive is the same person; she belonged to the same church, Ebenezer. I know the brothers Cornish, and have whipped them many a time. I lived with Latta myself, and the Cornish, who is now a minister, lived there; he lived there before I did, and so did the alleged fugitive. I was then between twenty-three and twenty-five years old; she was a strip of a girl; she was not in the family way when she came there. Cross-examined.--I have not seen her since 1826, until I saw her here in the court-room; I recognized her when I first saw her here without anybody pointing her out, and she recognized me; I have reason to know her, because she has the same sort of a scar on her forehead that I have; we used to make fun of each other about the marks; she went by the name of Fanny Coates. I know nothing about her husband; she did not do the work of a woman in 1826; she washed dishes, scrubbed, etc. I heard her say her father and mother were dead, and that they lived somewhere in that neighborhood; she at that time made her home with a family named Amos. The Judge asked to see the scar on the witness' forehead and that on the forehead of the respondent. They were brought near the bench, and the marks inspected, which were plainly seen on both. During this time the infant of the respondent was entrusted to another colored woman. The child, who, up to this time, had been quiet, raised a piteous cry and would not be pacified. The whole scene excited a great sensation. * * * * * Mr. Brown then rose in reply to the plaintiff's counsel, and said: If I consulted my own views, I should not say one syllable, in answer to the arguments of the learned counsel upon the other side, and relying as I do upon the evidence, and out of respect to the convenience of your honor, I shall say very little as it is. The views of the counsel it appears to me, are most extraordinary indeed. He seems to take it for granted that everything that is said on the part of the witnesses for the claimant is gospel, and that what is said on the part of the witnesses for the respondent, is to be considered matter of suspicion. Now I rate no man by his size, color, or position, but I appeal to you in looking at the testimony that has been produced here, on the different sides of the question, and judging it by its intrinsic worth, whether there is the slightest possible comparison between the witnesses on the part of the plaintiff, and those of the defendant, either in intelligence, memory, language, thought, or anything else. This is a fine commentary upon the disparagement of color! Looking at the men as they are, as you will, I say that the testimony exhibited on the part of the respondent would outweigh a whole theatre of such men as are exhibited on the part of the complainant. I say nothing here about their respectability. It would have been proper for the learned counsel on the part of the plaintiff, if he thought the witnesses on the part of the respondent unworthy of belief, to have proved them so; but instead of that, he attempts to bolster up men, who, whether respectable or otherwise, from their inconsistency, involutions and tergiversations in regard to this case, produce no possible effect upon the judicial mind, but that which is unfavorable to themselves. Impartial men, are they? How do they appear before you? They appear under cover from first to last; standing upon their right to resist inquiries legitimately propounded to them; burning up letters since they have arrived, calculated to shed light upon this subject; and before they come here, corresponding with and deriving information from a man, an evident kidnapper, who dare not sign his name and gets his wife to sign hers. This is the character these men exhibit here before you; clandestinely meeting together at the tavern, and that to consult in regard to the identity of a person about whom they know nothing. Can they refer to any marks by which to identify this person? Nothing at all of the kind. Do they, with the exception of the first witness examined, state even the time when she left? Have they produced the letter written by this kidnapper, showing how he described her? Why, let me ask, is not the full light allowed to shine on this case? But even with the light they have shed upon it, I would have been perfectly content to have rested it, relying upon their testimony alone, for a just decision. * * * * * Now, what man among them, professes to have seen this woman for twenty-one years? Not one. The learned gentleman attempts to sustain his case, because one of our witnesses, certainly not more than one, has not seen this woman for about the same length of time: but don't you perceive, that in this case they all lived in the same State, if not in the same county--they had intercourse with persons mutually acquainted with her, and three out of four of them, met her for several months at the same church; and one witness, who had long been in her society, and in close association with her, knew she had a mark upon her forehead corresponding to the one she bore on her own. And by dint of all these matters, this long continued acquaintance only reviving the impressions received in early life, they had no doubt of the identity of the person. Was there ever a more perfect train of evidence exhibited to prove the identity of a person, than on the present occasion? * * * * * We have called witnesses on this point alone, and have more than counterpoised the evidence produced upon the opposite side. And we have not only made it manifest that she was a free woman, but we have confirmed her charter by separate proof. What does the gentleman say further? Do I understand him to say we have no right to determine this matter judicially? Now what is all this about? Why is it before you, taking your time day after day? According to this argument, you have nothing to do but to give the master the flesh he claims. But you are to be satisfied that you have sufficient reason to believe that these claims are well founded. And if you leave that matter in a state of doubt, it does not require a single witness to be called on the part of the respondent, to prove on the opposite side of the question. But we have come in with a weight of evidence demolishing the structure he has raised, restoring the woman to her original position in the estimation of the law. "Well," says the gentleman, "it is like the case of a fugitive from justice." But it is not, and if it were, it would not benefit his case. The case of a fugitive from justice is one in which the prisoner is remanded to the custody of the law, handed over for legal purposes. The case of a fugitive from labor is a case in which the individual is handed over sometimes to a merciless master, and very rarely to a charitable one. Does the counsel mean to say that in the case of a fugitive from justice he is not bound to satisfy the judge before whom, the question is heard? He should prove our witnesses unworthy of belief. As Judge Grier said, upon a former occasion, "You can choose your own time; you have full and abundant opportunities on every side to prepare against any contingency." Why don't they do so? He is not to come here and force on a case, and say, I suppose you take every thing for granted. He is to come prepared to prove the justice of his claim before the tribunal who is to decide upon it. That he has not done successfully, and I would, therefore, ask your Honor, after the elaborate argument on the part of the plaintiff, to discharge this woman: for after such an abundance of testimony unbroken and incontestable as that we have exhibited here, it would be a monstrous perversion of reason to suppose that anything more could be required. Mr. McMurtrie replied by reasserting his positions. It was a grave question for the court to consider what evidence was required. He thought that this decision might be the turning case to show whether the act of Congress would be carried out or whether we were to return in fact to the state of affairs under the old laws. Judge Kane said, in reference to the remarks at the close of Mr. McMurtrie's speech: So long as I retain my seat on this bench, I shall endeavor to enforce this law without reference to my own sympathies, or the sympathies and opinions of others. I do not think, in the cases under this act of Congress, or a treaty, or constitutional, or legal provision for the extradition of fugitives from justice, that it is possible to imagine that conclusive proof of identity could be established by depositions. From the nature of the case and the facts to be proved, proof cannot be made in anticipation of the identity of the party. That being established, it is the office of the judge, to determine whether a _prima facie_ case indicates the identity of the party charged, with the party before him. * * * * * On the other hand, the evidence of the claimant has been met, and regarding the bearing of the witnesses for the respondent, met by witnesses who testified, with apparent candor and great intelligence. If they are believed, then the witnesses for the claimant are mistaken. The question is, whether two witnesses for the claimant, who have not seen the respondent for twenty-three, one for twenty-four years, are to be believed in preference to four witnesses on the other side, three of whom have seen her frequently since 1826, and known her as Euphemia Williams, and the fourth, who has not seen her for a quarter of a century, but testifies that when they were children, they used to jest each other about scars, which they still bear upon their persons; I am bound to say that the proof by the four witnesses has not been overthrown by the contrary evidence of the two who only recognized her when they called on her with the marshall. One says he called her Mahala Purnell as soon as he saw her. He might be mistaken. He inferred he would find her at the place to which he went. There were three persons in the room, one was Mahala Richardson, whom he knew, a young girl, and the prisoner. If she had been alone, his recognition would have been of no avail. The fact is obvious to this court, that the respondent has no peculiar physiognomy or gait. It has been shown she has no peculiarity of voice; I cannot but feel that the fact alleged by the claimant is very doubtful, when the witnesses, without mark or peculiarity, testify that they can readily recognize the girl of fifteen in the woman of forty. The prisoner is therefore discharged. A slight attempt at applause in the court room was promptly suppressed. The intelligence of the discharge of the woman, was quickly spread to those without, who raised shouts of joy. The woman, with her children, were hurried into a carriage, which was driven first to the Anti-slavery office and then to the Philadelphia Institute, in Lombard Street above Seventh. Here she was introduced to a large audience of colored people, who hailed her appearance with lively joy; several excited speeches were made, and great enthusiasm was manifested in and outside of the building and the adjacent streets. When Euphemia came out, the horses were taken out of the carriage, and a long rope was attached, which was taken by as many colored people as could get hold of it, and the woman and her children thus conveyed to her home. The procession was accompanied by several hundreds of men, women and boys. They dragged the carriage past the residence of the counsel for the respondent, cheering them by huzzas of the wildest kind, and then took the vehicle and its contents to the residence of the woman, Germantown Road near Fifth street, beguiling the way with songs and shouts. The whole scene was one of wild, ungovernable excitement, produced by exuberance of joy. The masterly management of abolitionists in connection with the counsel, saved poor Euphemia from being dragged from her children into hopeless bondage. While the victory was a source of great momentary rejoicing on the part of the friends of the slave it was nevertheless quite manifest that she was only released by the "skin of her teeth." "A scar on her forehead" saved her. Relative to this important mark, a few of Euphemia's friends enjoyed a very pleasing anecdote, which, at the time, they were obliged to withhold from the public; it is too good to be kept any longer. For a time, Euphemia was kept in durance vile, up in the dome of Independence Hall, partly in the custody of Lieutenant Gouldy of the Mayor's police, (who was the right man in the right place), whose sympathies were secretly on the side of the slave. While his pitying eyes gazed on Euphemia's sad face, he observed a very large scar on her forehead, and was immediately struck with the idea that that old scar might be used with damaging effect by the witnesses and counsel against her. At once he decided that the scar must be concealed, at least, until after the examination of the claimant's witnesses. Accordingly a large turban was procured and placed on Euphemia's head in such a manner as to hide the scar completely, without exciting the least suspicion in the minds of any. So when the witnesses against her swore that she had no particular mark, David Paul Brown made them clinch this part of their testimony irrevocably. Now, when Sarah Gayly affirmed (on the part of the prisoner) that "I have reason to know her because she has the same sort of a scar on her forehead that I have, we used to make fun of each other about the marks," etc., if it was not evident to all, it was to some, that she had "stolen their thunder," as the "chop-fallen" countenances of the slave-holder's witnesses indicated in a moment. Despair was depicted on all faces sympathizing with the pursuers. With heavy pecuniary losses, sad damage of character, and comfortless, the unhappy claimant and his witnesses were compelled to return to Maryland, wiser if not better men. The account of this interesting trial, we have condensed from a very careful and elaborate report of it published in the "Pennsylvania Freeman," January 13th, 1857. Apparently, the vigilance of slave-hunters was not slackened by this defeat, as the records show that many exciting cases took place in Philadelphia and Pennsylvania, and if the records of the old Abolitionist Society could be published, as they should be, it would appear that many hard-fought battles have taken place between Freedom and Slavery on this soil. Here in conclusion touching the Fugitive Slave Law, arrests under it, etc., as a fitting sequel we copy two extracts from high authority. The first is from the able and graphic pen of James Miller McKim, who was well known to stand in the front ranks of both the Anti-slavery Society and the Underground Rail Road cause through all the long and trying contest, during which the country was agitated by the question of immediate emancipation, and shared the full confidence and respect of Abolitionists of all classes throughout the United States and Great Britain. The letter from which we have made this extract was written to Hon. George Thompson, the distinguished abolitionist of England, and speaks for itself. The other quotation is from the pen of a highly respectable and intelligent lady, belonging to the Society of Friends, or Quakers, and a most devoted friend of the slave, whose statement obviously is literally true. From Mr. McKiM to GEORGE THOMPSON, 1851. The accompanying parcel of extracts will give you a full account of the different slave cases tried in this city, under the new Fugitive Slave Law up to this time. Full and accurate as these reports are, they will afford you but a faint idea of the anguish and confusion that have been produced in this part of the country by this infamous statute. It has turned Southeastern Pennsylvania into another Guinea Coast, and caused a large portion of the inhabitants to feel as insecure from the brutal violence and diabolical acts of the kidnapper, as are the unhappy creatures who people the shores of Africa. Ruffians from the other side of the Slave-line, aided by professional kidnappers on our own soil, a class of men whose 'occupation' until lately, had been 'gone,' are continually prowling through the community, and every now and then seizing and carrying away their prey. As a specimen of the boldness, though fortunately, not of the success always with which these wretches prosecute their nefarious trade, read the enclosed article, which I cut from the _Freeman_, of January 2d, and bear in mind that in no respect are the facts here mentioned over-stated. This affair occurred in Chester county, one of the most orderly and intelligent counties in the State, a county settled principally by Quakers. A week or two after this occurrence, and not far from the same place, a farmhouse was entered by a band of armed ruffians, in the evening, and at a time when all the able-bodied occupants, save one, were known to be absent. This was a colored man, who was seated by the kitchen fire, and in the act of taking off his shoes. He was instantly knocked down and gagged; but, still resisting, he was beaten most unmercifully. There was a woman, and also a feeble old man, in the house, who were attracted to the spot by the scuffle; but they could neither render any assistance, nor (the light being put out), could they recognize the parties engaged in it. The unhappy victim being fairly overcome, was dragged like a slain beast to a wagon, which was about a hundred yards distant, waiting to receive him. In this he was placed, and conveyed across the line, which was about twenty miles further south; and that was the last, so far as I know, that has ever been heard of him. The alarm was given, of course, as soon as possible, and the neighbors were quickly in pursuit; but the kidnappers had got the start of them. The next morning the trail between the house, and the place where the wagon stood, was distinctly visible, and deeply marked with blood. About a fortnight since, a letter was brought to our office, from a well-known friend, the contents of which were in substance as follows: A case of kidnapping had occurred in the vicinity of West Cain Township, Chester county, at about half past one on Sunday morning, the 16th March. A black man, by the name of Thomas Hall, an honest, sober, and industrious individual, living in the midst of a settlement of farmers, had been stolen by persons who knocked at his door, and told him that his nearest neighbor wanted him to come to his house, one of his children being sick. Hall, not immediately opening his door, it was burst in, and three men rushed into his house; Hall was felled by the bludgeons of the men. His wife received several severe blows, and on making for the door was told, that if she attempted to go out or halloo, she would have her brains blown out. She, however, escaped through a back window, and gave the alarm; but before any person arrived upon the ground, they had fled with their victim. He was taken without any clothing, except his night clothes. A six-barrelled revolver, heavily loaded, was dropped in the scuffle, and left; also a silk handkerchief, and some old advertisement of a bear bait, that was to take place in Emmittsburg, Maryland. In how many cases the persons stolen are legally liable to capture, it is impossible to state. The law, you know, authorizes arrests to be made, with or without process, and nothing is easier under such circumstances than to kidnap persons who are free born. The very same day that I received the above mentioned letter, and while our hearts were still aching over its contents, another was brought us from Thomas Garrett, of Wilmington, Delaware, announcing the abduction, a night or two before, of a free colored man of that city. The outrage was committed by an ex-policeman, who, pretending to be acting under the commission which he had been known to hold, entered, near the hour of midnight, the house of the victim, and alleging against him some petty act of disorder, seized him, handcuffed him in the presence of his dismayed family, and carried him off to Maryland. The cheat that had been practised was not discovered by the family until next evening; but it was too late, the man was gone. At the time Mr. Garrett's letter was handed to me, narrating the foregoing case of man stealing, I was listening to the sad tales of two colored women, who had come to the office for advice and assistance. One of them was an elderly person, whose son had been pursued by the marshal's deputies, and who had just escaped with 'the skin of his teeth.' She did not come on her own account, however; her heart was too full of joy for that. She came to accompany the young woman who was with her. This young woman was a remarkably intelligent, lady-like person, and her story made a strong appeal to my feelings. She is a resident of Washington, and her errand here was, to procure the liberation of a sister-in-law, who is confined in that city, under very peculiar circumstances. The sister-in-law had absconded from her mistress about nine months since, and was secreted in the room of an acquaintance, who was cook in a distinguished slave-holding family in Washington; her intention being, there to wait until all search should be over, and an opportunity offer of escape to the North. But, as yet, no such opportunity had presented itself; at least none that was available, and for nine long months had that poor girl been confined in the narrow limits of the cook's chamber, watched over day and night by that faithful friend with a vigilance as sleepless as it was disinterested. The time had now come, however, when something must be done. The family in whose house she is hid is about to be broken up, and the house to be vacated, and the girl must either be rescued from her peril, or she, and all her accomplices must be exposed. What to do under these circumstances was the question which brought this woman to Philadelphia. I advised her to the best of my ability, and sent her away hopeful, if not rejoicing. But in many of these cases we can render no aid whatever. All we can do is to commend them to the God of the oppressed, and labor on for the day of general deliverance. But, oh! the horrors of this hell-born system, and the havoc made by this; its last foul offspring, the Fugitive Slave law. The anguish, the terror, the agony inflicted by this infamous statute, must be witnessed to be fully appreciated. You must hear the tale of the broken-hearted mother, who has just received tidings that her son is in the hands of man-thieves. You must listen to the impassioned appeal of the wife, whose husband's retreat has been discovered, and whose footsteps are dogged by the blood-hounds of Slavery. You must hear the husband, as I did, a few weeks ago, himself bound and helpless, beg you for God's sake to save his wife. You must see such a woman as Hannah Dellam, with her noble-looking boy at her side, pleading in vain before a pro-slavery judge, that she is of right free; that her son is entitled to his freedom; and above all, that her babe, about to be born, should be permitted to open its eyes upon the light of liberty. You must hear the judge's decision, remorselessly giving up the woman with her children born and unborn, into the hands of their claimants--by them to be carried to the slave prison, and thence to be sold to a returnless distance from the remaining but scattered fragments of her once happy family. These things you must see and hear for yourself before you can form any adequate idea of the bitterness of this cup which the unhappy children of oppression along this southern border are called upon to drink. Manifestations like these have we been obliged either to witness ourselves, or hear the recital of from others, almost daily, for weeks together. Our aching hearts of late, have known but little respite. A shadow has been cast over our home circles, and a check been given to the wonted cheerfulness of our families. One night, the night that the woman and the boy and the unborn babe received their doom, my wife, long after midnight, literally wept herself to sleep. For the last fortnight we have had no new cases; but even now, when I go home in the evening, if I happen to look more serious than usual, my wife notices it, and asks: "Is there another slave case?" and my little girls look up anxiously for my reply. * * * * * From Miss MARY B. THOMAS. Daring outrage! burglary and kidnapping! The following letter tells its own startling and most painful story. Every manly and generous heart must burn with indignation at the villainy it describes, and bleed with sympathy for the almost broken-hearted sufferers. DOWNINGTOWN, 19th, 4th mo., 1848. "My Dear Friend:--This morning our family was aroused by the screams of a young colored girl, who has been living with us nearly a year past; but we were awakened only in time to see her borne off by three white men, ruffians indeed, to a carriage at our door, and in an instant she was on her way to the South. I feel so much excited by the attendant circumstances of this daring and atrocious deed, as scarcely to be able to give you a coherent account of it, but I know that it is a duty to make it known, and, I therefore write this immediately. "As soon as the house was opened in the morning, these men who were lurking without, having a carriage in waiting in the street, entered on their horrid errand. They encountered no one in their entrance, except a colored boy, who was making the fire; and who, being frightened at their approach, ran and hid himself; taking a lighted candle from the kitchen, and carrying it up stairs, they went directly to the chamber in which the poor girl lay in a sound sleep. They lifted her from her bed and carried her down stairs. In the entry of the second floor they met one of my sisters, who, hearing an unusual noise, had sprung from her bed. Her screams, and those of the poor girl, who was now thoroughly awakened to the dreadful truth, aroused my father, who hurried undressed from his chamber, on the ground floor. My father's efforts were powerless against the three; they threw him off, and with frightful imprecations hurried the girl to the carriage. Quickly as possible my father started in pursuit, and reached West Chester only to learn that the carriage had driven through the borough at full speed, about half an hour before. They had two horses to their vehicle, and there were three men besides those in the house. These particulars we gather from the colored boy Ned, who, from his hiding-place, was watching them in the road. "Can anything be done for the rescue of this girl from the kidnappers? We are surprised and alarmed! This deliberate invasion of our house, is a thing unimagined. There must be some informer, who is acquainted with our house and its arrangements, or they never would have come so boldly through. Truly, there is no need to preach about Slavery in the abstract, this individual case combines every wickedness by which human nature can be degraded. Truly, thy friend, MARY B. THOMAS." In a subsequent letter, our friend says: "As to detail, the whole transaction was like a flash to those who saw the miserable ending. I was impelled to write without delay, by the thought that it would be in time for the 'Freeman,' and that any procrastination on my part, might jeopard others of these suffering people, who are living, as was this poor girl, in fancied security. Our consternation was inexpressible; our sorrow and indignation deepen daily, as the thought returns of the awful announcement with which we were awakened: they have carried Martha to the South. To do what will be of most service to the cause--not their cause--ours--that of our race, is our burning desire." * * * * * HELPERS AND SYMPATHIZERS AT HOME AND ABROAD--INTERESTING LETTERS. The necessities of the Committee for the relief of the destitute and way-worn travelers bound freedom-ward, were met mainly by friends of the cause in Philadelphia. Generous-hearted abolitionists nobly gave their gold in this work. They gave not only material, but likewise whole-souled aid and sympathy in times of need, to a degree well worthy of commemoration while the name of slave is remembered. The Shipleys, Hoppers, Parrishes, Motts, Whites, Copes, Wistars, Pennocks, Sellers, Davis, Prices, Hallowells, Sharpless, Williams, Coates, Morris, Browns, Townsends, Taylors, Jones, Grews, Wises, Lindseys, Barkers, Earles, Pughs, Rogers, Whartons, Barnes, Willsons, Wrights, Peirces, Justices, Smiths, Cavenders, Stackhouses, Nealls, Dawsons, Evans, Lees, Childs, Clothiers, Harveys, Laings, Middletons, etc., are among the names well-known in the days which tried men's souls, as being most true to the bondman, whether on the Underground Rail Road, before a Fugitive Slave-Law Court, or on a rice or cotton plantation in the South. Nor would we pass over the indefatigable labors of the Ladies' Anti-slavery Societies and Sewing Circles of Philadelphia, whose surpassing fidelity to the slave in the face of prejudice, calumny and reproach, year in and year out, should be held in lasting remembrance. In the hours of darkness they cheered the cause. While we thus honor the home-guards and coadjutors in our immediate neighborhood, we cannot forget other earnest and faithful friends of the slave, in distant parts of the country and the world, who volunteered timely aid and sympathy to the Vigilance Committee of Philadelphia. Not to mention any of this class would be to fail to bestow honor where honor is due. We have only to allow the friends to whom we allude, to speak for themselves through their correspondence when their hearts were stirred in the interest of the escaping slave, and they were practically doing unto others as they would have others do unto them. Here, truly, is pure philanthropy, that vital Christianity, that True and Undefiled Religion before God and the Father, which is to visit the fatherless and widow in their affliction, and to undo the heavy burden, and let the oppressed go free. The posterity of the oppressed at least, will need such evidences of tender regard and love as here evinced. In those days, such expressions of Christian benevolence were cheering in the extreme. From his able contribution to Anti-slavery papers, and his fearless and eloquent advocacy of the cause of the down-trodden slave in the pulpit, on the platform, and in the social circle, the name of Rev. N.R. Johnston, Reformed Presbyterian (of the old Covenanter faith), will be familiar to many. But we think it safe to say that his fidelity and devotion to the slave are nowhere more fully portrayed than in the appended Underground Rail Road letters. TOPSHAM, VT., September 1st, 1855. WM. STILL, MY DEAR FRIEND:--I have the heart, but not the time, to write you a long letter. It is Saturday evening, and I am preparing to preach to-morrow afternoon from Heb. xiii. 3, "Remember them that are in bonds as bound with them." This will be my second sermon from this text. Sabbath before last I preached from it, arguing and illustrating the proposition, deduced from it, that "the great work to which we are now called is the abolition of Slavery, or the emancipation of the slave," showing our duty as _philanthropists_. To-morrow I intend to point out our duty as _citizens_. Some to whom I minister, I know, will call it a political speech; but I have long since determined to speak for the dumb what is in my heart and in my Bible, let men hear or forbear. I am accountable to the God of the oppressed, not to man. If I have his favor, why need I regard man's disfavor. Many besides the members of my own church come out regularly to hear me. Some of them are pro-slavery politicians. The consequence is, I preach much on the subject of Slavery. And while I have a tongue to speak, and lips to pray, they shall never be sealed or silent so long as millions of dumb have so few to speak for them. But poor Passmore Williamson is in bonds. Let us also remember him, as bound with him. He has many sympathizers. I am glad you did not share the same fate. For some reasons I am sorry you have fallen into the hands of thieves. For some others I am glad. It will make you more devoted to your good work. Persecution always brightens the Christian, and gives more zeal to the true philanthropist. I hope you will come off victorious. I pray for you and your co-laborers and co-sufferers. My good brother, I am greatly indebted to you for your continued kindness. The Lord reward you. I have a scholarship in an Ohio College, Geneva Hall, which will entitle me--any one I may send--to six years tuition. It is an Anti-slavery institution, and wholly under Anti-slavery control and influence. They want colored students to prepare them for the great field of labor open to men of talent and piety of that class. When I last saw you I purposed talking to you about this matter, but was disappointed very much in not getting to take tea with you, as I partly promised. Have you a son ready for college? or for the grammar school? Do you know any promising young man who would accept my scholarship? Or would your brother's son, Peter or Levin, like to have the benefit of it? If so, you are at liberty to promise it to any one whom you think I would be willing to educate. Write me at your earliest convenience, about this matter. * * * * * I presume the Standard will contain full accounts of the Norristown meeting, the Williamson case, and your own and those connected. If it does not, I will thank you to write me fully. * * * * * What causes the delay of that book, the History of Peter Still's Family, etc.? I long to see it. The Lord bless you in your labors for the slave. Yours, etc., N.R. JOHNSTON. TOPSHAM, VT., December 26th, 1855. WM. STILL, MY DEAR FRIEND:--I wrote to you some two or three weeks ago, enclosing the letter to the care of a friend in Philadelphia, whom I wished to introduce to you. I have had no answer to that letter, and I am afraid you have not received it, or that you have written me, and I have not received yours. In that letter I wished to receive information respecting the best way to expend money for the aid of fugitives. Lest you may not have received it, I write you again, though briefly. A few of the Anti-slavery friends, mostly ladies, in our village have formed an Anti-slavery Society and sewing circle, the proceeds of which are to go to aid needy or destitute fugitive slaves. They have appointed me corresponding secretary. In obedience to my instructions, and that I may fulfill my promises, I want to find out from you the desired information. We want to give the little money raised, in such a way that fugitives who are really needy will be benefited by it. Write me as soon as possible, where and to whom we should send the funds when raised. I have thought that you of the Vigilance Committee, in Philadelphia had need of it. Or, if not, you can tell us where money is needed. Probably you know of some one in Canada who acts for the needy there. So many impositions have been palmed off upon charitable abolitionists, I am afraid to act in such a case without the directions of one who knows all about these things. Is money needed to help those escaping? If so, should we send to New York, Philadelphia, or where else? When I was in New York last, a young man from Richmond, Va., assuming the name of Robert Johnston, who had come by steamboat to Philadelphia, and whom you had directed to the Anti-slavery office in New York, had only one dollar in money. His fare had to be paid by a friend there, the treasurer of the fund being absent. I know that they nearly all need money, or clothing. We want to send our money wherever it is most needed, to help the destitute, or those in danger, and where it will be faithfully applied. Write me fully, giving specific directions; and I will read your letter to the society. And as I have been waiting anxiously, for some two weeks or more, for an answer to my previous letter, but am disappointed unless you have written very recently, I will be much obliged if you will write on the reception of this. Any information you may communicate, respecting the doing of your section of the Underground Railway will be read before the society with much interest. If you know the address of any one in Canada, who would be a good correspondent respecting this matter, please give me his name. * * * * * My dear brother, go on in your good work; and the God of the oppressed sustain and reward you, is my earnest prayer. Yours, fraternally, in our common cause, N.R. JOHNSTON. TOPSHAM, VT., December 18th, 1856. WM. STILL, VERY DEAR FRIEND:--I will be much pleased to hear from you and our common cause in Pennsylvania. I am so far removed, away here in Yankeedom, that I hear nothing from that quarter but by the public prints. And as for the Underground Railway, of course, I hear nothing, except now and then, I would be greatly pleased if you would write me the state of its funds and progress. Whatever you write will be interesting. The Topsham Sewing Circle has begun its feeble operations again. Owing to much opposition, a very few attend, consequently little is made. The ladies, however, have some articles on hand unsold, which will bring some money ere long. I wish you would write me another long letter in detail of interesting fugitives, etc., such as you wrote last winter, and I will have it read before the circle. Your letter last winter was heard by the ladies with great interest. You are probably not aware that fugitives are never seen here. Indeed the one half of the people have never seen more than a half-dozen of colored people. There are none in all this region. I am lending Peter Still--the book--to my neighbors. It is devoured with great interest. It does good. I think, however, if I had been writing such a book, I would have wedged in much more testimony against slavery and its horrid accompaniments and consequences. I would be glad to hear how Peter and his family are prospering. Do you see my friends, Mr. Orr and Rev. Willson, now-a-days? Do they help in the good cause? If the ladies here should make up fine shirts for men, or children's clothes of various kinds, would they be of use at Philadelphia, or New York, to fugitives? Or would it not be advisable to send them there? The ladies here complain that they cannot sell what they make. My dear brother, be not discouraged in your work, your labor of love. The prospect before the poor slave is indeed dark, dark! But the power shall not always be on the side of the oppressor. God reigns. A day of vengeance will come, and that soon. Mrs. Stowe makes Dred utter many a truth. Would that God would write it indelibly on the heart of the nation. But the people will not hear, and the cup of iniquity will soon fill to overflowing; and whose ears will not be made to tingle when the God of Sabaoth awakes to plead the cause of the dumb? Yours, very sincerely, N.R. JOHNSTON. P.S. When I was in New York last Fall, October, I was in the Anti-Slavery office one day, when a friend in the office showed me a dispatch just received from Philadelphia, signed W.S., which gave notice of "six parcels" coming by the train, etc. And before I left the office the "parcels" came in, each on two legs. Strange parcels, that would run away on legs. My heart leaped for joy at seeing these rescued ones. O that God would arise and break the yoke of oppression! Let us labor on and ever, until our work is done, until all are free. Since the late Republican farce has closed I hope to get some more subscribers for the Standard. Honest men's eyes will be opened after a while, and the standard of right and expediency be elevated. Let us "hope on and ever." Yours, for the right, N.R.J. TOPSHAM, VT., April 3d, 1858. DEAR FRIEND STILL:--I entreat you not to infer from my tardiness or neglect, that I am forgetful of my dear friend in Philadelphia. For some time past I have done injustice to many of my friends, in not paying my debts in epistolary correspondence. Some of my dearest friends have cause to censure me. But you must pardon me. I have two letters of yours on hand, unanswered. One of them I read to the Sewing Circle; and part of the other. For them I most heartily thank you. You are far kinder to me than I deserve. May God reward you. I long to see you. My head and heart is full of the cause of the slave. I fear I give the subject too much relative importance. Is this possible? I preach, lecture, and write for the slave continually. And yet I don't do enough. Still I fear I neglect the great concerns of religion at home, in my own heart, in my congregation, and in the community. I wish we were located near to each other. We are far separated. I am almost isolated. You are surrounded by many friends of the cause. Still we are laboring on the same wall, though far apart. Are we not near in spirit? You see by the papers that we have been trying to do something in our Green Mountain State. The campaign has fairly begun. We will carry the battle to the gate. I see our friend, Miss Watkins, is still pleading for the dumb. Noble girl! I love her for her devotedness to a good cause. Oh, that her voice could be heard by the millions! I hope that we can have her again in Vermont. Give my kind regards to our mutual friend, Miller McKim. Will I not see him and you at the anniversary in New York? Do you ever see Rev. Willson? Is he doing anything for the cause? I wish I could peep into your house to-night, and see if there are any "packages" on hand. God bless you in your labors of love. Yours, truly, for the slave, N.R. JOHNSTON. While it was not in the power of Mr. Johnston and his coadjutors, to render any great amount of material aid to the Committee, as they had not been largely blessed with this world's goods, nevertheless, the sympathy shown was as highly valued, as if they had given thousands of dollars. Not unfrequently has the image of this singularly faithful minister entered the writer's mind as he once appeared when visiting the Synod of his church in Philadelphia. Having the Underground Rail Road cause at heart, he brought with him--all the way from Vermont--his trunk well filled with new shirts and under-clothing for the passengers on that Road. It was characteristic of the man, and has ever since been remembered with pleasure. From another quarter, hundreds of miles from Philadelphia, similar tokens of interest in the cause of the fleeing bondmen were manifested by a Ladies' Anti-slavery Society, in Western New York, which we must here record. As the proffered aid was wholly unsolicited, and as the Committee had no previous knowledge whatever of the existence of the society, or any of its members, and withal, as the favors conferred, came at times when the cause was peculiarly in need (the Committee oft-times being destitute of clothing or money), the idea that the Underground Rail Road was providentially favored, in this respect, was irresistible. We therefore take great pleasure in commemorating the good deeds of the society, by copying the following letters from its president, Mrs. Dr. Brooks: ELLINGTON, Nov. 21st, 1859. MR. WILLIAM STILL:--Dear Sir:--In the above-named place, some five years since there was formed a Ladies' Anti-slavery Society, which has put forth its feeble endeavors to aid the cause of "breaking every yoke and letting the oppressed go free," and we trust, through our means, others have been made glad of heart. Every year we have sent a box of clothing, bedding, etc., to the aid of the fugitive, and wishing to send it where it would be of the most service, we have it suggested to us, to send to you the box we have at present. You would confer a favor upon the members of our society, by writing us, giving a detail of that which would be the most service to you, and whether or no it would be more advantageous to you than some nearer station, and we will send or endeavor to, that which would benefit you most. William Wells Brown visited our place a short time since, recommending us to send to you in preference to Syracuse, where we sent our last box. Please write, letting me know what most is needed to aid you in your glorious work, a work which will surely meet its reward. Direct, Ellington, Chautauqua county, N.Y. Your sister, in the cause, Mrs. M. BROOKS. ELLINGTON, Chautauqua Co., N.Y., Dec. 7th, 1859. MR. STILL:--Dear Sir:--Yours of the 29th, was duly and gratefully received, although the greater portion of your epistle, of a necessity, portrayed the darker side of the picture, yet we have great reason to be thankful for the growing interest there is for the cause throughout the free States, for it certainly is on the increase, even in our own locality. There are those who, five years since, were (ashamed, must I say it!) to bear the appellation of "_Anti-slavery_," who can now manfully bear the one then still more repellant of _Abolitionist_. All this we wish to feel thankful for, and wish their number may never grow less. The excitement relative to the heroic John Brown, now in his grave, has affected the whole North, or at least every one who has a heart in his breast, particularly this portion of the State, which is so decidedly Anti-slavery. At a meeting of our Society, to-day, at which your letter was read, it was thought best that I should reply to it, a request with which I cheerfully comply. We would like to hear from you, and learn the directions to be given to our box, which will be ready to send as soon as we can hear from you. Please give us all necessary information, and oblige our Society. You have the kind wishes and prayers of all the members, that you may be the instrument of doing much good to those in bonds, and may God speed the time when every yoke shall be broken, and let the oppressed go free. Yours, truly, Mrs. DR. BROOKS. P.S. I have just learned that John Brown's body passed through Dunkirk, a few miles from this place, yesterday. A funeral sermon is to be preached in this place one week from next Sabbath, for the good old man. Mrs. DR. B. ELLINGTON, Jan. 2d, 1860. WILLIAM STILL:--Dear Sir:--Enclosed are $2,00, to pay freightage on the box of bedding, wearing apparel, etc., that has been sent to your address. It has been thought best to send you a schedule of the contents of said box. Trusting it will be acceptable, and be the means of assisting the poor fugitive on his perilous way, you have the prayers of our Society, that you may be prospered in your work of mercy, and you surely will meet with your reward according to your merciful acts. Two bed quilts, 32, $8,00; five bed quilts, 24, $15,00; one bed quilt, 28, $3,50; two pairs cotton socks, 3, 75 cents; three pairs cotton stockings, 4, $1,50; one pair woolen stockings, 6, 75 cents; one pair woolen stockings, 4, 50 cents; three pair woolen socks, 2, 75 cents; five pair woolen socks, 3, $1,88; eight chemise, 32, $4,50; thirteen men's shirts, 66 cents, $8,58; one pair pants, 12, $1,50; six pair overall pants, 80 cents, $4,80; three pair pillow cases, $1,00; three calico aprons, 2, 75 cents; three sun-bonnets, 2, 75 cents; two small aprons, 1, 25 cents; one alpaca cape, 8, $1,00; two capes, 1, 25 cents; one black shawl, 4, 50 cents. Total, $56,51. The foregoing is a correct list of the articles and the appraisal of the same. Please acknowledge the receipt of the letter and box, and oblige the Anti-slavery Society of Ellington. Mrs. DR. BROOKS. The road was doing a flourishing business during the short time that this station received aid and sympathy from the Ladies' Anti-slavery Society of Ellington, and little did we dream that its existence would so soon be rendered null and void by the utter overthrow of Slavery. We have great pleasure in stating that beyond our borders also, across the ocean, there came help to a laudable degree in the hour of need. The numbers of those who aided in this special work, however, were very few and far between, a hundred per cent. less (so far as the receipts of the Philadelphia Committee were concerned), than was supposed by slave-holders and their sympathizers, judging from their oft repeated allegations on this subject. It is true, that the American Anti-slavery Society and kindred associations, received liberal contributions from a few warm-hearted and staunch abolitionists abroad, to aid the great work of abolishing Slavery. In reference to the Philadelphia Vigilance Committee, we are safe in saying, that, except from a few sources, no direct aid came. How true this was of other stations, we do not pretend to know or speak, but in the directions above alluded to, we feel that the cause was placed under lasting obligations. The Webbs of Dublin, and the Misses Wighams, of Scotland, representatives of the Edinburgh Ladies' Emancipation Society, were constantly in correspondence with leading abolitionists in different parts of the country, manifesting a deep interest in the general cause, and were likewise special stockholders of the Underground Rail Road of Philadelphia. In common with stockholders at home, these trans-atlantic investors were willing to receive their shares of dividends in the answer of a good conscience, or, in other words, from the satisfaction and pleasure derivable from a consciousness of having done what they could to alleviate the sufferings of the oppressed struggling to be free. Having thus shown their faith by their works it would be unjust not to make honorable mention of them. Last, though not least, at the risk of wounding the feelings of one who preferred not to let the left hand know what the right hand doeth, we may contemplate the philanthropic labors of one, whose generosity and benevolence knew no bounds; whose friendship devotion and liberality, were felt in all the principal stations of the Underground Rail Road; whose heart went out after the millions in fetters, the fleeing fugitive, the free, proscribed, the ignorant deprived of education; whose house was the home of the advocate of the slave from the United States, especially if he wore a colored skin or had been a slave. We would not venture to say how many of the enslaved this kind hand helped to purchase (Frederick Douglass and many others, being of the number.) How many were assisted in procuring an education, how many who pined in slave prisons were aided, how many fleeing over the perilous Underground Rail Road were benefited, the All-seeing Eye alone knoweth; nevertheless, we are happy to be able to give our readers some idea of the unwearied labors of the friend to whom we allude. Here again we are compelled to resort to private correspondence which took place when Cotton was King, and the Slave-power of the South could boastingly say, in the language of the apocalyptic woman, "I sit as a queen, and shall see no sorrow," when that power was maddened to desperation, by the heroism of the martyr, John Brown, and the fettered bondmen were ever and anon traveling over the Underground Rail Road. In this "darkest hour, just before the break of day," the heart of the friend of whom we speak, was greatly moved to consider the wants of the oppressed in various directions. How worthily and successfully her labors gave evidence of an earnest devotion to freedom, the mode and measures adopted by her, to awaken sympathy in the breast of the benevolent of her own countrymen, and how noble her example, may be learned from a small pamphlet and explanatory letters which, when written, were intended especially for private use, but which we now feel constrained to copy from a sense of justice to disinterested philanthropy. PAMPHLET, AND LETTERS FROM MRS. ANNA H. RICHARDSON, OF NEWCASTLE, ENGLAND. TO THE FRIENDS OF THE SLAVE. DEAR FRIENDS--For some months past my dear husband and I have wished very gratefully to thank you for having so kindly assisted us in various Anti-Slavery efforts, and we now think it quite time to give an account of our stewardship, and also to lay before you several items of interesting intelligence received from different parts of the United States. We will thank you to look upon this intelligence as private, and must request you to guard against any portion of it being reprinted. WILLIAM S. BAILEY.--We have had great pleasure in forwarding £222 to our valued correspondent, William S. Bailey, of Newport, Kentucky; £160 of this sum in response to a circular issued at Newcastle in the summer of last year, and received by our friend, David Oliver, who acted as treasurer, and the remainder chiefly collected by our dear young friends in England and Ireland, after reading the account of his little daughter, "Laura." This money has been very thankfully acknowledged, with the exception of the last remittance just now on the road. Most of our readers will be aware that W.S. Bailey's printing-office and premises were again ruthlessly attacked after the Harper's Ferry outbreak, on the unfounded assumption that he was meditating a similar proceeding, and that it was unsafe for a free press to be any longer tolerated in Kentucky. His forms and type were accordingly dragged through the streets of Newport, and a considerable portion of them flung by a mob (of "gentlemen") into the Ohio River. A few extracts from his own letters will pretty fully explain both his past and present position. The subscription list on his behalf is still open, and any further assistance for this heroic man and his noble-hearted family will be very gratefully received and forwarded. "NEWPORT, KENTUCKY, Nov. 19th, 1859. "From my letter of the 7th inst. you will have learned the sad intelligence that my printing-office has been destroyed by a brutal mob of Pro-Slavery men. Through the money I received from you and other friends in this country I was moving the cause of freedom in all parts of Kentucky. The people seemed to grasp our platform with eagerness, and the slaveholders became alarmed to see their wish to read and discuss its simple truths. Hence they plotted together to devise a stratagem by which they could destroy _The Free South_, and in the meantime the Harper's Ferry difficulty, by Mr. Brown, was seized upon to excite the people against me, and the most extravagant lies were told about me, as trying to excite slaves to rebellion; intending to seize the United States barracks at this place, arm the negroes, and commence war upon slave-holders. All these lies were told as profound secrets to the people by the tools of the slave-power. But these lies have already exploded, and the people are resuming their common sense again. "I tried your plan of non-resistance with all my power. I pleaded with all the earnestness of my soul, and so did my wife and daughters, but though I am certain many were moved in conscience against the savage outrage, and did their work with a stinging heart, yet they felt that they must stick to their party, and complete the destruction. Slavery, indeed, makes the most hardened savages the world ever knew. The savage war-whoop of the Indian never equalled their dastardly cry of 'shoot him,' 'cut his throat,' 'stab him,' and such like words most maliciously spoken." * * "Slavery is the cause of this devilish spirit in men; but this outrage has gained me many friends, and will do much towards putting down Slavery in the state. It will also add many thousand votes to the republican presidential candidate in 1860. God grant it may work out a great good!" * * * * "I Want to get started again as soon as I possibly can. As soon as I can raise 1,000 dollars, I can make a beginning, and soon after you will see _The Free South_ again, and I trust a much handsomer sheet than it was before." NEWPORT, January 6th, 1860. "Yours of 12mo. 17th, 1860, is received, containing a draft for £50, and another of the 'Little Laura' books, which, thank God, is doing some good in Newport and Covington, in the hands of two Christian friends. The renewed obligations under which the good people of England, through your instrumentality, place me and my abused people, call for expressions of gratitude from both me and them beyond my ability to pen. But you can imagine how we ought to feel in our trials and wants to such kind friends as you. Neither I nor my Anti-Slavery friends here can express our thankfulness in the elegant language your better educated countrymen may feel we should use, but, by the Omnipotent Judge of all hearts, I trust our feeble effort will be accepted, and you and yours be blessed and protected now and for ever. Such encouragement strengthens me in the belief that the Spirit of God is abroad in the hearts of the people, moving them to sympathize with the poor, subjected slave." * * * * "I have the promise of abler pens to aid me when I get started again; and I am glad to see that a poor working-man and his family have been the means of calling the attention of men of letters to assist in raising from the dust a crushed race of men; and although the red clouds of war hover thick around us, and vengeance lurks in secret places, I trust, through the guidance of an All-wise Director, to steer safely through the angry tide that now so often ebbs and flows around me; but should I fall, I trust, dear lady, that my dear wife and family may be remembered by the good and true." "NEWPORT, May 25th, 1860. "I am glad to tell you that we feel it a great victory over the slave power to be able to rise again from our ruins, and in the face of slave-owning despots denounce their inhumanity and their sins. I trust that Almighty God will continue to be with me and my dear family in this good work." * * * "You cannot but see, I think, by the southern press, that slave-holders begin to fear and tremble for the safety of their 'peculiar institution.' The death of John Brown is yet to be atoned for, by the slave-holding oligarchy. His undying spirit haunts them by day and by night, and in the midst of their voluptuous enjoyments, the very thought of John Brown chills their souls and poisons their pleasures. Their tarring and feathering of good citizens; their riding them upon rails, and ducking them, in dirty ponds; their destruction of liberty presses, and the hanging of John Brown and his friends, to intimidate men from the advocacy of freedom, will all come tumbling upon their own heads as a just retribution for their outrageous brutality. Only let us persevere, and oppressed humanity, bent in timid silence throughout the south, will rise and throw off the yoke of Slavery and rejoice in beholding itself _free_!" "NEWPORT, August 18. "I send you three copies of my paper. Since receiving your letter, I and my family have done all in our power to get it out, but we had to get old type from the foundry and sort it, to make the sheet the size you now see it. We hate to be put down by the influence of tyranny, and you cannot imagine our sorrow, anxiety, necessity and determination." * * * "I have received, since the press was destroyed, 700 dollars in all, which has been spent in repairing and roofing our dwelling-house, and repairing the breaches made upon the office, together with mending the presses and procuring job type and some little for the paper, but nearly all the latter is old type. Our kindest thanks to the liberty-loving people of your country, Scotland, and Ireland, and tell them I shall never surrender the cause of freedom. A little money from all my friends, would soon reinstate me, and when they see my paper I trust it will cheer their hopes, and cause a new fire for liberty in Kentucky. "I cannot but sometimes ask in my closet meditations: O God of mercy and love, why permittest Thou these things? But still I hope for a change of mind in my enemies, and shall press onward to accomplish the great task seemingly allotted to me upon Kentucky soil." THE PERSECUTED BEREANS.--There is another call connected with Kentucky, which we wish to bring before our friends. At a village in that State, called Berea, (situated in Madison county), a little band of Christian men and women, had been pursuing their useful labors for some years past. They avowedly held Anti-slavery sentiments, but this was the beginning and end of their offending. They possessed a farm and saw-mill, etc., and had established a flourishing school. These good people were quietly following their usual employments, when, in the early part of last winter, sixty-two armed Kentuckians rode upon horseback to their cottage doors, and summarily informed them that they must leave the State in ten days' time, or would be expelled from it forcibly. All pleading was hopeless, and any attempt at self-defence out of the question. They bowed before the storm, and hastily gathering up their garments, in three days' time were on their road to Ohio. Their three Christian pastors took the same course. One of the latter has since returned to Kentucky, to bury his youngest little boy, in a grave-yard attached to one of the churches there. He was enabled to preach to the people who assembled on the occasion, but was not allowed to remain in his native State. Another of the exiles ventured to go back to Berea, but this immediately led to an outbreak of popular feeling, for his saw-mill was set on fire by the mob, and presently destroyed. The exiles are consequently still in Ohio, or wandering about in search of employment. We have been privileged in receiving two letters respecting them, from one of their excellent pastors, John G. Fee. This gentleman is himself, the son of a slave-holder, but gave up his earthly patrimony many years since for conscience' sake, and has since made it the business of his life to proclaim the gospel in its purity, and to use every available means for directing all to Christ. When speaking of Berea, Mr. Fee remarks: "The land was poor, but the situation beautiful, with good water, and a favorable location, in some respects. We could have had locations more fertile and more easy of access, but more exposed to the slave-power. It was five miles from a turnpike road, with quite a population around it for a slave State." In one of Mr. Fee's letters he introduces a subject which we wish especially to bring before our friends, feeling almost sure that many of them will respond to its importance: "You ask, he says, if there are not noble-hearted young people in slave-holding families? There is one whom I desire to commend to your special prayer and regard, Elizabeth Rawlings, daughter of John H. Rawlings, of Madison county, Kentucky. He was once a slave-holder, but has twice been a delegate to our Free-soil National Conventions, and is a strong friend of freedom. His daughter has had small opportunities for acquiring knowledge, but was in our school at Berea, and making rapid progress. Our school was not only Anti-slavery, but avowedly Anti-caste. This made it the more odious. When Mr. Rogers and others were about to be driven away, she announced that she would continue the school on the same principles. Accordingly she went into the school-room after a few days, with a little band of small scholars, and has perseveringly kept it up. This noble and brave-hearted young woman is about twenty-two years of age; has a very vigorous mind; acquires knowledge very rapidly; is very modest; and is, I trust, a true believer in Christ. I desire to see her fitted for the post of teacher. One year's study would greatly benefit her. She has not gone beyond grammar and arithmetic. I have not means or would at once give her those advantages she needs. I once had a small patrimony, but expended it in freedom's cause, and now live on the small salary of a [Home] Missionary. I have a daughter of fifteen, as far advanced as Miss Rawlings. I want to train and educate them both for teaching, and had thought to educate the latter, and suggest to some one to educate the other. I do not urge, but simply suggest. This might be another cord binding the two continents. Lewis Tappan, of New York, would receive to transmit, and I would report." Now if we may lay before you, dear friends, our hearts' inquiry, it is this: "Cannot we in England, raise £50 or £60 for one year's schooling for these two dear girls, Elizabeth Rawlings and J.G. Fee's daughter?" It seems to us, that the one deserves it from her noble daring, the other as a little tribute to her father's virtues. How delightful it would be if these two young people could become able teachers of our own rearing, and in days to come, be looked to as maintaining schools of an elevated character upon their native soil! We have laid the case before a few kind friends, and already had the pleasure of forwarding £8 to Mr. Fee's care, on behalf of his valued young friend, Elizabeth Rawlings. CORNELIA WILLIAMS.--The next person to be referred to is Cornelia Williams, a bright young niece of our friend, Henry H. Garnet's, whom many of our friends kindly assisted to redeem from Slavery, in North Carolina, about three years since. We rejoice to say this dear girl is going on very satisfactorily. She has been diligently pursuing her studies in a school at Nantucket, and appears to be much esteemed by all who know her. She kindly sends us a little letter now and then, again returning her glowing thanks to all who assisted in procuring her freedom. Her mother, Dinah Williams (also a slave a few years since, and redeemed in part by the surplus of 'the Weims Ransom Fund'), has married an estimable Baptist minister within the last year, and Cornelia resides under their roof. FREDERICK DOUGLASS.--It is known that our much-valued friend, Frederick Douglass, left this country suddenly for America last spring, chiefly on account of the decease of a most beloved little girl. Till quite recently he was intending to return to England very soon, but this is for the present delayed, on account of increasing and pressing engagements in the United States. We take the liberty of quoting an extract from one of his letters: "ROCHESTER, July 2d, 1860. "You hold up before me the glorious promises contained in the sacred Scriptures. These are needed by none more than by those who have presumed to put themselves to the work of accomplishing the abolition of Slavery in this country. There is scarcely one single interest, social, moral, religious, or physical, which is not in some way connected with this stupendous evil. On the side of the oppressor there is power, now as in the earlier days of the world. I find much comfort in the thought that I am but a passenger on board of this ship of life. I have not the management committed to me. I am to obey orders, and leave the rest to the great Captain whose wisdom is able to direct. I have only to go on in His fear and in His spirit, uttering with pen and tongue the whole truth against Slavery, leaving to Him the honor and the glory of destroying this mighty work of the devil. I long for the end of my people's bondage, and would give all I possess to witness the great jubilee; but God can wait, and surely I may. If He, whose pure eyes cannot look upon sin with allowance, can permit the day of freedom to be deferred, I certainly can work and wait. The times are just now a little brighter; but I will walk by faith, not by sight, for all grounds of hope founded on external appearance, have thus far signally failed and broken down under me. Twenty years ago, Slavery did really _seem_ to be rapidly hastening to its fall, but ten years ago, the Fugitive Slave Bill, and the efforts to enforce it, changed the whole appearance of the struggle. Anti-slavery in an abolition sense, has been ever since battling against heavy odds, both in Church and State. Nevertheless, God reigns, and we need not despair, and I for one do not. I know, at any rate, no better work for me during the brief period I am to stay on the earth, than is found in pleading the cause of the down-trodden and the dumb. "Since I reached home I have had the satisfaction of passing nearly a score on to Canada, only two women among them all. The constant meeting with these whip-scarred brothers will not allow me to become forgetful of the four millions still in bonds." Our friends may, perhaps, remember that the cost of _Frederick Douglass' paper_ is but five shillings per annum (with the exception of a penny per month at the door for postage.) It is a very interesting publication, and amply repays the trifling outlay. F.D. would be glad to increase the number of his British readers. He also continues gratefully to receive any aid from this country for the assistance of the fugitives who are so often taking refuge under his roof. Another letter of his remarks, when speaking of them: "They usually tarry with us only during the night, and are forwarded to Canada by the morning train. We give them supper, lodging, and breakfast; pay their expenses, and give them a half dollar over." FUGITIVE SLAVES.--We next turn to the communication of another warm friend to the fugitives in the State of ----. The following is an extract from a recent letter of his: "We have had within the last week just nineteen Underground passengers. Fifteen came last Saturday, between the hours of six in the morning and eleven at night. Three only were females, wives of men in the parties, the rest were all able-bodied young men. That they were all likely-looking it needed no southern eye to decide, and that their hearts burned within them for freedom was apparent in every look of their countenances. But it is only of one arrival that my time will allow me to speak on the present occasion. This consisted of two married couples, and two single young men. They had been a week on the way. To accomplish the desired object they could see no way so feasible as to cross the ---- Bay. By inquiry they gained instructions as to the direction they should steer to strike for the lighthouse on the opposite shore. Consequently they invested six dollars in a little boat, and at once prepared themselves for this most fearful adventure. To the water and their little bark they stealthily repaired, and off they started. For some distance they rowed not far from the shore. Being in sight of land, they were spied by the ever-watchful slave-holder or some one not favorable to their escape. Hence a small boat, containing four white men, soon put out after the fugitives. On overhauling them, stern orders were given to surrender. The boat the runaways were in was claimed, if not the party themselves. With determined words the fugitives declared that the boat was their own property, and that they would not give it up; they said they would die before they would do so. At this sign of resistance one of the white men, with an oar, struck the head of one of the fugitives, which knocked him down. At the same moment another white man seized the chain of their boat, and the struggle became fearful in the extreme for a few moments. However, the same spirit that prompted the effort to be free, moved one of the heroic black bondmen to apply the oar to the head of one of their pursuers, which straightway laid him prostrate. The whites, like old Apollyon in the Pilgrim's Progress, at this decided indication that their precious lives might not be spared if they did not avail themselves of an immediate retreat, suddenly parted from their antagonists. Not being contented, however, thus to give up the struggle, after getting some yards off, they fired a loaded gun in the midst of the fugitives, peppering two of them considerably about the head and face, and one about the arms. As the shot was light they were not much damaged, however, at any rate not discouraged. Not forgetting which way to steer across the bay, in the direction of the lighthouse, they rowed for that point with all possible speed, but their bark being light, and the wind and rough water by no means manageable, ere they reached the desired shore they were carried a considerable distance off their course, in the immediate vicinity of a small island. Leaving their boat they went upon the island, the women sick, and there reposed without food, utterly ignorant of where they were for one whole day and night, without being able to conjecture when or where they should find free land for which they had so long and fervently prayed. However, after thus resting, feeling compelled to start on again, they set off on foot. They had not walked a mile ere, providentially, they fell in with an oyster man and a little boy waiting for the tide. With him they ventured to converse, and soon felt that he might be trusted with, at least, a hint of their condition. Accordingly they made him acquainted in part with their piteous story, and he agreed to bring them within fifteen miles of ---- for twenty-five dollars, all the capital they had. Being as good as his word, he did not leave them fifteen miles off the city, but brought them directly to it." * * * * "How happy they were at finding themselves in the hands of friends, and surrounded with flattering prospects of soon reaching Canada you may imagine, but I could not describe."[A] [Footnote A: In those days the writer in giving information enjoined the utmost secresy, considering that the cause might be sadly damaged simply by being inadvertently exposed even by friends, thousands of miles away. The Pro-slavery-mob spirit at that time was also very rampant in Philadelphia and other northern cities, threatening abolitionists and all concerned in the work of aiding the slave.] Thanks to the benevolent bounty of several kind donors, we had lately the pleasure of sending a few pounds to the writer of the foregoing letter. We omit his name and residence. He belongs, like Douglass, to the proscribed race. Who would not help these generous-hearted men, who are devoting their whole energies to the well-being of the crushed and downtrodden? We are the more encouraged to send out this little sheet, made up of thanks and requisitions, because occasional inquiries are reaching us of "What can we do for the slave? We are hearing but little about him, and do not know how to work on his behalf." Allow us to say to one and all, who may be thus circumstanced, that we do not look for great things, but that if they can levy a shilling a year from all who feel for the injured bondman, these little sums would soon mount up and prove of incalculable service to those who are struggling for freedom. As to the special destiny of these shillings or half-crowns, let the subscribers choose for themselves, and their kind aid will be sure to be truly welcome to the party receiving it. We do not ask for such contributions to be forwarded through Newcastle unless this be a matter of convenience to those concerned. If there be other modes of sending to the United States within the reach of the friends, who receive this paper, let them by all means be used. We are always happy to receive aid for the fugitives or for any other Anti-slavery cause, and consider it no trouble at all to send it on, but do not wish to be monopolizing. As far as Kentucky is concerned, that State being distant, and mob-law rampant there, we shall continue gratefully to receive assistance on its behalf, and to avail ourselves of the accustomed mode of reaching it, this having been proved to be both safe and easy. FREE LABOR PRODUCE.--And lastly, as to the long-prized principle, to our minds the very alphabet of Anti-Slavery action, the importance of encouraging the growth and consumption of Free produce rather than that raised by the sweat and blood of the bondman. Our convictions of the righteousness of this course are as strong as they ever were; but perhaps we hoped too much, relied too fondly on the conscientiousness of the British Anti-Slavery public, in supposing that a sufficient number of individuals could be found prepared to make a slight sacrifice for humanity's sake, and to keep the oppressed continually in mind by a little untiring pains-taking. We hardly supposed that the most strenuous efforts in this direction would be enough to affect the British market; but we did believe, and believe still, that not only is there a consistency in a preference for free produce, but that this preference is encouraging to the free laborer, and that humanly speaking nothing is more calculated to nerve his hand and heart for vigorous effort. The principle of abstinence from slave produce may be smiled at, but we are quite sure it is an honest one, and, as a good old proverb observes, "It takes a great many bushels full of earth to bury a truth." But while this self-denying protest has been going on in a few limited circles, how great is the advance that free labor has been making within the last two years! Who is to say whether some of those quiet testimonies may not have contributed to erect that mighty machinery that is now adding to its wheels and springs from day to day, and which bids fair at no distant period to supersede slave labor and its long train of sorrow and oppression? Earnest lectures have just been delivered in Newcastle by our colored friend, Dr. M.R. Delany, lately engaged in a tour of observation in West Africa, where he longs to establish a nourishing colony of his people, whose express object shall be to put down the abominable Slave-trade and to cultivate free cotton and other tropical produce. We wish this brave man every encouragement in his noble enterprise. He has secured the confidence of "The African Aid Society," in London, one of whose earliest measures has been to assist him with funds. The present Secretary of the society is Frederick W. Fitzgerald, 7 Adam Street, Strand, London. And who need speak of the Zambesi and Dr. Livingston, or of Central or Eastern Africa; of India, or Australia, or of the prolific West India Islands? As we prepare this little sheet, a kind letter has come in from Stephen Bourne, for many years a stipendiary magistrate in Jamaica, and now the ardent promoter of a cotton-growing company of that island. He says to us, when writing from London, on the 19th inst., "Our scheme embraces more than meets the eye, and to illustrate this, I send a map (with prospectus) of the proposed estate, by which you will see that we reckon on obtaining cotton by free labor and by mechanical agency from Jamaica, at a price so far below that at which it can be produced by slave labor, that if we succeed, we shall put an end to the whole system, as no one will be able to afford to carry it on in competition with free labor." * * * "Jamaica is much nearer and easier of access for fugitives from Cuba and Porto Rico, than Canada is to Georgia, Virginia, or Louisiana. If, therefore, we can offer them an asylum and profitable employment on the estate, we shall open up a new Underground Rail Road, or rather enable the slaves to escape from Cuba by getting into a boat, and in one night finding their way to freedom." * * * "There is no doubt they could do this at much less risk than slaves now incur, in order to obtain liberty in America." The proposed estate in Jamaica consists of about one thousand acres, and the shares in this company are £10 each, £1 only to be called up immediately, the rest by instalments. The liability is limited. Full information may be obtained by addressing Stephen Bourne, Esq., 55 Charing Cross, London, or the Secretary of the "Jamaica Cotton-growing Company," C. W. Streatfield, Esq. We rejoice to see that this new company is being supported not only by benevolent philanthropists and capitalists in London, but by experienced Manchester manufacturers; among the rest by the excellent Thomas Clegg, so well known for his persevering efforts in West Africa, and by Thomas Bazley, M.P. for Manchester, and a most extensive cotton spinner. Their mills would alone, consume the cotton grown on three such estates as that which it is proposed to cultivate. There is abundant room, therefore, for cultivation of cotton by the emancipated freeholders. Communications have also reached us from Demerara. Charles Rattray, a valuable Scotch missionary in that colony, was in England last spring, and went back to his adopted country with his mind full fraught with the importance of cotton growing within its borders. He happened to have small samples of Demerara cotton with him. These were shown to cotton-brokers and manufacturers in Liverpool and Manchester, and were pronounced to be most excellent--so much so, that specimen gins and a supply of cotton-seed were kindly presented to him at the latter place, before he left England. Mr. Rattray is now bringing the subject before his people, and is also intending to plant with cotton some ground belonging to the Mission station. But we will not further enlarge. Commending our cause to Him, who has promised never to forget the poor and needy, and that in His own good time He will arise for their deliverance and "break every yoke." I remain, sincerely and respectfully, your friend, Anna H. Richardson. _54 Westmoreland Terrace_, _Newcastle-on-Tyne, 9 mo., 22, 1860._ P.S. Since writing the above, we have seen it stated in the _Principia,_ a New York paper, that William S. Bailey has been arrested on a charge of publishing an incendiary paper, and held to bail in the sum of $1,000, to appear before the Circuit Court, in November next. It is further stated that one of the two magistrates by whom W.S. Bailey was examined, and held to bail on this charge, was the chosen leader of the mob that destroyed his type and printing press. We have yet to see what will be the end of this cruel conflict. Let us not desert our suffering friend and his noble-hearted family. LETTERS TO THE WRITER. WESTMORELAND TERRACE, December 28, 1860. MY ESTEEMED FRIEND:--I received thy touching letter of the 10th inst. a few days since, and hasten to assure thee of our heart-felt sympathy, and most lively interest in the present tremendous state of things around you. At the same time, I cannot tell thee how glad and thankful we feel, that with God's help thou art determined to persevere and not in any way flinch in this day of sore trial. "Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life." "Be strong, fear not." "In the fear of the Lord is strong confidence; and his children shall have a place of refuge." One thing, too, is sure, "that all things will work together for the good" of those who love their Lord, that He will never, never forsake them whatever their outward trials may be. I think, dear friend, thou shouldst be careful not to be about alone, particularly in the evening. We heard from W.S. Bailey the other day, and he spoke of the advantage of several kind friends sticking close to him under recent circumstances at Alexandria, when he was exposed to the spite and rage of slave-holding bullies. Would it not be well to make a habit, in the evening in particular, of you, who are marked men, going about in little companies? Wicked men are generally cowards; and I think would hesitate more to do a bad act in the presence of observers. I think thou wouldst receive a little letter from me a day or two after thine was written, through our friend Saml. Rhoads, enclosing £7 for the fugitives, £5 for thy own use, and £2 for the Vigilance Committee. This letter of mine was sent off about the 24th ult., but I conclude was not delivered till just after thine was written. It is well to keep us fully informed of your circumstances, whether favorable or more appalling. I do not intend to put anything of a private character into print; but private confidence is the creed in England, and thou needst not fear my abusing it. I enclose the only paper that we have printed that thou mayest see there was nothing to fear. Thou wilt observe there is no reference either to thy own name or to Philadelphia, and people here are not very familiar with American topography. I am sending W.S. Bailey one of the same papers by to-day's mail. We have merely a limited number of them printed. I cannot very well obtain money from my friends, (with numerous home claims constantly pressing on them), without having something to show. Some fugitives are now beginning to reach England. A gentleman in London wrote to me, a day or two ago, to know if we could find a berth for a fine fellow, who had just applied to him. He had arrived by steamer from New York, after residing there for three years. A policeman, in the street, good-naturedly whispered to him his own name, and then that of his masters. He was sure that peril was at hand, and that, having been branded for escaping before, he should be whipped to death if taken again, so he packed up his little wardrobe and embarked for England immediately. Another poor fellow is in this town, recently from Charleston, whence he escaped, among some cotton bales to Greenock. He is getting fair wages in a saw-yard, and likes England very well, if it were not for the thought of his poor wife and children still in Slavery. We invited him, the other day to a working-men's tea party, where I had been asked to make tea for them; and he gave us quite an able account of his travels. The men kindly invited him to join their "Benefit Club," and told him they would like to have "a colored brother" amongst them. Art thou not thinking, dear friend, of asking your people to emigrate to the African Coast, or the West India Islands? Two gentlemen in London are writing most warmly about this. I wrote Mr. Fitzgerald's address on the enclosed paper. Instead of being colonizationists, in the objectionable sense, he and Mrs. Bowen are burning with love to your people, and are fervently desirous of doing them all the good they can. I cannot see why little united parties should not promptly emigrate under the wing of these gentlemen. Assure those who think and feel with thee, dear friend, and are nobly determined to suffer rather than to sin, that according to our very small ability we will not desert them in their hour of trial and danger. We commend them to Him who can do for them a thousand times more, and better than we can either ask or think. With our united kindest remembrance, sincerely, Anna H. Richardson. Westmoreland Terrace, Newcastle-On-Tyne, March 16,1860. We have lately read the life of thy brother and sister (Peter and Vina Still), dear friend, with the deepest interest. It is a most touching and beautiful book, and we think should be either reprinted in England or sent over here very largely. My husband and I are hardly acquainted with a volume more calculated to stir up the British mind on the subject of Slavery. Great Britain is just now getting really warm on the Anti-slavery subject, and is longing to shake herself from being so dependent as hitherto, on slave produce. Why, Oh! why should not the expatriated blacks go to free countries and grow produce for themselves and for everybody who requires it? Why not, in time, become "merchants and princes," in those countries? I am told (as a secret) that this subject is likely, ere long, to be taken up in high quarters in England. We are feeling hopeful, dear friends, about thy crushed and persecuted people, for surely God is working for them by ways and means that we know not. I have been careful to keep it to private circles, but thy valuable letter of last July, has been read by many with the deepest interest. A dear young lady from Dublin is by my side, and has but this minute returned it to me. It is but a little, but I have gathered £4 by its perusal here and there. I am not able to forward so small a sum in this letter, but some way wish to send £2 of this amount for thy own use, and the other £2 to your Vigilance Committee. It so happens that we have not anything for the better from our own Anti-slavery Association this year. Very sincerely thy friend, my dear husband uniting in kind regards, Anna H. Richardson. WOOD HOUSE, near NEWCASTLE, May 3, 1860. [An occasional rural residence of ours, five miles from home.] To William Still:--I have again to thank thee, dear friend, for a kind letter and for the perusal of three letters from thy fugitive friends. It must be truly cheering to receive such, and their warm and affectionate gratitude must be as rich reward for many anxieties. I conclude that it is not necessary for those letters to be returned, but should it be so, let me know, and I will be on the lookout for some private opportunity of returning them to Philadelphia. Such occur now and then. We like to see such letters. They assist us to realize the condition of these poor wanderers. I am sorry for not having explained myself distinctly in my last. The promised £4 were _for the fugitives_, being gathered from various Christian friends, who gave it me for their particular use. But we wished half of that sum to be laid out (as on a previous occasion), at thy own discretion, irrespective of the Vigilance Committee. I have now another £1 to add to the latter half, and would gladly have enclosed a £5 note in this envelope, but we are rather afraid of sending the actual money in letters, and our London bankers do not like to remit small sums. I shall continue to watch for the first opportunity of forwarding the above. Our valued friend, Samuel Rhoads, has been lately in heavy sorrow. I send this through his medium, but fear to add more lest I should make his letter too heavy. With our united kind regards, very truly, thy friend, Anna H. Richardson. 54, Westmoreland Terrace, June 8, 1860. Dear Friend:--William Still:--It is a good plan to send me these interesting communications. The letter to your coadjutor at Elmira, reached us a few days since. That depot must not be allowed to go down if it be possible for this to be prevented. Perhaps J.W. Jones might be encouraged by a gift from England, that is, by a little aid from this country, expressly for the fugitives, being put into his hands. If you think so, I am sure my friends would approve of this, and you can use your own discretion in giving him our gifts in one sum or by detached remittances. The greatest part of the money on hand, has come in from the private perusal of thy interesting letters, and my friends simply gave my husband and me their money for the fugitives, leaving the exact disposal of it to our own discretion. It has struck me of late, that if I may be allowed to print occasional extracts from thy letters (with other Anti-slavery information), it would greatly facilitate the obtaining of pecuniary aid. As it is, I can lend a private letter to a trustworthy friend, but if by any chance, this letter got lost, it would be awkward, and it is also impossible, of course, to lend the original in two quarters at once. Then, again, the mechanical trouble of making copies of letters, is not convenient; much sedentary employment does not suit my health, and I cannot manage it. I have been thinking of late, that if my friends in various parts of the country, could be supplied with a small quarto, an occasional printed paper, for private circulation, it would save a great deal of trouble, and probably bring in considerable aid. My husband and I have long been accustomed to preparing tracts and small periodicals for the press, so that I think we know exactly what ought to be made public and what not. If thou likest to give me this discretionary power, do so, and I will endeavor to exercise it wisely, and in a way that I feel almost certain would be in accordance with thy wishes. The sum now remitted through our friend, Samuel Rhoads, is £8 (eight pounds). Of this, we should like £3 to be placed at thy own discretion, for the benefit of the fugitives, £3 (if you approve it) in a similar way, to be handed to J.W. Jones, and £2 as formerly, to be handed to the Philadelphia Vigilance Committee. The latter is not, however, as in past times, from the Newcastle Anti-slavery Society, for, I am sorry to say, it is not a sufficiently pains-taking and executive little body, but more apt to work by fits and starts, but from our private friends, who kindly place their money in our hands as their Anti-slavery stewards. My friend S.R. will therefore kindly hand for us: £3 for William Still, for fugitives; £3 for J.W. Jones, for fugitives; £2 for Philadelphia Vigilance Committee, for fugitives. Total £8. We are very sorry for thee to have to incur so much persecution. Be of good cheer, the right will eventually triumph, if not in this world, in that day, when all shall be eventually righted on our Lord's right hand. Oh, for ability in the meantime, to love Him, trust Him, confide in Him implicitly! Many thanks for the "Anti-slavery Standards." No one in this town, takes them in, consequently we only see them occasionally. Do any tidings reach you of our friend, Frederick Douglass? We heard from him from Portland, but are anxiously looking for another letter. He always spoke of thee, my friend, very kindly, and one day, when some money had been given to him for fugitives, said: "You shall have part of this if you like, for William Still," but I said, "No, I will try and get some elsewhere for him." Douglass left us in April, after losing his little Annie, but wished his visit to be kept private, and hoped to be able to return to England in August. My husband and I agree with F.D. in political matters. We are not disunionists, but want to mend your corrupted government. With kind regards, sincerely thy friend, A.H.R. We are well acquainted with William and Ellen Craft. They have just sent us their little book. NEWCASTLE, 5th mo., 2,1861. W. STILL:--DEAR FRIEND:--That poor fellow, who was so long secreted, had been often in my thoughts, when laying this case of the fugitives before our friends. I should like thee to feel at liberty to replace the remainder of the twenty-five dollars from the accompanying ten pounds, which I have much pleasure in forwarding, but think it better to mention, that it may perhaps be the last remittance for some little time from this quarter, as I do not at present see any immediate opening for getting more. Our worthy friend, W.S. Bailey, has lately been here, and Dr. Cheever and W.H. Day, are expected in a week or two. From London too, there are very earnest appeals to assist the "African Anti-slavery Society." Thank thee for the newspapers and thy last kind note. I think thou rather overrates my little services. What a crisis is coming! O, what will the end be? With our united best wishes, thy sincere friend, ANNA H. RICHARDSON. £7 of this money is from some personally unknown friend at Lancaster; £5 from two nice little children of my acquaintance. 54 WESTMORELAND TERRACE, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE, Oct. 10, 1862. I have pleasure, dear friend, in sending you £5 for your "contrabands," in response to your last letter of the 17th ult. It is not much, but may be a little help. It will be forwarded by our valued and mutual friend, H.H. Garnet, to whom I am sending a remittance for his "contrabands," by the same mail. We shall be interested in any particulars you may like to send us, of these poor creatures, but at the same time, I dare not hold out any hopes of considerable assistance from England, for our own manufacturing districts are in a starving state, from the absence of the accustomed supply of cotton, and till this has been grown in other quarters, they will continue to have a strong claim on every thoughtful mind. Some of us would rather work with your colored people _in your own cause_, than with any one else, for we _do not like the war_, and do not at all approve of "the American churches" committing themselves to it so fearfully. If your President had but taken the step at first, he is taking now, what rivers of blood might have been stayed! It is remarkable, how you, as a people, have been preserved to each other, without having your own hands stained with blood. But as to expatriation, the very thought of it is foolish. You have been brought to America, not emigrated to it, and who on earth has any possible right to send you away? Some of us are almost as much displeased with the North, for talking of this, as with the South for holding you in Slavery. What can we say to you, but "watch and pray," "hope and wait," and surely, in His own good time, the Most High will make you a pathway out of trouble. We are delighted to hear of the good behaviour of your people, wherever they have a fair chance of acting (on the borders), as upright men and Christians. Very sincerely, your friend, To WILLIAM STILL. ANNA H. RICHARDSON. WOMAN ESCAPING IN A BOX, 1857. SHE WAS SPEECHLESS. In the winter of 1857 a young woman, who had just turned her majority, was boxed up in Baltimore by one who stood to her in the relation of a companion, a young man, who had the box conveyed as freight to the depot in Baltimore, consigned to Philadelphia. Nearly all one night it remained at the depot with the living agony in it, and after being turned upside down more than once, the next day about ten o'clock it reached Philadelphia. Her companion coming on in advance of the box, arranged with a hackman, George Custus, to attend to having it brought from the depot to a designated house, Mrs. Myers', 412 S. 7th street, where the resurrection was to take place. Custus, without knowing exactly what the box contained, but suspecting from the apparent anxiety and instructions of the young man who engaged him to go after it, that it was of great importance, while the freight car still remained on the street, demanded it of the freight agent, not willing to wait the usual time for the delivery of freight. At first the freight agent declined delivering under such circumstances. The hackman insisted by saying that he wished to despatch it in great haste, said it is all right, you know me, I have been coming here for many years every day, and will be responsible for it. The freight-master told him to "take it and go ahead with it." No sooner said than done. It was placed in a one horse wagon at the instance of Custus, and driven to Seventh and Minster streets. The secret had been intrusted to Mrs. M. by the young companion of the woman. A feeling of horror came over the aged woman, who had been thus suddenly entrusted with such responsibility. A few doors from her lived an old friend of the same religious faith with herself, well known as a brave woman, and a friend of the slave, Mrs. Ash, the undertaker or shrouder, whom every body knew among the colored people. Mrs. Myers felt that it would not be wise to move in the matter of this resurrection without the presence of the undertaker. Accordingly, she called Mrs. Ash in. Even her own family was excluded from witnessing the scene. The two aged women chose to be alone in that fearful moment, shuddering at the thought that a corpse might meet their gaze instead of a living creature. However, they mustered courage and pried off the lid. A woman was discovered in the straw but no sign of life was perceptible. Their fears seemed fulfilled. "Surely she is dead," thought the witnesses. "Get up, my child," spake one of the women. With scarcely life enough to move the straw covering, she, nevertheless, did now show signs of life, but to a very faint degree. She could not speak, but being assisted arose. She was straightway aided up stairs, not yet uttering a word. After a short while she said, "I feel so deadly weak." She was then asked if she would not have some water or nourishment, which she declined. Before a great while, however, she was prevailed upon to take a cup of tea. She then went to bed, and there remained all day, speaking but a very little during that time. The second day she gained strength and was able to talk much better, but not with ease. The third day she began to come to herself and talk quite freely. She tried to describe her sufferings and fears while in the box, but in vain. In the midst of her severest agonies her chief fear was, that she would be discovered and carried back to Slavery. She had a pair of scissors with her, and in order to procure fresh air she had made a hole in the box, but it was very slight. How she ever managed to breathe and maintain her existence, being in the condition of becoming a mother, it was hard to comprehend. In this instance the utmost endurance was put to the test. She was obviously nearer death than Henry Box Brown, or any of the other box or chest cases that ever came under the notice of the Committee. In Baltimore she belonged to a wealthy and fashionable family, and had been a seamstress and ladies' servant generally. On one occasion when sent of an errand for certain articles in order to complete arrangements for the Grand Opening Ball at the Academy of Music, she took occasion not to return, but was among the missing. Great search was made, and a large reward offered, but all to no purpose. A free colored woman, who washed for the family, was suspected of knowing something of her going, but they failing to get aught out of her, she was discharged. Soon after the arrival of this traveler at Mrs. Myers' the Committee was sent for and learned the facts as above stated. After spending some three or four days in Mrs. Myers' family she remained in the writer's family about the same length of time, and was then forwarded to Canada. Mrs. Myers was originally from Baltimore, and had frequently been in the habit of receiving Underground Rail Road passengers; she had always found Thomas Shipley, the faithful philanthropist, a present help in time of need. The young man well knew Mrs. Myers would act with prudence in taking his companion to her house. George Custus, the hackman, a colored man, was cool, sensible, and reliable in the discharge of his duty, as were the other parties, therefore every thing was well managed. With this interesting case our narratives end, except such facts of a like kind as may be connected with some of the sketches of stockholders. A large number on the record book must be omitted. This is partly owing to the fact that during the first few years of our connection with the Underground Rail Road, so little was written out in the way of narratives, that would hardly be of sufficient interest to publish; and partly from the fact that, although there are exceptional cases even among those so omitted, that would be equally as interesting as many which have been inserted, time and space will not admit of further encroachment. If in any way we have erred in the task of furnishing facts and important information touching the Underground Rail Road, it has not been in overstating the sufferings, trials, perils, and marvellous escapes of those described, but on the contrary. In many instances after hearing the most painful narratives we had neither time nor inclination to write them out, except in the briefest manner, simply sufficient to identify parties, which we did, not dreaming that the dark cloud of Slavery was so soon to give way to the bright sunlight of Freedom. ORGANIZATION OF THE VIGILANCE COMMITTEE. MEETING TO FORM A VIGILANCE COMMITTEE. As has already been intimated, others besides the Committee were deeply interested in The Road; indeed, the little aid actually rendered by the Committee, was comparatively insignificant, compared with the aid rendered by some who were not nominally members. To this latter class of friends, it seems meet that we should particularly allude. Before doing so, however, simple justice to all concerned, dictates that we should here copy the official proceedings of the first meeting and organization of the Philadelphia Vigilance Committee as it existed until the very day that the ever to be remembered Emancipation Proclamation of Abraham Lincoln, rendered the services of the organization and road no longer necessary. It reads as follows: "PENNSYLVANIA FREEMAN," December 9, 1852. Pursuant to the motion published in last week's "Freeman," a meeting was held in the Anti-slavery rooms, on the evening of the 2d inst., for the purpose of organizing a Vigilance Committee. On motion Samuel Nickless was appointed chairman, and William Still secretary. J.M. McKim then stated at some length, the object of the meeting. He said, that the friends of the fugitive slave had been for some years past, embarrassed, for the want of a properly constructed active, Vigilance Committee; that the old Committee, which used to render effective service in this field of Anti-slavery labor, had become disorganized and scattered, and that for the last two or three years, the duties of this department had been performed by individuals on their own responsibility, and sometimes in a very irregular manner; that this had been the cause of much dissatisfaction and complaint, and that the necessity for a remedy of this state of things was generally felt. Hence, the call for this meeting. It was intended now to organize a committee, which should be composed of persons of known responsibility, and who could be relied upon to act systematically and promptly, and with the least possible expenditure of money in all cases that might require their attention. James Mott and Samuel Nickless, expressed their hearty concurrence in what had been said, as did also B.N. Goines and N.W. Depee. The opinion was also expressed by one or more of these gentlemen, that the organization to be formed should be of the simplest possible character; with no more machinery or officers than might be necessary to hold it together and keep it in proper working order. After some discussion, it was agreed first to form a general committee, with a chairman, whose business it should be to call meetings when necessity should seem to require it, and to preside at the same; and a treasurer to take charge of the funds; and second, to appoint out of this general committee, an acting committee of four persons, who should have the responsibility of attending to every case that might require their aid, as well as the exclusive authority to raise the funds necessary for their purpose. It was further agreed that it should be the duty of the chairman of the Acting Committee to keep a record of all their doings, and especially of the money received and expended on behalf of every case claiming their interposition. The following persons were appointed on the General Vigilance Committee: GENERAL VIGILANCE COMMITTEE. Robert Purvis, William Still, Charles H. Bustill, P. Williamson, Samuel Nickless, B.N. Goines, Morris Hall, J.M. M'Kim, Nathaniel Depee, Isaiah O. Wears, Charles Wise, John D. Oliver, Jacob C. White, Prof. C.L. Reason, Cyrus Whitson, Henry Gordon, J. Asher, W.H. Riley, J.P. Burr, Robert Purvis was understood to be Chairman of the General Committee, having been nominated at the head of the list, and Charles Wise was appointed treasurer. The Acting Committee was thus constituted: William Still, chairman, N.W. Depee, Passmore Williamson, J.C. White. This Committee was appointed for the term of one year. On motion, the proceedings of this meeting were ordered to be published in the "Pennsylvania Freeman." (Adjourned.) William Still, Secretary. Samuel Nickless, Chairman. The Committee having been thus organized, J.M. McKim, corresponding secretary and general agent of the Pennsylvania Anti-slavery Society, issued the subjoined notice, which was published shortly afterwards in the "Pennsylvania Freeman," and the colored churches throughout the city: "We are pleased to see that we have at last, what has for some time been felt to be a desideratum in Philadelphia, a responsible and duly authorized Vigilance Committee. The duties of this department of Anti-slavery labor, have, for want of such an organization, been performed in a very loose and unsystematic manner. The names of the persons constituting the Acting Committee, are a guarantee that this will not be the case hereafter. They are-- William Still (Chairman), 31 North Fifth Street, Nathaniel W. Depee, 334 South Street, Jacob C. White, 100 Old York Road, and Passmore Williamson, southwest cor. Seventh and Arch Streets. We respectfully commend these gentlemen, and the cause in which they are engaged, to the confidence and co-operation of all the friends of the hunted fugitive. Any funds contributed to either of them, or placed in the hands of their Treasurer, Charles Wise, corner of Fifth and Market Streets, will be sure of a faithful and judicious appropriation." PORTRAITS AND SKETCHES. ESTHER MOORE. For many years no-woman living in Philadelphia was better known to the colored people of the city generally, than Esther Moore. No woman, white or colored, living in Philadelphia for the same number of years, left her home oftener, especially to seek out and aid the weary travelers escaping from bondage, than did this philanthropist. It is hardly too much to say that with her own hand she administered to hundreds. She begged of the Committee, as a special favor, that she might be duly notified of every fugitive reaching Philadelphia, and actually felt hurt if from any cause whatever this request was not complied with. For it was her delight to see the fugitives individually, take them by the hand and warmly welcome them to freedom. She literally wept with those who wept, while in tones of peculiar love, sincerity, and firmness, she lauded them for their noble daring, and freely expressed her entire sympathy with them, and likewise with all in the prison-house. She condemned Slavery in all its phases, as a "monster to be loathed as the enemy of God and man." Often after listening attentively for hours together to recitals of a very harrowing nature, especially from females, her mind would seem to be filled with the sufferings of the slave and it was hard for her to withdraw from them even when they were on the eve of taking up their march for a more distant station; and she never thought of parting with them without showing her faith by her works putting a "gold dollar" in the hand of each passenger, as she knew that it was not in the power of the Committee to do much more than defray their expenses to the next station, to New York sometimes, to Elmira at other times, and now and then clear through to Canada. She desired that they should have at least one dollar to fall back upon, independent of the Committee's aid. This magnanimous rule of giving the gold dollar was adopted by her shortly after the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law, which daily vexed her righteous soul, and was kept up as long as she was able to leave her house, which was within a short time of her death. Not only did Esther Moore manifest such marked interest in the fugitive but she likewise took an abiding interest in visiting the colored people in their religious meetings, schools, and societies, and whenever the way opened and the Spirit moved her she would take occasion to address them in the most affectionate manner, in regard to their present and future welfare, choosing for her theme the subjects of temperance, education, and slavery. Nor did she mean that her labors in the interest of the oppressed should cease with her earthly existence, as the following extracts from her last will and testament will prove: 2d Item. I give and bequeath to my executors, hereinafter named, the sum of Twelve hundred dollars, in trust to invest in ground rent, or City of Philadelphia Loans at their disposal or discretion to pay the interest or income arising therefrom annually. To be applied, the interest of the Twelve hundred dollars above mentioned, for educational purposes alone, for children of both sexes of color, in Canada, apart from all sectarian or traditional dogmas, which is the only hope for the rising generation. The application of this money is intended to remain perpetual. 7th Item. I give and bequeath to my executors the sum of one hundred dollars, to be expended by them in educating and assisting to clothe Phaeton and Pliny J. Lock, the sons of Ishmael Lock, deceased, and Matilda Lock (his wife). My will is that it shall be given out discretionally by my executors for the purpose above mentioned. 17th Item. I give and bequeath to Oliver Johnson, editor of the Pennsylvania Freeman, one hundred dollars, if he be living at my death; if not living, to go with the remainder of my estate. My will is that if Oliver Johnson be not living at my death his bequest go with my estate. 18th Item. I give and bequeath to Cyrus Burleigh, lecturer and agent for the Pennsylvania Anti-slavery Society, one hundred dollars, if Cyrus be living at my death. If not living at my death, his bequest, Cyrus Burleigh's, I wish to go with the residue of my estate. The untiring vigilance of these two young men, in devoting the best of their days to the rescue and emancipation of the poor and down-trodden fugitives has obtained for them a warm place in my heart. And may heaven's richest blessings reward them. They have ministered more than "the cup of water." Item 19th. I give and bequeath unto the Association for the care of Colored Orphans of Philadelphia, called the Shelter for the use and benefit of colored orphans of both sexes, to be paid into the hands of the treasurer for the time being, for the use of said Society all the rest and remainder of my estate. I wish my Executors or Trustees _to carry out_ my views in regard to the education of colored children in Canada, by paying over the interest arising annually from the twelve hundred dollars mentioned in the second item to such school or schools as in their judgment they may deem best. My desire being the benefit of such children who may be in the same neighborhood with them. The interest arising from the twelve hundred dollars mentioned in second item for the purpose of educating colored children in Canada is intended to remain perpetual. * * * * * I give and bequeath to William Still, of Philadelphia, now employed in the Anti-slavery office, in Fifth St., Philadelphia, February 21, the sum of one hundred dollars; and request my executors and trustees to pay over that amount out of my estate. Esther Moore was not rich in this world's goods, but was purely benevolent and rich in good works towards her fellow-men, hating every form of oppression and injustice, and an uncompromising witness against prejudice on account of color. Such a friend as was Esther Moore during these many dark years of kidnapping, slave-catching, mob violence, and bitter prejudice which the colored people were wont to encounter, should never be forgotten. The legacy devised for educational purposes was applied in due time, after one of the executors in company with his wife, Dr. J. Wilson and Rachel Barker Moore, visited the various settlements of fugitives in Canada, expressly with a view of finding out where the fund would do the most good, in accordance with the testator's wishes. And although the testator has been dead seventeen years, her legacy is still doing its mission in her name, in a school, near Chatham, Canada West. In order to complete this sketch, it is only necessary that we should copy the beautiful and just tribute to her memory, written by Oliver Johnson, editor of the "National Anti-slavery Standard," and published in the columns thereof, as follows: DEATH OF A NOBLE WOMAN. [From the "National Anti-Slavery Standard."] Just as our paper is going to press, there comes to us intelligence of the death of our beloved and revered friend, Esther Moore, widow of the late Dr. Robert Moore, of Philadelphia. She expired on Tuesday morning, November 21st, 1854, of gout of the heart, after a short, but painful illness, in the eightieth year of her age. The writer of this first became acquainted with her in 1836, and, at various times since then, has met her at Anti-slavery meetings, or in familiar intercourse at her own house. Her most remarkable traits of character were an intense hatred of oppression in all its forms, a corresponding love for the oppressed, an untiring devotion to their welfare, and a courage that never quailed before any obstacles, however formidable. Her zeal in behalf of the Anti-slavery cause, and especially in behalf of the fugitive, a zeal that absorbed all the powers of her noble nature, was a perpetual rebuke to the comparative coldness and indifference of those around her. We well remember how her soul was fired with a righteous indignation when upwards of thirty innocent persons, most of them colored people, were thrown into prison at Philadelphia, upon a charge of treason, for their alleged participation in the tragedy at Christiana. Day after day did she visit the prisoners in their cells, to minister to their wants, and cheer them in their sorrow; and during the progress of Hanway's trial, her constant presence in the court-room, and her frequent interviews with the District Attorney, attested her deep anxiety as to the result of the impending struggle. When we last saw her, about a month since, she was engaged in collecting a large sum of money to ransom a family of slaves, whose peculiar condition had enlisted her deepest sympathy. Notwithstanding her age and infirmities, she had enlisted in this work with a zeal which, even in a younger person, would have been remarkable. For many days, perhaps for many weeks, she went from door to door, asking for the means whereby to secure the freedom and the happiness of an enslaved and plundered household. As a member of the Society of Friends, she lamented the guilty supineness of that body, in regard to the question of Slavery, and often, in its meetings, as well as in private intercourse, felt herself constrained to utter the language of expostulation and rebuke. In this, as in other relations of life, she was obedient to the revelation of God in her own soul, and a worthy example of fidelity to her convictions of duty. Her step-son, J. Wilson Moore, in a letter to us announcing her decease, says: Among the last injunctions she gave, was, "Write to Oliver Johnson, and tell him I die firm in the faith! MIND THE SLAVE!" She had enjoyed excellent health the last few years, and continued actively engaged in works of benevolence. During the last few weeks, she had devoted much time and labor to the collection of funds for the liberation of ten slaves in North Carolina, who had been promised their freedom at a comparatively small amount. Notwithstanding her great bodily suffering, her mind was clear to the last, expressing her full assurance of Divine approbation in the course she had taken. This is all that we can now say of the life of our revered and never-to-be-forgotten friend. Perhaps some one who knew her more intimately than we did, and who is better acquainted with the history of her life and labors, will furnish us with a more complete sketch. If so, we shall publish it with great satisfaction. Happy! ay, happy! let her ashes rest; Her heart was honest, and she did her best; In storm and darkness, evil and dismay, The star of duty was her guiding ray. Her injunction to "MIND THE SLAVE," comes to us as the dying admonition of one, whose life was a beautiful exemplification of the duty and the privilege thus enjoined. It imposes, indeed, no new obligation; but coming from such a source, it will linger in our memory while life and its scenes shall last, inspiring in us, we hope, a purer and a more ardent devotion to the cause of freedom and humanity. And may we not hope that others also, will catch a new inspiration from the dying message of our departed friend: "MIND THE SLAVE!" ABIGAIL GOODWIN. Contemporary with Esther Moore, and likewise an intimate personal friend of hers, Abigail Goodwin, of Salem, N.J., was one of the rare, true friends to the Underground Rail Road, whose labors entitle her name to be mentioned in terms of very high praise. A.W.M. a most worthy lady, in a letter to a friend, refers to her in the following language: "From my long residence under the same roof, I learned to know well her uncommon self-sacrifice of character, and to be willing and glad, whenever in my power, to honor her memory. But, yet I should not know what further to say about her than to give a very few words of testimony to her life of ceaseless and active benevolence, especially toward the colored people. "Her life outwardly was wholly uneventful; as she lived out her whole life of seventy-three years in the neighborhood of her birth-place." With regard to her portrait, which was solicited for this volume, the same lady thus writes: "No friend of hers would for a moment think of permitting that miserable caricature, the only picture existing meant to represent her, to be given to the public. I cannot even bear to give a place in my little album to so mournful and ridiculous a misrepresentation of her in face." * * * * * "You wonder why her sister, E., my loved and faithful friend, seems to be so much less known among anti-slavery people than Abbie? One reason is, that although dear Betsy's interest in the subject was quite equal in _earnestness_, it was not quite so absorbingly _exclusive_. Betsy economized greatly in order to give to the cause, but Abby denied herself even _necessary apparel_, and Betsy has often said that few beggars came to our doors whose garments were so worn, forlorn, and patched-up as Abby's. Giving to the colored people was a perfect _passion_ with her; consequently she was known as a larger giver than Betsy. "Another and greater reason why she was more known abroad than her sister E., was that she wrote with facility, and corresponded at intervals with many on these matters, Mr. McKim and others, and for many years." * * * * * Abigail was emphatically of the type of the poor widow, who cast in all her living. She worked for the slave as a mother would work for her children. Her highest happiness aad pleasure in life seemed to be derived from rendering acts of kindness to the oppressed. Letters of sympathy accompanied with bags of stockings, clothing, and donations of money were not unfrequent from her. New Jersey contained a few well-tried friends, both within and without the Society of Friends, to which Miss Goodwin belonged; but among them all none was found to manifest, at least in the Underground Rail Road of Philadelphia, such an abiding interest as a co-worker in the cause, as did Abigail Goodwin. The sympathy which characterized her actions is clearly evinced in her own words, as contained in the appended extracts from her letter, as follows: "DEAR FRIEND:--I sent E.M. (Esther Moore) forty-one dollars more by half than I expected to when I set about it. I expect that abolitionists there are all opposed to buying slaves, and will not give anything. I don't like buying them, or giving money to slave-holders either; but this seems to be a peculiar case, can be had so cheap, and so many young ones that would be separated from their parents; slavery is peculiarly hard for children, that cannot do anything to protect themselves, nor can their parents, and the old too, it is hard for them; but it is a terrible thing altogether. The case of the fugitive thee mentioned was indeed truly affecting; it makes one ashamed as well as sad to read such things, that human beings, or any other beings should be so treated. I cannot but hope and believe that slavery will ere long cease. I have a strong impression that the colored people and the women are to have a day of prosperity and triumph over their oppressors. We must patiently wait and quietly hope; but not keep too much 'in the quiet.' Shall have to work our deliverance from bondage. 'Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow.' "I regret very much that I have not more clothing to send than the stockings. I have not had time since I thought of it, to make anything; am ashamed that I was so inconsiderate of the poor runaways. I will go to work as soon as I have earned money to buy materials; have managed so as to spend my little annual allowance in nine months, and shall not be able to give you any money for some months, but if more stockings are wanted let me know, our benevolent society have plenty on hand; and I have some credit if not money; they will trust me till I have; they furnish work for poor women and sell it. I get them for fifty cents a pair. "My sister says Lucretia (Mott) told her that there was not much clothing in the trunk, only a few old things. I think she told me there was nothing in it, she meant, I suppose, of any consequence. * * * "I should like to know if the fugitives are mostly large. I have an idea they are generally small in stature; that slavery stunts the body as well as mind. I want to know in regard to the clothes that I intend making; it's best to have them fit as well as can be. I shall work pretty much for women. I hope and expect there are many friends of the cause who furnish clothing in the city. They ought to be fitted out for Canada with strong, warm clothing in cold weather, and their sad fate alleviated as much as can be." * * * * * The forty-one dollars, referred to in the above letter, and sent to "E.M." was to go especially towards buying an interesting family of ten slaves, who were owned in North Carolina by a slave-holder, whose rare liberality was signalized by offering to take $1,000 for the lot, young and old. In this exceptional case, while opposed to buying slaves, in common with abolitionists generally, she was too tender-hearted to resist the temptation so long as "they could be bought so cheap." To rid men of their yoke was her chief desire. Such was her habit of making the sad lot of a slave a personal matter; that let her view him, in any light whatever, whether in relation to young ones that would be separated from their parents, or with regard to the old, the life of a slave was "peculiarly hard," "a terrible thing" in her judgment. The longer she lived, and the more faithfully she labored for the slave's deliverance, the more firmly she became rooted in the soul-encouraging idea, that "Slavery will ere long cease." Whilst the great masses were either blind, or indifferent, she was nerved by this faith to bear cheerfully all the sacrifices she was called on to make. From another letter we copy as follows: JANUARY 25th, 1855. DEAR FRIEND:--The enclosed ten dollars I have made, earned in two weeks, and of course it belongs to the slave. It may go for the fugitives, or Carolina slaves, whichever needs it most. I am sorry the fugitives' treasury is not better supplied, if money could flow into it as it does into the Tract Fund; but that is not to be expected. Thy answer in regard to impostors is quite satisfactory. No doubt you take great pains to arrive at the truth, but cannot at all times avoid being imposed on. Will that little boy of seven years have to travel on foot to Canada? There will be no safety for him here. I hope his father will get off. John Hill writes very well, considering his few advantages. If plenty of good schools could be established in Canada for the benefit of fugitives, many bright scholars and useful citizens would be added to society. I hope these will be in process of time. It takes the most energetic and intelligent to make their way out of bondage from the most Southern States. It is rather a wonder to me that so many can escape, the masters are so continually watching them. The poor man that secreted himself so long, must, indeed, have suffered dreadfully, and been exceedingly resolute to brave dangers so long. It was so characteristic of her to take an interest in everything that pertained to the Underground Rail Road, that even the deliverance of a little nameless boy was not beneath her notice. To her mind, his freedom was just as dear to him as if he had been the son of the President of the United States. How they got on in Canada, and the question of education, were matters that concerned her deeply; hence, occasional letters received from Canada, evincing marked progress, such as the hero John H. Hill was in the habit of writing, always gave her much pleasure to peruse. In the Wheeler slave-case, in which Passmore Williamson and others were engaged, her interest was very great. From a letter dated Salem, September 9, 1855, we quote the subjoined extract: DEAR FRIEND:--I am truly rejoiced and thankful that the right has triumphed. But stranger had it been otherwise, in your intelligent community, where it must be apparent to all who inquire into it, that you had done nothing but what was deserving of high commendation, instead of blame and punishment; and shame on the jury who would bring in the two men guilty of assault and battery. They ought to have another trial; perhaps another jury would be more just. It is well for the credit of Philadelphia, that there is one upright judge, as Kelley seems to be, and his sentence will be a light one it is presumed, showing he considered the charge a mere pretence. I hope and trust, that neither thyself nor the other men will have much if any of the expense to bear; your lawyers will not charge anything I suppose, and the good citizens will pay all else. It seems there are hopes entertained that Passmore Williamson will soon be set at liberty. It must be a great comfort to him and wife, in their trials, that it will conduce to the furtherance of the good cause. If Philadelphians are not aroused now after this great stretch of power, to consider their safety, they must be a stupid set of people, but it must certainly do good. * * * You will take good care of Jane Johnson, I hope, and not let her get kidnapped back to Slavery. Is it safe for her to remain in your city or anywhere else in our "free land?" I have some doubts and fears for her; do try to impress her with the necessity of being very cautious and careful against deceivers, pretended friends. She had better be off to Canada pretty soon. Thy wife must not sit up washing and ironing all night again. She ought to have help in her sympathy and labors for the poor fugitives, and, I should think there are many there who would willingly assist her. I intended to be careful of trespassing upon thy time, as thee must have enough to do; the fugitives are still coming I expect. With kind regards, also to thy wife, your friend, A. GOODWIN. In another letter, she suggests the idea of getting up a committee of women to provide clothing for fugitive females; on this point she wrote thus: "SALEM, 8th mo., 1st. "Would it not be well to get up a committee of women, to provide clothes for fugitive females--a dozen women sewing a day, or even half a day of each week, might keep a supply always ready, they might, I should think, get the merchants or some of them, to give cheap materials--mention it to thy wife, and see if she cannot get up a society. I will do what I can here for it. I enclose five dollars for the use of fugitives. It was a good while that I heard nothing of your rail road concerns; I expected thee had gone to Canada, or has the journey not been made, or is it yet to be accomplished, or given up? I was in hopes thee would go and see with thy own eyes, how things go on in that region of fugitives, and if it's a goodly land to live in. "This is the first of August, and I suppose you are celebrating it in Philadelphia, or some of you are, though I believe you are not quite as zealous as the Bostonians are in doing it. When will our first of August come? oh, that it might be soon, very soon! ... It's high time the 'reign of oppression was over.'" Ever alive to the work, she would appeal to such as were able among her friends, to take stock in the Underground Rail Road, and would sometimes succeed. In a letter dated July 30, 1856, she thus alludes to her efforts: "I have tried to beg something for them, but have not got much; one of our neighbors, S.W. Acton, gave me three dollars for them; I added enough to make ten, which thee will find inside. I shall owe three more, to make my ten. I presume they are still coming every day almost, and I fear it comes rather hard on thee and wife to do for so many; but you no doubt feel it a satisfaction to do all you can for the poor sufferers." February 10, 1858, she forwarded her willing contribution, with the following interesting remarks: SALEM, February 10, 1858. DEAR FRIEND:--Thee will find enclosed, five dollars for the fugitives, a little for so many to share it, but better than nothing; oh, that people, rich people, would remember them instead of spending so much on themselves; and those too, who are not called rich, might, if there was only a willing mind, give too of their abundance; how can they forbear to sympathize with those poor destitute ones--but so it is--there is not half the feeling for them there ought to be, indeed scarcely anybody seems to think about them. "Inasmuch as ye have _not_ done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have not done it unto me." Thy friend, A. GOODWIN. When the long looked-for day of emancipation arrived, which she had never expected to witness, the unbounded thankfulness of her heart found expression in the appended letter: SALEM, September 23, 1862. DEAR FRIEND:--Thy letter dated 17th, was not received till last night. I cannot tell where it has been detained so long. On the 22d, yesterday, Amy Reckless came here, after I began writing, and wished me to defer sending for a day or two, thinking she could get a few more dollars, and she has just brought some, and will try for more, and clothing. A thousand thanks to President Hamlin for his kindness to the contrabands; poor people! how deplorable their situation; where will they go to, when cold weather comes? so many of them to find homes for, but they must and will, I trust be taken care of, not by their former care-takers though. I have read the President's proclamation of emancipation, with thankfulness and rejoicing; but upon a little reflection, I did not feel quite satisfied with it; three months seems a long time to be in the power of their angry and cruel masters, who, no doubt, will wreak all their fury and vengeance upon them, killing and abusing them in every way they can--and sell them to Cuba if they can. It makes me sad to think of it. Slavery, I fear, will be a long time in dying, after receiving the fatal stroke. What do abolitionists think of it? and what is thy opinion? I feel quite anxious to know something more about it. The "Daily Press" says, it will end the war and its cause. How can we be thankful enough if it should, and soon too. "Oh, praise and tanks," what a blessing for our country. I never expected to see the happy day. If thee answers this, thee will please tell me all about it, and what is thought of it by the wise ones; but I ought not to intrude on thy time, thee has so much on thy hands, nor ask thee to write. I shall know in time, if I can be patient to wait. Enclosed are seventeen dollars; from Amy Reckless, $1,50; J. Bassett, $1; Jesse Bond, $1; Martha Reeve, $1; S. Woodnutt, $1; Hannah Wheeler, $1; a colored man, 25 cents; 25 cents thrown in, to make even; A.G., $10. Amy is very good in helping, and is collecting clothing, which she thinks, cannot be sent till next week. I will attend to sending it, as soon as can be, by stage driver. May every success attend thy labors for the poor sufferers. * * * With kind regards, thy friend, A. GOODWIN. Thus, until the last fetter was broken, with singular persistency, zeal, faith and labor, she did what she could to aid the slave, without hope of reward in this world. Not only did she contribute to aid the fugitives, but was, for years, a regular and liberal contributor to the Pennsylvania Anti-slavery Society, as well as a subscriber to the Anti-slavery papers, The "Liberator," "National Anti-Slavery Standard," "Pennsylvania Freeman," etc. Having seen with joy, the desire of her heart, in the final emancipation of every bondman in the United States, she departed in peace, November 2, 1867, in the 74th year of her age. FAITHFUL WORKERS IN THE CAUSE. [Illustration: ABIGAIL GOODWIN] [Illustration: THOMAS GARRETT,] [Illustration: DANIEL GIBBONS, ] [Illustration: LUCRETIA MOTT] THOMAS GARRETT. The recent death of Thomas Garrett, called forth from the press, as well as from abolitionists and personal friends, such universal expressions of respect for his labors as a philanthropist, and especially as an unswerving friend of the Underground Rail Road, that we need only reproduce selections therefrom, in order to commemorate his noble deeds in these pages. From the "Wilmington Daily Commercial," published by Jenkins and Atkinson (men fully inspired with the spirit of impartial freedom), we copy the following notice, which is regarded by his relatives and intimate anti-slavery friends as a faithful portraiture of his character and labors: Thomas Garrett, who died full of years and honor, this morning, at the ripe age of eighty-one, was a man of no common character. He was an abolitionist from his youth up, and though the grand old cause numbered amongst its supporters, poets, sages, and statesmen, it had no more faithful worker in its ranks than Thomas Garrett. He has been suffering for several years, from a disease of the bladder, which frequently caused him most acute anguish, and several times threatened his life. The severe pain attending the disease, and the frequent surgical operations it rendered necessary, undermined his naturally strong constitution, so that when he was prostrated by his last illness, grave fears were entertained of a fatal result. He continued in the possession of his faculties to the last, and frequently expressed his entire willingness to die. Yesterday he was found to be sinking very rapidly. Just before midnight, last night, he commenced to speak, and some of those in attendance, went close to his bed-side. He was evidently in some pain, and said: "It is all peace, peace, peace, but no rest this side of the river." He then breathed calmly on for some time. About half an hour later, one of those in attendance ceased to hear his breathing, and bending over him, found that his soul had fled. He retained a good deal of his strength through his illness, and was able to get up from his bed, every day, with the assistance of one person. He will be buried in the Friends' grave-yard, corner of Fourth and West Streets, on Saturday next, at three o'clock, P.M., and in accordance with a written memorandum of an agreement made by him a year ago with them, the colored people will bear him to his grave, they having solicited of him that honor. He was born of Quaker parents, in Upper Darby, Delaware county, Pa., on the 21st of August, 1789, on a farm still in the possession of the family. His father, though a farmer, had been a scythe and edge-tool maker, and Thomas learned of him the trade, and his knowledge of it afterwards proved of the utmost advantage to him. He grew up and married at Darby, his wife being Sarah Sharpless, and in 1820 they came to Wilmington to live, bringing with them several children, most of whom still live here. Some years after his arrival here, his wife died, and in course of time, he again married, his second wife being Rachel Mendenhall, who died in April, 1868, beloved and regretted by all who knew her. His business career was one of vicissitude, but generally and ultimately successful, for he made the whole of the comfortable competence of which he died possessed, after he was sixty years of age. While in the beginning of his business career, as an iron merchant in this city, a wealthy rival house attempted to crush him, by reducing prices of iron to cost, but Mr. Garrett, nothing dismayed, employed another person to attend his store, put on his leather apron, took to his anvil, and in the prosecution of his trade, as an edge-tool maker, prepared to support himself as long as this ruinous rivalry was kept up. Thus in the sweat of the brow of one of the heroes and philanthropists of this age, was laid the foundation of one of the most extensive business houses that our city now boasts. His competitor saw that no amount of rivalry could crush a man thus self-supporting and gave up the effort. Of course, Thomas Garrett is best known for his labors in behalf of the abolition of Slavery, and as a practical and effective worker for emancipation long before the nation commenced the work of liberation and justice. Born a Quaker, he held with simple trust, the faith of the society that God moves and inspires men to do the work he requires of their hands, and throughout his life he never wavered in his conviction, that his Father had called him to work in the cause to which he devoted himself. His attention was first directed to the iniquity of Slavery, while he was a young man of twenty-four or twenty five. He returned one day to his father's house, after a brief absence, and found the family dismayed and indignant at the kidnapping of a colored woman in their employ. Thomas immediately resolved to follow the kidnappers, and so started in pursuit. Some peculiarity about the track made by their wagon, enabled him to trace them with ease, and he followed them by a devious course, from Darby, to a place near the Navy Yard, in Philadelphia, and then by inquiries, etc., tracked them to Kensington, where he found them, and, we believe, secured the woman's release. During this ride, he afterwards assured his friends, he felt the iniquity and abomination of the whole system of Slavery borne in upon his mind so strongly, as to fairly appal him, and he seemed to hear a voice within him, assuring him that his work in life must be to help and defend this persecuted race. From this time forward, he never failed to assist any fugitive from Slavery on the way to freedom, and, of course, after his removal to this city, his opportunities for this were greatly increased, and in course of time, his house became known as one of the refuges for fugitives. The sentiment of this community was, at that time, bitterly averse to any word or effort against Slavery, and Mr. Garrett had but half a dozen friends who stood by him. Nearly all others looked at him with suspicion, or positive aversion, and his house was constantly under the surveillance of the police, who then, sad to say, were always on the watch for any fugitives from bondage. Thomas was not disheartened or dismayed by the lack of popular sympathy or approval. He believed the Lord was on his side, and cared nothing for the adverse opinion of men. Many and interesting stories are told of the men and women he helped away, some of them full of pathos, and some decidedly amusing. He told the latter which related to his ingenious contrivances for assisting fugitives to escape the police with much pleasure, in his later years. We would repeat many of them, but this is not the time or place. The necessity of avoiding the police was the only thing, however, which ever forced him into any secrecy in his operations, and in all other respects he was "without concealment and without compromise" in his opposition to Slavery. He was a man of unusual personal bravery, and of powerful physique, and did not present an encouraging object for the bullying intimidation by which the pro-slavery men of that day generally overawed their opponents. He seems to have scarcely known what fear was, and though irate slave-holders often called on him to learn the whereabouts of their slaves, he met them placidly, never denied having helped the fugitives on their way, positively refused to give them any information, and when they flourished pistols, or bowie-knives to enforce their demands, he calmly pushed the weapons aside, and told them that none but cowards resorted to such means to carry their ends. He continued his labors, thus, for years, helping all who came to him, and making no concealment of his readiness to do so. His firmness and courage slowly won others, first to admire, and then to assist him, and the little band of faithful workers, of which he was chief, gradually enlarged and included in its number, men of all ranks, and differing creeds, and, singular as it may seem, even numbering some ardent Democrats in its ranks. He has, in conversation with the present writer and others, frequently acknowledged the valuable services of two Roman Catholics, of Irish birth, still living in this city, who were ever faithful to him, and will now be amongst those who most earnestly mourn his decease. His efforts, of course, brought him much persecution and annoyance, but never culminated in anything really serious, until about the year 1846 or '47. He then met, at New Castle, a man, woman, and six children, from down on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. The man was free, the woman had, been a slave, and while in Slavery had had by her husband, two children. She was then set free, and afterwards had four children. The whole party ran away. They traveled several days, and finally reached Middletown, late at night, where they were taken in, fed and cared for, by John Hunn, a wealthy Quaker, there. They were watched, however, by some persons in that section, who followed them, arrested them, and sent them to New Castle to jail. The sheriff and his daughter were Anti-slavery people, and wrote to Mr. Garrett to come over. He went over, had an interview, found from their statement, that four of the party were undoubtedly free, and returned to this city. On the following day, he and U.S. Senator Wales, went over and had the party taken before Judge Booth, on a writ of _habeas corpus_. Judge Booth decided that there was no evidence on which to hold them, that in the absence of evidence the _presumption was always in favor of freedom_ and discharged them. Mr. Garrett then said, here is this woman with a babe at her breast, the child suffering from a white swelling on its leg, is there any impropriety in my getting a carriage and helping them over to Wilmington? Judge Booth responded certainly not. Mr. Garrett then hired the carriage, but gave the driver distinctly to understand that he only paid for the woman and the young children; the rest might walk. They all got in, however, and finally escaped, of course the two children born in slavery amongst the rest. Six weeks afterwards the slave-holders followed them, and incited, it is said, by the Cochrans and James A. Bayard, commenced a suit against Mr. Garrett, claiming all the fugitives as slaves. Mr. Garrett's friends claim that the jury was packed to secure an adverse verdict. The trial came on before Chief Justice Taney and Judge Hall, in the May term (1848) of the U.S. Court, sitting at New Castle, Bayard representing the prosecutors, and Wales the defendant. There were four trials in all, lasting three days. We have not room here for the details of the trial, but the juries awarded even heavier damages than the plaintiffs claimed, and the judgments swept away every dollar of his property. When the trials were concluded, Mr. Garrett arose, the court being adjourned, made a speech of an hour to the large crowd in the court-room, in the course of which he declared his intention to redouble his exertions, so help him God. His bold assertion was greeted with mingled cheers and hisses, and at the conclusion of his speech one of the jurors who had convicted him strode across the benches, grasped his hand, and begged his forgivenness. Mr. Garrett kept his pledge and redoubled his exertions. The trial advertised him, and such was the demand on him for shelter, that he was compelled to put another story on his back buildings. His friends helped him to start again in business, and commencing anew in his sixtieth year with nothing, he again amassed a handsome competence, generously contributing all the while to every work in behalf of the down-trodden blacks or his suffering fellow-men of any color. In time the war came, and as he remarked, the nation went into the business by the wholesale, so he quit his retail operations, having, after he commenced to keep a record, helped off over twenty-one hundred slaves, and no inconsiderable number before that time. In time, too, he came to be honored instead of execrated for his noble efforts. Wilmington became an abolition city, and for once, at least, a prophet was not without honor in his own city. Mr. Garrett continued his interest in every reform up to his last illness, and probably his last appearance in any public capacity, was as president of a Woman Suffrage meeting, in the City Hall, a few months ago, which was addressed by Julia Ward Howe, Lucy Stone, and Henry B. Blackwell. He lived to see the realization of his hopes for Universal Freedom, and in April last on the occasion of the great parade of the colored people in this city, he was carried through our streets in an open barouche, surrounded by the men in whose behalf he had labored so faithfully, and the guards around his carriage carrying banners, with the inscription, "Our Moses." A Moses he was to their race; but unto him it was given to enter into the promised land toward which he had set his face persistently and almost alone for more than half a century. He was beloved almost to adoration by his dusky-hued friends, and in the dark days of the beginning of the war, which every Wilmingtonian will remember with a shudder, in those days of doubt, confusion, and suspicion, without his knowledge or consent, Thomas Garrett's house was constantly surrounded and watched by faithful black men, resolved that, come weal come woe to them, no harm should come to the benefactor of their race. He was a hero in a life-time fight, an upright, honest man in his dealings with men, a tender husband, a loving father, and above all, a man who loved his neighbor as himself, and righteousness and truth better than ease, safety, or worldly goods, and who never let any fear of harm to person or property sway him from doing his whole duty to the uttermost. He was faithful among the faithless, upright and just in the midst of a wicked and perverse generation, and lived to see his labors rewarded and approved in his own life-time, and then with joy that the Right had triumphed by mightier means than his own; with thankfulness for the past, and with calm trust for the future, he passed to the reward of the just. He has fought a good fight, he has finished his course, he has kept the faith. From the same paper, of January 30th, 1871, we extract an account of the funeral obsequies which took place on Saturday, January 28th. FUNERAL SERVICE ON SATURDAY. The funeral of Thomas Garrett, which took place on Saturday, partook almost of the character of a popular ovation to the memory of the deceased, though it was conducted with the plainness of form which characterizes the society of which he was a member. There was no display, no organization, nothing whatever to distinguish this from ordinary funerals, except the outpouring of people of every creed, condition, and color, to follow the remains to their last resting-place. There was for an hour or two before the procession started, a constant living stream of humanity passing into the house, around the coffin, and out at another door, to take a last look at the face of the deceased, the features of which displayed a sweetness and serenity which occasioned general remark. A smile seemed to play upon the dead lips. Shortly after three o'clock the funeral procession started, the plain coffin, containing the remains, being carried by the stalwart arms of a delegation of colored men, and the family and friends of the deceased following in carriages with a large procession on foot, while the sidewalks along the line, from the house to the meeting-house, more than six squares, were densely crowded with spectators. The Friends' Meeting House was already crowded, except the place reserved for the relatives of the deceased, and, though probably fifteen hundred people crowded into the capacious building, a greater number still were unable to gain admission. The crowd inside was composed of all kinds and conditions of men, white and black, all uniting to do honor to the character and works of the deceased. The coffin was laid in the open space in front of the gallery of ministers and elders, and the lid removed from it, after which there was a period of silence. Presently the venerable Lucretia Mott arose and said that, seeing the gathering of the multitude there and thronging along the streets, as she had passed on her way to the meeting-house, she had thought of the multitude which gathered after the death of Jesus, and of the remark of the Centurion, who, seeing the people, said: "Certainly this was a righteous man." Looking at this multitude she would say surely this also was a righteous man. She was not one of those who thought it best always on occasions like this, to speak in eulogy of the dead, but this was not an ordinary case, and seeing the crowd that had gathered, and amongst it the large numbers of a once despised and persecuted race, for which the deceased had done so much, she felt that it was fit and proper that the good deeds of this man's life should be remembered, for the encouragement of others. She spoke of her long acquaintance with him, of his cheerful and sunny disposition, and his firm devotion to the truth as he saw it. Aaron M. Powell, of New York, was the next speaker, and he spoke at length with great earnestness of the life-long labor of his departed friend in the abolition cause, of his cheerfulness, his courage, and his perfect consecration to his work. He alluded to the fact, that deceased was a member of the Society of Friends, and held firmly to its faith that God leads and inspires men to do the work He requires of them, that He speaks within the soul of every man, and that all men are equally His children, subject to His guidance, and that all should be free to follow wherever the Spirit might lead. It was Thomas Garrett's recognition of this sentiment that made him an abolitionist, and inspired him with the courage to pursue his great work. He cared little for the minor details of Quakerism, but he was a true Quaker in his devotion to this great central idea which is the basis on which it rests. He urged the Society to take a lesson from the deceased, and recognizing the responsibility of their position, to labor with earnestness, and to consecrate their whole beings to the cause of right and reform. It is impossible for us to give any fair abstract of Mr. Powell's earnest and eloquent tribute to his friend, on whom he had looked, he said, as "a Father in Israel" from his boyhood. William Howard Day, then came forward, saying, he understood that it would not be considered inappropriate for one of his race to say a few words on this occasion, and make some attempt to pay a fitting tribute to one to whom they owed so much. He did not feel to-day like paying such a tribute, his grief was too fresh upon him, his heart too bowed down, and he could do no more, than in behalf of his race, not only those here, but the host the deceased has befriended, and of the whole four millions to whom he had been so true a friend, cast a tribute of praise and thanks upon his grave. Rev. Alfred Cookman, of Grace M.E. Church, next arose, and said that he came there intending to say nothing, but the scene moved him to a few words. He remembered once standing in front of St. Paul's Cathedral, in London, and seeing therein the name of the architect, Sir Christopher Wren, inscribed, and under it this inscription: "Stranger, if you would see his monument look about you." And the thought came to him that if you would see the monument of him who lies there, look about you and see it built in stones of living hearts. He thanked God for the works of this man; he thanked Him especially for his noble character. He said that he felt that that body had been the temple of a noble spirit, aye the temple of God himself, and some day they would meet the spirit in the heavenly land beyond the grave. Lucretia Mott arose, and said she feared the claim might appear to be made that Quakerism alone held the great central principle which dominated this man's life; but she wished it understood that they recognized this "voice within" as leading and guiding all men, and they probably meant by it much the same as those differing from them meant by the Third person in their Trinity. She did not wish, even in appearance, to claim a belief in this voice for her own sect alone. T. Clarkson Taylor then said, that the time for closing the services had arrived, and in a very few words commended the lesson of his life to those present, after which the meeting dissolved, and the body was carried to the grave-yard in the rear of the meeting-house, and deposited in its last resting-place. THE TRIAL OF THE CASES, 1848. To the Editor of the Commercial: Your admirable and interesting sketch of the career of the late Thomas Garrett contains one or two statements, which, according to my recollection of the facts, are not entirely accurate, and are perhaps of sufficient importance to be corrected. The proceedings in the U.S. Circuit Court were not public prosecutions or indictments, but civil suits instituted by the owners of the runaway slaves, who employed and paid counsel to conduct them. An act of Congress, then in force, imposed a penalty of five hundred dollars on any person who should knowingly harbor or conceal a fugitive from labor, to be recovered by and for the benefit of the claimant of such fugitive, in any Court proper to try the same; saving, moreover, to the claimant his right of action for or on account of loss, etc.; thus giving to the slave-owner two cases for action for each fugitive, one of debt for the penalty, and one of trespass for damages. There were in all seven slaves, only the husband and father of the family being free, who escaped under the friendly help and guidance of Mr. Garrett, five of whom were claimed by E.N. Turner, and the remaining two by C.T. Glanding, both claimants being residents of Maryland. In the suits for the penalties, Turner obtained judgment for twenty-five hundred dollars, and Glanding, one for one thousand dollars. In these cases the jury could give neither less nor more than the amount of the penalties, on the proper proof being made. Nor in the trespass case did the jury give "larger damages than were claimed." A jury sometimes does queer things, but it cannot make a verdict for a greater sum than the plaintiff demands; in the trespass cases, Glanding had a verdict for one thousand dollars damages, but in Turner's case only nine hundred dollars were allowed, though the plaintiff sued for twenty-five hundred. It is hardly true to say that any one of the juries was _packed_, indeed, it would have been a difficult matter in that day for the Marshal to summon thirty sober, honest, and judicious men, fairly and impartially chosen from the three counties of Delaware, who would have found verdicts different from those which were rendered. The jury must have been fixed for the defendant to have secured any other result, on the supposition that the testimony admitted of any doubt or question, the anti-slavery men in the state being like Virgil's ship-wrecked mariners, very few in number and scattered over a vast space. What most redounds to the honor and praise of Mr. Garrett, in this transaction, as a noble and disinterested philanthropist is, that after the fugitives had been discharged from custody under the writ of _habeas corpus_, and when he had been advised by his lawyer, who was also his personal friend, to keep his hands off and let the party work their own passage to a haven of freedom, not then far distant, or he might be involved in serious trouble, he deliberately refused to abandon them to the danger of pursuit and capture. The welfare and happiness of too many human beings were at stake to permit him to think of personal consequences, and he was ready and dared to encounter any risk for himself, so that he could insure the safety of those fleeing from bondage. It was this heroic purpose to protect the weak and helpless at any cost, this fearless unselfish action, not stopping to weigh the contingencies of individual gain or loss, that constitutes his best title to the gratitude of those he served, and to the admiration and respect of all who can appreciate independent conduct springing from pure and lofty motives. He did what he thought and believed to be right, and let the consequences take care of themselves. He never would directly or otherwise, entice a slave to leave his master; but he never would refuse his aid to the hunted, panting wretch that in the pursuit of happiness was seeking after liberty. And who among us is now bold enough to say, that in all this he did not see clearly, act bravely, do justly, and live up to the spirit of the sacred text:--"Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them?" W. In a letter addressed to one of the sons, William Lloyd Garrison pays the following beautiful and just tribute to his faithfulness in the cause of freedom. BOSTON, January 25th, 1871. MY DEAR FRIEND:--I have received the intelligence of the death of your honored and revered father, with profound emotions. If it were not for the inclemency of the weather, and the delicate state of my health, I would hasten to be at the funeral, long as the distance is; not indeed as a mourner, for, in view of his ripe old age, and singularly beneficent life, there is no cause for sorrow, but to express the estimation in which I held him, as one of the best men who ever walked the earth, and one of the most beloved among my numerous friends and co-workers in the cause of an oppressed and down-trodden race, now happily rejoicing in their heavenly-wrought deliverance. For to no one was the language of Job more strictly applicable than to himself:--"When the ear heard me, then it blessed me, and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me; because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me; and I caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. I put on righteousness, and it clothed me; my judgment was as a robe and a diadem. I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame. I was a father to the poor; and the cause which I knew not I searched out. And I brake the jaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of his teeth." This is an exact portraiture of your father, a most comprehensive delineation of his character as a philanthropist and reformer. It was his meat and drink. "The poor to feed, the lost to seek, To proffer life to death, Hope to the erring, to the weak The strength of his own faith. "To plead the captive's right; remove The sting of hate from law; And soften in the fire of love The hardened steel of war. "He walked the dark world in the mild, Still guidance of the light; In tearful tenderness a child, A strong man in the right." Did there ever live one who had less of that "fear of man which bringeth a snare," than himself? Or who combined more moral courage with exceeding tenderness of spirit? Or who adhered more heroically to his convictions of duty in the face of deadly peril and certain suffering? Or who gave himself more unreservedly, or with greater disinterestedness, to the service of bleeding humanity? Or who took more joyfully the spoiling of his goods as the penalty of his sympathy for the hunted fugitive? Or who more untiringly kept pace with all the progressive movements of the age, as though in the very freshness of adult life, while venerable with years? Or who, as a husband, father, friend, citizen, or neighbor, more nobly performed all the duties, or more generally distributed all the charities of life? He will leave a great void in the community. Such a stalwart soul appears only at rare intervals. Delaware, enslaved, treated him like a felon; Delaware, redeemed, will be proud of his memory. "Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust." His rightful place is conspicuously among the benefactors, saviours, martyrs of the human race. His career was full of dramatic interest from beginning to end, and crowded with the experiences and vicissitudes of a most eventful nature. What he promised he fulfilled; what he attempted, he seldom, or never failed to accomplish; what he believed, he dared to proclaim upon the housetop; what he ardently desired, and incessantly labored for, was the reign of universal freedom, peace, and righteousness. He was among the manliest of men, and the gentlest of spirits. There was no form of human suffering that did not touch his heart; but his abounding sympathy was especially drawn out towards the poor, imbruted slaves of the plantation, and such of their number as sought their freedom by flight. The thousands that passed safely through his hands, on their way to Canada and the North, will never forget his fatherly solicitude for their welfare, or the dangers he unflinchingly encountered in their behalf. Stripped of all his property under the Fugitive Slave law, for giving them food, shelter, and assistance to continue their flight, he knew not what it was to be intimidated or disheartened, but gave himself to the same blessed work as though conscious of no loss. Great-hearted philanthropist, what heroism could exceed thy own? "For, while the jurist sitting with the slave-whip o'er him swung, From the tortured truths of freedom the lie of slavery wrung, And the solemn priest to Moloch, on each God-deserted shrine, Broke the bondman's heart for bread, poured the bondman's blood for wine-- While the multitude in blindness to a far-off Saviour knelt, And spurned, the while, the temple where a present Saviour dwelt; Thou beheld'st Him in the task-field, in the prison shadow dim, And thy mercy to the bondman, it was mercy unto Him!" I trust some one, well qualified to execute the pleasing task, will write his biography for the grand lessons his life inculcated. Yours, in full sympathy and trust, WM. LLOYD GARRISON. A contemporary who had known him long and intimately--who had appreciated his devotion to freedom, who had shared with him some of the perils consequent upon aiding the fleeing fugitives, and who belonged to the race with whom Garrett sympathized, and for whose elevation and freedom he labored so assiduously with an overflowing heart of tender regard and sympathy--penned the following words, touching the sad event: CHATHAM, C.W., January 30, 1871. To MR. HENRY GARRETT:--Dear Sir:--I have just heard, through the kindness of my friend, Mrs. Graves, of the death of your dear father; the intelligence makes me feel sad and sorrowful; I sincerely sympathize with you and all your brothers and sisters, in your mournful bereavement; but you do not mourn without hope, for you have an assurance in his death that your loss is his infinite gain. For he was a good Christian, a good husband, a good father, a good citizen, and a truly good Samaritan, for his heart, his hand and his purse, were ever open to the wants of suffering humanity, wherever he found it; irrespective of the country, religion, or complexion of the sufferer. Hence there are many more who mourn his loss, as well as yourselves; and I know, verily, that many a silent tear was shed by his fellow-citizens, both white and colored, when he took his departure; especially the colored ones; for he loved them with a brother's love, not because they were colored, but because they were oppressed, and, like John Brown, he loved them to the last; that was manifest by his request that they should be his bearers. I can better feel than I have language to express the mournful and sorrowing pride that must have stirred the inmost souls of those men of color, who had the honor conferred on them of bearing his mortal remains to their last resting-place, when they thought of what a sacred trust was committed to their hands. We are told to mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace; and such was the end of your dear father, and he has gone to join the innumerable company of the spirits of the just, made perfect on the other side of the river, where there is a rest remaining for all the children of God. My brother, Abraham D. Shadd, and my sister Amelia, join their love and condolence with mine to you all, hoping that the virtues of your father may be a guiding star to you all, until you meet him again in that happy place, where parting will be no more, forever. Your humble friend, ELIZABETH J. WILLIAMS. From the learned and the unlearned, from those in high places and from those in humble stations, many testimonials reached the family, respecting this great friend of the slave, but it is doubtful, whether a single epistle from any one, was more affectingly appreciated by the bereaved family, than the epistle just quoted from Elizabeth J. Williams. The Slave's most eloquent advocate, Wendell Phillips, in the "National Standard," of February 4, 1871, in honor of the departed, bore the following pertinent testimony to his great worth in the cause of Liberty. "I should not dare to trust my memory for the number of fugitive slaves this brave old friend has helped to safety and freedom--nearly three thousand, I believe. What a rich life to look back on! How skilful and adroit he was, in eluding the hunters! How patient in waiting days and weeks, keeping the poor fugitives hidden meanwhile, till it was safe to venture on the highway! What whole-hearted devotion, what unselfish giving of time, means, and everything else to this work of brotherly love! What house in Delaware, so honorable in history, as that where hunted men fled, and were sure to find refuge. It was the North Star to many a fainting heart. This century has grand scenes to show and boast of among its fellows. But few transcend that auction-block where the sheriff was selling all Garrett's goods for the crime (!) of giving a breakfast to a family of fugitive slaves. As the sale closed, the officer turns to Garrett, saying: 'Thomas, I hope you'll never be caught at this again.' "'Friend,' was the reply, 'I haven't a dollar in the world, but if thee knows a fugitive who needs a breakfast, send him to me.' "Over such a scene, Luther and Howard and Clarkson clapped their hands. "Such a speech redeems the long infamy of the State. It is endurable, the having of such a blot as Delaware in our history, when it has once been the home of such a man. I remember well the just pride with which he told me, that after that sale, pro-slavery as Wilmington was, he could have a discount at the bank as readily as any man in the city. Though the laws robbed him, his fellow-citizens could not but respect and trust him, love and honor him. "The city has never had, we believe, a man die in it worthy of a statue. We advise it to seize this opportunity to honor itself and perpetuate the good name of its worthiest citizen, by immortalizing some street, spot, shaft or building with his name. "Brave, generous, high-souled, sturdy, outspoken friend of all that needed aid or sympathy, farewell for these scenes! In times to come, when friendless men and hated ideas need champions, God grant them as gallant and successful ones as you have been, and may the State you honored grow worthy of you. WENDELL PHILLIPS." Likewise in the "National Standard," the editor, Aaron M. Powell, who attended the funeral, paid the following glowing tribute to the moral, religious, and anti-slavery character of the slave's friend: On the 24th inst., Thomas Garrett, in his eighty-second year, passed on to the higher life. A week previous we had visited him in his sick chamber, and, on leaving him felt that he must go hence ere long. He was the same strong, resolute man in spirit to the last. He looked forward to the welcome change with perfect serenity and peace of mind. And well he might, for he had indeed fought the good fight and been faithful unto the end. He was most widely known for his services to fugitive slaves. Twenty-five hundred and forty-five he had preserved a record of; and he had assisted somewhat more than two hundred prior to the commencement of the record. Picture to the mind's eye this remarkable procession of nearly three thousand men, women and children fleeing from Slavery, and finding in this brave, large-hearted man, a friend equal to their needs in so critical an emergency! No wonder he was feared by the slave-holders, not alone of his own State, but of the whole South. If their human chattels once reached his outpost, there was indeed little hope of their reclamation. The friend and helper of fugitives from Slavery, truly their Moses, he was more than this, he was the discriminating, outspoken, uncompromising opponent of Slavery itself. He was one of the strongest pillars and one of the most efficient working-members of the American Anti-slavery Society. He was an abolitionist of the most radical and pronounced character, though a resident of a slave State, and through all the period wherein to be an abolitionist was to put in jeopardy, not only reputation and property, but life itself. Though he rarely addressed public meetings, his presence imparted much strength to others, was "weighty" in the best Quaker sense. He was of the rare type of character, represented by Francis Jackson and James Mott. Thomas Garrett was a member of the Society of Friends, and as such, served by the striking contrast of his own life and character, with the average of the Society, to exemplify to the world the real, genuine Quakerism. It is not at all to the credit of his fellow-members, that it must be said of them, that when he was bearing the cross and doing the work for which he is now so universally honored, they, many of them, were not only not in sympathy with him, but would undoubtedly, if they had had the requisite vitality and courage, have cut him off from their denominational fellowship. He was a sincere, earnest believer in the cardinal point of Quakerism, the Divine presence in the human soul--this furnishes the key to his action through life. This divine attribute he regarded not as the birth-right of Friends alone, not of one race, sex or class, but of all mankind. Therefore was he an abolitionist; therefore was he interested in the cause of the Indians; therefore was he enlisted in the cause of equal rights for women; therefore was he a friend of temperance, of oppressed and needy working-men and women, world-wide in the scope of his philanthropic sympathy, and broadly catholic, and comprehensive in his views of religious life and duty. He was the soul of honor in business. His experience, when deprived at sixty, of every dollar of his property for having obeyed God rather than man, in assisting fugitives from Slavery, and the promptness with which his friends came forward with proffered co-operation, furnishes a lesson which all should ponder well. He had little respect for, or patience with shams of any kind, in religious, political or social life. As we looked upon Thomas Garrett's calm, serene face, mature in a ripe old age, still shadowing forth kindliness of heart, firmness of purpose, discriminating intelligence, conscientious, manly uprightness, death never seemed more beautiful: "Why, what is Death but Life In other forms of being? Life without The coarser attributes of men, the dull And momently decaying frame which holds The ethereal spirit in, and binds it down To brotherhood with brutes! There's no Such thing as Death; what's so-called is but The beginning of a new existence, a fresh Segment of the eternal round of change." A.M.P. Another warm admirer of this Great Lover of humanity, in a letter to George W. Stone thus alludes to his life and death: TAUNTON, MASS., June 25th, 1871. DEAR STONE:--Your telegram announcing the death of that old soldier and saint, and my good friend, Thos. Garrett, reached me last evening at ten o'clock. My first impulse was to start for Wilmington, and be present at his funeral; but when I considered my work here, and my engagements for the next four days, I found it impossible to go. I will be there in spirit, and bow my inmost soul before the All Loving One, his Father and ours, in humble thankfulness, that I ever knew him, and had the privilege of enjoying his friendship and witnessing his devotion, to the interest of every good cause of benevolence and Reform. I could write you many things of interest which I heard from him, and which I have noted on my memory and heart; but I cannot now. I think he was one of the remarkable men of the times, in faith, in holy boldness, in fearless devotion to the right, in uncompromising integrity, in unselfish benevolence, in love to God and man, and in unceasing, life-long efforts to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with God. We shall not soon look upon his like again. If I was present at his funeral, I should take it as a privilege to pronounce his name, and say, as I never said before, "Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord; even so saith the Spirit; for they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them." Do, at once, see his children and Clarkson Taylor, and give them my condolence, no, my _congratulation_, and assure them that they have a rich legacy in his noble life, and he has a glorious reward in the bosom of God. Peace to his memory! Noble old man, so pure and peaceful, and yet so strong, firm, and fearless, so gentle, tender, and truthful, afraid and ashamed of nothing but sin, and in love and labor with every good work. I could write on and fill many pages. But he desired no eulogy, and needs none. He lives, and will live for ever in many hearts and in the heaven of heavens above. T. ISRAEL. If it were necessary we might continue to introduce scores of editorials, communications, epistles, etc., all breathing a similar spirit of respect for the rare worth of this wonderful man, but space forbids. In conclusion, therefore, with a view of presenting him in the light of his own interesting letters, written when absorbed in his peculiar work, from a large number on file the following are submitted: WILMINGTON, 11th mo. 21st, 1855. ESTEEMED FRIEND, WM. STILL:--Thine of this date, inquiring for the twenty-one, and how they have been disposed of, has just been received. I can only answer by saying, when I parted with them yesterday forenoon, I gave the wife of the person, in whose house they were, money to pay her expenses to Philadelphia and back in the cars to pilot the four women to thy place. I gave her husband money to pay a pilot to start yesterday with the ten men, divided in two gangs; also a letter for thee. I hope they have arrived safe ere this. I had to leave town soon after noon yesterday to attend a brother ill with an attack of apoplexy, and to-day I have been very much engaged. The place they stayed here is a considerable distance off. I will make inquiry to-morrow morning, and in case any other disposition has been made of them than the above I will write thee. I should think they have stopped to-day, in consequence of the rain, and most likely will arrive safe to-morrow. In haste, thy friend, THOS. GARRETT. Although having "to attend a brother, ill with an attack of apoplexy," Garrett took time to attend to the interest of the "twenty-one," as the above letter indicates. How many other men in the United States, under similar circumstances, would have been thus faithful? On another occasion deeply concerned for A FORWARDER OF SLAVES, he wrote thus: WILMINGTON, 12th mo. 26th, 1855. ESTEEMED FRIEND, WM. STILL:--The bearer of this, George Wilmer, is a slave, whose residence is in Maryland. He is a true man, and a forwarder of slaves. Has passed some twenty-five within four months. He is desirous of finding some of his relations, Wm. Mann and Thomas Carmichael, they passed here about a month since. If thee can give him any information where they can be found thee will much oblige him, and run no risk of their safety in so doing. I remain, as ever, thy sincere friend, THOS. GARRETT. "Four able-bodied men," form the subject of the subjoined correspondence: WILMINGTON, 11th mo., 4th, 1856. ESTEEMED FRIENDS, J. Miller McKim and William Still:--Captain F., has arrived here this day, with four able-bodied men. One is an engineer, and has been engaged in sawing lumber, a second, a good house-carpenter, a third a blacksmith, and the fourth a farm hand. They are now five hundred miles from their home in Carolina, and would be glad to get situations, without going far from here. I will keep them till to-morrow. Please inform me whether thee knows of a suitable place in the country where the mechanics can find employment at their trades for the winter; let me hear to-morrow, and oblige your friend, THOMAS GARRETT. "What has become of Harriet Tubman?" (agent of the Underground Rail Road), is made a subject of special inquiry in the following note: WILMINGTON, 3d mo., 27th, 1857. ESTEEMED FRIEND, WILLIAM STILL:--I have been very anxious for some time past, to hear what has become of Harriet Tubman. The last I heard of her, she was in the State of New York, on her way to Canada with some friends, last fall. Has thee seen, or heard anything of her lately? It would be a sorrowful fact, if such a hero as she, should be lost from the Underground Rail Road. I have just received a letter from Ireland, making inquiry respecting her. If thee gets this in time, and knows anything respecting her, please drop me a line by mail to-morrow, and I will get it next morning if not sooner, and oblige thy friend. I have heard nothing from the eighth man from Dover, but trust he is safe. THOMAS GARRETT. On being informed that Harriet was "all right," the following extract from a subsequent letter, expresses his satisfaction over the good news, and at the same time, indicates his sympathy for a "poor traveler," who had fallen a victim to the cold weather, and being severely frost-bitten, had died of lock-jaw, as related on page 52. "I was truly glad to learn that Harriet Tubman was still in good health and ready for action, but I think there will be more danger at present than heretofore, there is so much excitement below in consequence of the escape of those eight slaves. I was truly sorry to hear of the fate of that poor fellow who had periled so much for liberty. I was in hopes from what thee told me, that he would recover with the loss perhaps of some of his toes. THOMAS GARRETT." In the next letter, an interesting anecdote is related of an encounter on the Underground Rail Road, between the fugitives and several Irishmen, and how one of the old countrymen was shot in the forehead, etc., which G. thought would make such opponents to the Road "more cautious." WILMINGTON, 11th mo., 5th, 1857. ESTEEMED FRIEND, WILLIAM STILL:--I have just written a note for the bearer to William Murphy Chester, who will direct him on to thy care; he left his home about a week since. I hear in the lower part of this State, he met with a friend to pilot him some twenty-five miles last night. We learn that one party of those last week were attacked with clubs by several Irish and that one of them was shot in the forehead, the ball entering to the skull bone, and passing under the skin partly round the head. My informant says he is likely to recover, but it will leave an ugly mark it is thought, as long as he lives. We have not been able to learn, whether the party was on the look out for them, or whether they were rowdies out on a Hallow-eve frolic; but be it which it may, I presume they will be more cautious here how they trifle with such. Desiring thee prosperity and happiness, I remain thy friend, THOMAS GARRETT. FOUR OF GOD'S POOR. The following letter shows the fearless manner in which he attended to the duties of his station: WILMINGTON, 9th mo. 6th, 1857. RESPECTED FRIEND, WM. STILL:--This evening I send to thy care four of God's poor. Severn Johnson, a true man, will go with them to-night by rail road to thy house. I have given Johnson five dollars, which will pay all expenses, and leave each twenty-five cents. We are indebted to Captain F----t----n for those. May success attend them in their efforts to maintain themselves. Please send word by Johnson whether or no, those seven arrived safe I wrote thee of ten days since. My wife and self were at Longwood to-day, had a pleasant ride and good meeting. We are, as ever, thy friend, THOS. GARRETT. Quite a satisfactory account is given, in the letter below of the "Irishman who was shot in the forehead;" also of one of the same kin, who in meddling with Underground Rail Road passengers, got his arm broken in two places, etc. WILMINGTON, 11th mo. 14th, 1857. ESTEEMED FRIEND, WM. STILL:--Thy favor of a few days since came to hand, giving quite a satisfactory account of the large company. I find in the melee near this town, one of the Irishmen got his arm broken in two places. The one shot in the forehead is badly marked, but not dangerously injured. I learn to-day, that the carriage in that company, owing to fast driving with such a heavy load, is badly broken, and the poor horse was badly injured; it has not been able to do anything since. Please say to my friend, Rebecca Hart, that I have heretofore kept clear of persuading, or even advising slaves to leave their masters till they had fully made up their minds to leave, knowing as I do there is great risk in so doing, and if betrayed once would be a serious injury to the cause hereafter. I had spoken to one colored man to try to see him, but he was not willing to risk it. If he has any desire to get away, he can, during one night, before they miss him, get out of the reach of danger. Booth has moved into New Castle, and left the two boys on the farm. If Rebecca Hart will write to me, and give me the name of the boy, and the name of his mother, I will make another effort. The man I spoke to lives in New Castle, and thinks the mother of the boy alluded to lives between here and New Castle. The young men's association here wants Wendell Phillips to deliver a lecture on the lost arts, and some of the rest of us wish him to deliver a lecture on Slavery. Where will a letter reach him soonest, as I wish to write him on the subject. I thought he could perhaps deliver two lectures, two nights in succession. If thee can give the above information, thee will much oblige-- GARRETT & SON. In his business-like transactions, without concealment, he places matters in such a light that the wayfaring man, though a fool, need not err, as may here be seen. WILMINGTON, 11th mo. 25th, 1857. ESTEEMED FRIEND, WM. STILL:--I now send Johnson, one of our colored men, up with the three men I wrote thee about. Johnson has undertook to have them well washed and cleaned during the day. And I have provided them with some second-hand clothes, to make them comfortable, a new pair of shoes and stockings, and shall pay Johnson for taking care of them. I mention this so that thee may know. Thee need not advance him any funds. In the present case I shall furnish them with money to pay their fare to Philadelphia, and Johnson home again. Hoping they will get on safe, I remain thy friend, THOS. GARRETT. FOUR FEMALES ON BOARD. The fearless Garrett communicated through the mail, as usual, the following intelligence: WILMINGTON, 8th mo. 25th, 1859. ESTEEMED FRIEND, WM. STILL:--The brig Alvena, of Lewistown, is in the Delaware opposite here, with four females on board. The colored man, who has them in charge, was employed by the husband of one of them to bring his wife up. When he arrived here, he found the man had left. As the vessel is bound to Red Bank, I have advised him to take them there in the vessel, and to-morrow take them in the steamboat to the city, and to the Anti-slavery office. He says they owe the captain one dollar and fifty cents for board, and I gave him three dollars, to pay the captain and take them to your office. I have a man here, to go on to-night, that was nearly naked; shall rig him out pretty comfortably. Poor fellow, he has lost his left hand, but he says he can take care of himself. In haste, thy friend, THOS. GARRETT. While Father Abraham was using his utmost powers to put down the rebellion, in 1864, a young man who had "been most unrighteously sold for seven years," desirous of enlisting, sought advice from the wise and faithful Underground Rail Road manager, who gave him the following letter, which may be looked upon in the light of a rare anecdote, as there is no doubt but that the "professed non-resistant" in this instance, hoped to see the poor fellow "_snugly fixed in his regimentals_" doing service for "Father Abraham." WILMINGTON, 1st mo. 23d, 1864. RESPECTED FRIEND, WILLIAM STILL:--The bearer of this, Winlock Clark, has lately been most unrighteously sold for seven years, and is desirous of enlisting, and becoming one of Uncle Sam's boys; I have advised him to call on thee so that no land sharks shall get any bounty for enlisting him; he has a wife and several children, and whatever bounty the government or the State allows him, will be of use to his family. Please write me when he is snugly fixed in his regimentals, so that I may send word to his wife. By so doing, thee will much oblige thy friend, and the friend of humanity, THOMAS GARRETT. N.B. Am I naughty, being a professed non-resistant, to advise this poor fellow to serve Father Abraham? T.G. We have given so many of these inimitable Underground Rail Road letters from the pen of the sturdy old laborer, not only because they will be new to the readers of this work, but because they so fittingly illustrate his practical devotion to the Slave, and his cheerfulness--in the face of danger and difficulty--in a manner that other pens might labor in vain to describe. DANIEL GIBBONS. A life as uneventful as the one whose story we are about to tell, affords little scope for the genius of the biographer or the historian, but being carefully studied, it cannot fail to teach a lesson of devotion and self-sacrifice, which should be learned and remembered by every succeeding age. Daniel Gibbons, son of James and Deborah (Hoopes) Gibbons, was born on the banks of Mill Creek, in Lancaster county, Pennsylvania, on the 21st day of the 12th month (December), 1775. He was descended on his father's side from an English ancestor, whose name appears on the colonial records, as far back as 1683. John Gibbons evidently came with or before William Penn to this "goodly heritage of freedom." His earthly remains lie at Concord Friends' burying-ground, Delaware county, near where the family lived for a generation or two. The grandfather of Daniel Gibbons, who lived near where West Town boarding-school now is, in Chester county, bought for seventy pounds, "one thousand acres of land and allowances," in what is now Lancaster county, intending, as he ultimately did, to settle his three sons upon it. This purchase was made about the year 1715. In process of time, the eldest son, desiring to marry Deborah Hoopes, the daughter of Daniel Hoopes, of a neighboring township in Chester county, the young people obtained the consent of parents and friends, but it was a time of grief and mourning among young and old. The young Friends assured the intended bride, that they would not marry the best man in the Province and do what she was about to do; and the elder dames, so far relaxed the Puritanic rigidity of their rules, as to allow the invitation of an uncommonly large company of guests to the wedding, in order that a long and perhaps last farewell, might be said to the beloved daughter, who, with her husband, was about to emigrate to the "far West." Loud and long were the lamentations, and warm the embraces of these simple-minded Christian rustics, companions of toil and deprivation, as they parted from two of their number who were to leave their circle for the West; the West being then thirty-six miles distant. This was on the sixth day of the fifth month, 1756. More than a century has passed away; all the good people, eighty-nine in number, who signed the wedding certificate as witnesses, have passed away, and how vast is the change wrought in our midst since that day! Joseph Gibbons was so much pleased with the daring enterprise of his son and daughter-in-law, that he gave them one hundred acres of land in his Western possessions more than he reserved for his other and younger sons, and to it they immediately emigrated, and building first a cabin and the next year a store-house, began life for themselves in earnest. It is interesting, in view of the long and consistent anti-slavery course which Daniel Gibbons pursued, to trace the influence that wrought upon him while his character was maturing, and the causes which led him to see the wickedness of the system which he opposed. The Society of Friends in that day bore in mind the advice of their great founder, Fox, whose last words were: "Friends, mind the light." And following that guide which leads out of all evil and into all good, they viewed every custom of society with eyes undimmed by prejudice, and were influenced in every action of life by a belief in the common brotherhood of man, and a resolve to obey the command of Jesus, to love one another. This being the case, slavery and oppression of all kinds were unpopular, and indeed almost unknown amongst them. James Gibbons was a republican, and an enthusiastic advocate of American liberty. Being a man of commanding presence, and great energy and determination, efforts were made during the Revolution to induce him to enlist as a cavalry soldier. He was prevented from so doing by the entreaties of his wife, and his own conscientious scruples as a Friend. About the time of the Revolution, or immediately after, he removed to the borough of Wilmington, Delaware, where, being surrounded by slavery, he became more than ever alive to its iniquities. He was interested during his whole life in getting slaves off. And being elected second burgess of Wilmington during his residence there, his official position gave him great opportunities to assist in this noble work. It is related that during his magistracy a slave-holder brought a colored man before him, whom he claimed as his slave. There being no evidence of the alleged ownership, the colored man was set at liberty. The pretended owner was inclined to be impudent; but James Gibbons told him promptly that nothing but silence and good behaviour on his part would prevent his commitment for contempt of court. About the year 1790, James Gibbons came back to Lancaster county, where he spent twenty years in the practice of those deeds which will remain "in everlasting remembrance;" dying, full of years and honors, in 1810. Born in the first year of the revolution and growing up surrounded by such influences, Daniel Gibbons could not have been other than he was, the friend of the down-trodden and oppressed of every nationality and color. In 1789 his father took him to see General Washington, then passing through Wilmington. To the end of his life he retained a vivid recollection of this visit, and would recount its incidents to his family and friends. During his father's residence in Wilmington, he spent his summers with kinsmen in Lancaster county, learning to be a farmer, and his winters in Wilmington going to school. At the age of fourteen years he was bound an apprentice, as was the good custom of the day, to a Friend in Lancaster county to learn the tanning business. At this he served about six years, or until his master ceased to follow the business. During this apprenticeship he became accustomed to severe labor, so severe indeed that he never recovered from the effects thereof, having a difficulty in walking during the remainder of his life, which prevented him from taking the active part in Underground Rail Road business which he otherwise would have done. His father's estate being involved in litigation caused him to be put to this trade, farming being his favorite employment, and one which he followed during his whole life. In 1805 he took a pedestrian tour, by way of New York, Albany, and Niagara Falls to the State of Ohio, then the far West, coming home by way of Pittsburg, and walking altogether one thousand three hundred and fifty miles. In this trip he increased the injury to his feet, so as to render himself virtually a cripple. Upon the death of his father, he settled upon the farm, on which he died. About the year 1808 on going to visit some friends, who had removed to Adams county, Pennsylvania, he became acquainted with Hannah Wierman, whom he married on the fourth day of the fifth month, 1815. At this time Daniel Gibbous was about forty years old, and his wife about twenty-eight, she having been born on the ninth of the seventh month, 1787. A life of one after their union, would be incomplete without some notice of the other. During a married life of thirty-seven years, Hannah Gibbons was the assistant of her husband in every good and noble work. Possessed of a warm heart, a powerful, though uncultivated intellect, an excellent judgment, and great sweetness of disposition, she was fitted both by nature and training to endure without murmuring the inconvenience and trouble incident to the reception and care of fugitives and to rejoice that to her was given the opportunity of assisting them in their efforts to be free. The true measure of greatness in a human soul, is its willingness to suffer for its own good, or the good of its fellows, its self-sacrificing spirit. Granting the truth of this, one of the greatest souls was that of Hannah W. Gibbons. The following incident is a proof of this: In 1836, when she was no longer a young woman, there came to her home, one of the poorest, most ignorant, and filthiest of mankind--a slave from the great valley of Virginia. He was foot-sore and weary, and could not tell how he came, or who directed him. He seemed indeed, a missive directed and sent by the hand of the Almighty. Before he could be cleansed or recruited, he was taken sick, and before he could be removed (even if he could have been trusted at the county poor house), his case was pronounced to be small-pox. For six long weeks did this good angel in human form, attend upon this unfortunate object. Reasons were found why no one else could do it, and with her own hands, she ministered to his wants, until he was restored to health. Such was her life. This is merely one case. She was always ready to do her duty. Her interest in good, never left her, for when almost dying, she aroused from her lethargy and asked if Abraham Lincoln was elected president of the United States, which he was a few days afterwards. She always predicted a civil war, in the settlement of the Slavery question. During the last twenty-five years of her life she was an elder in the Society of Friends, of which she had always been an earnest, consistent, and devoted member. Her patience, self-denial, and warm affection were manifested in every relation of life. As a daughter, wife, mother, friend, and mistress of a family she was beloved by all, and to her relatives and friends who are left behind, the remembrance of her good deeds comes wafted like a perfume from beyond the golden gates. She survived her husband about eight years, dying on the sixteenth of the tenth month, 1860. Three children, sons, were born to their marriage, two of whom died in infancy and one still (1871) survives. To give some idea of the course pursued by Daniel and Hannah Gibbons, I insert the following letter, containing an account of events which took place in 1821: "A short time since, I learned that my old friend, William Still, was about to publish a history of the Underground Rail Road. His own experience in the service of this road would make a large volume. I was brought up by Daniel Gibbons, and am asked to say what I know of him as an abolitionist. From my earliest recollection, he was a friend to the colored people, and often hired them and paid them liberal wages. His house was a depot for fugitives, and many hundreds has he helped on their way to freedom. Many a dark night he has sent me to carry them victuals and change their places of refuge, and take them to other people's barns, when not safe for him to go. I have known him start in the night and go fifty miles with them, when they were very hotly pursued. One man and his wife lived with him for a long time. Afterwards the man lived with Thornton Walton. The man was hauling lumber from Columbia. He was taken from his team in Lancaster, and lodged in Baltimore jail. Daniel Gibbons went to Baltimore, visited the jail and tried hard to get him released, but failed. I would add here, that Daniel Gibbons' faithful wife, one of the best women I ever knew, was always ready, day or night, to do all she possibly could, to help the poor fugitives on their way to freedom. Many interesting incidents occurred at the home of my uncle. I will relate one. He had living with him at one time, two colored men, Thomas Colbert and John Stewart. The latter was from Maryland; John often said he would go back and get his wife. My uncle asked him if he was not afraid of his master's catching him. He said no, for his master knew if he undertook to take him, he would kill him. He did go and brought his wife to my uncle's. While these two large men, Tom and John, were there, along came Robert (other name unknown), in a bad plight, his feet bleeding. Robert was put in the barn to thrash, until he could be fixed up to go again on his journey. But in a few days, behold, along came his master. He brought with him that notorious constable, Haines, from Lancaster, and one other man. They came suddenly upon Robert; as soon as he saw them he ran and jumped out of the "overshoot," some ten feet down. In jumping, he put one knee out of joint. The men ran around the barn and seized him. By this time, the two colored men, Tom and John, came, together with my uncle and aunt. Poor Robert owned his master, but John told them they should not take him away, and was going at them with a club. One of the men drew a pistol to shoot John, but uncle told him he had better not shoot him; this was not a slave State. Inasmuch as Robert had owned his master, Uncle told John he must submit, so they put Robert on a horse, and started with him. After they were gone John said: "Mr. Gibbons, just say the word, and I will bring Robert back." Aunt said: "Go, John, go!" So John ran to Joseph Rakestraw's and got a gun (without any lock), and ran across the fields, with Tom after him, and headed the party. The men all ran except Haines, who kept Robert between himself and John, so that John should not shoot him. But John called out to Robert to drop off that horse, or he would shoot him. This Robert did, and John and Tom brought him back in triumph. My aunt said: "John, thee is a good fellow, thee has done well." Robert was taken to Jesse Gilbert's barn, and Dr. Dingee fixed his knee. As soon as he was able to travel, he took a "bee-line" for the North star. My life with my uncle and aunt made me an abolitionist. I left them in the winter of 1824, and came to Salem, Ohio, where I kept a small station on the Underground Rail Road, until the United States government took my work away. I have helped over two hundred fugitives on their way to Canada. Respectfully, DANIEL BONSALL, Salem, Columbiana county, Ohio." One day, in the winter of 1822, Thomas Johnson, a colored man, living with Daniel Gibbons, went out early in the morning, to set traps for muskrats. While he was gone, a slave-holder came to the house and inquired for his slave. Daniel Gibbons said: "There is no slave here of that name." The man replied: "I know he is here. The man we're after, is a miserable, worthless, thieving scoundrel." "Oh! very well, then," said the good Quaker, "if that's the kind of man thee's after, then I know he is not here. We have a colored man here, but he is not that kind of a man." The slaveholder waited awhile, the man not making his appearance, then said: "Well, now, Mr. Gibbons, when you see that man next, tell him that we were here, and if he will come home, we will take good care of him, and be kind to him." "Very well," said Daniel, "I will tell him what thee says, but say to him at the same time, that he is a very great fool, if he does as thee requests." The colored man sought, having caught sight of the slaveholders, and knowing who they were, went off that night, under Daniel Gibbons' directions, and was never seen by his master again. Afterward, Daniel and his nephew, William Gibbons, went with this man to Adams county. With his master came the master of Mary, a girl with straight hair, and nearly white, who lived with Daniel Gibbons and his wife. Poor Mary was unfortunate. Her master caught her, and took her back with him into Slavery. She and a little girl, who was taken away about the year 1830, were the only ones ever taken back from the house of Daniel Gibbons. Between the time of his marriage, when he began to keep a depot on the Underground Rail Road, and the year 1824, he passed more than one hundred slaves through to Canada, and between the latter time and his death, eight hundred more, making, in all nine hundred aided by him. He was ever willing to sacrifice his own personal comfort and convenience, in order to assist fugitives. In 1833, when on his way to the West, in a carriage, with his friend, Thomas Peart, also a most faithful friend of the colored man and interested in Underground Rail Road affairs, he found a fugitive slave, a woman, in Adams county, who was in immediate danger. He stopped his journey, and sent his horse and wagon back to his own home with the woman, that being the only safe way of getting her off. This was but a sample of his self-denial, in the cause of human freedom. His want of ability to guide in person runaway slaves, or to travel with them, prevented him from taking active part in the wonderful adventures and hair-breadth escapes which his brain and tact rendered possible and successful. It is believed that no slave was ever recaptured that followed his directions. Sometimes the abolitionists were much annoyed by impostors, who pretended to be runaways, in order to discover their plans, and betray them to the slave-holders. Daniel Gibbons was possessed of much acuteness in detecting these people, but having detected them, he never treated them harshly or unkindly. Almost from infancy, he was distinguished for the gravity of his deportment, and his utter heedlessness of small things. The writer has heard men preach the doctrine of the trifling value of the things of a present time, and of the tremendous importance of those of a never-ending eternity, but Daniel Gibbons is the only person she ever knew, who lived that doctrine. He believed in plainness of apparel as taught by Friends, not as a form or a rule of society, but as a principle; often quoting from some one who said that "the adornment of a vain and foolish world, would feed a starving one." He opposed extravagant fashions and all luxury of habit and life, as calculated to produce effeminacy and degrading sensuality, and as a bestowal of idolatrous attention upon that body which he would often say "was here but for a short time." Looking only upon that as religion, which made men love each other and do good to each other in this world, he was little of a stickler for points of belief, and even when he did look into theological matters or denounce a man's religious opinions, it was generally because they were calculated to darken the mind and be entertained as a substitute for good works. Pursuing the even tenor of his way, he could as easily lead the flying fugitive slave by night out of the way of his powerful master, as one differently constituted could bestow his wealth upon the most popular charity in the land. His faith was of the simplest kind--the Parable of the prodigal son, contains his creed. Discarding what are commonly called "plans of salvation," he believed in the light "which lighteth every man that cometh into the world," and that if people would follow this light, they would thus seek "the kingdom of Heaven and its righteousness and all other things needful would be added thereunto." He was a devoted member of the Society of Friends, in which he held the position of elder, during the last twenty-five years of his life. That peculiar doctrine of the Society, which repudiates systematic divinity and with it a paid ministry, he held in special reverence, finding confirmation of its truth in the general advocacy of Slavery, by the popular clergy of his day. When he was quite advanced in years, and the Anti-slavery agitation grew warm, he was solicited to join an anti-slavery society, but on hearing the constitution read, and finding that it repudiated all use of physical force on the part of the oppressed in gaining their liberty, he said that he could not assent to that--that he had long been engaged in getting off slaves, and that he had always advised them to use force, although remonstrating against going to the extent of taking life, and that now he could not recede from that position, and he did not see how they could always be got off without the use of some force. His faith in an overruling Providence was complete. He believed, even in the darkest days of freedom in our land, in the ultimate extinction of Slavery, and at times, although advanced in years, thought he would live to witness that glorious consummation. It is only in a man's own family and by his wife and children, that he is really known, and it is by those who best knew, and indeed, who only knew this good man, that his biographer is most anxious that he should be judged. As a parent, he was not excessively indulgent, as a husband, one more nearly a model is rarely found. But his kindness in domestic life, his love for his wife, his son and his grandchildren, and their reciprocal love and affection for him, no words can express. It was in his father's household in his youth and in his own household in his mature years, that was fostered that wealth of love and affection, which, extending and widening, took in the whole race, and made him the friend of the oppressed everywhere, and especially of those whom it was a dangerous and unpopular task to befriend. The tenderness and thoughtfulness of his disposition are well shown in the following incident: Upon one occasion, his son received a kick from a horse, which he was about to mount at the door. When he had recovered from the shock, and it was found that he was not seriously injured, the father still continued to look serious, and did not cease to shed tears. On being asked why he grieved, his answer was: "I was just thinking how it would have been with thee, had that stroke proved fatal." Such thoughts were at once the notes of his own preparation and a warning to others to be also ready. A life consistent with his views, was a life of humility and universal benevolence, and such was his. It was a life, as it were in Heaven, while yet on earth, for it soared above and beyond the corrupt and slavish influences of earthly passions. His interest in temperance never failed him. On his death-bed he would call persons to him, who needed such advice, and admonish them on the subject of using strong drinks, and his last expression of interest in any humanitarian movement, was an avowal of his belief in the great good to arise from a prohibitory liquor law. To a friend, who entered his sick room, a few days before his death, he said: "Well, E., thee is preparing to go to the West." The friend replied: "Yes, and Daniel, I suppose thee is preparing to go to eternity." There was an affirmative reply, and E. inquired, "How does thee find it?" Daniel said: "I don't find much to do, I find that I have not got a hard master to deal with. Some few things which I have done, I find not entirely right." He quitted the earthly service of the Master, on the 17th day of the eighth month, 1852. A young physician, son of one of his old friends, after attending his funeral, wrote to a friend, as follows: "To quote the words of Webster, 'We turned and paused, and joined our voices with the voices of the air, and bade him hail! and farewell!' Farewell, kind and brave old man! The voices of the oppressed whom thou hast redeemed, welcome thee to the Eternal City." LUCRETIA MOTT. Of all the women who served the Anti-slavery cause in its darkest days, there is not one whose labors were more effective, whose character is nobler, and who is more universally respected and beloved, than Lucretia Mott. You cannot speak of the slave without remembering her, who did so much to make Slavery impossible. You cannot speak of freedom, without recalling that enfranchised spirit, which, free from all control, save that of conscience and God, labored for absolute liberty for the whole human race. We cannot think of the partial triumph of freedom in this country, without rejoicing in the great part she took in the victory. Lucretia Mott is one of the noblest representatives of ideal womanhood. Those who know her, need not be told this, but those who only love her in the spirit, may be sure that they can have no faith too great in the beauty of her pure and Christian life. This book would be incomplete without giving some account, however brief, of Lucretia Mott's character and labors in the great work to which her life has been devoted. To write it fully would require a volume. She was born in 1793, in the island of Nantucket, and is descended from the Coffins and Macys, on the father's side, and from the Folgers, on the mother's side, and through them is related to Dr. Benjamin Franklin. Her maiden name was Lucretia Coffin. During the absence of her father on a long voyage, her mother was engaged in mercantile business, purchasing goods in Boston, in exchange for oil and candles, the staples of the island. Mrs. Mott says in reference to this employment: "The exercise of women's talent in this line, as well as the general care which devolved upon them in the absence of their husbands, tended to develop their intellectual powers, and strengthened them mentally and physically." The family removed to Boston in 1804. Her parents belonged to the religious Society of Friends, and carefully cultivated in their children, the peculiarities as well as the principles of that sect. To this early training, we may ascribe the rigid adherence of Mrs. Mott, to the beautiful but sober costume of the Society. When in London, in 1840, she visited the Zoological Gardens, and a gentleman of the party, pointing out the splendid plumage of some tropical birds, remarked: "You see, Mrs. Mott, our heavenly Father believes in bright colors. How much it would take from our pleasure, if all the birds were dressed in drab." "Yes;" she replied, "but immortal beings do not depend upon feathers for their attractions. With the infinite variety of the human face and form, of thought, feeling and affection, we do not need gorgeous apparel to distinguish us. Moreover, if it is fitting that woman should dress in every color of the rainbow, why not man also? Clergymen, with their black clothes and white cravats, are quite as monotonous as the Quakers." Whatever may be the abstract merit of this argument, it is certain that the simplicity of Lucretia Mott's nature, is beautifully expressed by her habitual costume. In giving the principal events of Lucretia Mott's life, we prefer to use her own language whenever possible. In memoranda furnished by her to Elizabeth Cady Stanton, she says: "My father had a desire to make his daughters useful. At fourteen years of age, I was placed, with a younger sister, at the Friends' Boarding School, in Dutchess county, State of New York, and continued there for more than two years, without returning home. At fifteen, one of the teachers leaving the school, I was chosen as an assistant in her place. Pleased with the promotion, I strove hard to give satisfaction, and was gratified, on leaving the school, to have an offer of a situation as teacher if I was disposed to remain; and informed that my services should entitle another sister to her education, without charge. My father was at that time, in successful business in Boston, but with his views of the importance of training a woman to usefulness, he and my mother gave their consent to another year being devoted to that institution." Here is another instance of the immeasurable value of wise parental influence. In 1809 Lucretia joined her family in Philadelphia, whither they had removed. "At the early age of eighteen," she says, "I married James Mott, of New York--an attachment formed while at the boarding-school." Mr. Mott entered into business with her father. Then followed commercial depressions, the war of 1812, the death of her father, and the family became involved in difficulties. Mrs. Mott was again obliged to resume teaching. "These trials," she says, "in early life, were not without their good effect in disciplining the mind, and leading it to set a just estimate on worldly pleasures." To this early training, to the example of a noble father and excellent mother, to the trials which came so quickly in her life, the rapid development of Mrs. Mott's intellect is no doubt greatly due. Thus the foundation was laid, which has enabled her, for more than fifty years, to be one of the great workers in the cause of suffering humanity. These are golden words which we quote from her own modest notes: "I, however, always loved the good, in childhood desired to do the right, and had no faith in the generally received idea of human depravity." Yes, it was because she believed in human virtue, that she was enabled to accomplish such a wonderful work. She had the inspiration of faith, and entered her life-battle against Slavery with a divine hope, and not with a gloomy despair. The next great step in Lucretia Mott's career, was taken at the age of twenty-five, when, "summoned by a little family and many cares, I felt called to a more public life of devotion to duty, and engaged in the ministry in our Society." In 1827 when the Society was divided Mrs. Mott's convictions led her "to adhere to the sufficiency of the light within us, resting on the truth as authority, rather than 'taking authority for truth.'" We may find no better place than this to refer to her relations to Christianity. There are many people who do not believe in the progress of religion. They are right in one respect. God's truth cannot be progressive because it is absolute, immutable and eternal. But the human race is struggling up to a higher comprehension of its own destiny and of the mysterious purposes of God so far as they are revealed to our finite intelligence. It is in this sense that religion is progressive. The Christianity of this age ought to be more intelligent than the Christianity of Calvin. "The popular doctrine of human depravity," says Mrs. Mott, "never commended itself to my reason or conscience. I searched the Scriptures daily, finding a construction of the text wholly different from that which was pressed upon our acceptance. The highest evidence of a sound faith being the practical life of the Christian, I have felt a far greater interest in the moral movements of our age than in any theological discussion." Her life is a noble evidence of the sincerity of this belief. She has translated Christian principles into daily deeds. That spirit of benevolence which Mrs. Mott possesses in a degree far above the average, of necessity had countless modes of expression. She was not so much a champion of any particular cause as of all reforms. It was said of Charles Lamb that he could not even hear the devil abused without trying to say something in his favor, and with all Mrs. Mott's intense hatred of Slavery we do not think she ever had one unkind feeling toward the slave-holder. Her longest, and probably her noblest work, was done in the anti-slavery cause. "The millions of down-trodden slaves in our land," she says, "being the greatest sufferers, the most oppressed class, I have felt bound to plead their cause, in season and out of season, to endeavor to put my soul in their soul's stead, and to aid, all in my power, in every right effort for their immediate emancipation." When in 1833, Wm. Lloyd Garrison took the ground of immediate emancipation and urged the duty of unconditional liberty without expatriation, Mrs. Mott took an active part in the movement. She was one of the founders of the Philadelphia Female Anti-Slavery Society in 1834. "Being actively associated in the efforts for the slave's redemption," she says, "I have traveled thousands of miles in this country, holding meetings in some of the slave states, have been in the midst of mobs and violence, and have shared abundantly in the odium attached to the name of an uncompromising modern abolitionist, as well as partaken richly of the sweet return of peace attendant on those who would 'undo the heavy burdens and let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke.'" In 1840 she attended the World's Anti-Slavery Convention in London. Because she was a woman she was not admitted as a delegate. All the female delegates, however, were treated with courtesy, though not with justice. Mrs. Mott spoke frequently in the liberal churches of England, and her influence outside of the Convention had great effect on the Anti-Slavery movement in Great Britain. But the value of Mrs. Mott's anti-slavery work is not limited to what she individually did, great as that labor was. Her influence over others, and especially the young, was extraordinary. She made many converts, who went forth to spread the great ideas of freedom throughout the land. No one can of himself accomplish great good. He must labor through others, he must inspire them, convince the unbelieving, kindle the fires of faith in doubting souls, and in the unequal fight of Right with Wrong make Hope take the place of despair. This Lucretia Mott has done. Her example was an inspiration. In the Temperance reform Mrs. Mott took an early interest, and for many years she has practiced total abstinence from intoxicating drinks. In the cause of Peace she has been ever active, believing in the "ultra non-resistance ground, that no Christian can consistently uphold and actively engage in and support a government based on the sword." Yet this, we believe, did not prevent her from taking a profound interest in the great war for the Union; though she deplored the means, her soul must have exulted in the result. Through anguish and tears, blood and death America wrought out her salvation. Do we not believe that the United States leads the cause of human freedom? It follows then that the abolition of the gigantic system of human slavery in this country is the grandest event in modern history. Mrs. Mott has also been earnestly engaged in aid of the working classes, and has labored effectively for "a radical change in the system which makes the rich richer, and the poor poorer." In the Woman's Rights question she was early interested, and with Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, she organized, in 1848, a Woman's Rights' Convention at Seneca Falls, New York. At the proceedings of this meeting, "the nation was convulsed with laughter." But who laughs now at this irresistible reform? The public career of Lucretia Mott is in perfect harmony with her private life. "My life in the domestic sphere," she says, "has passed much as that of other wives and mothers of this country. I have had six children. Not accustomed to resigning them to the care of a nurse, I was much confined to them during their infancy and childhood." Notwithstanding her devotion to public matters her private duties were never neglected. Many of our readers will no doubt remember Mrs. Mott at Anti-slavery meetings, her mind intently fixed upon the proceedings, while her hands were as busily engaged in useful sewing or knitting. It is not our place to inquire too closely into this social circle, but we may say that Mrs. Mott's history is a living proof that the highest public duties may be reconciled with perfect fidelity to private responsibilities. It is so with men, why should it be different with women? In her marriage, Mrs. Mott was fortunate. James Mott was a worthy partner for such a woman. He was born in June, 1788, in Long Island. He was an anti-slavery man, almost before such a thing as anti-slavery was known. In 1812 he refused to use any article which was produced by slave labor. The directors of that greatest of all railway corporations, the Underground Rail Road, will never forget his services. He died, January 26, 1868, having nearly completed his 80th year. "Not only in regard to Slavery," said the "Philadelphia Morning Post," at the time, "but in all things was Mr. Mott a reformer, and a radical, and while his principles were absolute, and his opinions uncompromising, his nature was singularly generous and humane. Charity was not to him a duty, but a delight; and the benevolence, which, in most good men, has some touch of vanity or selfishness, always seemed in him pure, unconscious and disinterested. His life was long and happy, and useful to his fellow-men. He had been married for fifty-seven years, and none of the many friends of James and Lucretia Mott, need be told how much that union meant, nor what sorrow comes with its end in this world." Mary Grew pronounced his fitting epitaph when she said: "He was ever calm, steadfast, and strong in the fore front of the conflict." In her seventy-ninth year, the energy of Lucretia Mott is undiminished, and her soul is as ardent in the cause to which her life has been devoted, as when in her youth she placed the will of a true woman against the impotence of prejudiced millions. With the abolition of Slavery, and the passage of the Fifteenth Amendment, her greatest life-work ended. Since then, she has given much of her time to the Female Suffrage movement, and so late as November, 1871, she took an active part in the Annual Meeting of the Pennsylvania Peace Society. Since the great law was enacted, which made all men, black or white, equal in political rights--as they were always equal in the sight of God--Mrs. Mott has made it her business to visit every colored church in Philadelphia. This we may regard as the formal closing of fifty years of work in behalf of a race which she has seen raised from a position of abject servitude, to one higher than that of a monarch's throne. But though she may have ended this Anti-slavery work, which is but the foundation of the destiny of the colored race in America, her influence is not ended--_that_ cannot die; it must live and grow and deepen, and generations hence the world will be happier and better that Lucretia Mott lived and labored for the good of all mankind. JAMES MILLER McKIM. More vividly than it is possible for the pen to portray, the subject of this sketch recalls the struggles of the worst years of Slavery, when the conflict was most exciting and interesting, when more minds were aroused, and more laborers were hard at work in the field; when more anti-slavery speeches were made, tracts, papers, and books, were written, printed and distributed; when more petitions were signed for the abolition of Slavery; in a word, when the barbarism of Slavery was more exposed and condemned than ever before, in the same length of time. Abolitionists were then intensely in earnest, and determined never to hold their peace or cease their warfare, until _immediate_ and _unconditional_ emancipation was achieved. On the other hand, during this same period, it is not venturing too much to assert that the slave power was more oppressive than ever before; slave enactments more cruel; the spirit of Slavery more intolerant; the fetters more tightly drawn; perilous escapes more frequent; slave captures and slave hunts more appalling; in short, the enslavers of the race had never before so defiantly assumed that negro Slavery was sanctioned by the Divine laws of God. Thus, while these opposing agencies were hotly contesting the rights of man, James Miller McKim, as one of the earliest, most faithful, and ablest abolitionists in Pennsylvania, occupied a position of influence, labor and usefulness, scarcely second to Mr. Garrison. For at least fourteen of the eventful years referred to, it was the writer's privilege to occupy a position in the Anti-slavery office with Mr. McKim, and the best opportunity was thus afforded to observe him under all circumstances while battling for freedom. As a helper and friend of the fleeing bondman, in numberless instances the writer has marked well his kind and benevolent spirit, before and after the formation of the late Vigilance Committee. At all times when the funds were inadequate, his aid could be counted upon for sure relief. He never failed the fugitive in the hour of need. Whether on the Underground Rail Road bound for Canada, or before a United States commissioner trying a fugitive case, the slave found no truer friend than Mr. McKim. If the records of the Pennsylvania Society for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery, and the Pennsylvania Anti-slavery Society were examined and written out by a pen, as competent as Mr. McKim's, two or three volumes of a most thrilling, interesting, and valuable character could be furnished to posterity. But as his labors have been portrayed for these pages, by a hand much more competent than the writer's, it only remains to present it as follows: The subject of this sketch was born in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, November 14, 1810, the oldest but one of eight children. On his father's side, he was of Scotch Irish, on his mother's (Miller) of German descent. He graduated at Dickinson College in 1828; and entering upon the study of medicine, attended one or more courses of lectures in the University of Pennsylvania. Before he was ready to take his degree, his mind was powerfully turned towards religion, and he relinquished medicine for the study of divinity, entering the Theological Seminary at Princeton, in the fall of 1831, and a year later, being matriculated at Andover. The death of his parents, however, and subsequently that of his oldest brother, made his connection with both these institutions a very brief one, and he was obliged, as the charge of the family now devolved upon him, to continue his studies privately at home, under the friendly direction of the late Dr. Duffield. An ardent and pronounced disciple of the "New School" of Presbyterians, belonging to a strongly Old School Presbytery; he was able to secure license and ordination only by transfer to another; and, in October, 1835, he accepted a pulpit in Womelsdorf, Berks County, Pa., where he preached for one year, to a Presbyterian congregation, to what purpose, and with what views, may be learned from the following passage taken from one of his letters, written more than twenty years afterwards, to the _National Anti-Slavery Standard_. "The first settled pastor of this little flock was one sufficiently well-known to such of your readers as will be interested in this, to make mention of his name unnecessary. He had studied for the ministry with a strong desire, and a half formed purpose to become a missionary in foreign lands. Before he had proceeded far in his studies, however, he became alive to the claims of the 'perishing heathen' here at home. When he received his licensure, his mind was divided between the still felt impulse of his first purpose and the pressure of his later convictions. While yet unsettled on this point, the case of the little church at Womelsdorf was made known to him, followed by an urgent request from the people and from the Home Missionary Society to take charge of it. He acceded to the request and remained there one year, zealously performing the duties of his office to the best of his knowledge and ability. The people, earnest and simple-hearted, desired the 'sincere milk of the Word,' and receiving it 'grew thereby.' All the members of the church became avowed abolitionists. They showed their faith by their works, contributing liberally to the funds of the Anti-slavery Society. Many a seasonable donation has our Pennsylvania organization received from that quarter. For though their anti-slavery minister had left and had been followed by others of different sentiments and though he had withdrawn from the church with which they were in common connected, and that on grounds which subjected him to the imputation and penalties af heresy, these good people did not feel called upon to change their relations of personal friendship, nor did they make it a pretext, as others have done, for abandoning the cause." In October, 1836, he accepted a lecturing agency under the American Anti-slavery Society, as one of the "seventy," gathered from all professions, whom Theodore D. Weld had by his eloquence inspired to spread the gospel of emancipation. Mr. McKim had long before this had his attention drawn to the subject of slavery, in the summer of 1832; and the reading of Garrison's "Thoughts on Colonization," at once made him an abolitionist. He was an appointed delegate to the Convention which formed the American Anti-slavery Society, and enjoyed the distinction of being the youngest member of that body.[A] Henceforth the object of the society, and of his ministry became inseparable in his mind. [Footnote A: It may be a matter of some interest to state that the original draft of the Declaration of Sentiments adopted at this meeting, together with the autographs of the signers, is now in the keeping of the New York Historical Society.] In the following summer, 1834, he delivered in Carlisle two addresses in favor of immediate emancipation, which excited much discussion and bitter feeling in that border community, and gained him no little obloquy, which was of course increased when, as a lecturer, on the regular stipend of eight dollars a week and travelling expenses, ("pocket lined with British gold" was the current charge), he traversed his native state, among a people in the closest geographical, commercial, and social contact with the system of slavery. His fate was not different from that of his colleagues, in respect of interruptions of his meetings by mob violence, personal assaults with stale eggs and other more dangerous missiles, and a public sentiment which everywhere encouraged and protected the rioters. Meantime, a radical change of opinion on theological questions, led Mr. McKim formally to sever his connection with the Presbyterian Church, and ministry. Being now free to act without sectarian constraint, he was, in the beginning of 1840, made Publishing Agent of the Pennsylvania Anti-slavery Society, which caused him to settle in Philadelphia, where he was married, in October, to Sarah A. Speakman, of Chester county. The chief duties of his office at first, were the publication and management of the _Pennsylvania Freeman_, including, for an interval after the retirement of John G. Whittier, the editorial conduct of that paper. In course of time his functions were enlarged, and under the title of Corresponding Secretary, he performed the part of a factotum and general manager, with a share in all the anti-slavery work, local and national. After the consolidation of the _Freeman_ with the _Standard_, in 1854, he became the official correspondent of the latter paper, his letters serving to some extent as a substitute for the discontinued _Freeman_. The operations of the Underground Rail Road came under his review and partial control, as has already appeared in these pages, and the slave cases which came before the courts claimed a large share of his attention. After the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law, in 1851, his duties in this respect were arduous and various, as may be inferred from one of his private letters to an English friend, which found its way into print abroad, and which will be found in another place. (See p. 581). During the John Brown excitement Mr. McKim had the privilege of accompanying Mrs. Brown in her melancholy errand to Harper's Ferry, to take her last leave of her husband before his execution, and to bring away the body. His companions on that painful but memorable journey, were his wife, and Hector Tyndale, Esq., afterwards honorably distinguished in the war as General Tyndale. Returning with the body of the hero and martyr, still in company with Mrs. Brown, Mr. McKim proceeded to North Elba, where he and Wendell Phillips, who had joined him in New York with a few other friends gathered from the neighborhood, assisted in the final obsequies. When the war broke out, Mr. McKim was one of the first to welcome it as the harbinger of the slave's deliverance, and the country's redemption. "A righteous war," he said, "is better than a corrupt peace. * * * When war can only be averted by consenting to crime, then welcome war with all its calamities." In the winter of 1862, after the capture of Port Royal, he procured the calling of a public meeting of the citizens of Philadelphia to consider and provide for the wants of the ten thousand slaves who had been suddenly liberated. One of the results of this meeting was the organization of the Philadelphia Port Royal Relief Committee. By request he visited the Sea Islands, accompanied by his daughter, and on his return made a report which served his associates as a basis of operations, and which was republished extensively in this country and abroad. After the proclamation of emancipation, he advocated an early dissolution of the anti-slavery organization, and at the May Meeting of the American Anti-slavery Society, in 1864, introduced a proposition looking to that result. It was favorably received by Mr. Garrison and others, but no action was taken upon it at that time. When the question came up the following year, the proposition to disband was earnestly supported by Mr. Garrison, Mr. Quincy, Mr. May, Mr. Johnson, and others, but was strongly opposed by Wendell Phillips and his friends, among whom from Philadelphia were Mrs. Mott, Miss Grew, and Robert Purvis, and was decided by a vote in the negative. Mr. McKim was an early advocate of colored enlistments, as a means of lifting up the blacks and putting down the rebellion. In the spring of 1863, he urged upon the Philadelphia Union League, of which he was a member, the duty of recruiting colored soldiers; as the result, on motion of Thomas Webster, Esq., a movement was set on foot which led to the organization of the Philadelphia Supervisory Committee, and the subsequent establishment of Camp William Penn, with the addition to the national army, of eleven colored regiments. When, in November, 1863, the Port Royal Relief Committee was enlarged into the Pennsylvania Freedman's Relief Association, Mr. McKim was made its corresponding secretary. He had previously resigned his place in the Anti-slavery Society, believing that that organization was near the end of its usefulness. EMINENT ANTI-SLAVERY MEN [Illustration: J. MILLER McKIM] [Illustration: REV. WILLIAM H. FURNESS] [Illustration: WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON] [Illustration: LEWIS TAPPAN] In the freedmen's work, he traveled extensively, and worked hard, establishing schools at the South and organizing public sentiment in the free States. In the spring of 1865, he was made corresponding secretary of the American Freedman's Commission, which he had helped to establish, and took up his residence in the city of New York. This association was afterwards amplified, in name and scope, into the American Freedman's Union Commission, and Mr. McKim continued with it as corresponding secretary, laboring for reconstruction by means of Freedman's schools, and impartial popular education. On the 1st of July, 1869, the Commission, by unanimous vote on his motion, disbanded, and handed over the funds in its treasury to its constituent State associations. Mr. McKim retired from his labors with impaired health, and has since taken no open part in public affairs. He is one of the proprietors of the New York _Nation_, in the establishment of which, he took an effective interest. Mr. McKim's long and assiduous career in the anti-slavery cause, has given evidence of a peculiar fitness in him for the functions he successively discharged. His influence upon men and the times, has been less as a speaker, than as a writer, and perhaps still less as a writer than as an organizer, a contriver of ways and means; fertile in invention, prepared to take the initiative, and bringing to the conversion of others, an earnestness of purpose and a force of language that seldom failed of success. In an enterprise where theory and sentiment were fully represented, and business capacity, and what is called "practical sense," were comparatively rare, his talents were most usefully employed; while, in periods of excitement--and when were such wanting? his caution, sound judgment, and mental balance were qualities hardly less needed or less important. WILLIAM H. FURNESS, D.D. Among the Abolitionists of Pennsylvania no man stands higher than Dr. Furness; and no anti-slavery minister enjoys more universal respect. For more than thirty years he bore faithful witness for the black man; in season and out of season contending for his rights. When others deserted the cause he stood firm; when associates in the ministry were silent he spoke out. They defined their position by declaring themselves "as much opposed to slavery as ever, but without sympathy for the abolitionists." He defined his by showing himself more opposed to slavery than ever, and fraternizing with the most hated and despised anti-slavery people. Dr. Furness came into the cause when it was in its infancy, and had few adherents. From that time till the day of its triumph he was one with it, sharing in all its trials and vicissitudes. In the operations of the Vigilance Committee he took the liveliest interest. Though not in form a member he was one of its chief co-laborers. He brought it material aid continually, and was one of its main reliances for outside support. His quick sympathies were easily touched and when touched were sure to prompt him to corresponding action. He would listen with moistened eyes to a tale of outrage, and go away saying never a word. But the story of wrong would work upon him; and through him upon others. His own feelings were communicated to his friends, and his friends would send gifts to the Committee's treasury. A wider spread sympathy would manifest itself in the community, and the general interests of the cause be visibly promoted. It was in the latter respect, that of moral co-operation, that Dr. Furness's services were most valuable. After hearing a harrowing recital, whether he would or not, it became the burden of his next Sunday's sermon. Abundant proof of this may be found in his printed discourses. Take the following as an illustration. It is an extract from a sermon delivered on the 29th of May, 1854, a period when the slave oligarchy was at the height of its power and was supported at the North by the most violent demonstrations of sympathy. The text was, "Feed my Lambs:" "And now brothers, sisters, children, give me your hearts, listen with a will to what I have to say. As heaven is my witness, I would not utter one word save for the dear love of Christ and of God, and the salvation of your own souls. Does it require any violent effort of the mind to suppose Christ to address each one of us personally the same question that He put to Peter, 'Lovest thou me?' * * * And at the hearing of His brief command, 'Feed my lambs,' so simple, so direct, so unqualified, are we prompted like the teacher of the law who, when Christ bade him love his neighbor as himself, asked, 'And who is my neighbor?' and in the parable of the good Samaritan, received an answer that the Samaritans whom he despised, just as we despise the African, was his neighbor, are we prompted in like manner to ask, 'Who are the lambs of Christ?' Who are His lambs? Behold that great multitude, more than three millions of men and feeble women and children, wandering on our soil; no not wandering, but chained down, not allowed to stir a step at their own free will, crushed and hunted with all the power of one of the mightiest nations that the world has yet seen, wielded to keep them down in the depths of the deepest degradation into which human beings can be plunged. These, then that we despise, are our neighbors, the poor, stricken lambs of Christ. To cast one thought towards them, may well cause us to bow down our heads in the very dust with shame. No wonder that professing to love Christ and his religion, we do not like to hear them spoken of; for so far from feeding the lambs of Christ, we are exciting the whole associated power of this land, to keep them from being fed. 'Feed my lambs,' We might feed them with fraternal sympathy, with hope, with freedom, the imperishable bread of Heaven. We might lead them into green pastures and still waters, into the glorious liberty wherewith Christ died to make all men free, the liberty of the children of God. We might secure to them the exercise of every sacred affection and faculty, wherewith the Creator has endowed them. But we do none of those things. We suffer this great flock of the Lord Jesus to be treated as chattels, bought and sold, like beasts of burden, hunted and lacerated by dogs and wolves. I say we, we of these Free Northern communities, because it is by our allowance, signified as effectually by silence, as by active co-operation, that such things are. They could continue so, scarcely an hour, were not the whole moral, religious and physical power of the North pledged to their support. Are we not in closest league and union with those who claim and use the right to buy and sell human beings, God's poor, the lambs of Christ, a union, which we imagine brings us in as much silver and gold as compensates for the sacrifice of our humanity and manhood? Nay, are we not under a law to do the base work of bloodhounds, hunting the panting fugitives for freedom? I utter no word of denunciation. There is no need. For facts that have occurred only within the last week, transcend all denunciation. Only a few hours ago, there was a man with his two sons, hurried back into the inhuman bondage, from which they had just escaped, and that man, the brother, and those two sons, the nephews of a colored clergyman of New York, of such eminence in the New School Presbyterian Church, that he has received the honors of a European University, and has acted as Moderator in one of the Presbyteries of the same Church, when held in the city where he resides. Almost at the very moment the poor fugitive with his children, were dragged through our city, the General Assembly of that very branch of the Presbyterian Church, now in session here, after discussing for days the validity of Roman Catholic baptism, threw out as inexpedient to be discussed, the subject of that great wrong which was flinging back into the agony of Slavery, a brother of one of their own ordained ministers, and could not so much as breathe a word of condemnation against the false and cruel deed which has just been consummated at the capitol of the nation. When such facts are occurring in the midst of us, we cannot be guiltless concerning the lambs of Christ. It is we, we who make up the public opinion of the North, we who consent that these free States shall be the hunting-ground, where these, our poor brothers and sisters, are the game; it is we that withhold from them the bread of life, the inalienable rights of man. As we withhold these blessings, so is it in our power to bestow them. The sheep then that Christ commands us, as we love Him, to feed, are those who are famishing for the lack of the food which it is in our power to supply. And we can help to feed and relieve and liberate them, by giving our hearty sympathy to the blessed cause of their emancipation, to the abolition of the crying injustice with which they are treated, by uttering our earnest protest against the increasing and flagrant outrages of the oppressor, by withholding all aid and countenance from the work of oppression." To say that Dr. Furness, in his pleadings for the slave, was "instant in season and out of season," is not to exaggerate. So palpably was this true, that even some of his sympathizing friends intimated to him, that his zeal carried him beyond proper bounds, and that his discourses were needlessly reiterative. To these friends,--who, it is needless to say, did not fully comprehend the breadth and bearing of the question,--he would reply as he did in the following extract from a sermon delivered soon after the one above quoted: "Again and again, I have had it said to me, with apparently the most perfect simplicity, 'Why do you keep saying so much about the slaves? Do you imagine that there is one among your hearers who does not agree with you? We all know that Slavery is very wrong. What, is the use of harping upon this subject Sunday after Sunday? We all feel about it just as you do.' 'Feel about it just as I do,' Very likely, my friends. It is very possible that you all feel as much, and that many of you feel about it more than I do. God knows that my regret always has been not that I feel so much, but that I do not feel more. Would to Heaven that neither you nor I could eat or sleep for pity, pity for our poor down-trodden brothers and sisters. But the thing to which I implore your attention now, is, not what we know and feel, but the delusion which we are under, in confounding _knowing_ with _doing_, in fancying that we are working to abolish Slavery because we know that it is wrong. This is what I would have you now to consider, the deception that we practise on ourselves, the dangerous error into which we fall, when we pass off the knowledge of our duty for the performance of it. These are two very distinct things. If you know what is right, happy are ye if ye do it. Observe, my friends, what it is to which I am now entreating your consideration. It is not the wrongs nor the rights of the oppressed upon which I am now discoursing. It is our own personal exposure to a most serious mistake. It is a danger, which threatens our own souls, to which I would that our eyes should be open and on the watch. And here, by the way, let me say that one great reason why I refer as often as I do, to that great topic of the day, which, in one shape or another, is continually shaking the land and marking the age in which we live, is not merely the righting of the wronged, but the instruction, the moral enlightenment, the religious edification of our own hearts, which this momentous topic affords. To me this subject involves infinitely more than a mere question of humanity. Its political bearing is the very least and most superficial part of it, scarcely worth noticing in comparison with its moral and religious relations. Once, deterred by its outside, political aspect, I shunned it as many do still, but the more it has pressed itself on my attention, the more I have considered it--the more and more manifest has it become to me, that it is a subject full of light and of guidance, of warning and inspiration for the individual soul. It is the most powerful means of grace and salvation appointed in the providence of Heaven, for the present day and generation, more religious than churches and Sabbaths. It is full of sermons. It is a perfect gospel, a whole Bible of mind-enlightening, heart-cleansing, soul-saving truth. How much light has it thrown for me on the page of the New Testament! What a profound significance has it disclosed in the precepts and parables of Jesus Christ! How do His words burst out with a new meaning! How does it help us to appreciate His trials and the Godlike spirit with which He bore them!" The dark winter of 1860 broke gloomily over all abolitionists; perhaps upon none did it press more heavily, than upon the small band in Philadelphia. Situated as that city is, upon the very edge of Slavery, and socially bound as it was, by ties of blood or affinity with the slave-holders of the South, to all human foresight it would assuredly be the first theatre of bloodshed in the coming deadly struggle. As Dr. Furness said in his sermon on old John Brown: "Out of the grim cloud that hangs over the South, a bolt has darted, and blood has flowed, and the place where the lightning struck, is wild with fear." The return stroke we all felt must soon follow, and Philadelphia, we feared, would be selected as the spot where Slavery would make its first mortal onslaught, and the abolitionists there, the first victims. Dr. Furness had taken part in the public meeting held on the day of John Brown's execution, to offer prayers for the heroic soul that was then passing away, and had gone with two or three others, to the rail-road station, to receive the martyr's body, when it was brought from the gallows by Mr. (afterwards General) Tyndale and Mr. McKim, and it was generally feared that he and his church would receive the brunt of Slavery's first blow. The air was thick with vague apprehension and rumor, so much so, that some of Dr. Furness's devoted parishioners, who followed his abolitionism but not his non-resistance, came armed to church, uncertain what an hour might bring forth, or in what shape of mob violence or assassination the blow would fall. Few of Dr. Furness's hearers will forget his sermon of December 16, 1860, so full was it of prophetic warning, and saddened by the thought of the fate which might be in store for him and his congregation. It was printed in the "Evening Bulletin," and made a deep impression on the public outside of his own church, and was reprinted in full, in the Boston "Atlas." "But the trouble cannot be escaped. It must come. But we can put it off. By annihilating free speech; by forbidding the utterance of a word in the pulpit and by the press, for the rights of man; by hurling back into the jaws of oppression, the fugitive gasping for his sacred liberty; by recognizing the right of one man to buy and sell other men; by spreading the blasting curse of despotism over the whole soil of the nation, you may allay the brutal frenzy of a handful of southern slave-masters; you may win back the cotton States to cease from threatening you with secession, and to plant their feet upon your necks, and so evade the trouble that now menaces us. Then you may live on the few years that are left you, and perhaps--it is not certain--we may be permitted to make a little more money and die in our beds. But no, friends, I am mistaken. We cannot put the trouble off. Or, we put it off in its present shape, only that it may take another and more terrible form. If, to get rid of the present alarm, we concede all that makes it worth while to live--and nothing less will avail--perhaps those who can deliberately make such a concession, will not feel the degradation, but, stripped of all honor and manhood, they may eat as heartily and sleep as soundly as ever. But the degradation is not the less, but the greater, for our unconsciousness of it. The trouble which we shall then bring upon ourselves, is a trouble in comparison with which the loss of all things but honor is a glorious gain, and a violent death for right's sake on the scaffold, or by the hands of a mob, peace and joy and victory. Since we are thus placed, and there is no alternative for us of the free States, but to meet the trouble that is upon us, or by base concessions and compromises to bring upon ourselves a far greater trouble, in the name of God, let us let all things go, and cleave to the right. Prepared to confront the crisis like men, let us with all possible calmness endeavor to take the measure of the calamity that we dread. God knows I have no desire to make light of it. But I affirm, that never since the world began, was there a grander cause for which to speak, to suffer and to die, than the cause of these free States, as against that of the States now rushing upon Secession. The great grievance of which they complain, is nothing more nor less than this: that we endanger the right they claim to treat human beings as beasts of burden. And they maintain this monstrous claim by measures inhuman and barbarous, listening not to the voice of reason or humanity, but treating every man who goes amongst them, suspected of not favoring their cause, or of the remotest connection with others who do not favor it, with a most savage and fiendish cruelty. It is the conflict between barbarism and civilization, between liberty and the most horrible despotism that ever cursed this earth, in which we are called to take part. And all that is great and noble in the past, all the patriots and martyrs that have suffered in man's behalf, all the sacred instincts and hopes of the human soul are on our side, and the welfare of untold generations of men. Oh, if God, in his infinite bounty, grants us the grace to appreciate the transcendent worth of the cause which is now at stake, there is no trouble that can befall us, no, not the loss of property, of idolized parents or children, or life itself, that we shall not count a blessed privilege. To serve this dear cause of peace and liberty and love, we have no need to grasp the sword or any instrument of violence and death. But we must be ready without flinching, to confront the utmost that men can do, and amidst all the uproar and violence of human passions, still calmly to assert and to exercise our sacred and inalienable liberties, let who will frown and forbid, assured that no just and law-of-God-abiding people, will ever do otherwise than give us their sympathy and their aid. Death is the worst that can befall us, if so be that we are faithful to the right. It is a solemn and a fearful thing to die, and mortality shrinks from facing that last great mystery. But we must all die, my friends, and the dying hour is not far distant from the youngest of us. To most of us it is very near. To many, only a few brief years remain. And for the sake of these few and uncertain years, shall we push off this present trouble upon our children, who have to stay here a little longer? There is nothing that can so sweeten the bitter cup of mortality when we shall be called to drink it, nothing that can so cheer us in the prospect of parting from all we love, nothing that can send such a blessed light on before us into the dark valley which we must enter, as the consciousness of fidelity to man and to God. And now in these times of great trouble which have come upon us, we have a peculiar and special opportunity of testifying our fidelity, and of enjoying a full experience of its power to support us. We may gather from this trouble, a sweetness that shall take away from all suffering its bitterness. We may kindle that light in our bosoms, which shall make death come to us as a radiant angel." Four months after the above was uttered, on the 28th of April, 1861, after the attack on Fort Sumter, and the whole North had burst into a flame, people of all denominations flocked to Dr. Furness's church, as to that church which had shown that it was founded on a rock, and none can ever forget the long-drawn breath with which the sermon began: "The long agony is over!" It was the _"Te Deum_" of a life-time. Dr. Furness's words and counsels were not wanting throughout the war, and his sermons were constantly printed in the daily press and in separate pamphlet form. And since its close he has continued his absorbing study of the historical accounts of Jesus. Dr. Furncss was born in Boston, in April, 1802, and was graduated at Harvard, in 1820, and five years later became the minister of the First Congregational Unitarian Christians, in this city, and is consequently the senior clergyman, here, on the score of length of pastorate. Happy is the man, and enviable the gospel minister, who, looking back upon his course in the great anti-slavery contest, can recall as the chief charge brought against him, that of being over-zealous! That he spoke too often and said too much in favor of the slave! There are but few men, and still fewer ministers, who have a right to take comfort from such recollections! and yet it is to this small class that the cause is most indebted under God, for its triumph, and the country for its deliverance from Slavery. WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. The character and career of the leader of the movement for immediate emancipation in this country, are too well known to be dwelt on here; nor, in the space at our command, is it possible to give in full those facts of his life which have already appeared in print. His earliest biographer was Mary Howitt; and another even more famous authoress, Mrs. H.B. Stowe, in "Men of Our Times," has stood in the same relation to him, while his life-long friend, Oliver Johnson, has writen the best concise account of him, in "Appleton's New American Cyclopædia." Mr. Garrison (the Cyclopædia is, on this point, in error) was born December 12, 1804, in Newburyport, Mass., his father, Abijah Garrison, being a ship-captain, trading with the West Indies, and his mother, Fanny Lloyd, a woman of remarkable beauty, as well as piety and force of character. Intemperate habits led the husband and father from home to a solitary and obscure end, leaving his family entirely dependent. William (or as he was always called, Lloyd), was the youngest but one of five children, and had not done with his schooling before he began to contribute to his own support; at first in Lynn, where he was set at shoemaking, at the age of eleven; afterwards in Newburyport, and finally, in 1818, at Haverhill, where he was apprenticed to a cabinet maker. Not finding these trades suited to his taste, the same year he was indentured to Ephraim W. Allen, editor of the "_Newburyport Herald_," and in the printing-office he completed his education, so far as he was to have any, with such early success, as soon to be an acceptable contributor to his employer's paper, while the authorship of his articles was still his own secret. As soon as his apprenticeship came to a close, in 1826, he became proprietor of the "_Free Press_," in his native city, but the paper failed of support. Seeking work as a journeyman, in Boston, he was engaged in 1827 to edit, in the interest of "total abstinence," the "_National Philanthropist,"_ the first paper of its kind ever published. On a change of proprietors in 1828, he was induced to join a friend in Bennington, Vt., in publishing the "_Journal of the Times_," which advocated the election of John Quincy Adams for president, besides being devoted to peace, temperance, anti-slavery and other reforms. In this town, Mr. Garrison began his agitation of the subject of Slavery, "in consequence of which there was transmitted to Congress an anti-slavery memorial, more numerously signed than any similar paper previously submitted to that body." It was in Bennington, too, that he received from Benjamin Lundy, who had met him the previous year at his boarding-house in Boston, an invitation to go to Baltimore, and aid him in editing the "_Genius of Universal Emancipation_." Baltimore was no strange city to Mr. Garrison. Thither he had accompanied his mother, in 1815, serving as a chore-boy, and he had visited her just before her death, in 1823. He took leave of Boston in the fall of 1829, after having acted as the orator of the day, July 4th, in Park Street church, and surprised his hearers by the boldness of his utterances on the subject of Slavery. The causes of his imprisonment at Baltimore scarcely need to be repeated. For an alleged "gross and malicious libel" on a townsman (of Newburyport) whose ship was engaged in the coastwise slave-trade, and whom he accordingly denounced in the "_Genius_," he was tried and convicted, and sentenced to pay a fine of $50 and costs. The cell in which he was confined for forty-nine days, and from which he was liberated only by the spontaneous liberality of Arthur Tappan, a perfect stranger to him, he had the satisfaction of reseeking, after the close of the war, in company with Judge Bond, but the prison had been removed. Compelled to part company with Lundy, to whom he has ever owned his moral indebtedness, Mr. Garrison at length started in Boston, in January 1831, his "_Liberator_" with little else besides his "dauntless spirit and a press." The difficulties which beset the birth of this paper were never entirely overcome, and its publication was attended, through all the thirty-five years of its existence, with constant struggle and privation, and with personal labor, at the printer's case, and over the forms, which only an iron constitution could have endured. The "_Liberator_" was the organ of the editor alone, and he gave room in it to the numerous reforms which were, in his mind, only subordinate to abolition. In 1865 the last volume was issued, Mr. Garrison having already, in May, withdrawn from the American Anti-slavery Society, which he had helped to found, in 1833, and of which, as he drew up the Declaration of Sentiments, he may be supposed to have known something of the original aims and proper duration. In September, 1834, Mr. Garrison was married to Helen Eliza, daughter of the venerable philanthropist, George Benson, of Providence, R.I., who had, even in the previous century, been an active member of a combined anti-slavery and freedmen's aid society in that city. In October, 1835, occurred the Boston riot, led by "gentlemen of property and standing," in which Mr. Garrison's life was imperilled, and which made him once more familiar with the interior of a jail--this time, a place of refuge. In 1832, he went to England, as an agent of the New England Anti-slavery Society, to awaken English sympathy for the anti-slavery movement, and to undeceive Clarkson and Wilberforce and their distinguished associates as to the nature and object of the Colonization Society, as to which he had already had occasion to undeceive himself. His mission was eminently successful in both its aspects, and resulted in the subsequent visits of George Thompson to this country, between whom and himself a strong personal attachment had arisen and has ever since continued. A second visit to England he made as a delegate to the World's Anti-slavery Convention, in which he refused to sit after his female colleagues had been rejected. A third visit, still in behalf of the cause, took place in 1846. Twenty years later--the war over and Slavery abolished--he again went abroad, to repair his health and renew old friendships, and for the first time passed over to the Continent. In England, he was greeted with cordial appreciation and hospitality by all classes. Numerous public receptions of a most flattering character were given to him, but without the effect of causing him to magnify his own merits or to forget the honor due to his associates in the anti-slavery struggle. At the London Breakfast, where John Bright presided, and John Stuart Mill, the Duke of Argyll, and others spoke, he said, when called upon to reply: "I disclaim, with all the sincerity of my soul, any special praise for anything I have done. I have simply tried to maintain the integrity of my soul before God, and to do my duty." In Edinburgh, the "freedom of the city" was conferred upon him with impressive ceremonies--he being the third American ever thus honored. In Paris he was also received with distinction, his special mission to that city being to attend the International Anti-slavery Convention, in the capacity of a delegate from the American Freedman's Union Commission, of which he was first vice-president. The justice of the war on the part of the North, and its effect on the fate of Slavery at the South, were never subjects of doubt in the mind of Mr. Garrison, and he quickly recognized the force of events which had taken from the abolitionists the helm of direction, and reunited them with their countrymen in the irresistible flood which no man's hand guided, and no man's hand could stay. An agitator from conviction and not from choice, he was only too glad to lay down the heavy burden of a life-time, and retire to well-earned repose, after such a vision of faint hope realized as certainly no other reformer was ever blessed with. He had lived to see the disunion which he advocated on sacred principles, attempted by the South in the name of the sum of all villanies; the uprising of the North; the grand career of Lincoln; the proclamation of emancipation; the arming of the blacks--his own son among their officers; the end of the rebellion; and the consummation of his prayers and labors for the salvation of his country. He had taken part in the ceremonies at the recovery of Sumter, had walked the streets of Charleston, and received floral tokens of the gratitude of the emancipated. To him it seemed as if his work was done, and that he might, without suspicion or accusation, cease to be conspicuous, or to occupy the public attention in any way relating to the past and recalling his part in the anti-slavery struggle. Notoriety, no longer a necessity, was eagerly avoided; and the physical rest which was now enjoined upon him the liberality of his friends having enabled him to secure, he settled down into the quiet life of a private citizen, whose great duty had become to him merely one of the duties which every man owes his country and his race. His sweet temper, his modesty, his unfailing cheerfulness, his rarely mistaken judgment of men and measures; his blameless and happy domestic life, and his hospitality; his warm sympathy with all forms of human suffering--these and other qualities which cannot be enumerated here, will doubtless receive the just judgment of posterity. As a fitting adjunct to the foregoing sketch, extracts from some of the speeches made at the London breakfast so magnanimously extended to Mr. Garrison in 1867, are here introduced. As presiding officer on the occasion, John Bright, M.P. spoke as follows: SPEECH OF MR. BRIGHT, M.P. The position in which I am placed this morning is one very unusual for me, and one that I find somewhat difficult; but I consider it a signal distinction to be permitted to take a prominent part in the proceedings of this day, which are intended to commemorate one of the greatest of the great triumphs of freedom, and to do honor to a most eminent instrument in the achievement of that freedom. (Hear, hear.) There may be, perhaps, those who ask what is this triumph of which I speak? To put it briefly, and, indeed, only to put one part of it, I may say that it is a triumph which has had the effect of raising 4,000,000 of human beings from the very lowest depths of social and political degradation to that lofty height which men have attained when they possess equality of rights in the first country on the globe. (Cheers.) More than this, it is a triumph which has pronounced the irreversible doom of slavery in all countries and for all time. (Renewed cheers.) Another question suggests itself--how has this great matter been accomplished? The answer suggests itself in another question. How is it that any great matter is accomplished? By love of justice, by constant devotion to a great cause, and by an unfaltering faith that that which is right will in the end succeed. (Hear, hear.) When I look at this hall, filled with such an assembly; when I partake of the sympathy which runs from heart to heart at this moment in welcome to our guest of to-day, I cannot but contrast his present position with that which, not so far back but that many of us can remember, he occupied in his own country. It is not forty years ago, I believe about the year 1829, when the guest whom we honor this morning was spending his solitary days in a prison in the slave-owning city of Baltimore. I will not say that he was languishing in prison, for that I do not believe; he was sustained by a hope that did not yield to the persecution of those who thus maltreated him; and to show that the effect of that imprisonment was of no avail to suppress or extinguish his ardor, within two years after that he had the courage, the audacity--I dare say many of his countrymen used even a stronger phrase than that--he had the courage to commence the publication, in the city of Boston, of a newspaper devoted mainly to the question of the abolition of slavery. The first number of that paper, issued on the 1st January, 1831, contained an address to the public, one passage of which I have often read with the greatest interest, and it is a key to the future life of Mr. Garrison. He had been complained of for having used hard language, which is a very common complaint indeed, and he said in his first number: "I am aware that many object to the severity of my language, but is there not cause for such severity? I will be as harsh as truth, and as uncompromising as justice. I am in earnest, I will not equivocate, I will not excuse, I will not retract a single inch, and I will be heard". (Cheers.) And that, after all, expresses to a great extent the future course of his life. But what was at that time the temper of the people amongst whom he lived, of the people who are glorying now, as they well may glory, in the abolition of slavery throughout their country? At that time it was very little better in the North than it was in the South. I think it was in the year 1835 that riots of the most serious character took place in some of the northern cities; during that time Mr. Garrison's life was in the most imminent peril; and he has never ascertained to this day how it was that he was left alive on the earth to carry on his great work. Turning to the South, a State that has lately suffered from the ravages of armies, the State of Georgia, by its legislature of House, Senate, and Governor, if my memory does not deceive me, passed a bill, offering ten thousand dollars reward, (Mr. Garrison here said five thousand) well, they seemed to think there were people who would do it cheap, (laughter) offered five thousand dollars, and zeal, doubtless, would make up the difference, for the capture of Mr. Garrison, or for adequate proof of his death. Now, these were menaces and perils such as we have not in our time been accustomed to in this country in any of our political movements, (hear, hear) and we shall take a very poor measure indeed of the conduct of the leaders of the emancipation party in the United States if we estimate them by any of those who have been concerned in political movements amongst us. But, notwithstanding all drawbacks, the cause was gathering strength, and Mr. Garrison found himself by and by surrounded by a small but increasing band of men and women who were devoted to this cause, as he himself was. We have in this country a very noble woman, who taught the English people much upon this question, about thirty years ago; I allude to Harriet Martineau. (Cheers.) I recollect well the impression with which I read a most powerful and touching paper which she had written, and which was published in the number of the _Westminster Review_ for December, 1838. It was entitled "The Martyr Age of the United States." The paper introduced to the English public the great names which were appearing on the scene in connection with this cause in America. There was, of course I need not mention, our eminent guest of to-day; there was Arthur Tappan, and Lewis Tappan, and James G. Birney of Alabama, a planter and slave-owner, who liberated his slaves and came north, and became, as I think, the first presidential candidate upon abolition principles in the United States. (Hear, hear.) There were besides them, Dr. Channing, John Quincy Adams, a statesman and President of the United States, and father of the eminent man who is now Minister from that people amongst us. (Cheers.) Then there was Wendell Phillips, admitted to be by all who know him perhaps the most powerful orator who speaks the English language. (Hear, hear.) I might refer to others, to Charles Sumner, the well-known statesman, and Horace Greeley, I think the first of journalists in the United States, if not the first of journalists in the world. (Hear, hear.) But besides these, there were of noble women not a few. There was Lydia Maria Child; there were the two sisters, Sarah and Angelina Grimke, ladies who came from South Carolina, who liberated their slaves, and devoted all they had to the service of this just cause; and Maria Weston Chapman, of whom Miss Martineau speaks in terms which, though I do not exactly recollect them, yet I know described her as noble-minded, beautiful and good. It may be that there are some of her family who are now within the sound of my voice. If it be so, all I have to say is, that I hope they will feel, in addition to all they have felt heretofore as to the character of their mother, that we who are here can appreciate her services, and the services of all who were united with her as co-operators in this great and worthy cause. But there was another whose name must not be forgotten, a man whose name must live for ever in history, Elijah P. Lovejoy, who in the free State of Illinois laid down his life for the cause. (Hear, hear.) When I read that article by Harriet Martineau, and the description of those men and women there given, I was led, I know not how, to think of a very striking passage which I am sure must be familiar to most here, because it is to be found in the Epistle to the Hebrews. After the writer of that epistle has described the great men and fathers of the nation, he says: "Time would fail me to tell of Gideon, of Barak, of Samson, of Jephtha, of David, of Samuel, and the Prophets, who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens." I ask if this grand passage of the inspired writer may not be applied to that heroic band who have made America the perpetual home of freedom? (Enthusiastic cheering.) Thus, in spite of all that persecution could do, opinion grew in the North in favor of freedom; but in the South, alas! in favor of that most devilish delusion that slavery was a Divine institution. The moment that idea took possession of the South war was inevitable. Neither fact nor argument, nor counsel, nor philosophy, nor religion, could by any possibility affect the discussion of the question when once the Church leaders of the South had taught their people that slavery was a Divine institution; for then they took their stand on other and different, and what they in their blindness thought higher grounds, and they said, "Evil! be thou my good;" and so they exchanged light for darkness, and freedom for bondage, and good for evil, and, if you like, heaven for hell. * * * * There was a universal feeling in the North that every care should be taken of those who had so recently and marvellously been enfranchised. Immediately we found that the privileges of independent labor were open to them, schools were established in which their sons might obtain an education that would raise them to an intellectual position never reached by their fathers; and at length full political rights were conferred upon those who a few short years, or rather months, before, had been called chattels, and things to be bought and sold in any market. (Hear, hear.) And we may feel assured, that those persons in the Northern States who befriended the negro in his bondage will not now fail to assist his struggles for a higher position. * * * * * * * To Mr. Garrison more than any other man this is due; his is the creation of that opinion which has made slavery hateful, and which has made freedom possible in America. (Hear, hear.) His name is venerated in his own country, venerated where not long ago it was a name of obloquy and reproach. His name is venerated in this country and in Europe wheresoever Christianity softens the hearts and lessens the sorrows of men; and I venture to say that in time to come, near or remote I know not, his name will become the herald and the synonym of good to millions of men who will dwell on the now almost unknown continent of Africa. (Loud cheers.) * * * To Mr. Garrison, as is stated in one of the letters which has just been read, to William Lloyd Garrison it has been given, in a manner not often permitted to those who do great things of this kind, to see the ripe fruit of his vast labors. Over a territory large enough to make many realms, he has seen hopeless toil supplanted by compensated industry; and where the bondman dragged his chain, there freedom is established for ever. (Loud cheers.) We now welcome him amongst us as a friend whom some of us have known long; for I have watched his career with no common interest, even when I was too young to take much part in public affairs; and I have kept within my heart his name, and the names of those who have been associated with him in every step which he has taken; and in public debate in the halls of peace, and even on the blood-soiled fields of war, my heart has always been with those who were the friends of freedom. (Renewed cheering.) We welcome him then with a cordiality which knows no stint and no limit for him and for his noble associates, both men and women. After this eloquent and able speech by the chairman, the honor of proposing an address to Mr. Garrison devolved upon the Duke of Argyll, who introduced the subject in the following glowing speech: SPEECH OF THE DUKE OF ARGYLL. MR. CHAIRMAN, LADIES, AND GENTLEMEN:--It is hard to follow an address of such extraordinary beauty, simplicity and power; but it now becomes my duty at your command, sir, to move an address of hearty congratulation to our distinguished guest, William Lloyd Garrison. (Cheers.) Sir, this country is from time to time honored by the presence of many distinguished, and of a few illustrious men; but for the most part we are contented to receive them with that private cordiality and hospitality with which, I trust, we shall always receive strangers who visit our shores. The people of this country are not pre-eminently an emotional people; they are not naturally fond of public demonstrations; and it is only upon rare occasions that we give, or can give, such a reception as that we see here this day. There must be something peculiar in the cause which a man has served, in the service which he has rendered, and in our own relations with the people whom he represents, to justify or to account for such a reception. (Hear, hear.) As regards the cause, it is not too much to say that the cause of negro emancipation in the United States of America has been the greatest cause which, in ancient or in modern times, has been pleaded at the bar of the moral judgment of mankind. (Cheers.) I know that to some this will sound as the language of exaggerated feeling; but I can only say that I have expressed myself in language which I believe conveys the literal truth. (Hear, hear.) I have, indeed, often heard it said in deprecation of the amount of interest which was bestowed in this country on the cause of negro emancipation in America, that we are apt to forget the forms of suffering which are immediately at our own doors, over which we have some control, and to express exaggerated feeling as to the forms of suffering with which we have nothing to do, and for which we are not responsible. I have never objected to that language in so far as it might tend to recall us to the duties which lie immediately around us, and in so far as it might tend to make us feel the forgetfulness of which we are sometimes guilty, of the misery and poverty in our own country; but, on the other hand, I will never admit, for I think it would be confounding great moral distinctions, that the miseries which arise by way of natural consequence out of the poverty and the vices of mankind, are to be compared with those miseries which are the direct result of positive law and of a positive institution, giving to man property in man. (Loud cheers.) It is true, also, that there have been forms of servitude, meaning thereby compulsory labor, against which we do not entertain the same feelings of hostility and horror with which we have regarded slavery in America. * * * * * It was a system of which it may be truly said, that it was twice cursed. It cursed him who served, and it cursed him that owned the slave. (Hear, hear.) When we recollect the insuperable temptations which that system held out to maintain in a state of degradation and ignorance a whole race of mankind; the horrors of the internal slave-trade, more widely demoralizing, in my opinion, than the foreign slave-trade itself; the violence which was done to the sanctities of domestic life; the corrupting effect which it was having upon the very churches of Christianity, when we recollect all these things, we can fully estimate the evil from which my distinguished friend and his coadjutors have at last redeemed their country. (Cheers.) It was not only the Slave states which were concerned in the guilt of slavery; it had struck its roots deep in the free States of North America. * * * We honor Mr. Garrison, in the first place, for the immense pluck and courage he displayed. (Cheers.) Sir, you have truly said that there is no comparison between the contests in which he had to fight and the most bitter contests of our own public life. In looking back, no doubt, to the contest which was maintained in this country some thirty-five years ago against slavery in our colonies, we may recollect that Clarkson and Wilberforce were denounced as fanatics, and had to encounter much opprobrium; but it must not be forgotten that, so far as regards the entwining of the roots of slavery into the social system, in the opinions and interests of mankind, there was no comparison whatever between the circumstances of that contest here and those which attended it in America. (Hear, hear.) The number of persons who in this country were enlisted on the side of slavery by personal interest was always comparatively few; whilst, in attacking slavery at its head-quarters in the United States, Mr. Garrison had to encounter the fiercest passions which could be roused. * * * * Thank God, Mr. Garrison appears before us as the representative of the United States; freedom is now the policy of the government and the assured policy of the country, and we can to-day accept and welcome Mr. Garrison, not merely as the liberator of the slaves, but as the representative also of the American Government. (Cheers.) * * * * THE ADDRESS TO WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON, ESQ. "SIR:--We heartily welcome you to England in the name of thousands of Englishmen who have watched with admiring sympathy your labors for the redemption of the negro race from slavery, and for that which is a higher object than the redemption of any single race, the vindication of the universal principles of humanity and justice; and who, having sympathized with you in the struggle, now rejoice with you in the victory. "Forty years ago, when you commenced your efforts, slavery appeared to be rapidly advancing to complete ascendency in America. Not only was it dominant in the Southern States, but even in the Free States it had bowed the constituencies, society, and, in too many instances, even the churches to its will. Commerce, linked to it by interest, lent it her support. A great party, compactly organized and vigorously wielded, placed in its hands the power of the state. It bestowed political offices and honors, and was thereby enabled to command the apostate homage of political ambition. Other nations felt the prevalence in your national councils of its insolent and domineering spirit. There was a moment, most critical in the history of America and of the world, when it seemed as though that continent, with all its resources and all its hopes, was about to become the heritage of the slave power. "But Providence interposes to prevent the permanent triumph of evil. It interposes, not visibly or by the thunderbolt, but by inspiring and sustaining high moral effort and heroic lives. "You commenced your crusade against slavery in isolation, in weakness, and in obscurity. The emissaries of authority with difficulty found the office of the _Liberator_ in a mean room, where its editor was aided only by a negro boy, and supported by a few insignificant persons (so the officers termed them) of all colors. You were denounced, persecuted, and hunted down by mobs of wealthy men alarmed for the interests of their class. You were led out by one of these mobs, and saved from their violence and the imminent peril of death, almost by a miracle. You were not turned from your path of devotion to your cause, and to the highest interests of your country, by denunciation, persecution, or the fear of death. You have lived to stand victorious and honored in the very stronghold of slavery; to see the flag of the republic, now truly free, replace the flag of slavery on Fort Sumter; and to proclaim the doctrines of the _Liberator_ in the city, and beside the grave of Calhoun. "Enemies of war, we most heartily wish, and doubt not that you wish as heartily as we do, that this deliverance could have been wrought out by peaceful means. But the fierce passions engendered by slavery in the slaveowner, determined it otherwise; and we feel at liberty to rejoice, since the struggle was inevitable, that its issue has been the preservation, not the extinction, of all that we hold most dear. We are, however, not more thankful for the victories of freedom in the field than for the moderation and mercy shown by the victors, which have exalted and hallowed their cause and ours in the eyes of all nations. "We shall now watch with anxious hope the development, amidst the difficulties which still beset the regeneration of the South, of a happier order of things in the States rescued from slavery, and the growth of free communities, in which your name, with the names of your fellow-workers in the same cause, will be held in grateful and lasting remembrance. "Once more we welcome you to a country in which you will find many sincere admirers and warm friends." EARL RUSSELL and JOHN STUART MILL, M.P., at the close of the address, followed with most eloquent speeches, conferring on the honored guest the highest praise for his life-long and successful labors in the cause of freedom. After these gentlemen had taken their seats, the Chairman proposed that the address should be passed unanimously. The Chairman's call was responded to by the whole assemblage lifting up their hands; and Mr. Garrison, presenting himself in front of the platform, was received with an enthusiastic burst of cheering, hats and handkerchiefs being waved by nearly all present. SPEECH OF MR. GARRISON. Mr. Garrison said:--Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen,--For this marked expression of your personal respect, and appreciation of my labors in the cause of human freedom, and of your esteem and friendship for the land of my nativity, I offer you, one and all, my grateful acknowledgments. But I am so profoundly impressed by the formidable array of rank, genius, intellect, scholarship, and moral and religious worth which I see before me, that I fear I shall not be able to address you, except with a fluttering pulse and a stammering tongue. For me this is, indeed, an anomalous position. Assuredly, this is treatment with which I have not been familiar. For more than thirty years, I had to look the fierce and unrelenting hostility of my countrymen in the face, with few to cheer me onward. In all the South I was an outlaw, and could not have gone there, though an American citizen guiltless of wrong, and though that flag (here the speaker pointed to the United States ensign) had been over my head, except at the peril of my life; nay, with the certainty of finding a bloody grave. (Hear, hear.) In all the North I was looked upon with hatred and contempt. The whole nation, subjugated to the awful power of slavery, rose up in mobocratic tumult against any and every effort to liberate the millions held in bondage on its soil. And yet I demanded nothing that was not perfectly just and reasonable, in exact accordance with the Declaration of American Independence and the Golden Rule. I was not the enemy of any man living. I cherish no personal enmities; I know nothing of them in my heart. Even whilst the Southern slave-holders were seeking my destruction, I never for a moment entertained any other feeling toward them than an earnest desire, under God, to deliver them from a deadly curse and an awful sin. (Hear, hear.) It was neither a sectional nor a personal matter at all. It had exclusive reference to the eternal law of justice between man and man, and the rights of human nature itself. Sir, I always found in America that a shower of brickbats had a remarkably tonic effect, materially strengthening to the back-bone. (Laughter.) But, sir, the shower of compliments and applause, which has greeted me on this occasion would assuredly cause my heart to fail me, were it not that this generous reception is only incidentally personal to myself. (Hear, hear.) You, ladies and gentlemen, are here mainly to celebrate the triumph of humanity over its most brutal foes; to rejoice that universal emancipation has at last been proclaimed throughout the United States: and to express, as you have already done through the mouths of the eloquent speakers who have preceded me, sentiments of peace and of good-will toward the American Republic. Sure I am that these sentiments will be heartily reciprocated by my countrymen. (Cheers.) I must here disclaim, with all sincerity of soul, any special praise for anything that I have done. I have simply tried to maintain the integrity of my soul before God, and to do my duty. (Cheers.) I have refused to go with the multitude to do evil. I have endeavored to save my country from ruin. I have sought to liberate such as were held captive in the house of bondage. But all this I ought to have done. And now, rejoicing here with you at the marvellous change which has taken place across the Atlantic, I am unable to express the satisfaction I feel in believing that, henceforth, my country will be a mighty power for good in the world. While she held a seventh portion of her vast population in a state of chattelism, it was in vain that she boasted of her democratic principles and her free institutions; ostentatiously holding her Declaration of Independence in one hand, and brutally wielding her slave-driving lash in the other. Marvellous inconsistency and unparalleled assurance. But now, God be praised, she is free, free to advance the cause of liberty throughout the world. (Loud cheers.) Sir, this is not the first time I have been in England. I have been here three times before on anti-slavery missions; and wherever I traveled, I was always exultantly told, "Slaves cannot breathe in England!" Now, at last, I am at liberty to say, and I came over with the purpose to say it, "Slaves cannot breathe in America!" (Cheers.) And so England and America stand side by side in the cause of negro emancipation; and side by side may they stand in all that is just and noble and good, leading the way gloriously in the world's redemption. (Loud cheers.) I came to this country for the first time in 1833, to undeceive Wilberforce, Clarkson, and other eminent philanthropists, in regard to the real character, tendency, and object of the American Colonization Society. I am happy to say that I quickly succeeded in doing so. Before leaving, I had the pleasure of receiving a protest against that Society as an obstruction to the cause of freedom throughout the world, and, consequently, as undeserving of British confidence and patronage, signed by William Wilberforce, Thomas Fowell Buxton, Zachary Macaulay, and other illustrious philanthropists. On arriving in London I received a polite invitation by letter from Mr. Buxton to take breakfast with him. Presenting myself at the appointed time, when my name was announced, instead of coming forward promptly to take me by the hand, he scrutinized me from head to foot, and then inquired, somewhat dubiously, "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Garrison, of Boston, in the United States?" "Yes, sir," I replied, "I am he; and I am here in accordance with your invitation." Lifting up his hands he exclaimed, "Why, my dear sir, I thought you were a black man. And I have consequently invited this company of ladies and gentlemen to be present to welcome Mr. Garrison, the black advocate of emancipation from the United States of America." (Laughter.) I have often said, sir, that that is the only compliment I have ever had paid to me that I care to remember or tell of. For Mr. Buxton had somehow or other supposed that no white American could plead for those in bondage as I had done, and therefore I must be black. (Laughter.) It is indeed true, sir, that I have had no other rule by which to be guided than this. I never cared to know precisely how many stripes were inflicted on the slaves. I never deemed it necessary to go down into the Southern States, if I could have gone, for the purpose of taking the exact dimensions of the slave system. I made it from the start, and always, my own case, thus: Did I want to be a slave? No. Did God make me to be a slave? No. But I am only a man, only one of the human race; and if not created to be a slave, then no other human being was made for that purpose. My wife and children, dearer to me than my heart's blood, were they made for the auction-block? Never! And so it was all very easily settled here (pointing to his breast). (Great cheering.) I could not help being an uncompromising abolitionist. Here allow me to pay a brief tribute to the American abolitionists. Putting myself entirely out of the question, I believe that in no land, at any time, was there ever a more devoted, self-sacrificing, and uncompromising band of men and women. Nothing can be said to their credit which they do not deserve. With apostolic zeal, they counted nothing dear to them for the sake of the slave, and him dehumanized. But whatever has been achieved through them is all of God, to whom alone is the glory due. Thankful are we all that we have been permitted to live to see this day, for our country's sake, and for the sake of mankind. Of course, we are glad that our reproach is at last taken away; for it is very desirable, if possible, to have the good opinions of our fellow-men; but if, to secure these, we must sell our manhood and sully our souls, then their bad opinions of us are to be coveted instead. Sir, my special part in this grand struggle was in first unfurling the banner of immediate and unconditional emancipation, and attempting to make a common rally under it. This I did, not in a free State, but in the city of Baltimore, in the slave-holding State of Maryland. It was not long before I was arrested, tried, condemned by a packed jury, and incarcerated in prison for my anti-slavery sentiments. This was in 1830. In 1864 I went to Baltimore for the first time since my imprisonment. I do not think that I could have gone at an earlier period, except at the peril of my life; and then only because the American Government was there in force, holding the rebel elements in subserviency. I was naturally curious to see the old prison again, and, if possible, to get into my old cell; but when I went to the spot, behold! the prison had vanished; and so I was greatly disappointed, (Laughter.) On going to Washington, I mentioned to President Lincoln, the disappointment I had met with. With a smiling countenance and a ready wit, he replied, "So, Mr. Garrison, the difference between 1830 and 1864 appears to be this: in 1830 you could not get out, and in 1864 you could not get in!" (Great laughter.) This was not only wittily said, but it truthfully indicated the wonderful revolution that had taken place in Maryland; for she had adopted the very doctrine for which she imprisoned me, and given immediate and unconditional emancipation to her eighty thousand slaves. (Cheers.) I commenced the publication of the "_Liberator_" in Boston, on the 1st of January, 1831. At that time I was very little known, without allies, without means, without subscribers; yet no sooner did that little sheet make its appearance, than the South was thrown into convulsions, as if it had suddenly been invaded by an army with banners! Notwithstanding, the whole country was on the side of the slave power--the Church, the State, all parties, all denominations, ready to do its bidding! O the potency of truth, and the inherent weakness and conscious insecurity of great wrong! Immediately a reward of five thousand dollars was offered for my apprehension, by the State of Georgia. When General Sherman was making his victorious march through that State, it occurred to me, but too late, that I ought to have accompanied him, and in person claimed the reward--(laughter)--but I remembered, that, had I done so, I should have had to take my pay in Confederate currency, and therefore it would not have paid traveling expenses. (Renewed laughter.) Where is Southern Slavery now? (Cheers.) Henceforth, through all coming time, advocates of justice and friends of reform, be not discouraged; for you will, and you must succeed, if you have a righteous cause. No matter at the outset how few may be disposed to rally round the standard you have raised--if you battle unflinchingly and without compromise--if yours be a faith that cannot be shaken, because it is linked to the Eternal Throne--it is only a question of time when victory shall come to reward your toils. Seemingly, no system of iniquity was ever more strongly intrenched, or more sure and absolute in its sway, than that of American Slavery; yet it has perished. "In the earthquake God has spoken; He has smitten with His thunder The iron walls asunder, And the gates of brass are broken." So it has been, so it is, so it ever will be throughout the earth, in every conflict for the right. (Great cheering.) * * * * * Ladies and gentlemen, I began my advocacy of the Anti-slavery cause at the North in the midst of brickbats and rotten eggs. I ended it on the soil of South Carolina, almost literally buried beneath the wreaths and flowers which were heaped upon me by her liberal bondmen. (Cheers.) LEWIS TAPPAN Was one of the warmest friends of the slave and of the colored man. He was very solicitous for their welfare, and that the colored people who were free should be enlightened and educated. He opened a Sunday-school for colored adults, which was numerously attended, in West Broadway, New York, and with a few others, devoted the most of the Sabbath to their teaching. When he and his brother Arthur, assembled the seventy anti-slavery agents, who were thereafter, like "firebrands," scattered all over the land, they held their meetings in this room. These agents were entertained by abolitionists in the city, and many of us had two or three of them in each of our families for a couple of weeks. They went out all over the land, and were instrumental in diffusing more truth, perhaps, about the dreadful system of American Slavery, than was accomplished in any other way. He also aided in establishing several periodicals, brimful of anti-slavery truth; among which, were the "_Anti-Slavery Record_," the "_Emancipator_," the "_Slave's Friend;_" the latter, to indoctrinate the children in Anti-slavery. The American Missionary Society, originally begun for the support of a mission in Africa, on the occasion of the return of the Amistad captors to their native land, and now doing so much for the freedmen of the South, was almost entirely established by his efforts. During the continuance of Slavery, much was done by this Society for the diffusion of an anti-slavery gospel. The "Vigilance Committee," for aiding and befriending fugitives, of which I was treasurer for many years, had no better or warmer friend than he. He was almost always at their meetings, which were known only to "the elect," for we dared not hold them too publicly, as we almost always had some of the travelers toward the "north star" present, whose masters or their agents were frequently in the city, in hot pursuit. At first, we sent them to Canada, but after a while, sent them only to Syracuse, and the centre of the State. In 1834, I think, was the first rioting, the sacking of Mr. Tappan's house, in Rose Street. The mob brought all his furniture out, and piling it up in the street, set it on fire. The family were absent at the time. Soon after, they stoned Rev. Mr. Ludlow's, and Dr. Cox's church, and the house of the latter. They threatened Arthur Tappan & Co's, store, in Pearl Street, but hearing that there were a few loaded muskets there, they _took it out in threats_. But their mercantile establishment was almost ostracised at this time, by the dry goods merchants; and country merchants in all parts of the country, north as well as south, did not dare to have it known that they bought goods of them; and when they did so, requested particularly, that the bundles or boxes, should not be marked "from A. Tappan & Co.," as was customary. Southern merchants especially, avoided them, and when, two or three years later, there was a general insolvency among them, occasionally large losses to New York merchants, and in some cases failure; _the Tappans were saved by having no Southern debts_! Through Mr. Tappan's influence and extensive correspondence abroad, many remittances came for the help of the "Vigilance Committee," from England and Scotland, and at one time, an extensive invoice of useful and fancy articles, in several large boxes, was received from the Glasgow ladies, sufficient to furnish a large bazaar or fair, which was held in Brooklyn, for the benefit of the Committee. Although lately afflicted by disease, Mr. Tappan still lives in the enjoyment of all his faculties, and a good measure of health, and in his advanced years, sees now some of the great results of his life-long efforts for the restoration and maintenance of human rights. Although still suffering under many of the evils which Slavery has inflicted upon him, the _American slave_ no longer exists! Instead stands up in all our Southern States the _freedman_, knowing his rights, and, as a rule, enjoying them. Original American abolitionists, who met the scorn and odium, the imputed shame and obloquy, the frowns and cold-shoulders which they bore through all the dark days of Slavery, now see and feel their reward in some measure; to be completed only, when they shall hear the plaudit: "Inasmuch as ye have done it to the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." ANTHONY LANE. New York, Nov. 8, 1871. Mr. Lane, Mr. Tappan's personal friend who labored with him in the Anti-Slavery Cause, and especially in the Vigilance Committee for many years, from serious affection of his eyes was not prepared to furnish as full a sketch of his (Mr. T.'s) labors as was desirable. Mr. Tappan was, therefore, requested to furnish a few reminiscences from his own store-house, which he kindly did as follows: WILLIAM STILL, ESQ., My dear Sir:--In answer to your request, that I would furnish, an article for your forthcoming book, giving incidents within my personal knowledge, relating to the Underground Rail Road; I have already apprized you of my illness and my consequent inability to write such an article as would be worthy of your publication. However, feeling somewhat relieved to-day, from my paralysis, owing to the cheering sunshine and the favor of my Almighty Preserver, I will try to do what I can, in dictating a few anecdotes to my amanuensis, which may afford you and your readers some gratification. These facts I must give without reference to date, as I will not tax my memory with perhaps a vain attempt to narrate them in order. As mentioned in my "Life of Arthur Tappan," some abolitionists (myself among the number), doubted the propriety of engaging in such measures as were contemplated by the conductors of the "Underground Rail Road," fearing that they would not be justified in aiding slaves to escape from their masters; but reflection convinced them that it was not only right to assist men in efforts to obtain their liberty, when unjustly held in bondage, but a DUTY. Abolitionists, white and colored, both in slave and free States, entered into extensive correspondence, set their wits at work to devise various expedients for the relief from bondage and transmission to the free States and to Canada, of many of the most enterprising bondmen and bondwomen. They vied with each other in devising means for the accomplishment of this object. Those who had money contributed it freely, and those who were destitute of money, gave their time, saying with the Apostle: "Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have, give I thee." 1. I recollect that one morning on reaching my office (that of the treasurer of the American Missionary Association), my assistant told me that in the inner room were eighteen fugitives, men, women and children, who had arrived that morning from the South in one company. On going into the room, I saw them lying about on the bales and boxes of clothing destined for our various missionary stations, fatigued, as they doubtless were, after their sleepless and protracted struggle for freedom. On inquiry, I learned that they had come from a southern city. After most extraordinary efforts, it seemed that they had while in Slavery, secretly banded together, and put themselves under the guidance of an intrepid conductor, whom they had hired to conduct them without the limits of the city, in the evening, when the police force was changed. They came through Pennsylvania and New Jersey to my office. The agent of the Underground Rail Road in New York, took charge of them, and forwarded them to Albany, and by different agencies to Canada. 2. I well remember that one morning as I entered the Sabbath-school,[A] one of the scholars, a Mrs. Mercy Smith, beckoned to me to come to her class, and there introduced to me a young girl of about fifteen, as a fugitive, who had arrived the day before. In answer to my inquiries, this girl told me the name of the southern city, and the names of the persons who had held her as a slave, and the mode of her escape, etc. "I was walking near the water," she said, "when a white sailor spoke to me, and after a few questions, offered to hide me on board his vessel and conduct me safely to New York, if I would come to him in the evening. I did so, and was hid and fed by him, and on landing at New York, he conducted me to Mrs. Smith's house, where I am now staying." [Footnote A: For three years I superintended a Sabbath-school mostly composed of colored children and adults. Most of the teachers were warm-hearted abolitionists, and the whole number taught in this school during this period, was seven or eight hundred.] To my inquiry, have you parents living, and also brothers and sisters, she replied: "There is no child but myself." "Were not your parents kind to you, and did you not love them?" "Yes I love them very much." "How were you treated by your master and mistress?" "They treated me very well." "How then," said I, "could you put yourself in the care of that sailor, who was a stranger to you, and leave your parents?" I shall never forget her heart-felt reply: "_He told me I should be free_!" One Sunday morning, I received a letter, informing me that an officer belonging to Savannah, Ga., had started for New York, in pursuit of two young men, of nineteen or twenty, who had been slaves of one of the principal physicians of the place, and who had escaped and were supposed to be in New York. The letter requested me to find them and give them warning. As there was no time to be lost, I concluded to go over to New York, notwithstanding the doubtfulness of attempting to find them in so large a city. I wrote notices to be read in the colored churches and colored Sabbath-schools, which I delivered in person. I then went to the colored school, superintended by Rev. C.B. Bay. I stated my errand to him, with a description of the young men. "Why," said he, "I must have one of them in my school." He took me to a class where I found one of the young men, to whom I gave the needful information. He told me that his father was Dr. ---- of Savannah, and that he had five children by the young man's mother, who was his slave. On his marriage to a white woman, he sent his five colored children and their mother to auction, to be sold for cash to the highest bidder. On being put upon the auction-block, this young man addressed the bystanders, and told them the circumstances of the case; that his mother had long lived in the family of the doctor, that it was cruel to sell her and her children, and he warned the people not to bid for him, for he would no longer be a slave to any man, and if any one bought him, he would lose his money. He added, "I thought it right to say this." I then spoke to the crowd. "My father," said I, "has long been one of your first doctors, and do you think it right for him to sell my mother and his children in this way?" "I was sold, and my brother also, and the rest, although my brother said to the crowd what I had said. We soon made our escape, and are now both in the city. I am a blacksmith, and have worked six months in one shop, in New York, with white journeymen, not one of whom believes, I suppose, that I am a colored man." It was not surprising, for so fair was his complexion, that with the aid of a brown wig, after he had cut off his hair, he was completely disguised. He soon notified his brother, who lived in another part of the city, and both put themselves out of harm's way. They were remarkably fine young men, and it seemed a special Providence that I should find them in such a large city, and direct them to escape from their pursuer, within one hour after I left my house in Brooklyn. I felt it to be an answer to prayer. 4. One day, when I lived in New York City, a colored man came running to my house, and in a hurried manner, said: "Is this Mr. Tappan?" On replying in the affirmative, he said: "I have driven my master from Baltimore. He has just arrived, and the servants are taking off the baggage at the Astor House. I inquired of a person passing by, where you lived. He said, 80, White Street, and I have run here, to tell you that you may give notice to a man who has escaped from my master, to this city, that the object of this journey is to find him and take him back to Slavery." The man hurried back, so that he need not be missed by his master, who believed that this coachman, who had lived years with him, was his confidential servant, and would be true to his interest. I went immediately to the house of a colored friend, to describe the fugitive and see if we could not concert measures to protect him. "I think," said he, "that I know the man, by your description, and that he boards in this house. He will soon come in from South Street, where he has worked to-day." While we were consulting together, sure enough, the man came in, and was most glad to have the opportunity thus afforded, of secreting himself. I have not strength to dictate much more, although many other instances occur to me of most remarkable providential occurrences, of the escape of fugitives within my knowledge. I used to say that I was the owner of _half-a-horse_ that was in active service, near the Susquehanna River. This horse I owned jointly with another friend of the slave, dedicating the animal to the service of the Underground Rail Road. It was customary for the agent at Havre de Grace, bringing a fugitive to the river, to kindle a fire (as it was generally in the night), to give notice to a person living on the opposite side of the river. This person well understood the signal, and would come across in his boat and receive the fugitive. An aged colored couple, residing in Brooklyn, came over to my office, in New York City, and said that they had just heard from Wilmington, N.C., that their two sons (about twenty-five or twenty-six years of age), who were slaves, were about to be sold, for one thousand dollars each; and they hoped I should be able and willing to assist them in raising the money. I told them that I had scruples about putting money into the hands of slave-holders, but I would give them something that might be of as much value. I then pointed out a way by which their sons might reach the city. In about three weeks, one of the young men came to my office. Give me, said I, some particulars of your escape. "I am," said he, "a builder, and planned and erected the hotel at Wilmington, and some other houses. I used to hire my time of my master, and was accustomed to ride about the country attending to my business. I borrowed a pass from a man about my size and complexion. I then went to the rail road office, and asked for a ticket for Fredericksburg. From there I came on directly to Washington. I had not been questioned before; but here, I was taken up and carried before a magistrate. He examined me by the description in my pass; complexion, height, etc., then read '_and a scar under his left knee_.' When I heard that, my heart sank within me; for I had no scar there that I knew. 'Pull up the boy's trowsers,' said the justice to the constable. He did so. and said 'here's a scar!' 'All right,' said the justice, 'no mistake, let him go.' Glad was I. I got a ticket for Baltimore, and there for another town, and finally reached here." You asked me to give an account of the sums that I have expended for the Underground Rail Road, etc. I must be excused from doing this, as if I could now ascertain, I should not think it worth while to mention. I must now conclude my narrative, by giving, with some additions, an account of an interesting escape from Slavery, which was written by my wife, more than fifteen years ago, for Frederic Douglass' paper. [On page 177 the narrative of "The Fleeing Girl of Fifteen" is so fully written out, that it precludes the necessity of reproducing a large portion of this story.] In the evening a friend arrived, bringing with him a bright, handsome _boy_, whom he called Joe. Most heartily was "Joe" welcomed, and deep was the thrill which we felt, as we looked upon him and thought of the perils he had escaped. The next day was Thanksgiving-day, and my house was thronged with guests. In an upper room, with a comfortable fire, and the door locked, sat "Joe," still in boy's clothes, to be able to escape at the first intimation of danger, but with a smile and look of touching gratitude, whenever any one of the family who was in the secret, left the festive group to look in upon the interesting stranger. Not one of us can ever forget the deep abhorrence of Slavery, and thanksgiving to Almighty God, that we felt that day as we moved among the guests, who were wholly ignorant of the occupant of that upper room. Some curiosity was indeed excited among the little grandchildren, who saw slices of turkey and plum pudding sent up stairs. It was "Joe's" first Thanksgiving dinner in a free State. As she brought nothing away with her, it was necessary, the next day, to procure a complete wardrobe for a girl, which was carefully packed for her to take with her. The second day after "Joe's" arrival, the Rev. Mr. Freeman, pastor of a colored church in Brooklyn, agreed to accompany her to her uncle Brown's in Canada West, and we saw them depart, knowing the danger that would beset both on the way. The following is part of a letter from Mr. F., giving an account of their journey. After stating that they left New York, in the cars at five o'clock, P.M., and through the providence of God, went on their way safely and speedily, with none to molest or to make them afraid, he says: "On reaching Rochester, I began to ask myself 'how shall we get over Niagara Falls?' I was not sure that the cars ran across the Suspension Bridge; besides, I felt that we were in more danger here, than we had been at any other place. Knowing that there was a large reward offered for Joe's apprehension, I feared there might be some lurking spy ready to pounce upon us. But when we arrived at the Bridge, the conductor said: 'Sit still; this car goes across.' You may judge of my joy and relief of mind, when I looked out and was sure that we were over! Thank God, I exclaimed, we are safe in Canada! Having now a few minutes before the cars would start again, I sat down and hastily wrote a few lines, to inform friends at home of our safe arrival. As soon as possible, I ran to the post-office with my letter, paid the postage, and while I was waiting for my change, the car bell rang. I quickly returned, and in a few minutes, we were on our way to Chatham (200 miles West). That place we reached between seven and eight o'clock, Saturday evening. When we got out, we met a gentleman who asked me if I wanted a boarding-house. I said yes; and he invited me to go with him. I asked him if there was any way for us to get to Dresden that night. He answered, 'No, it is a dark night, and a muddy road, and no conveyance can be got tonight.' I soon found that we must stay in Chatham until Monday morning. On our way to the boarding-house, the gentleman said to me: 'Is this your son with you?' I answered, no; and then I asked him, if he knew a man living in D., by the name of Bradley. He replied that he was very well acquainted with him, and then inquired if that young man was Mr. Bradley's brother. I said, no--not exactly a brother. He must have thought it strange that I did not give him a more definite answer to his question. When we reached the house, we found several boarders in the sitting-room and a few neighbors. I had already told him my name, but with regard to Joe, I had not yet had a chance to explain. I, of course, was introduced to those who were in the room, but Joe--well, Joe took a seat, and did not seem to be troubled about an introduction. As the landlord was going out of the room, I asked permission to speak with him alone. He took me into another room, and I said to him: 'That young man, as you call him, is a young woman, and has come dressed in this manner, all the way from Washington City. She would be very glad now to be able to change her clothes.' He was greatly surprised, and would hardly believe that it was so; but said, 'I will call my wife.' She came, and I guess all the women in the house came with her. They soon disappeared, and Joe with them, who, after being absent a while, returned, and was introduced as Miss Ann Maria Weems. The whole company were on their feet, shook hands, laughed, and rejoiced, declaring that this beat all they had ever seen before. Chatham contains, I was told, more than three thousand fugitives. The weather there, is not colder than in New York. The next morning was the Sabbath, but this I must pass and hasten to D., the residence of Mr. Bradley. We started early Monday morning. As a part of the road was very bad, we did not reach there till a late hour. As we were passing along, and getting near to the place, we met two colored men who were talking together--one on horseback, and the other on foot. I inquired of them, if they could tell me how far it was to Mr. Bradley's. The man on horseback said it was about a mile further, and then proceeded to give directions. After he had done this, he said: 'I reckon I am the one that you want to find, my name is Bradley.' Well, I replied, probably you are the man. Just then Ann Maria turned her head around. As soon as he saw her face, he exclaimed: 'My Lord! Maria, is that you? Is that you? My child, is it you? We never expected to see you again! We had given you up; O, what will your aunt say? It will kill her! She will die! It will kill her.' I told him, that as I was obliged to leave again soon, I must proceed. 'Well,' said he, 'you go on; I am just going over to M., and will be back in a few minutes.' We started for his house, and he towards M., but we had only gone a short distance, when he overtook us, exclaiming: 'I can't go to M.,' and began talking to Ann Maria, asking her all about her friends and relatives, whom they had left behind, and about his old master, and his wife's master, from whom they had run away four years before. As we approached the house, he said: 'I will go and open the gate, and have a good fire to warm you.' When he came up to the gate, he met his wife, who was returning from a store or neighbor's house, and he said to her, 'That's Ann Maria coming yonder.' She stopped until we came to the gate; the tears were rolling from her eyes, and she exclaimed: 'Ann Maria, is it you?' The girl leaped from the wagon, and they fell on each other's necks, weeping and rejoicing. Such a scene I never before witnessed. She, who had been given up as lost, was now found! She, who but a short time before, had been, as they supposed, a slave for life, was now free. We soon entered the house, and after the first gush of feeling had somewhat subsided, they both began a general inquiry about the friends they had left behind. Every now and then, the aunt would break out: 'My child, you are here! Thank God, you are free! We were talking about you today, and saying, we shall never see you again; and now here you are with us.' I remained about an hour and a half with them, took dinner, and then started for home, rejoicing that I had been to a land where colored men are free. This Mr. Bradley, who ran away with himself and wife about four years ago from the land of whips and chains, is the owner of two farms, and is said to be worth three thousand dollars. Can slaves take care of themselves?" You may well suppose that the receipt of this letter gave us great pleasure, and called forth heartfelt thanksgiving to Him, who had watched over this undertaking, and protected all concerned in it. A bright and promising girl had been rescued from the untold miseries of a slave woman's life, and found a good home, where she would have an opportunity to acquire an education and be trained for a useful and happy life. Mr. Bradley intended to send for her parents, and hoped to prevail on them to come and live with him. Truly yours, LEWIS TAPPAN ELIJAH F. PENNYPACKER, Whose name belongs to the history of the Underground Rail Road, owed his peculiarly fine nature to a mother of large physical proportions, and correspondingly liberal mental and spiritual endowments. She was a natural sovereign in the sphere in which she moved, and impressed her son with the qualities which made his Anti-slavery life nothing but an expression of the rules of conduct which governed him in all other particulars. Believing in his inmost soul in principles of rectitude, all men believed in him, his "yea," or "nay," passing current wherever he went. Tall, dignified, and commanding, he had that in his face which inspired immediate confidence. Said one who looked: "If that is not a good man, there is no use in the Lord writing His signature on human countenances." Even in early youth, honors which he never sought, were pressed upon him, as he gave assurance of ability commensurate with his worth. He was sent to the Legislature of Pennsylvania for five sessions, where he became the personal friend of the Governor, Joseph Ritner, and also of Thaddeus Stevens. At the request of the latter, he consented to occupy the position of Secretary to the Board of Canal Commissioners, and two years after, by the wishes of Mr. Ritner, took a seat in the Canal Board, becoming a co-worker with Thaddeus Stevens. Here ripened a friendship, which afterward became of national importance, for although a nature so positive as that of Thaddeus Stevens could scarcely be said to be under the influence of any other mind, still, if there were those who exercised a moral sway, sustaining this courageous republican leader, at a higher level than he might otherwise have attained, Elijah F. Pennypacker was surely amongst them. Almost antipodal as they were in certain respects, each recognized the genuine ring of the other, and admired and respected that which was most true and noble. The purity, simplicity and high-minded honor which distinguished the younger, had its effect on the elder, even while he smiled at the inflexibility which would not swerve one hair's breadth from the line of right. The story is often told, how, when this young man's conscience stood bolt upright in the way of what was deemed a desirable arrangement, Stevens one day exclaimed: "It don't do, Pennypacker, to be so d----d honest." Pennypacker stood his ground, and the life-long respect which Stevens ever after awarded, proved that _he_ at least, thought it _did_ do. When it became clear to his mind, that a great battle was to be fought between Liberty and Slavery in America, Mr. Pennypacker felt it to be his duty to turn aside from the sunny paths of political preferment, into the shadows of obscure life, and ally himself with the misrepresented, despised and outcast Abolitionists, ever after devoting himself assiduously to the promotion of the cause of Freedom. Notwithstanding his natural modesty, here as elsewhere, he took a conspicuous position. At home, in the local Anti-slavery Society of his neighborhood, he was for many years chosen president, as he was also of the Chester county Anti-slavery Society, and of the Pennsylvania State Anti-slavery Society. Soon after his retirement from public life, he united himself with the Society of Friends, but was much too radical to be an acceptable addition. For a long time he was endured rather than endorsed, and it was only when such anti-slavery feelings as he cherished became generally diffused throughout the Society, that he found the unity he desired and expected. Whatever may have been his trials here or elsewhere, he found a rich reward for his faithfulness in the intellectual and moral growth which he attained by association with the most advanced minds of the time, and he has often been heard to say that no part of his life has been more fully and generously compensated than that devoted to the Anti-slavery cause. His home, near Phoenixville, Chester county, Pa., was an important station on the Underground Rail Road, the majority of fugitives proceeding through the southern rural districts of Eastern Pennsylvania, passing through his hands. At all times he was deeply interested in their welfare, and in his hospitality towards them, had the entire sympathy and co-operation of his family, they, like himself, being earnest abolitionists, but his more important duty of influencing public sentiment in favor of freedom, overshadowed his labors in this department. In steadfastness and integrity he stood beside Findley Coates and Thomas Whitson, a trio who will long be remembered in their native State. So long as Dr. B. Fussell resided in the northern section of Chester county, he and Elijah F. Pennypacker, were companions in Anti-slavery and other reform labors, as well as in business on the Underground Rail Road. Differing widely in temperament and mental structure, these two men were harmonious in spirit, and a close bond of sympathy and affection existed between them. It was a mutual pleasure to work as brothers, and afterward to rejoice together in labor accomplished. One of the last visits which roused the flickering animation of the dying physician, was from this friend of more vigorous years, and the voice which gave fitting expression to the worth of the departed, at his funeral, was that of Elijah F. Pennypacker. Like that of the highest grade of men everywhere, his appreciation of woman has ever been keen and true, and demanding the full rights of humanity, he makes no distinction, either on account of sex or color. In his own family, he has always encouraged the pursuit of any occupation congenial to the person choosing it; whether or not, it were a departure from the routine of custom, and in educational advantages he has ever demanded the widest possible culture for all. Wherever known, he is estimated as a pillar in the temperance cause. Gentle, modest, courteous and benignant, he combines, in a remarkable degree, strength and tenderness, courage and sympathy. At one time, holding at bay the powers of evil and baffling the most determined opponents by his manly adherence to right; at another he may be found yielding to impressions bidding him to seek the source of some hidden private sorrow, and with delicate touch, binding up a flowing wound, or offering himself as the defender and protector of such as may need his brotherly care. Obedient to these impressions, he rarely errs in his ministrations, and whether his errand be to remonstrate with the evil doer, setting his sins clearly and vividly before him, or to strengthen and encourage suffering innocence, he is alike successful. Men, whom he has warned in reproof when it cost the utmost bravery to do so, have become his confiding friends, and have been known afterward to entrust him with heavy pecuniary responsibilities, and to point him out to their children as an example worthy of imitation. Those whose griefs he has frequently softened, have laid upon his head a crown of blessing whiter than the honors which come with his silver hairs, and all with whom he comes in contact in business, in duty, or in social intercourse, acknowledge the presence, the wide usefulness and influence of the upright man. The memories of the choice spirits he used to meet in the Anti-slavery gatherings; their mutual and kindly greetings; the holy resolves which animated them and made the time hours of exaltation, now serve to brighten the pathway of his declining years, and to throw a halo around the restfulness of his home, as in peace of mind he looks abroad over his beloved country, to see millions of enfranchised men beginning to avail themselves of its pecuniary, educational and political advantages, and beholds them starting on a career of material and spiritual prosperity, with a rapidity commensurate with the expansive force of the repressed energies of a race. STATION MASTERS ON THE ROAD. [Illustration: ELIJAH F. PENNYPACKER] [Illustration: WILLIAM WRIGHT] [Illustration: DR. BARTHOLOMEW FUSSELL] [Illustration: ROBERT PURVIS] WILLIAM WRIGHT. MEMORIAL. William Wright, a distinguished abolitionist of Adams county, Pennsylvania, was born on the 21st of December, 1788. Various circumstances conspired to make this unassuming Quaker an earnest Abolitionist and champion of the oppressed in every land and of every nationality and color. His uncle, Benjamin Wright, and cousin, Samuel B. Wright, were active members of the old Pennsylvania Abolition Society, and at the time of the emancipation of the slaves in this state were often engaged in lawsuits with slave-holders to compel them to release their bondmen, according to the requirements of the law. William Wright grew up under the influence of the teachings of these relatives. Joined to this, his location caused him to take an extraordinary interest in Underground Rail Road affairs. He lived near the foot of the southern slope of the South Mountain, a spur of the Alleghenies which extends, under various names, to Chattanooga, Tennessee. This mountain was followed in its course by hundreds of fugitives until they got into Pennsylvania, and were directed to William Wright's house. In November, 1817, William Wright married Phebe Wierman, (born on the 8th of February, 1790,) daughter of a neighboring farmer, and sister of Hannah W. Gibbons, wife of Daniel Gibbons, a notice of whom appears elsewhere in this work. Phebe Wright was the assistant of her husband in every good work, and their married life of forty-eight years was a long period of united and efficient labor in the cause of humanity. She still (1871) survives him. William and Phebe Wright began their Underground Rail Road labors about the year 1819. Hamilton Moore, who ran away from Baltimore county, Maryland, was the first slave aided by them. His master came for him, but William Wright and Joel Wierman, Phebe Wright's brother, who lived in the neighborhood, rescued him and sent him to Canada. In the autumn of 1828, as Phebe Wright, surrounded by her little children, came out upon her back porch in the performance of some household duty, she saw standing before her in the shade of the early November morning, a colored man without hat, shoes, or coat. He asked if Mr. Wright lived there, and upon receiving an affirmative reply, said that he wanted work. The good woman, comprehending the situation at a glance, told him to come into the house, get warm, and wait till her husband came home. He was shivering with cold and fright. When William Wright came home the fugitive told his story. He came from Hagerstown, Maryland, having been taught the blacksmith's trade there. In this business it was his duty to keep an account of all the work done by him, which record he showed to his master at the end of the week. Knowing no written character but the figure 5 he kept this account by means of a curious system of hieroglyphics in which straight marks meant horse shoes put on, circles, cart-wheels fixed, etc. One day in happening to see his master's book he noticed that wherever five and one were added the figure 6 was used. Having practiced this till he could make it he ever after used it in his accounts. As his master was looking over these one day, he noticed the new figure and compelled the slave to tell how he had learned it. He flew into a rage, and said, "I'll teach you how to be learning new figures," and picking up a horse-shoe threw it at him, but fortunately for the audacious chattel, missed his aim. Notwithstanding his ardent desire for liberty, the slave considered it his duty to remain in bondage until he was twenty-one years old in order to repay by his labor the trouble and expense which his master had had in rearing him. On the evening of his twenty-first anniversary he turned his face toward the North star, and started for a land of freedom. Arriving at Reisterstown, a village on the Westminster turnpike about twenty-five miles from Baltimore and thirty-five miles from Mr. Wright's house, he was arrested and placed in the bar-room of the country tavern in care of the landlady to wait until his captors, having finished some work in which they were engaged, could take him back to his master. The landlady, being engaged in getting supper, set him to watch the cakes that were baking. As she was passing back and forth he ostentatiously removed his hat, coat, and shoes, and placed them in the bar-room. Having done this, he said to her, "I will step out a moment." This he did, she sending a boy to watch him. When the boy came out he appeared to be very sick and called hastily for water. The boy ran in to get it. Now was his golden opportunity. Jumping the fence he ran to a clump of trees which occupied low ground behind the house and concealing himself in it for a moment, ran and continued to run, he knew not whither, until he found himself at the toll gate near Petersburg, in Adams county. Before this he had kept in the fields and forests, but now found himself compelled to come out upon the road. The toll-gate keeper, seeing at once that he was a fugitive, said to him, "I guess you don't know the road." "I guess I can find it myself," was the reply. "Let me show you," said the man. "You may if you please," replied the fugitive. Taking him out behind his dwelling, he pointed across the fields to a new brick farm-house, and said, "Go there and inquire for Mr. Wright." The slave thanked him and did as he was directed. He remained with William Wright until April, 1829. During this short time he learned to read, write, and cipher as far as the single rule of three, as it was then called, or simple proportion. During his residence with William Wright, nothing could exceed his kindness or gratitude to the whole family. He learned to graft trees, and thus rendered great assistance to William Wright in his necessary business. When working in the kitchen during the winter he would never allow Phebe Wright to perform any hard labor, always scrubbing the floor and lifting heavy burdens for her. Before he went away in the spring he assumed a name which his talents, perseverance, and genius have rendered famous in both hemispheres, that of James W.C. Pennington. The initial W. was for his benefactor's family, and C. for the family of his former master. From William Wright's he went to Daniel Gibbons', thence to Delaware county, Pennsylvania, and from there to New Haven, Conn., where, while performing the duties of janitor at Yale College, he completed the studies of the college course. After a few years, he went to Heidelberg, where the degree of D.D. was conferred upon him. He never forgot William Wright and his family, and on his return from Europe brought them each a present. The story of his escape and wonderful abilities was spread over England. An American acquaintance of the Wright family was astonished, on visiting an Anti-slavery fair in London many years ago, to see among the pictures for sale there, one entitled, "William and Phebe Wright receiving James W.C. Pennington." The Dr. died in Florida, in 1870, where he had gone to preach and assist in opening schools amongst the Freemen. In 1842 a party of sixteen slaves came to York, Pa., from Baltimore county, Md. Here they were taken in charge by William Wright, Joel Fisher, Dr. Lewis, and William Yocum. The last named was a constable, and used to assist the Underground Rail Road managers by pretending to hunt fugitives with the kidnappers. Knowing where the fugitives were he was enabled to hunt them in the opposite direction from that in which they had gone, and thus give them time to escape. This constable and a colored man of York took this party one by one out into Samuel Willis' corn-field, near York, and hid them under the shocks. The following night Dr. Lewis piloted them to near his house, at Lewisburg, York county, on the banks of the Conewago. Here they were concealed several days, Dr. Lewis carrying provisions to them in his saddle-bags. When the search for them had been given up in William Wright's neighborhood, he went down to Lewisburg and in company with Dr. Lewis took the whole sixteen across the Conewago, they fording the river and carrying the fugitives across on their horses. It was a gloomy night in November. Every few moments clouds floated across the moon, alternately lighting up and shading the river, which, swelled by autumn rains, ran a flood. William Wright and Dr. Lewis mounted men or women behind and took children in their arms. When the last one got over, the doctor, who professed to be an atheist, exclaimed, "Great God! is this a Christian land, and are Christians thus forced to flee for their liberty?" William Wright guided this party to his house that night and concealed them in a neighboring forest until it was safe for them to proceed on their way to Canada. Just in the beginning of harvest of the year 1851, four men came off from Washington county, Maryland. They were almost naked and seemed to have come through great difficulties, their clothing being almost entirely torn off. As soon as they came, William Wright went to the store and got four pair of shoes. It was soon heard that their masters and the officers had gone to Harrisburg to hunt them. Two of them, Fenton and Tom, were concealed at William Wright's, and the other two, Sam and one whose name has been forgotten, at Joel Wierman's. In a day or two, as William Wright, a number of carpenters, and other workmen, among whom were Fenton and Tom, were at work in the barn, a party of men rode up and recognized the colored men as slaves of one of their number. The colored men said they had left their coats at the house. William Wright looked earnestly at them and told them to go to the house and get their coats. They went off, and one of them was observed by one of the family to take his coat hastily down from where it hung in one of the outhouses, a few moments afterward. After conversing a few moments at the barn, William Wright brought the slave-holders down to the house, where he, his wife and daughters engaged them in a controversy on the subject of slavery which lasted about an hour. One of them seemed very much impressed, and labored hard to convince his host that he was a good master and would treat his men well. Finally one of the party asked William Wright to produce the men. He replied that he would not do that, that they might search his premises if they wished to, but they could not compel him to bring forth the fugitives. Seeing that they had been duped, they became very angry and proceeded forthwith to search the house and all the outhouses immediately around it, without, however, finding those whom they sought. As they left the house and went toward the barn, William Wright, waving his hand toward the former, said, "You see they are not anywhere there." They then went to the barn and gave it a thorough search. Between it and the house, a little away from the path, but in plain sight, stood the carriage-house, _which they passed by without seeming to notice_. After they had gone, poor Tom was found in this very house, curled up under the seats of the old-fashioned family carriage. He had never come to the house at all, but had heard the voices of his hunters from his hiding-place, during their whole search. About two o'clock in the morning, Fenton was found by William Wright out in the field. He had run along the bed of a small water course, dry at that time of year, until he came to a rye field amid whose high grain he hid himself until he thought the danger was past. From William Wright's the slave-catchers went to Joel Wierman's, where, despite all that could be done, they got poor Sam, took him off to Maryland and sold him to the traders to be taken far south. In 1856 William Wright was a delegate from Adams county to the Convention at Philadelphia which nominated John C. Fremont for President of the United States. As the counties were called in alphabetical order, he responded first among the Pennsylvania delegation. It is thought that he helped away during his whole life, nearly one thousand slaves. During his latter years, he was aided in the good work by his children, who never hesitated to sacrifice their own pleasure in order to help away fugitives. His convictions on the subject of slavery seem to have been born with him, to have grown with his growth, and strengthened with his strength. He could not remember when he first became interested in the subject. William Wright closed his long and useful life on the 25th of October, 1865. More fortunate than his co-laborer, Daniel Gibbons, he lived to see the triumph of the cause in which he had labored all his life. His latter years were cheered by the remembrance of his good deeds in the cause of human freedom. Modest and retiring, he would not desire, as he does not need, a eulogy. His labors speak for themselves, and are such as are recorded upon the Lamb's Book of Life. DR. BARTHOLOMEW FUSSELL. Dr. Fussell, whose death occurred within the current year, was no ordinary man. He was born in Chester county, Pa., in 1794, his ancestors being members of the Society of Friends, principally of English origin, who arrived in America during the early settlement of Pennsylvania, some being of the number who, with William Penn, built their homes on the unbroken soil, where Philadelphia now stands. He inherited all the bravery of these early pioneers, who left their homes for the sake of religious freedom, the governing principle of his life being a direct antagonism to every form of oppression. Removing in early manhood, to Maryland, where negro Slavery was legally protected, he became one of the most active opponents of the system, being a friend and co-laborer of Elisha Tyson, known and beloved as "Father Tyson," by all the slaves of the region, and to the community at large, as one of the most philanthropic of men. While teaching school during the week, as a means of self-education, and reading medicine at night, the young student expended his surplus energy in opening a Sabbath-school for colored persons, teaching them the rudiments of knowledge, not for a few hours only, but for the whole day, and frequently finding as many as ninety pupils collected to receive the inestimable boon which gave them the power of reading the Bible for themselves. To the deeply religious nature of these Africans, this was the one blessing they prized above all others in his power to bestow, and the overflowing gratitude they gave in return, was a memory he cherished to the latest years of his life. After his graduation in medicine, being at one time called upon to deliver an address before the Medical Society of Baltimore, in the midst of a pro-slavery audience, and before slave-holding professors and men of authority, Dr. Fussell, with a courage scarcely to be comprehended at this late day, denounced "the most preposterous and cruel practice of Slavery, as replete with the causes of disease," and expressed the hope that the day would come "when Slavery and cruelty should have no abiding place in the whole habitable earth; when the philosopher and the pious Christian could use the salutation of 'brother,' and the physician and divine be as one man; when the rich and the poor should know no distinction; the great and the small be equal in dominion, and the _arrogant master_ and _his menial slave_ should make a truce of friendship with each other, all following the same law of reason, all guided by the same light of Truth!" As a matter of course, a spirit so thoroughly awake to the welfare of humanity, would hail with joy and welcome as a brother, the appearance of such a devoted advocate of freedom, as Benjamin Lundy; and, with all the warmth of his nature, would give love, admiration, and reverence to the later apostle of immediate emancipation, William Lloyd Garrison. It was one of the pleasures of Dr. Fussell's life that he had been enabled to take the first number of the "_Liberator_," and to continue a subscriber without intermission, until the battle being ended, the last number was announced. He was himself, one of the most earnest workers in the Anti-slavery cause, never omitting in a fearless manner, to embrace an opportunity to protest against the encouragement of a pro-slavery spirit. Returning to Pennsylvania, to practice his profession, his home became one of the havens where the hunted fugitive from Slavery found food, shelter and rest. Laboring in connection with the late Thomas Garrett, of Wilmington, Del., and with many others, at available points, about two thousand fugitives passed through his hands, on their way to freedom, and amongst these, he frequently had the delight of welcoming some of his old Sabbath-school pupils. The mutual recognition was sometimes touching in the extreme. In later life, his anecdotes and reminiscences, told in the vivid style, resulting from a remarkably retentive memory, which could recall word, tone, and gesture, brought to life, some of the most interesting of his experiences with these fleeing bondmen, whose histories no romance could ever equal. Being one of the signers of the "Declaration of Sentiments," issued by the American Anti-slavery Society in 1833, he had also the gratification of attending the last meeting of the Pennsylvania Anti-slavery Society, called to celebrate the downfall of Slavery in America, and the dissolution of an organization whose purpose was effected. There are those, who may remember how at that time, in perfect forgetfulness of self, the relation of the heroism of his friend, Elisha Tyson, seemed to recall for a moment, the vigor of youth to render the decrepitude of age almost majestic. But it was not Slavery alone, which occupied the thoughts and attention of this large-hearted man. He was well known as an advocate of common school education, of temperance, and of every other interest, which, in his view, pertained to the welfare of man. Unfortunately, he was addicted to the use of tobacco from his youth. Having become convinced that it was an evil, he, for the sake of consistency and as an example to others, resolutely abandoned the habit, at the age of seventy. He was fond of accrediting his resolve to a very aged relative, who, in remonstrating with him upon the subject, replied to his remark, that a sudden cessation from a practice so long indulged in, might result in his death: "Well, die, then, and go to heaven decently." As a practitioner of medicine, he was eminently successful, his intense sympathy with suffering, seeming to elevate his faculties and give them unwonted vigor in tracing the hidden causes of disease, and in suggesting to his mind alleviating agencies. His patients felt an unspeakable comfort in his presence, well knowing that the best possible remedy which his knowledge, his judgment or his experience suggested, would be selected, let the difficulty and inconvenience to himself be what it would. In cases where life hung trembling in the balance, he would watch night after night, feeding the flickering flame until he perceived it brighten, and this in the abode of misery just as freely as in the home of wealth. The life-long affection of those whom he recalled, was his reward where often none was sought or expected. He believed in woman as only a thoroughly good man can, and from early youth, he had been impressed with her peculiar fitness for the practice of medicine. The experience of a physician confirmed him in his sentiments, and it became one of his most earnest aspirations to open to her all the avenues to the study of medicine. In the year 1840, he gave regular instruction to a class of ladies, and it was through one of these pupils, that the first female graduate in America was interested in the study of medicine. In 1846 he communicated to a few liberal-minded professional men, a plan for the establishment of a college of the highest grade for the medical education of women. This long-cherished plan, hallowed to him by the approbation of a beloved wife, was well received. Others, with indomitable zeal, took up the work, and finally, after a succession of disappointments and discouragements from causes within and without, the Woman's College, on North College avenue, Philadelphia, starting from the germ of his thought, entered on the career of prosperity it is so well entitled to receive. Though never at any time connected with the college, he regarded its success with the most affectionate interest, considering its proposition as one of the most important results of his life. Happy in having lived to see Slavery abolished, and believing in the speedy elevation of woman to her true dignity as joint sovereign with man, and in the mitigation of the evils of war, intemperance, poverty, and crime, which might be expected to follow such a result, he rested from his labors, and died in peace. THOMAS SHIPLEY.[A] Thomas Shipley, one of the foremost in the early generation of philanthropists who devoted their lives to the extinction of human slavery, was born in Philadelphia on the second of Fourth month, 1787. He was the youngest of five children of William and Margaret Shipley, his father having emigrated from Uttoxeter, in Staffordshire, England, about the year 1750. From a very early period in the history of the Society of Friends his ancestors had been members of that body, and he inherited from them the strong sense of personal independence, and the love of toleration and respect for the rights of others which have ever characterized that body of people. Soon after his birth, his mother died, and he was thus early deprived of the fostering care of a pious and devoted parent, whose counsels are so important in forming the youthful mind, and in giving a direction to future life. A few years after the death of his mother, his father was removed, and Thomas was left an orphan before he had attained his sixth year. After this affecting event he was taken into the family of Isaac Bartram, who had married his eldest sister. Here he remained for several years, acquiring the common rudiments of education, and at a suitable age was sent to Westtown school; after remaining there for a little more than a year, he met with an accident, which rendered it necessary for him to return home; and the effects of which prevented him from proceeding with his education. He fell from the top of a high flight of steps to the ground, and received an injury of the head, followed by convulsions, which continued at intervals for a considerable time, and rendered him incapable of any effort of mind or body. He was, during childhood, remarkably fond of reading, and was distinguished among his friends and associates for uncommon perseverance in accomplishing anything he undertook, a trait which peculiarly marked him through life; his disposition is said to have been unusually amiable and docile, so as to endear him very strongly to his relatives and friends. After his removal from Westtown, he was again taken into the family of his brother-in-law, and remained under the care of his sister, who was very much attached to him, until he was placed as an apprentice to the hardware business. While here, he was entirely relieved of the affliction caused by the fall, and was restored to sound health. About the age of twenty-one, he entered upon the pursuits of the business he had selected. The exact time at which his attention was turned to the subject of slavery cannot be ascertained, but it is probable that a testimony against it was among his earliest impressions as a member of the religious Society of Friends. He joined the "Pennsylvania Society for the Promoting the Abolition of Slavery," etc., in 1817, and the ardent interest which he took in its objects, was evinced on many occasions within the recollection of many now living. He was for many years an active member of its Board of Education, and took a prominent part in extending the benefits of learning to colored children and youth. The career of Thomas Shipley, as it was connected with the interests of the colored community, abounds in incidents which have rarely occurred in the life of any individual. Being universally regarded as their adviser and protector, he was constantly solicited for his advice on questions touching their welfare. This led him to investigate the laws relating to this class of persons, in all their extended ramifications. The knowledge he thus acquired, together with his practical acquaintance with the business and decisions of our courts, rendered his opinion peculiarly serviceable on all matters affecting their rights. Never did a merchant study more closely the varied relations of business, and their influence on his interests, than did Thomas Shipley all those questions which concerned the well-being of those for whom he was so warmly interested. He had volunteered his services as their advocate, and they could not have been more faithfully served had they poured out the wealth of Croesus at the feet of the most learned counsel. On every occasion of popular commotion where the safety of the colored people was threatened, he was found at his post, fearlessly defending their rights, and exerting his influence with those in authority to throw around them the protection of the laws. In the tumultuous scenes which disgraced Philadelphia, in the summer of 1835, in which the fury of the mob was directed against the persons and property of the colored inhabitants, he acted with an energy and prudence rarely found combined in the same individual. The mob had collected and organized to the number of several hundred, and were marching through the lower part of the city, dealing destruction in their course; the houses of respectable and worthy colored citizens were broken in upon, the furniture scattered to the winds, all they possessed destroyed or plundered, and they themselves subjected to the most brutal and savage treatment. Defenceless infancy and decrepid age were alike disregarded in the general devastation which these ruffians had decreed should attend their course. The color of the skin was the mark by which their vengeance was directed, and the cries and entreaties of their innocent and defenceless victims were alike disregarded in the accomplishment of their ends. Already had several victims fallen before the fury of the ruthless band. Law and order were laid waste, and the officers of justice looked on, some perhaps with dismay, and others with indifference, while the rights of citizens were prostrated, and their peaceful and quiet homes invaded by the hand of violence. At such a time the voice of remonstrance or entreaty, would have been useless, and had the avowed friends of the colored man interfered in any public manner, the effect would probably have been to increase the fury of the storm, and to have directed the violence of the mob upon themselves. Under these perilous circumstances, Thomas Shipley was determined to attempt an effort for their relief. He could not look on and see those for whom he was so deeply interested threatened almost with extermination without an effort for their preservation, and yet he was aware that his presence amongst the mob might subject him to assassination, without adding to the security of the objects of his solicitude. He, therefore, determined to disguise himself in such a manner as not to be recognized, and to mingle amongst the rioters in order to ascertain their objects, and if possible to convey such information to the proper authorities as might lead to the arrest of those most active in fomenting disorder. Accordingly he left his house late in the evening, attired so as to be completely disguised, and repaired to the scene of tumult. By this time much mischief had been done, and to add fresh fury to the multitude, and to incite them to new deeds of blood, nothing was wanting but some act of resistance on the part of their victims, who, during the whole period, had conducted themselves with a forbearance and patience highly creditable to them as good citizens and upright Christians. Such an occasion was about to occur, and was prevented by the admirable coolness and forethought of Thomas Shipley. A number of colored men who had been driven to desperation by the acts of the mob, and who had relinquished the idea of protection from the civil authorities, determined to resort to arms, to defend themselves and their families from the further aggressions of their persecutors. They accordingly repaired to Benezet Hall, one of their public buildings in South Seventh Street, with a supply of fire arms and ammunition, determined to fire upon the assailants, and maintain their post or die in the attempt. This fact became known to the leaders of the mob, and the cry was raised to march for the hall, and make the attack. Thomas Shipley who had mingled amongst the rioters, and apparently identified himself with them, was now perfectly aware of all their designs; he knew their numbers, he had seen the implements of destruction which they were brandishing about them, and he was aware that the occurrence of such a conflict would be attended with the most disastrous results, and might be the beginning of hostilities which would terminate in the destruction of the weaker party, or at least in a dreadful effusion of human blood. Seeing the position in which the parties were now placed, he left the ranks of the rioters, and ran at the top of his speed to the house in which the colored people were collected, awaiting the approach of their enemy. As he drew near, they were about coming out to meet their assailants, highly excited by continued outrages, and determined to defend themselves or die. At this unexpected moment, their protector drew nigh; he raised his voice aloud, and addressed the multitude. He deprecated the idea of a resort to physical force, as being calculated to increase their difficulties, and to plunge them into general distress, and entreated them to retire from the hall. His voice was immediately recognized; the effect was electric; the whole throng knew him as their friend; their fierce passions were calmed by the voice of reason and admonition. They could not disregard his counsels; he had come among them, at the dead hour of night, in the midst of danger and trial, to raise his warning voice against a course of measures they were about to pursue. They listened to his remonstrances, and retreated before the mob had reached the building. At this juncture the Mayor and his officers assembled in front of the hall, and by prompt and energetic action succeeded in dispersing the mob, and through the information received from Thomas Shipley, the ringleaders were secured and lodged in prison. The part which Thomas Shipley acted in the trying scenes so often presented in our courts, during this unhappy period, has invested his character with a remarkable degree of interest. It is probable that his connection with the Pennsylvania Abolition Society was the means of enlisting his talents and exertions in this important service. The energy and zeal of our friend in his efforts for the relief of those about to be deprived of their dearest rights, soon distinguished him as the most efficient member of the Society, in this department of its duties. So intense was his interest in all cases where the liberty of his fellow-man was at issue, that, during a period of many years, he was scarcely ever absent from the side of the unhappy victim, as he sat before our judicial tribunals, trembling for his fate. The promptings of interest, the pleasures and allurements of the world, the quiet enjoyment of a peaceful home, were all cheerfully sacrificed, when his services were demanded in these distressing cases. Often has he left the business, in which his pecuniary interests were materially involved, to stand by the unhappy fugitive in the hour of his extremity, with an alacrity and a spirit which could only be displayed by one animated by the loftiest principles and the purest philanthropy. Who, that has ever witnessed one of these trying scenes, can forget his manly and honest bearing, as he stood before the unrelenting and arrogant claimant, watching with an eagle eye, every step of the process by which he hoped to gain his victim? Who has not been struck with his expressive glances toward the judge, when a doubtful point arose in the investigation of the case? Who has not caught the lively expression of delight which beamed from his countenance, when a fact was disclosed which had a favorable bearing on the liberty of the captive? Who has not admired the sagacity with which his inquiries were dictated, and the tact and acumen with which he managed every part of his cause? His principle was unhesitatingly to submit to existing laws, however unjust their decrees might be, but to scan well the bearing of the facts and principles involved in each case, and to see that nothing was wanting in the chain of evidence, or in the legal points in question, fully to satisfy the requisitions of law. If a doubtful point arose, he was unwearied in investigating it, and devoted hours, days, and even weeks, in the collection of testimony which he thought would have a favorable influence on the prisoner. Through his untiring vigilance, many victims have escaped from the hand of the oppressor, whose title to freedom, according to the laws of this commonwealth, was undoubted, and many others, whose enslavement was at least questionable. The time and labor expended by Thomas Shipley in protecting the interests of his colored clients, would be almost incredible to those who were not aware of his extraordinary devotion to the cause. The only notice which can be found among his papers, of the various slave cases in which he was engaged, is contained in a memorandum book, which he commenced in the summer of 1835. In this book he has noted, in the order of their occurrence, such instances of difficulty or distress as demanded his interference, almost without a comment. I find from this book, that his advice and assistance were bestowed in twenty-five cases, from Seventh mo. 16th, to Eighth mo. 24th, 1836, a period of little more than a month. A number of these cases required the writing of letters to distant places; in some it was necessary for him to visit the parties interested; and others demanded his personal attendance at court. This perhaps, may be considered as a fair average of the amount of labor which he constantly expended in this department of his benevolent efforts; and when we consider the time occupied in the necessary duties of his ordinary avocations, it must be evident that he possessed not only extraordinary humanity, but uncommon activity and energy, to have accomplished so much. In the memorandum book referred to, under date of Twelfth mo., 1835, I find the following note: "Spent eighteen days in the trial of A. Hemsley, and his wife Nancy, and her three children, arrested at Mount Holly, the husband claimed by Goldsborough Price, executor of Isaac Boggs, of Queen Ann's county, Maryland, and the wife and children by Richard D. Cooper, of the same county. John Willoughby, agent for both claimants. B.R. Brown and B. Clarke, attorneys for the claimant, and D.P. Brown, J.R. Slack, E.B. Cannon, and G.W. Camblos, for defendants. After a full argument, in which a manumission was produced for Nancy, from R.D. Cooper's father, she and her children were discharged, but her husband was remanded; on which a certiorari was served on the judge, and a habeas corpus placed in the sheriff's hands." "Alexander was discharged by the Supreme Court, at Trenton, Third mo. 5th. The circumstances of the case, were briefly the following: The woman and children had been regularly manumitted in Delaware by the father of the claimant, while the title of the father to freedom was less positive, though sufficiently clear to warrant a vigorous effort on his behalf." The first object of the counsel on the part of the alleged fugitive, was to prove the manumission of the mother and children, and, as it was thought, the necessary documents for that purpose were collected and arranged. After the trial had proceeded, however, for a short time, the attorney for the defendants discovered a defect in the testimony on this point; the necessary papers, duly authenticated by the Governor or Chief Justice of Delaware, were missing, and without them it was impossible to make out the case. The fact was immediately communicated to Thomas Shipley--he saw that the papers must be had, and that they could not be procured without a visit to Dover, in Delaware. He at once determined to repair thither in person, and obtain them. Without the knowledge of the claimant's counsel, who might have taken advantage of the omission, and hurried the case to a decision; he started on the evening of the sixth day, and traveled as fast as possible to Dover, in the midst of a season unusually cold and inclement. On the next morning inquiries were made in all directions for friend Shipley; it was thought strange that he should desert his post in the midst of so exciting and momentous a trial, and at a time when his presence seemed to be particularly required. The counsel for the prisoners, who were aware of his movements, proceeded with the examination of witnesses as slowly as possible, in order to allow time for procuring this important link in the chain of testimony, and thus to procrastinate the period when they should be called upon to sum up the case. Fortunately, on the evening of the day on which Thomas Shipley set out upon his journey, it was proposed to adjourn, and farther proceedings were postponed until Second day morning. At the meeting of the court, in the morning, the expected messenger was not there, and the ingenuity of the counsel was taxed still farther to procrastinate the important period. After three hours had been consumed in debate upon legal points, he, who was so anxiously looked for, came hurrying through the crowd, making his way toward the bench. His countenance and his movements soon convinced the wondering spectators that he was the bearer of gratifying news, and in a few minutes, the mystery of his absence was revealed, by the production of a document which was the fruit of his effort. The papers completely established the legal title of the mother and children to their freedom, and placed them out of the reach of further persecution. An attack of illness was the result of the extreme exertion and fatigue endured by this devoted man, in his earnest advocacy of the rights of these friendless beings. The freedom of the husband and father, was, however, still in jeopardy. If the decision of the court should be against him, he would be torn from the bosom of his now joyful and emancipated family, and consigned to a life of bondage. To avert this calamity, the counsel for the prisoner suggested an expedient as humane as it was ingenious. He proposed that a writ of certiorari which would oblige the judge to remove the case to the Supreme Court and a habeas corpus from the Chief Justice of the State, should both be in readiness when the decision of the judge should be pronounced, in case that if it should be unfavorable, the writs might be at once served, and the prisoner remanded to the sheriff of the county, to be brought up before the Supreme Court at Trenton for another trial. To procure these writs, it was necessary to obtain the signature of the chief justice of New Jersey, who resided at Newark, and again Thomas Shipley was ready to enter with alacrity into the service. He saw the importance of the measure, and that it would require prompt action, inasmuch as the decision of the judge would probably be pronounced on the following day. It fortunately happened that a friend was just about leaving for Newark, in his own conveyance, and feeling an interest in the case, he kindly invited friend Shipley to accompany him. They left in the afternoon, traveled all night, and arrived at Newark by daylight the following morning. The weary traveler was unwilling, however, to retire to bed, although the night was exceedingly cold and tempestuous, but he proceeded at once to the house of the chief justice. He called the worthy judge from his bed, offering the importance of his business, and the necessity of speedy action, as an apology for so unseasonable a visit. Chief Justice Hornblower, on being informed of the circumstances of the case, expressed his pleasure at having it in his power to accede to his wishes and treated him with a respect and kindness which the disinterested benevolence of his mission was calculated to inspire. Having obtained the necessary papers, he left at once for Mount Holly, where he arrived on the following day, in time to place the writs in the hands of the sheriff, just before the decision of Judge H. was pronounced. Had he consulted his ease or convenience, and deferred his visit to Newark a few hours, or had he, as most men, under similar circumstances would have done, reposed his weary limbs, after a cold and dreary ride of eighty miles, in order to enable him to return with renewed strength, he would have arrived too late to render this meritorious effort effectual. As it was, he was there in time. The judge, according to the expectation of the friends of the colored man, gave his decision in favor of the slave-holders, and ordered poor Alexander to be given up to the tender mercies of the exasperated claimant. The decision sent a thrill of indignation through the anxious and excited multitude, which perhaps, was never equalled amongst the inhabitants of that quiet town. The friends of humanity had assembled from all parts of the country to witness the proceedings in the case. Many of them were personally acquainted with the prisoner; they knew him to be a man of intelligence and integrity; he was an industrious and orderly citizen, and was universally respected in the neighborhood. He was now about to be made a slave, and was declared to be the property of another. The father was about to be torn from his helpless children; the husband in defiance of the Divine command, was to be wrested from the fond embrace of his sorrowing wife, to spend his days in misery and toil. And this was to be done before the eyes of those who had a just regard for human rights, a hearty hatred of oppression. Is it wonderful, that under such circumstances, there should have been a deep abhorrence for the perpetrators of this outrage upon humanity, and a general sympathy for the innocent captive? But it was decreed that those feelings of honest indignation should be speedily supplanted by the warm outpouring of public gratitude and joy. While the feeling of the spectators was in this state of intense interest and excitement, the judge, stern and inflexible in his purposes, and the clan of greedy claimants ready to seize upon their prey, the sheriff produced his writ of certiorari and handed it to the court. It was instantly returned, and the judge who sat unmoved, by a scene to which he was not unaccustomed, and conceiving, perhaps, that his official dignity was impugned, persisted in his determination that the prisoner should be handed over to the claimant. The prudence and foresight of Thomas Shipley and his friends had provided, however, for this anticipated difficulty. Happily for the prisoner, he was yet embraced under the provision of that constitution, which secured to him the protection of a habeas corpus, and this threw around him a shield which his enemies could not penetrate. A writ of habeas corpus, signed by the chief justice of the State and demanding the body of the prisoner, before the Supreme Court at its next term, was now produced! The astonished judge found himself completely foiled. He had exercised his authority to its utmost limit, in support of the claims of his slave-holding friends, and had given the influence of his station and character, to bolster up the "patriarchal institution;" but it was all in vain. Just as they supposed they had achieved a victory, they were obliged with fallen crests, to succumb to the dictates of a higher tribunal, and to see their victim conveyed beyond their reach in the safe keeping of the sheriff. In the Third month, (March,) the case was brought up before the Supreme Court for final adjudication. In the meantime, Thomas Shipley adopted vigorous measures to have the facts collected and arranged. He procured the aid of an intelligent and humane friend of the cause, who resided near Trenton, to attend, personally to the case, and secured the legal services of Theodore Frelinghuysen, well known as one of the most gifted and virtuous statesmen of the age, and as a warm and zealous friend of the oppressed. Under these happy auspices, the case came before the Supreme Court, and gave rise to a highly interesting and important argument; in which the distinguished Frelinghuysen appeared as the disinterested advocate of the prisoner, and urged upon the court his claim to liberty, under the laws of New Jersey, in a speech which was one of his most brilliant and eloquent efforts, and added another to the many laurels which his genius and philanthropy have achieved. The opinion of Chief Justice Hornblower was given at length, and is said to have displayed a soundness and extent of legal knowledge, with a spirit of mildness and humanity, well worthy of the highest judicial tribunal of New Jersey. By this decision, Alexander Helmsley was declared to be a freeman, and returned with rejoicing into the bosom of his family, and to the enjoyment of the rights and privileges of a free citizen. Thus terminated this interesting case, which for several months agitated the public mind of Burlington county, to an extent almost unequalled. Such disinterested devotion to the defence of the rights of the oppressed, had it been displayed only in the instance recited, would be sufficient to enroll the name of Thomas Shipley on the list of the benefactors of his race; but when we consider that, for a period of twenty years, his history abounds in similar incidents, and that he uniformly stood forth as the unflinching advocate of the oppressed, regardless of the sacrifices which he was obliged to make on their behalf, we are disposed to view him as one of that noble band whose lives have been consecrated to deeds of charity and benevolence, and whose names will illumine the moral firmament, so long as virtue and truth shall command the homage of mankind. Thomas Shipley was one of the founders of the American Anti-Slavery Society, and was an active agent in those stirring movements which soon aroused the nation to a full consideration of the enormities of Slavery. He was a prominent member of the Anti-slavery Convention, which assembled in this city in 1833, and a signer of their declaration of sentiments. During the last few years of his life, he was more devotedly engaged in his abolition labors than at any previous period. It was his constant desire to diffuse the principles which had been so fearlessly proclaimed by the Convention, and to encourage the formation of Anti-slavery societies throughout the sphere of his influence. He was one of the most prominent members of the Philadelphia Anti-slavery Society, which was formed through much opposition, in 1835, and he steadily adhered to its meetings, notwithstanding the threats which were so loudly made by the enemies of public order. In the midst of the popular commotions and tumults, which marked the progress of Anti-slavery principles, he stood calm and unmoved. Having been long known as a firm friend of the rights of the colored man, and being amongst the most efficient public advocates of his cause, he was of course subjected to the revilings which were so liberally heaped upon the Abolitionists at that time. His name was associated with that of Tappan, Birney, Green, Jay, Garrison, and other leading Abolitionists, who were singled out by slave-holders and their abettors as fit subjects for the merciless attacks of excited mobs. In several attempts which were made in this city to stir up the passions of the ignorant against the advocates of human rights, his person and property were openly threatened with assault. Such menaces failed, however, to deter him from the steady performance of what he believed to be a solemn duty. Being fully satisfied of the truth of the principles which he had espoused, he relied with unwavering confidence upon Divine power for their ultimate triumph, and for the protection of those who advocated them. When his friends expressed their anxiety for his safety, he always allayed their apprehensions, and evinced by the firmness and benignity of his manner that he was divested of the fear of man, and acted under the influence of that spirit which is from above. The active part which Thomas Shipley took in Anti-slavery movements, did not diminish his interest in the prosperity and usefulness of the old Pennsylvania Society. He was a steady attendant on its meetings, and exercised his wonted care on all subjects connected with its interests. A short time previous to his death, his services were acknowledged by his fellow-members, by his election to the office of president. The incessant and fatiguing labors in which he was engaged, had sensibly affected the vigor of a constitution naturally delicate, and rendered him peculiarly liable to the inroads of disease. He was seized in the autumn of 1836, with an attack of intermittent fever, which confined him to the house for ten or twelve days, and very much reduced his strength; while recovering from this attack, he experienced an accession of disease which terminated his life in less than twenty-four hours. But a few hours before his death, he inquired of his physicians as to the probable issue of his case; when informed of his critical condition, he received the intelligence with composure, and immediately requested Dr. Atlee, who was by his side, to take down some directions in regard to his affairs, on paper. In a few minutes after this, he quietly lapsed into the sleep of death, in the morning, on the 17th of Ninth month, 1836. His last words were, "I die at peace with all mankind, and hope that my trespasses may be as freely forgiven, as I forgive those who have trespassed against me." To all who knew him well, of whatever class in the community, the tidings of this unexpected event brought a personal sorrow. It was felt that a man of rare probity and virtue had gone to his reward. But to the colored people the intelligence of his death was at once startling and confounding. Their whole community was bowed down in public lamentation, for their warmest and most steadfast friend was gone. They repaired in large numbers to the house of their benefactor to obtain a last glance at his lifeless body. Parents brought their little ones to the house of mourning, and as they gazed upon the features of the departed, now inanimate in death, they taught their infant minds the impressive lesson, that before them were the mortal remains of one who had devoted his energies to the disenthralment of their race, and whose memory they should ever cherish with gratitude and reverence. When the day arrived for committing his remains to the grave the evidence of deep and pervading sorrow among these wronged and outraged people was strikingly apparent. Thousands, whose serious deportment and dejected countenances evinced that they were fully sensible of their loss, collected in the vicinity of his dwelling, anxious to testify their respect for his memory. Theirs was not the gaze of the indifferent crowd, which clusters around the abodes of fashion and splendor, to witness the pomp and circumstance attendant on the interment of the haughty or the rich. It was a solemn gathering, brought together by the impulse of feeling, to mingle their tears and lamentations at the grave of one whom they had loved and revered as a protector and a friend. When the hearse arrived at the quiet burial place in Arch street, where the Friends for many generations have buried their dead, six colored men carried the body to its last resting-place, and the silent tear of the son of Africa over the grave of his zealous friend, was more expressive of real affection than all the parade which is sometimes brought so ostentatiously before the public eye. In the expressive words of the leading newspaper of the day, "Aaron Burr was lately buried with the honors of war. Thomas Shipley was buried with the honors of peace. Let the reflecting mind pause in the honorable contrast." As a public speaker Thomas Shipley was clear, cogent, sometimes eloquent, and always impressive. He never attempted oratorical effect, or studied harangues. He generally spoke extemporaneously, on the spur of the occasion, and what he said came warm from the heart. It was the simple and unadorned expression of his sentiments and feelings. He was, however, argumentative and even logical, when the occasion required it. When intensely interested, his eye was full of deep and piercing expression. Although his education had been limited, and his pursuits afforded him but little leisure time, yet he indulged his fondness for reading, and exhibited a refined literary taste in his selections. He has left amongst his books and papers eight manuscript volumes of about one hundred and fifty pages each, filled with selections, copied in his own handwriting, and culled from the writings of many of the most gifted authors, both in poetry and prose. These extracts are generally of a moral and religious caste, and include scraps from Young, Milton, Addison, Burns, Cowper, Watts, Akenside, Pope, Byron, Hemans, and many others. In the domestic and social circle, his conversation was animated and instructive, and always tempered by that kindness and amenity of manners which endeared him to his family and friends. He was no bigot in religion. While a firm believer in the doctrines of the Gospel as maintained by the orthodox Society of Friends, he yet held that religion was an operative principle producing the fruits of righteousness and peace, in all of whatever name, who are sincere followers of our Lord Jesus Christ. In conclusion we may add, that more than most men he bore about with him the sentiment of that old Roman, "Nihil humanum alienum a me puto," while he added to it the higher thought of the Christian, that he who loveth God loveth his brother also. We need not dwell upon the life of such a man. To-day, after the lapse of more than a generation, his memory is fresh and green in the hearts of those who knew him, and who still survive to hand down to their children the story of the trials of that eventful period in our history. _To the Memory of_ THOMAS SHIPLEY, President of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society, Who died on the 17th of Ninth mo., 1836, a devoted Christian and Philanthropist. BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. Gone to thy Heavenly Father's rest-- The flowers of Eden round thee blowing! And, on thine ear, the murmurs blest Of Shiloah's waters softly flowing! Beneath that tree of life which gives To all the earth its healing leaves-- In the white robe of angels clad, And wandering by that sacred river, Whose streams of holiness make glad The city of our God forever! Gentlest of spirits!--not for thee Our tears are shed, our sighs are given: Why mourn to know thou art a free Partaker of the joys of Heaven? Finished thy work, and kept thy faith In Christian firmness unto death-- And beautiful as sky and earth, When Autumn's sun is downward going, The blessed memory of thy worth Around thy place of slumber glowing! But, wo for us I--who linger still With feebler strength and hearts less lowly, And minds less steadfast to the will Of Him, whose every work is holy! For not like thine, is crucified The spirit of our human pride: And at the bondman's tale of woe, And for the outcast and forsaken, Not warm like thine, but cold and slow, Our weaker sympathies awaken! Darkly upon our struggling way The storm of human hate is sweeping; Hunted and branded, and a prey, Our watch amidst the darkness keeping! Oh! for that hidden strength which can Nerve unto death the inner man! Oh--for thy spirit tried and true And constant in the hour of trial-- Prepared to suffer or to do In meekness and in self-denial. Oh, for that spirit meek and mild, Derided, spurned, yet uncomplaining-- By man deserted and reviled, Yet faithful to its trust remaining. Still prompt and resolute to save From scourge and chain the hunted slave! Unwavering in the truth's defence E'en where the fires of hate are burning, The unquailing eye of innocence Alone upon the oppressor turning! Oh, loved of thousands! to thy grave, Sorrowing of heart, thy brethren bore thee! The poor man and the rescued slave Wept as the broken earth closed o'er thee-- And grateful tears, like summer rain, Quickened its dying grass again!-- And there, as to some pilgrim shrine, Shall come the outcast and the lowly, Of gentle deeds and words of thine Recalling memories sweet and holy! Oh, for the death the righteous die! An end, like Autumn's day declining, On human hearts, as on the sky, With holier, tenderer beauty shining! As to the parting soul were given The radiance of an opening heaven! As if that pure and blessed light From off the eternal altar flowing, Were bathing in its upward flight The spirit to its worship going! ROBERT PURVIS Was born in Charleston, S.C. on the 4th day of August, 1810. His father, William Purvis, was a native of Ross county, in Northumberland, England. His mother was a free-born woman, of Charleston. His maternal grandmother was a Moor; and her father was an Israelite, named Baron Judah. Robert Purvis and his two brothers were brought to the North by their parents in 1819. In Pennsylvania and New England he received his scholastic education, finishing it at Amherst College. Since that time his home has been in Philadelphia, or in the vicinity of that city. His interest in the Anti-slavery cause began in his childhood, inspired by such books as "Sandford and Merton," and Dr. Toney's "Portraiture of Slavery," which his father put into his hands. His father, though resident in a slave state, was never a slaveholder; but was heartily an Abolitionist in principle. It was Robert Purvis' good fortune, before he attained his majority, to make the acquaintance of that earnest and self-sacrificing pioneer of freedom, Benjamin Lundy; and in conjunction with him, was an early laborer in the anti-slavery field. He was a member of the Convention held in Philadelphia in 1833, which formed the American Anti-slavery Society; and among the signatures to its Declaration of Sentiments, the name of Robert Purvis is to be seen; a record of which his posterity to the latest generation may be justly proud. During the whole period of that Society's existence he was a member of it; and was also an active member and officer of The Pennsylvania Anti-slavery Society. To the cause of the slave's freedom he gave with all his heart his money, his time, his talents. Fervent in soul, eloquent in speech, most gracious in manner, he was a favorite on the platform of Anti-slavery meetings. High-toned in moral nature, keenly sensitive in all matters pertaining to justice and integrity, he was a most valuable coadjutor with the leaders of an unpopular reform; and throughout the Anti-slavery conflict, he always received, as he always deserved, the highest confidence and warm personal regard of his fellow-laborers. His faithful labors in aiding fugitive slaves cannot be recorded within the limits of this sketch. Throughout that long period of peril to all who dared to "remember those in bonds as bound with them," his house was a well-known station on the Underground Rail Road; his horses and carriages, and his personal attendance, were ever at the service of the travelers upon that road. In those perilous duties his family heartily sympathized with him, and cheerfully performed their share. He has lived to witness the triumph of the great cause to which he devoted his youth and his manhood; to join in the jubilee song of the American slave; and the thanksgiving of the Abolitionists; and to testify that the work of his life has been one "whose reward is in itself." JOHN HUNN. Almost within the lions' den, in daily sight of the enemy, in the little slave-holding State of Delaware, lived and labored the freedom-loving, earnest and whole-souled Quaker abolitionist, John Hunn. His headquarters were at Cantwell's Bridge, but, as an engineer of the Underground Rail Road, his duties, like those of his fellow-laborer Thomas Garrett, were not confined to that section, but embraced other places, and were attended with great peril, constant care and expense. He was well-known to the colored people far and near, and was especially sought with regard to business pertaining to the Underground Rail Road, as a friend who would never fail to assist as far as possible in every time of need. Through his agency many found their way to freedom, both by land and water. The slave-holders regarding him with much suspicion, watched him closely, and were in the habit of "breathing out threatenings and slaughter" very fiercely at times. But Hunn was too plucky to be frightened by their threats and menaces, and as one, commissioned by a higher power to remember those in bonds as bound with them he remained faithful to the slave. Men, women or children seeking to be unloosed from the fetters of Slavery, could not make their grievances known to John Hunn without calling forth his warmest sympathies. His house and heart were always open to all such. The slave-holders evidently concluded that Hunn could not longer be tolerated, consequently devised a plan to capture him, on the charge of aiding off a woman with her children. [John Hunn and Thomas Garrett were conjointly prosecuted in this case, and in the sketch of the latter, the trial, conviction, etc., are so fully referred to, that it is unnecessary to do more than allude to it here]. These noted Underground Rail Road offenders being duly brought before the United States District Court, in May, 1848, Judge Taney, presiding, backed by a thoroughly pro-slavery sentiment, obviously found it a very easy matter to convict them, and a still easier matter to fine them to the extent of every dollar they possessed in the world. Thousands of dollars were swept from Hunn in an instant, and his family left utterly destitute; but he was by no means conquered, as he deliberately gave the court to understand in a manly speech, delivered while standing to receive his sentence. There and then he avowed his entire sympathy with the slave, and declared that in the future, as in the past, by the help of God, he would never withhold a helping hand from the down-trodden in the hour of distress. That this pledge was faithfully kept by Hunn, there can be no question, as he continued steadfast at his post until the last fetter was broken by the great proclamation of Abraham Lincoln. He was not without friends, however, for even near by, dwelt a few well-tried Abolitionists. Ezekiel Jenkins, Mifflin Warner, and one or two others, whole-souled workers in the same cause with Hunn; he was therefore not forgotten in the hour of his extremity. Wishing to produce a sketch worthy of this veteran, we addressed him on the subject, but failed to obtain all the desired material. His reasons, however, for withholding the information which we desired were furnished, and, in connection therewith, a few anecdotes touching Underground Rail Road matters coming under his immediate notice, which we here take great pleasure in transcribing. BEAUFORT, S.C. 11th mo. 7th, 1871. WM. STILL, DEAR FRIEND:--In thy first letter thee asked for my photograph as well as for an opinion of the book about to be edited by thyself. I returned a favorable answer and sent likeness, as requested. I incidentally mentioned that, probably some of my papers might be of service to thee. The papers alluded to had no reference to myself; but consisted of anecdotes and short histories of some of the fugitives from the hell of American Slavery, who gave me a call, as engineer of the Underground Rail Road in the State of Delaware, and received the benefit of my advice and assistance. I was twenty-seven years-old when I engaged in the Underground Rail Road business, and I continued therein diligently until the breaking up of that business by the Great Rebellion. I then came to South Carolina to witness the uprising of a nation of slaves into the dignity and privileges of mankind. Nothing can possibly have the same interest to me. Therefore, I propose to remain where this great problem is in the process of solution; and to give my best efforts to its successful accomplishment. In this matter the course that I have pursued thus far through life has given me solid satisfaction. I ask no other reward for any efforts made by me in the cause, than to feel that I have been of use to my fellow-men. No other course would have brought peace to my mind; then why should any credit be awarded to me; or how can I count any circumstance that may have occurred to me, in the light of a sacrifice? If a man pursues the only course that will bring peace to his own mind, is he deserving of any credit therefor? Is not the reward worth striving for at any cost? Indeed it is, as I well know. Would it be well for me, entertaining such sentiments, to sit down and write an account of my sacrifices? I think not. Therefore please hold me excused. I am anxious to see thy book, and will forward the price of one as soon as I can ascertain what it is. Please accept my thanks for thy kind remembrance of me. I am now fifty-three years old, but I well remember thy face in the Anti-slavery Office in Fifth street, when I called on business of the Underground Rail Road. Our mutual friend, S.D. Burris, was the cause of much uneasiness to us in those times. It required much trouble, as well as expense to save him from the slave-traders. I stood by him on the auction-block; and when I stepped down, they thought they had him sure. Indeed he thought so himself for a little while. But we outwitted them at last, to their great chagrin. Those were stirring times, and the people of Dover, Delaware, will long remember the time when S.D. Burris was sold at public sale for aiding slaves to escape from their masters, and was bought by the Pennsylvania Anti-slavery Society. I remain very truly thy friend, JOHN HUNN. * * * * * THE CASE OF MOLLY, A SLAVE, BELONGING TO R---- B----, OF SMYRNA, DELAWARE. BY JOHN HUNN, ENGINEER OF THE UNDERGROUND RAIL ROAD. Molly escaped from her master's farm, in Cecil county, Maryland, and found a place of refuge in the house of my cousin, John Alston, near Middletown, Delaware. The man-hunters, headed by a constable with a search warrant, took her thence and lodged her in New Castle Jail. This fact was duly published in the county papers, and her master went after his chattel, and having paid the expenses of her capture took immediate possession thereof. She was hand-cuffed, and, her feet being tied together, she was placed in the wagon. Before she left the jail, the wife of the sheriff gave her a piece of bread and butter, which her master kicked out of her hand, and swore that bread and butter was too good for her. After this act her master took a drink of brandy and drove off. He stopped at a tavern about four miles from New Castle and took another drink of brandy. He then proceeded to Odessa, then called Cantwell's Bridge, and got his dinner and more brandy, for the day was a cold one. He had his horse fed, but gave no food to his human chattel, who remained in the wagon cold and hungry. After sufficient rest for himself and horse he started again. He was now twelve miles from home, on a good road, his horse was gentle, and he himself in a genial mood at the recovery of his bond-woman. He yielded to the influence of the liquor he had imbibed and fell into a sound sleep. Molly now determined to make another effort for her freedom. She accordingly worked herself gradually over the tail board of the wagon, and fell heavily upon the frozen ground. The horse and wagon passed on, and she rolled into the bushes, and waited for deliverance from her bonds. This came from a colored man who was passing that way. As he was neither a priest nor a Levite, he took the rope from her feet and guided her to a cabin near at hand, where she was kindly received. Her deliverer could not take the hand-cuffs off, but promised to bring a person, during the evening, who could perform that operation. He fulfilled his promise, and brought her that night to my house, which was in sight of the one whence she had been taken to New Castle Jail. I had no fear for her safety, as I believed that her master would not think of looking for her so near to the place where she had been arrested. Molly remained with us nearly a month; but, seeing fugitives coming and going continually, she finally concluded to go further North. I wrote to my friend, Thomas Garrett, desiring him to get a good home for Molly. This he succeeded in doing, and a friend from Chester county, Pennsylvania, came to my house and took Molly with him. She remained in his family more than six months. In the mean time the Fugitive Slave Law was passed by Congress, and several fugitives were arrested in Philadelphia and sent back to their masters. Molly, hearing of these doings, became uneasy, and finally determined to go to Canada. She arrived safely in the Queen's Dominions, and felt at last that she had escaped from the hell of American Slavery. Molly described her master as an indulgent one when sober, but when he was on a "spree" he seemed to take great delight in tormenting her. He would have her beaten unmercifully without cause, and then have her stripes washed in salt water, then he would have her dragged through the horse pond until she was nearly dead. This last operation seemed to afford him much pleasure. When he became sober he would express regret at having treated her so cruelly. I frequently saw this master of Molly's, and was always treated respectfully by him. He would have his "sprees" after Molly left him. * * * * * AN ACCOUNT OF THE ESCAPE FROM SLAVERY OF SAMUEL HAWKINS AND FAMILY, OF QUEEN ANNE'S COUNTY, MARYLAND, ON THE UNDERGROUND RAIL ROAD, IN THE STATE OF DELAWARE. BY JOHN HUNN. On the morning of the 27th of 12th month (December), 1845, as I was washing my hands at the yard pump of my residence, near Middletown, New Castle county, Delaware, I looked down the lane, and saw a covered wagon slowly approaching my house. The sun had just risen, and was shining brightly (after a stormy night) on the snow which covered the ground to the depth of six inches. My house was situated three quarters of a mile from the road leading from Middletown to Odessa, (then called Cantwell's Bridge.) On a closer inspection I noticed several men walking beside the wagon. This seemed rather an early hour for visitors, and I could not account for the circumstance. When they reached the yard fence I met them, and a colored man handed me a letter addressed to Daniel Corbit, John Alston or John Hunn; I asked the man if he had presented the letter to either of the others to whom it was addressed; he said, no, that he had not been able to see either of them. The letter was from my cousin, Ezekiel Jenkins, of Camden, Delaware, and stated that the travelers were fugitive slaves, under the direction of Samuel D. Burris (who handed me the note). The party consisted of a man and his wife, with their six children, and four fine-looking colored men, without counting the pilot, S.D. Burris, who was a free man, from Kent county, Delaware. This was the first time that I ever saw Burris, and also the first time that I had ever been called upon to assist fugitives from the hell of American Slavery. The wanderers were gladly welcomed, and made as comfortable as possible until breakfast was ready for them. One man, in trying to pull his boots off, found they were frozen to his feet; he went to the pump and filled them with water, thus he was able to get them off in a few minutes. This increase of thirteen in the family was a little embarrassing, but after breakfast they all retired to the barn to sleep on the hay, except the woman and four children, who remained in the house. They were all very weary, as they had traveled from Camden (twenty-seven miles), through a snowstorm; the woman and four children in the wagon with the driver, the others walking all the way. Most of them were badly frost-bitten, before they arrived at my house. In Camden, they were sheltered in the houses of their colored friends. Although this was my first acquaintance with S.D. Burris, it was not my last, as he afterwards piloted them himself, or was instrumental in directing hundreds of fugitives to me for shelter. About two o'clock of the day on which these fugitives arrived at my house, a neighbor drove up with his daughter in a sleigh, apparently on a friendly visit. I noticed his restlessness and frequent looking out of the window fronting the road; but did not suppose, that he had come "to spy out the land." The wagon and the persons walking with it, had been observed from his house, and he had reported the fact in Middletown. Accordingly, in half an hour, another sleigh came up, containing a constable of Middletown, William Hardcastle, of Queen Ann's county, Maryland, and William Chesnut, of the same neighborhood. I met them at the gate, and the constable handed me an advertisement, wherein one thousand dollars reward was offered for the recovery of three runaway slaves, therein described. The constable asked me if they were in my house? I said they were not! He then asked me if he might search the house? I declined to allow him this privilege, unless he had a warrant for that purpose. While we stood thus conversing, the husband of the woman with the six children, came out of a house near the barn, and ran into the woods. The constable and his two companions immediately gave chase, with many halloos! After running more than a mile through the snow, the fugitive came toward the house; I went to meet him, and found him with his back against the barn-yard fence, with a butcher's knife in his hand. The man hunters soon came up, and the constable asked me to get the knife from the fugitive. This I declined, unless the constable should first give me his pistol, with which he was threatening to shoot the man. He complied with my request, and the fugitive handed me the knife. Then he produced a pass, properly authenticated, and signed by a magistrate of Queen Ann's county, Maryland, certifying that this man was free! and that his name was Samuel Hawkins. William Hardcastle now advanced, and said that he knew the man to be free; but that he was accused of running away with his wife and children who were slaves. He also said, that this man had two boys with him, who belonged to a neighbor of his, named Charles Wesley Glanding, and that the four other children and mother belonged to Catharine Turner, of Queen Ann's county, Maryland. Hardcastle further expressed his belief, that this man knew where his wife and children were at that time, and insisted that he should go before a magistrate in Middletown, and be examined in regard thereto. He also expressed doubts as to the genuineness of this pass, and wished the man to go to Middletown on that account also. As there was no other course to pursue under the circumstances, I had my sleigh brought out, and we all went to Middletown, before my friend, William Streets, who was then in commission as a magistrate. It was now after dark of this short winter's day. Soon after our arrival at the office of William Streets, Hardcastle put his arm very lovingly around the neck of the colored man, Samuel Hawkins, and drew him into another room. In a short time, Samuel came out, and told me that Hardcastle had agreed, that if he, Hawkins, would give up his two older boys, who belonged to Charles Wesley Glanding; then he might pursue his journey with his wife and four children. I asked him if he believed Hardcastle would keep his promise? He replied: "Yes! I do not think master William would cheat me." I assured him that he would cheat him, and that the offer was made for the purpose of not only getting the two older boys (fourteen and sixteen years of age), but his wife and other children to the office, when all of them would be taken together to the jail, in New Castle. Samuel thought differently, and at his request, I wrote to my wife for the delivery of the family of Samuel Hawkins to the constable. They were soon forthcoming, and on their arrival at the office, a commitment was made out for the whole party. Samuel and his two older sons were hand-cuffed, amidst many tears and lamentations, and they all went off under charge of the man-hunters, to New Castle jail, a distance of eighteen miles. William Streets committed the whole party as fugitives from Slavery, while the husband (Samuel), was a free man. This was done on account of the detestation of the wicked business, as much as on account of his friendship for me. On their arrival at the jail, about midnight, the sheriff was aroused, and the commitment shown to him; after reading it, he asked Samuel if he was a slave? He said no, and showed his pass (which had been pronounced genuine by the magistrate). The sheriff hereupon told them, that the commitment was not legal, and would not hold them lawfully. It was now first day (Sunday), and the man-hunters were in a quandary. The constable finally agreed to go back and get another commitment, if the sheriff would take the party into the jail until his return; Hardcastle also urged the sheriff to adopt this plan. Accordingly they were taken into the jail. The sheriff's daughter had heard her father's conversation with the constable, accordingly she sent word on First-day morning, to my revered friend, Thomas Garrett, of Wilmington, five miles distant, in regard to the matter, inviting him to see the fugitives. Early on Second day morning (Monday), Thomas went over with John Wales, attorney at law. The latter soon obtained a writ of habeas corpus from Judge Booth of New Castle, which was served upon the sheriff; who, therefore, brought the whole party before Judge Booth, who discharged them at once, as being illegally detained by the sheriff. Thomas Garrett, with the consent of the judge, then hired a carriage to take the woman and four children over to Wilmington, Samuel and the two older boys walked, so they all escaped from the man-hunters. They went from Wilmington to Byberry, and settled near the farm of Robert Purvis. Samuel Hawkins and wife have since died, but their descendants still live in that neighborhood, under the name of Hackett. Soon after the departure of the fugitives from New Castle jail, the constable arrived with new commitments from William Streets, and presented them in due form to the sheriff; who informed him that they had been liberated by order of Judge Booth! A few hours after, William Hardcastle arrived from Philadelphia, expecting to take Samuel Hawkins and his family to Queen Ann's county, Maryland. Judge of his disappointment at finding they were beyond his control--absolutely gone! They returned to Middletown in great anger, and threatened to prosecute William Streets for his participation in the affair. After the departure of the Hawkins family from Middletown, I returned home to see what had become of S.D. Burris and his four men. I found them taking some solid refreshment, preparatory to taking a long walk in the snow. They left about nine P.M., for Wilmington. I sent by S.D. Burris a letter to Thomas Garrett, detailing the arrest and commitment of S. Hawkins and family to New Castle jail. They all arrived safely in Wilmington before daylight next morning. Burris waited to hear the result of the expedition to New Castle; and actually had the pleasure of seeing S. Hawkins and family arrive in Wilmington. Samuel Burris returned to my house early on Third day morning, with a letter from Thomas Garrett, giving me a description of the whole transaction. My joy on this occasion was great! and I returned thanks to God for this wonderful escape of so many human beings from the charnel-house of Slavery. OFFICERS OF THE ROAD. [Illustration: JOHN HUNN] [Illustration: SAMUEL RHOADS] [Illustration: WILLIAM WHIPPER] [Illustration: SAMUEL D. BURRIS] Of course this circumstance excited the ire of many pro-slavery editors in Maryland. I had copies of several papers sent me, wherein I was described as a man unfit to live in a civilized community, and calling upon the inhabitants of Middletown to expel such a dangerous person from that neighborhood! They also told exactly where I lived, which enabled many a poor fugitive escaping from the house of bondage, to find a hearty welcome and a resting-place on the road to liberty. Thanks be to God! for His goodness to me in this respect. The trial which ensued from the above, came off before Chief Justice Taney, at New Castle. My revered friend, Thomas Garrett, and myself, were there convicted of harboring fugitive slaves, and were fined accordingly, to the extent of the law; Judge Taney delivering the sentence. A detailed account of said trial, will fully appear in the memoirs of our deceased friend, Thomas Garrett. * * * * * SAMUEL RHOADS Was born in Philadelphia, in 1806, and was through life a consistent member of the Society of Friends. His parents were persons of great respectability and integrity. The son early showed an ardent desire for improvement, and was distinguished among his young companions for warm affections, amiable disposition, and genial manners, rare purity and refinement of feeling, and a taste for literary pursuits. Preferring as his associates those to whom he looked for instruction and example, and aiming at a high standard, he won a position, both mentally and socially, superior to his early surroundings. With a keen sense of justice and humanity, he could not fail to share in the traditional opposition of his religious society to slavery, and to be quickened to more intense feeling as the evils of the system were more fully revealed in the Anti-slavery agitation which in his early manhood began to stir the nation. A visit to England, in 1834, brought him into connection and friendship with many leading Friends in that country, who were actively engaged in the Anti-slavery movement, and probably had much to do with directing his attention specially to the subject. Once enlisted, he never wavered, but as long as slavery existed by law in our country his influence, both publicly and privately, was exerted against it. He was strengthened in his course by a warm friendship and frequent intercourse with the late Abraham L. Pennock, a man whose unbending integrity and firm allegiance to duty were equalled only by his active benevolence, broad charity, and rare clearness of judgment. Samuel Rhoads, like him, while sympathizing with other phases of the Anti-slavery movement, took especial interest in the subject of abstaining from the use of articles produced by slave labor. Believing that the purchase of such articles, by furnishing to the master the only possibility of pecuniary profit from the labor of his slaves, supplied one motive for holding them in bondage, and that the purchaser thus became, however unwittingly, a partaker in the guilt, he felt conscientiously bound to withhold his individual support as far as practicable, and to recommend the same course to others. His practical action upon these views began about the year 1841, and was persevered in, at no small expense and inconvenience, till slavery ceased in this country to have a legal existence. About this time he united with the American Free Produce Association, which had been formed in 1838, and in 1845 took an active part in the formation of the Free Produce Association of Friends of Philadelphia, Y.M.; both associations having the object of promoting the production by free labor of articles usually grown by slaves, particularly of cotton. Agents were sent into the cotton States, to make arrangements with small planters, who were growing cotton by the labor of themselves and their families without the help of slaves, to obtain their crops, which otherwise went into the general market, and could not be distinguished. A manufactory was established for working this cotton, and a limited variety of goods were thus furnished. In all these operations Samuel Rhoads aided efficiently by counsel and money. In 1846, "The Non-slave-holder," a monthly periodical, devoted mainly to the advocacy of the Free Produce cause, was established in Philadelphia, edited by A.L. Pennock, S. Rhoads, and George W. Taylor. It was continued five years, for the last two of which Samuel Rhoads conducted it alone. He wrote also a pamphlet on the free labor question. From July, 1856 to January, 1867 he was Editor of the "Friends' Review," a weekly paper, religious and literary, conducted in the interest of his own religious society, and in this position he gave frequent proofs of interest in the slave, keeping his readers well advised of events and movements bearing upon the subject. While thus awake to all forms of anti-slavery effort, his heart and hand were ever open to the fugitive from bondage, who appealed to him, and none such were ever sent away empty. Though not a member of the Vigilance Committee, he rendered it frequent and most efficient aid, especially during the dark ten years after the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law. A second visit to England, in 1847, had enlarged his connection and correspondence with anti-slavery friends there, and in addition to his own contributions, very considerable sums of money were transmitted to him, especially through A.H. Richardson, for the benefit of the fugitives. Often when the treasury of the Committee ran low, he came opportunely to their relief with funds sent by his English friends, while his sympathy and encouragement never failed. The extent of his assistance in this direction was known to but few, but by them its value was gratefully acknowledged. None rejoiced more than he in the overthrow of American slavery, though its end came in convulsion and bloodshed, at which his spirit revolted, not by the peaceful means through which he with others had labored to bring it about. He had some years before been active in preparing a memorial to Congress, asking that body to make an effort to put an end to slavery in the States, by offering from the national treasury, to any State or States which would emancipate the slaves therein, and engage not to renew the system, compensation for losses thus sustained. This proposition was made, not as admitting any _right_ of the masters to compensation; but on the ground that the whole nation, having shared in the guilt of maintaining slavery, might justly share also in whatever pecuniary loss might follow its abandonment. This memorial was sent to Congress, but elicited no response; and in the fulness of time, the nation paid even in money many times any possible price that could have been demanded under this plan. Samuel Rhoads died in 1868. GEORGE CORSON Was born in Plymouth township, Montgomery county, Pennsylvania, January 24th, 1803. He was the son of Joseph and Hannah Corson. He was married January 24th, 1832, to Martha, daughter of Samuel and Susanna Maulsby. There were perhaps few more devoted men than George Corson to the interests of the oppressed everywhere. The slave, fleeting from his master, ever found a home with him, and felt while there that no slave-hunter would get him away until every means of protection should fail. He was ever ready to send his horse and carriage to convey them on the road to Canada, or elsewhere towards freedom. His home was always open to entertain the anti-slavery advocates, and being warmly supported in the cause by his excellent wife, everything which they could do to make their guests comfortable was done. The Burleighs, J. Miller McKim, Miss Mary Grew, F. Douglass, and others will not soon forget that hospitable home. It is to be regretted that he died before the emancipation of the slaves, which he had so long labored for, arrived. In this connection it may not be improper to state that simultaneously with his labors in the Anti-slavery cause, he was also laboring with zeal in the cause of Temperance. Of his efforts in that direction through nearly thirty years, our space will not allow us to speak. His life and labors were a daily protest against the traffic of rum. There is also another phase of his character which should be mentioned. Whenever he saw animals abused, horses beaten, he instantly interfered, often at great risk of personal harm from the brutal drivers about the lime quarries and iron ore diggings. So firm, so determined was he, that the cruellest ruffian felt that he must yield or confront the law. Take him all for all, there will rarely be found in one man more universal benevolence and justice than was possessed by the subject of this notice. Hiram Corson, brother of the subject of this sketch, and a faithful co-laborer in the cause, in response to a request that he would furnish a reminiscence touching his brother's agency in assisting fugitives, wrote as follows: _November 1st_, 1871. DEAR ROBERT:--Wm. Still wishes some account of the case of the negro slave taken from our neighborhood some years ago, after an attempt by my brother George to release him. (About thirty years ago.) George had been on a visit to our brother Charles, living at the fork of the Skippack and Perkiomen Creeks, in this county, and on his return, late in the afternoon, while coming along an obscure road, not the main direct road, he came up to a man on horseback, who was followed at a distance of a few feet by a colored man with a rope tied around his neck, and the other end held by the person on horseback. George had had experience with those slave-drivers before, as in the case of John and James Lewis, and withal had become deeply interested in the Anti-slavery cause. He, therefore, inquired of the mounted man, what the other had done that he was to be thus treated. He quietly remarked that he was his slave and had run away. He then asked by what authority he held him. He said by warrant from Esquire Vanderslice. Indignant at this great outrage, my brother hurried on to Norristown, and waited his arrival with a process to arrest him. The slave-master, confident in his rights, bold in the country of those pretended freemen, who were ever ready to kiss the rod of Slavery, came slowly riding into Norristown, just before sunset, with the rope still fast to the slave's neck. He was immediately taken before a Justice of the Peace, whose name I do not now remember. The people gathered around; anxious inquiries were made as to the person who had the audacity to question the right of this quiet, peaceable man to do with his slave as he pleased. Great scorn was expressed for the busy Abolitionists. Much sympathy given to the abused slave owner. It was soon decided, by the aid of a volunteer lawyer, whose sons have since fought the battle for freedom, that the slave-owner had a right to take his slave whereever, and in whatever way he pleased, through the country, and not only that, but at his call for help it was the bounden duty of every man, called upon, to aid him; and the person who had the audacity to stop him was threatened with punishment. But George's blood was up, so pained was he at the sight of a man, a poor man, a helpless man, being dragged through from Pennsylvania with a halter around his neck, that, amidst the jeers and insults of the debased crowd, he denounced Slavery, its aiders and abettors, in tones of scorn and loathing. But the man thief was left with his prey. Through the advice of those who stood by the slave laws and who knelt before the slave power, as personified by that hunter of slaves, the rope was taken from the neck, and the man guarded while the master regaled himself. That night he disappeared with his man. I can also give a few particulars of the escape of the Gorsuch murderers, from Norristown on their way to Canada. There should be a portrait of Daniel Ross, and a history of his labors during twenty or more years. Hundreds were entertained in his humble home, and it was in his home that the Gorsuch murderer was secreted. He must not be left out. I can also get the whole history, escape, capture, trial, conviction and redemption of James and John Lewis, and one other. They were captured here within sight of our house. George Corson, Esq., published it all, about ten years ago. Respectfully, ROBERT R. CORSON. HIRAM CORSON. CHARLES D. CLEVELAND. Mr. Still has asked me to record the part that my father bore in the Anti-slavery enterprise, as it began and grew in this city. I comply, because the history of that struggle would be very incomplete, if from it were omitted the peculiar work which my father's position here shaped for him. Yet I can only indicate his work, not portray it; tell some of its elements, and then leave them to the moral sympathies of the reader to upbuild. For, first, his labor for the love of man was evenly distributed through the mould and movements of his entire life; and from a perpetual current of nourishing blood, one cannot name those particular atoms that are busiest or richest to sustain vitality. And, further, if I could hear his voice, it would forbid any detailed account of what he accomplished and endured. It was all done unobtrusively in his life; bravely, defiantly, in regard of the evil to be met and mastered, but as unconsciously in regard of himself as every conviction works, when it is as broad as the entire spiritual life of a man and has his entire spiritual force to give it expression. I know, therefore, that while I should be permitted to mention so much of his service as the history of the conflict might demand, I should be forbidden all tale of sacrifice and labor that mere personal narrative would include; and I ask now only this: What peculiar influence did he exert for the furtherance of the cause which so largely absorbed his labor and life? Did he contribute anything to it stamped with the signature of so clear an individuality that no other man could have contributed quite the same? To this I maintain an affirmative answer; and in witness of its truth, I sketch the general course of his life, that through it we may find those elements of his character which intuitively ranged him on the side of the slave. When my father came to Philadelphia in 1834, his sentiments in regard to Slavery were those held generally in the North--an easy-going wish to avoid direct issue with the South on a question supposed to be peculiarly theirs. But the winds of Heaven owned to no decorous limit in Mason and Dixon's line; and there were larger winds blowing than these--winds rising in the vast laboratories of the general human heart, and destined to sweep into all the vast spaces of human want and woe. The South was finding, through her blacks' perpetual defiance of torture and death for freedom, that there was perhaps something, even in a negro, which most vexatiously refused to be counted in with the figures of the auctioneer's bill of sale; and now the North's lesson was coming to her--that the soul of a century's civilization was still less purchasable than the soul of a slave. A growing feeling of humanity was stirring through the northern States. It was not the work, I think, of any man or body of men; it was rather itself a creative force, and made men and bodies of men the results of its awakening influence. To such a power, my father's nature was quickly responsive. Both his head and his heart recognized the terrible wrongs of the enslaved, and the urgency with which they pressed for remedy; but where was the means? From the first, he felt that the movement which brought Freedom and Slavery fairly into the field and squarely against each other, threw unnecessary obstacles in its own way by the violence with which it was begun and prosecuted. If he were to work at all in the cause, he determined to work within the limits of recognized law. The Colonization Society held out a good hope; at least, he could see no other as close to the true but closer to the feasible; and, after connecting himself with it, he seems to have been content for a while on the score of political matters, and to have devoted himself to what he had adopted as his chief purpose in life. This was, enlarging the sphere of female education, and giving it a more vigorous tone. To this he tasked all his abilities. His convictions on the subject were very earnest; his strength of character sufficient to bear them out; so that, in a short time, he was able to establish his school so firmly in the respect of this community, that, for twenty-five years, all the odium that his activity in the Anti-slavery cause drew upon him did not for a moment abate the public confidence accorded to his professional power. It was in 1836, in one of his vacations, that his mind was violently turned inwards to re-examine his status upon the Anti-slavery question. He happened to be visiting his old college-friend, Salmon P. Chase, at Cincinnati, and, fortunately for the spiritual life of both men, it was at the time of the terrible riots that broke up the press of John G. Birney. Both being known as already favoring the cause of the slave, they stood in much peril for several days; but when the dark time was passed, the clearness that defined their sentiments was seen to be worth all the personal danger that had bought it. Self-delusion on the subject was no longer possible. The deductions from the facts were as plain as the facts themselves. The two friends took counsel together, and adopted the policy from which thenceforward neither ever swerved. A great cloud was rolled from their eyes. In all this turmoil of riot, they saw on the one side, indeed, a love of man great in its devotion; but on the other, a moral deadness in the North so profound and determined that it threatened thus brutally any voice that would disturb it. Their duty, then, was evident: to fling all the forces of their lives, and by all social and political means, right against this inertness, and shatter it if they could. To Mr. Chase, the course of things gave the larger political work; to my father, the larger social. His diary records how amazed he was, when he returned to Philadelphia, at his former blindness, and how thankful to the spirit of love that had touched and cleansed his eyes that he might see God's image erect. He knew now that his lot had been cast in the very stronghold of apathy, the home of a lukewarm spirit, which, not containing anything positive to keep it close to the right, let its sullen negativeness gravitate towards the wrong. It will be difficult to make coming generations understand, not the flaming antagonism to humanity, but the more brutal avoidance of it that ruled the political tone in this latitude, from 1836 to 1861. I have thought of the word _bitterness_, as expressing it; but though that might convey somewhat of its recoil when disturbed, it pictures nothing of its inhuman solicitude against all disturbance. Conservatism, it was called; and certainly it did conserve the devil admirably. At the South, one race of men were so basely wielding a greater physical power over another race of men, as to crush from them the attributes of self-responsible creatures; Philadelphia, the city of the North nearest the wrong, made no plea for humanity's claims. It went on, this monstrous abrogation of everything that lends sanctity to man's relations on earth, till slaves were beasts, with instincts annihilated, and masters demons, with instincts reversed; Philadelphia made no plea for the violated rhythm of life on either side. Even the Church betrayed its mission, and practically aided in stamping out from millions the spirit that related them to the Divine; still Philadelphia made no plea for God's love in his humanity. Utterly insensible to the most piercing appeals that man can make to man, she loved her hardness, clung to it; and if, now and then, a voice from the North blew down, warningly as a trumpet, the great city turned sluggishly in her bed of spiritual and political torpor, and cried: Let be, let be! a little more slumber! a little more folding of the hands to my moral death-sleep! This souring of faith, this half-paralysis of the heart's beating, this blurring of the intuitions that make manhood possible, were what my father found here in that year of our Lord's grace, 1836. It will be worth while to watch him move into the fight and bear his part in its thickest, just to learn how largely history lays her humanitarian advances on a few willing souls. The means which lay readiest to his use for rousing the dormant spirit of the city was his social position. And yet how hard, one would think, it must have been to make this sacrifice. He came accredited by all the claims of finished culture, a man consecrated to the scholar's life.[A] Then, with the sensitiveness that springs from intellectual breeding, one will look to see him shrink from conflict with the callous condition of feeling around him. The glamour of book-lore will spread over it, and hide it from his sight. He has a noble enough mission, at all events: to raise the standard of educational culture in a city that hardly knows the meaning of the term; and if any glimpse should come to him of the lethargic inhumanity around him, he can afford to let it pass as a glimpse--his look being fixed on the sacred heights which the scholar's feet must tread. [Footnote A: All that I here write of my father, I write equally of his co-laborer in the same sphere of work--Rev. W.H. Furness; and if it is true of others whom I did not know, then to their memory also I bear this record of the two whose labors and characters it has been the deepest privilege of my life to know so well.] Ah, how his course, so different, proves to us that the true scholar is always a scholar of truth. No matter what element of the public sentiment he met--the listlessness of pampered wealth; the brutal prejudice of some voting savage; the refined sneer of lettered dilettanteism; the purposed aversion of trade or pulpit fearing disturbed markets or pews;--he beat lustily and incessantly at all the parts of the iron image of wrong sitting stolidly here with close-shut eyes. No matter when it was, on holiday or working-day or Sabbath; at home and abroad; in the parlor, the street, the counting-room; in his school and in the Church;--he bore down on this apathy and its brood of scorns like a west wind that sweeps through a city dying under weight of miasma. And the wind might as well cease blowing yet not cease to be wind, as my father's influence stop and himself live. It scattered the good seed everywhere. How often have I heard him say, "I know nothing of what the harvest will be; I am responsible only for the sowing." And bravely went the sowing on, with the broadcast largesse of love. There was no breeze of talk that did not carry the seeds;--to the wayside, for from those that even chance upon the truth the fowls of the air cannot take it all; to thin soil and among thorns, for no heart so feeble or choked that will not find in a single day's growth of truth germination for eternity; to stony places, for no cranny in the rocks that can hold a seed but can be a home for riving roots;--"And other fell on good ground and did bring forth fruit." Thus it was primarily to rouse those of his own class that he labored, to gall them into seeing (though they should turn again and rend him) that moral supineness is moral decay, that the soul shrivels into nothingness when wrong is acquiesced in, as surely as it is torn and scattered by the furies let loose within it, when wrong is done. But just there lay the difficulty and pain of his mission: that, from his acknowledged standing in the literary world, and as a leader in the interests of higher education, his path brought him into contact mainly with the cultured, and it was among these that the pro-slavery spirit ruled with its bitterest stringency. Not cultured: let us unsay the word; rather, with the gloss and hard polish which reading and wealth and the finer appointments of living can throw over spiritual arrest or decay. Culture is a holy word, and dare be used of intellectual advance only when the moral sympathies have kept equal step. It includes something beyond an amateur sentiment; in favor of what we favor. If it does not open the ear to every cry of humanity, struggling up or slipping back, it is no culture properly so called, but a sham, a mask of wax, a varnish with cruel glitter; and what a double wrath will be poured on him who cracks the wax and the varnish, not only because of the rude awakening, but because the crack shows the sham. It is impossible for us now to realize what revenge this class dealt to my father for twenty-five years. Consider their power of revenge. They could not force a loss of property or of life, it is true; they made no open assault in the street; their 'delicacy' held itself above common vituperation. But they wielded a greater power than all these over a man whose every accomplishment made him their equal, and they used it without stint. They doomed him to the slow martyrdom of social scorn. They shut their doors against him. They elbowed him from every position to which he had a wish or a right, except public respect, and they could not elbow him from that unless they pushed his character from its poise. They cut him off from every friendly regard which would else have been devotedly his, on that level of educated life, and limited him to 'solitary confinement' within himself. They compelled him to walk as if under a ban or an anathema. Had he been a leper in Syrian deserts, or a disciple of Jesus among Pharisees, he could not have been more utterly banished from the region of homes and self-constituted piety. They showered ineffable contempt upon him in every way consistent with their littleness and--refinement. Slight, sneer, insult, all the myriad indignities that only 'good society' can devise, these were what my father received in return for his love and his work in love. How little personal relation all this obloquy bore to him, let this stand as evidence: that he not only continued his work, but daily gave it more caustic energy and wider scope. As I have hinted, he did not, in political matters, give in his adherence to that class of abolitionists who, as he thought, threw away their best chances of success in refusing to work within constitutional provisions. He was prouder that this single community should call him "abolitionist," though it spat the word at him, than if the whole earth should hail him with the kingliest title; but he loved the name too well not to make it stand for some practical fact, some feasible and organized effort. He believed that our National Constitution did, indeed, hold many compromises with Slavery, but was framed, in the majority of its provisions and certainly in the totality of its spirit, in the interests of freedom; and that it only needed enforcement by the choice of the ballot-box to bring the South either to an amicable or a hostile settlement of the question. Which, he did not ask or care. The duty of the present could not be mis-read; it was written in _the vote_. With these views, he gave much time and work to organizing in this State, "The National Liberty Party," in 1840, and to securing from Pennsylvania some of the seven thousand votes that were cast for John G. Birney in that year throughout the Union. By the time another election came, the party had swelled its numbers to seventy thousand. To contribute his share towards this success, tract after tract, address after address, were written and sent broadcast; meetings were convened, committees formed, resolutions framed, speeches made, petitions and remonstrances sent, public action fearlessly sifted and criticised; in short, because he held a steady faith in men's humane promptings when ultimately reached, he 'cried aloud' to them by every access, and 'spared not' to call them from their timidity and time-serving to manly utterance through the ballot-box. Of such appeals, his address of the "Liberty Party of Pennsylvania, to the people of the State," issued in 1844, may stand as a sample. It is a vivid portrayal of the slave power's insidious encroachments, and of its monopolized guidance of the Government. It gathers up the national statistics into groups, shows how new meaning is reflected from them thus related, that all unite to illustrate the single fact of the South's steady increase of power, her tightening grasp about the throat of government, and her buffets of threat to the North when a weedling palm failed to palsy fast enough. It warns northern voters of the undertow that is drawing them, and adjures them, by every consideration of political common sense, not to cast their ballots for either of the pro-slavery candidates presented. The conclusion of this address is as follows: OUR OBJECT. "And now, fellow-citizens, you may ask, what is our object in thus exhibiting to you the alarming influence of the slave power? Do we wish to excite in your bosoms feelings of hatred against citizens of a common country? Do we wish to array the Free states against the Slave states in hostile strife? No, fellow-citizens. But we wish to show you that, while the slave states are inferior to us in free population, having not even one half of ours; inferior in morals, being the region of bowie knives and duels, of assassinations and lynch law; inferior in mental attainments, having not one-fourth of the number that can read and write; inferior in intelligence, having not one-fifth of the number of literary and scientific periodicals; inferior in the products of agriculture and manufactures, of mines, of fisheries, and of the forest; inferior, in short, in everything that constitutes the wealth, the honor, the dignity, the stability, the happiness, the true greatness of a nation,--it is wrong, it is unjust, it is absurd, that they should have an influence in all the departments of government so entirely disproportionate to our own. We would arouse you to your own true interests. We would have you, like men, firmly resolved to maintain your own rights. We would have you say to the South,--if you choose to hug to your bosom that system which is continually injuring and impoverishing you; that system which reduces two millions and a half of native Americans in your midst to the most abject condition of ignorance and vice, withholding from them the very key of knowledge; that system which is at war with every principle of justice, every feeling of humanity; that system which makes man the property of man, and perpetuates that relation from one generation to another; that system which tramples, continually, upon a majority of the commandments of the Decalogue; that system which could not live a day if it did not give one party supreme control over the persons, the health, the liberty, the happiness, the marriage relations, the parental authority and filial obligations of the other;--if you choose to cling to such a system, cling to it; but you shall not cross our line; you shall not bring that foul thing here. We know, and we here repeat it for the thousandth time to meet, for the thousandth time, the calumnies of our enemies, that while we may present to you every consideration of duty, we have no right, as well as no power, to alter your State laws. But remember, that slavery is the mere creature of local or statute law, and cannot exist out of the region where such law has force. 'It is so odious,' says Lord Mansfield, 'that nothing can be suffered to support it but _positive_ law.' "We would, therefore, say to you again, in the strength of that Constitution under which we live, and which no where countenances slavery, you shall not bring that foul thing here. You shall not force the corrupted and corrupting blood of that system into every vein and artery of our body politic. You shall not have the controlling power in all the departments of our government at home and abroad. You shall not so negotiate with foreign powers, as to open markets for the products of slave labor alone. You shall not so manage things at home, as every few years to bring bankruptcy upon our country. You shall not, in the apportionment of public moneys, have what you call your 'property' represented, and thus get that which, by no right, belongs to you. You shall not have the power to bring your slaves upon our free soil, and take them away at pleasure; nor to reclaim them, when they, panting for liberty, have been able to escape your grasp; for we would have it said of us, as the eloquent Curran said of Britain, the moment the slave touches our soil, 'The ground on which he stands is holy, and consecrated to the Genius of UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION.' "Thus, fellow-citizens, we come to _the great object of the Liberty Party_: ABSOLUTE AND UNQUALIFIED DIVORCE OF THE GENERAL GOVERNMENT FROM ALL CONNECTION WITH SLAVERY. We would employ every _constitutional_ means to eradicate it from our entire country, because it would be for the highest welfare of our entire country. We would have liberty established in the District, and in all the Territories. * * We would have liberty of speech and of the press, which the Constitution guarantees to us. We would have the right of petition most sacredly regarded. We would secure to every man what the Constitution secures, 'The right of trial by jury.' We would do what we can for the encouragement and improvement of the colored race, and restore to them that inestimable right of which they have been so meanly, as well as unjustly, deprived, the RIGHT OF SUFFRAGE. We would look to the best interests of the country, and the _whole_ country, and not legislate for the good of an Oligarchy, the most arrogant that ever lorded it over an insulted people. We would have our commercial treaties with foreign nations regard the interests of the Free states. We would provide safe, adequate, and permanent markets for the produce of free labor. And, when reproached with slavery, we would be able to say to the world, with an open front and a clear conscience, our General Government has nothing to do with it, either to promote, to sustain, to defend, to sanction, or to approve. "Thus, fellow-citizens, you see our objects. You may now ask, by what means we hope to attain them. We answer, by POLITICAL ACTION. What is political action? It is _acting in a manner appropriate to those objects which we wish to secure through the agency of the different departments of Government_. * * The only way in which we can act _constitutionally_, is to go to the ballot-box, and there, silently and unostentatiously, deposit a vote for such men as will do what they can to carry out those principles which we have so much at heart. * * * * * "Come, then, men of Pennsylvania, come and join us in this good work. Join us, to use such moral means as to correct public sentiment throughout the region where slavery exists, and to impress upon the people of the Free states a manly sense of their own rights. Join us, to place "just men" in all our public offices; men whose example a whole people may safely imitate. Join us to free our General Government from the ignominious reproach of slavery; to restore to our country those principles which our fathers so labored to establish; and to hand these principles down afresh to successive generations. It is the cause of truth, of humanity, and of God, to which we invite your aid. It is a cause of which you never need be ashamed. Living, you may be thankful, and dying, you may be thankful, for having labored in it. We have, as co-laborers with us, the noblest allies that man can wish. Within, we have the deepest convictions of conscience, the clearest deductions of reason; and, all over the world, wherever man is found, the first, the most ardent longings of the human soul. Without, we have the happiness of nearly three millions of the human race; the honor, as well as the best interests of our whole country; and the universal consent of all good men whose moral vision is not obscured by the mist of a low, misguided selfishness: while we seem to hear, as it were, the voices of the great and the good, the patriot and the philanthropist, of a past generation, calling to us and cheering us on. But, above all these, and beyond all these, we have with us the highest attributes of God, Justice and Mercy. With such allies, and in such a cause, who can doubt on which side the victory will ultimately rest. "May He who guides the destinies of nations, and without whose aid 'they labor in vain that build,' so incline your hearts to exert your whole influence to place in all our public offices just and good men, that our country may be preserved, her best interests advanced, and her institutions, free in reality as in name, handed down to the latest posterity." Is not the love of God and man ingrained in every line of this writing? Yet let us see how it was received by the most Christian (?) body in this city. I need hardly say that my father's mind had been largely impressed, from earliest manhood, with the highest subject human thought can touch. His library records his wide religious reading; but he could not see an honest path towards the profession of any definite views till 1836. The change wrought in him then, can best be gathered from his own simple words (under date, 1842) written in a fly-leaf of "The Unitarian Miscellany:" "Though I humbly trust that God made my trials in 1836 the means of bringing me to true repentance, yet I have kept these books as monuments of what I once was, and to remind me how grateful I should be to Him for having snatched me as a 'brand from the burning,'" Such a faith as this, born of the spiritual travail of years, what a life it always has for the heart that forms it! It tells not of a persuasion, but of a conviction; a disproof of skepticism through the gathered forces of the soul; a struggle, through epochs of doubt and dismay, into an attitude of positive vital faith. Its process is the only one that gives real right to ultimate peace. In comparison with the method and measure of such a conviction, what matters its specific form? Self-truth is the point,--the fact for starting, the line for guiding; and as for result, this lonely and solemn rally on the deepest within us, as it is continuously unfolded, must lead to a glad and solemn union with the Highest without us. Who can know unfailing inward energy except through this new birth? It proved an ever-fresh spring of vigor to my father, and because of it he was chosen, in 1839, president of "The Philadelphia Bible Society." What changes were wrought in the policy of the Society, what numerous plans were devised and executed for multiplying its operations, how it was made a cordial alliance of all denominations, will presently appear. This is now to be said: that, after filling his office for five years, he found that his Anti-slavery testimony had engendered in the managers a bitterness that would seize the address of 1844 for pretext, and make retaliation in his sacrifice. Thankful, for the thousandth time, to be a sacrifice for the cause he loved, he sent in his resignation in a letter full of Christian kindness and sorrow. A short extract will show its tone: "One whose great heart wishes the best for humanity calls to us from the West: 'When your Society propose to put a Bible into every family, and yet omit all reference to the slaves; and when, giving an account of the destitution of the land, they make no mention of two and a half millions of people perishing in our midst without the Scriptures, can we help feeling that something is dreadfully wrong?' This, brethren, is a most solemn question. It is a question which I verily believe the American Bible Society, so far as they may have yielded, directly or indirectly, openly or silently, to a corrupt public sentiment on this subject, will have to answer at the bar of Him who has declared, that, 'If ye have respect to persons, ye commit sin,' and that 'Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.' The spirit of Christianity is a spirit of universal love and philanthropy. She looks down with pity, and, if she could, she would look with scorn upon all the petty distinctions that exist among men. She casts her benignant eye abroad over the earth, and, wherever she sees man, she sees him _as man,_ as a being made in the image of God, whether an Indian, an African, or a Caucasian sun may shine upon him. She stoops from heaven to raise the fallen, to bind up the broken-hearted, to release the oppressed, to give liberty to the captive, and to break the fetters of those that are bound. She is marching onward with accelerated step, and, wherever she leaves the true impress of her heavenly influence, the moral wilderness is changed into the garden of the Lord. May it never be ours to do what may seem to be even the slightest obstacle to her universal sway. "But I have already written more than I intended. In bringing this communication to a close, allow me to express to you individually, and as a Board, my most sincere Christian attachment. Whatever course any members may have taken in relation to this matter, I must believe that they have acted from what has seemed to them a sense of duty. Far be it from me to impeach their motives. Time, the great test of truth, may show them their course in a very different light from that in which they now view it. I may, as a Christian, lament that their views of duty are not more in unison with my own. I may, as a man, feel heart-sickened at the diseased, the deplorably diseased state of the public mind, in relation to two and a half millions of my fellow-men in bondage. I may, as a citizen of a Free state, blush at the humiliating fact, that not only the tyranny, but the ubiquity of the slave power is everywhere so manifest; that it has insinuated itself into our free domain to such a degree that there seems to be as much mental Slavery in the Free states, as there is personal in the Slave states. I may feel all this, but I must not impeach the motives by which others have been governed." There were twenty-one managers present at the reading of this letter, and, at its conclusion, a noble friend of the slave moved that the resignation be not accepted; the motion was lost by a vote of fourteen against seven. It was then moved that it be accepted 'with regret:' this was carried by the same vote! But 'with regret' was not an empty form for easing this action to its recipient; how much it meant is seen in the resolution that was added by unanimous acceptance: "_Resolved_,--That this Board are mainly indebted to Professor C.D. Cleveland for the prominent and influential position it has attained in the regards of this Christian community, and that they bear an earnest testimony to the sound judgment and unwearied zeal which have ever characterized the discharge of his duties in his responsible office." Let this tribute, coming from the bitterest personal opposition that ever man encountered, measure the work that extorted it. Looking at it, it will be difficult for the reader to believe that a sacrifice was made of the man to whom it refers by a representative Christian body, and merely to sate for a time the inhuman slave-greed; yet it is only one fact out of many that might be adduced, and I have brought it forward because it is, in my father's words, "a fair exponent of the position of the Christian Church at that time upon the subject of Slavery." Henceforward, he ceased not to rain blows, not only at his own (the Presbyterian) denomination, but at all the organized expressions of Christian purpose,--the Sunday-School Union, the Tract Society, etc. While working thus by voice and pen, he was incessantly busy in personal rescue of the slave. Especially was this the case when it became the duty of every lover of his kind to defy the Fugitive Slave Law. How eagerly he then sprang to aid the escape of those against whom a law of the land impotently tried to bar the law of our common humanity! During the years that followed the passage of this infamous bill, the position he had attained here was of particular service. Recognized as one, who, being a sort of standing sacrifice, might as well continue to battle in the front; trusted implicitly even by his bitterest foes; with such a broad philanthropy to back his appeals; pushing straight into every breach where work was needed; blind to everything but his one light of moral instinct;--he became an organ for the charities of those whose softer natures longingly whispered the cry, but could not do the cut and thrust work, of deliverance. Dr. Furness held the same position, and others who, like him, refused to be enrolled in the 'Underground Committee,' or in any definite Anti-Slavery organization. These men knew that they were of greater service to the cause by being its body-guard, by standing between it and the public, by making the appeals and taking the blows, and by affording access, pecuniary and other, of each to each. Thus the times moved on--growing hotter, more difficult and dangerous, but always working these two results: redoubling the labors of this noble band, and shaking the city from lethargy into ferment. Men were compelled to take sides, and but one result could follow, (the result which always follows when human nature is stung and quickened to find its highest instincts,) the Party of Right steadily moved to triumph. * * * * * For a lesson to us in courage, it is worth while to ask, how these Apostles of Freedom stood the terrible strain put upon them for so many years. I can answer for the two of whom I write, and do not doubt that the answer is true of the rest: This self-forgetfulness was made easy by a love that filled and overfilled all their moral energies--the simple love of man, as God's highest creation, and of his natural rights, as God's best gift. Their work was not a mere result of will, not an outcome of faculty, not an unsupported impulse of heart. It was character living itself out, an utterance of its entire unity, something drawn from the solemn depths of those life-convictions which all the personal and impersonal powers of a man, aglow and welded, unite in producing. Hence, their work was not apart from them, even so far as to be called ahead of them; nor parallel with them; it was _one_ with them by a necessary spiritual inclusion. Will and Duty ceased to be separate powers; they were transfused through the whole breadth of their human sympathies, adding to their warmth a fixity of purpose that bore them without a falter, through thirty years of such bitter obloquy, as, in these latter days, only the early Anti-Slavery disciples have had to endure. These men never said, in reference to the Anti-slavery cause, _I ought_ or _I will_, because they never needed to say them. The sun shines without them, and life expands without them; and here were souls as unconsciously beneficent as the one, as spontaneous in growth and shaping as the other. Theirs was not a force that moved mechanically in right lines, with limited objects before it. It did, indeed, sweep with arrowy swiftness of assail on every point that offered; but when I remember that it more often pleaded than stormed, that it penetrated into every secret recess that mercy casually opened, and gently stirred into fuller life those roots of human feeling that can be numbed by apathy but not killed even by hate, I know that it was persuasive, diffusive, inbreathing force, an influence vital in others because an effluence vitalized from themselves. So they stood, self-consecrated, enveloped by the love of God, permeated by the love of man,--twin Perfect Loves that cast out all dream of fear. And so they walked, calm as if a thousand stabs of personal insult never brought them one of personal pain, passing through all as if nothing but the serenest skies were above them. And, as I have said, right there is one explanation of the anomaly; there _were_ the serenest skies above them--heaven's love perpetually shining. Why should it not shine? all the powers of the men were dedicated to rescuing the image of God on this earth,--not man as he suffered physically, but the moral instinct threatened with annihilation. It was sacred to them, this soul so sacred to redeeming love, but too brutalized to find its way to it. Nor merely the slave. Their love embraced, with yet more pitying fervor, the master compelling his spiritual nature into death, and the northern apologist letting his die; and this overmastering love of saving spiritual integrity, was one power that made them and heart-ease hold unfailing friends through the obloquy of those days; the other must be found in the fact mentioned,--that neither resolve nor impulse was their spur, but personal character moving from its depths. From such a motive-power as this can come no parade of results. The nature that works, proceeds from the necessary laws and forces of its being, and is as simple and unconscious as any other natural law or force. Hence there are no startling epochs to record in my father's history, no supreme efforts; in filling the measure of daily opportunity lay his chief work. I cannot measure it by our ten fingers' counting. I can only show a life unfolding, and, by the essential laws of its growth, embracing the noblest cause of its time. But if action means vivifying public sentiment decaying under insidious poison; if it includes the doing of this amid a storm of odium that would quickly have shattered any soul irresolute for an instant; if it means incessant toil quietly performed, vast sums collected and disbursed, time sacrificed, strength spent; if it means holding up a great iniquity to loathing by a powerful pen, and nailing moral cowardice where-ever it showed; if it be risking livelihood by introducing the cause of the slave into every literary work, and by mingling the school-culture of fifty future mothers, year by year, with hatred of the sin; if it means one's life in one's hand, friendships yielded, society defied, and position in it cheerfully renounced; above all, if action means a wealth of goodness overliving all scorns, compelling respect from a community rebuked, fellowship from a Church charged with ungodliness, and acknowledgment of unstained repute from a public eager to blacken with scandal; if to do thus, and bear thus, and live thus, is action, then my father did act to the full purpose of life in the struggle that freed the slave. S.M.C. WILLIAM WHIPPER. The locality of Columbia, where Mr. Whipper resided for many years, was, as is well-known, a place of much note as a station on the Underground Rail Road. The firm of Smith and Whipper (lumber merchants), was likewise well-known throughout a wide range of country. Who, indeed, amongst those familiar with the history of public matters connected with the colored people of this country, has not heard of William Whipper? For the last thirty years, as an able business man, it has been very generally admitted, that he hardly had a superior. Although an unassuming man, deeply engrossed with business--Anti-slavery papers, conventions, and public movements having for their aim the elevation of the colored man, have always commanded Mr. Whipper's interest and patronage. In the more important conventions which have been held amongst the colored people for the last thirty years, perhaps no other colored man has been so often called on to draft resolutions and prepare addresses, as the modest and earnest William Whipper. He has worked effectively in a quiet way, although not as a public speaker. He is self-made, and well read on the subject of the reforms of the day. Having been highly successful in his business, he is now at the age of seventy, in possession of a handsome fortune; the reward of long years of assiduous labor. He is also cashier of the Freedman's Bank, in Philadelphia. For the last few years he has resided at New Brunswick, New Jersey, although his property and business confine him mainly to his native State, Pennsylvania. Owing to a late affliction in his family, compelling him to devote the most of his time thereto, it has been impossible to obtain from him the material for completing such a sketch as was desired. Prior to this affliction, in answer to our request, he furnished some reminiscences of his labors as conductor of the Underground Rail Road, and at the same time, promised other facts relative to his life, but for the reason assigned, they were not worked up, which is to be regretted. NEW BRUNSWICK, N.J., December 4, 1871. MR. WILLIAM STILL, DEAR SIR:--I sincerely regret the absence of statistics that would enable me to furnish you with many events, that would assist you in describing the operations of the Underground Rail Road. I never kept any record of those persons passing through my hands, nor did I ever anticipate that the history of that perilous period would ever be written. I can only refer to the part I took in it from memory, and if I could delineate the actual facts as they occurred they would savor so much of egotism that I should feel ashamed to make them public. I willingly refer to a few incidents which you may select and use as you may think proper. You are perfectly cognizant of the fact, that after the decision in York, Pa., of the celebrated Prigg case, Pennsylvania was regarded as free territory, which Canada afterwards proved to be, and that the Susquehanna river was the recognized northern boundary of the slave-holding empire. The borough of Columbia, situated on its eastern bank, in the county of Lancaster, was the great depot where the fugitives from Virginia and Maryland first landed. The long bridge connecting Wrightsville with Columbia, was the only safe outlet by which they could successfully escape their pursuers. When they had crossed this bridge they could look back over its broad silvery stream on its western shore, and say to the slave power: "Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther." Previous to that period, the line of fugitive travel was from Baltimore, by the way of Havre de Grace to Philadelphia; but the difficulty of a safe passage across the river, at that place caused the route to be changed to York, Pa., a distance of fifty-eight miles, the fare being forty dollars, and thence to Columbia, in the dead hour of the night. My house was at the end of the bridge, and as I kept the station, I was frequently called up in the night to take charge of the passengers. On their arrival they were generally hungry and penniless. I have received hundreds in this condition; fed and sheltered from one to seventeen at a time in a single night. At this point the road forked; some I sent west by boats, to Pittsburgh, and others to you in our cars to Philadelphia, and the incidents of their trials form a portion of the history you have compiled. In a period of three years from 1847 to 1850, I passed hundreds to the land of freedom, while others, induced by high wages, and the feeling that they were safe in Columbia, worked in the lumber and coal yards of that place. I always persuaded them to go to Canada, as I had no faith in their being able to elude the grasp of the slave-hunters. Indeed, the merchants had the confidence of their security and desired them to remain; several of my friends told me that I was injuring the trade of the place by persuading the laborers to leave. Indeed, many of the fugitives themselves looked upon me with jealousy, and expressed their indignation at my efforts to have them removed from peace and plenty to a land that was cold and barren, to starve to death. It was a period of great prosperity in our borough, and everything passed on favorably and successfully until the passage of the fugitive slave bill in 1850. At first the law was derided and condemned by our liberty-loving citizens, and the fugitives did not fear its operations because they asserted that they could protect themselves. This fatal dream was of short duration. A prominent man, by the name of Baker, was arrested and taken to Philadelphia, and given up by the commissioner, and afterwards purchased by our citizens; another, by the name of Smith, was shot dead in one of our lumber yards, because he refused to surrender, and his pursuer permitted to escape without arrest or trial. This produced not only a shock, but a crisis in the affairs of our little borough. It made the stoutest hearts quail before the unjust sovereignty of the law. The white citizens fearing the danger of a successful resistance to the majesty of the law, began to talk of the insecurity of these exiles. The fugitives themselves, whose faith and hope had been buoyed up by the promises held up to them of protection, began to be apprehensive of danger, and talked of leaving, while others, more bold, were ready to set the dangers that surrounded them at defiance, and if necessary, die in the defence of their freedom and the homes they had acquired. At this juncture private meetings were held by the colored people, and the discussions and resolves bore a peculiar resemblance in sentiment and expression to the patriotic outbursts of the American revolution. Some were in favor, if again attacked, of killing and slaying all within their reach; of setting their own houses on fire, and then going and burning the town. It was the old spirit which animated the Russians at Moscow, and the blacks of Hayti. At this point my self-interest mingled with my sense of humanity, and I felt that I occupied a more responsible position than I shall ever attain to again. I, therefore, determined to make the most of it. I exhorted them to peace and patience under their present difficulties, and for their own sakes as well as the innocent sufferers, besought them to leave as early as they could. If I had advocated a different course I could have caused the burning of the town. The result of our meeting produced a calm, that lasted only for a few days, when it was announced, one evening, that the claimants of a Methodist preacher, by the name of Dorsey, were in the borough, and that it was expected that they would attempt to take him that night. It was about nine o'clock in the evening when I went to his house, but was refused admittance, until those inside ascertained who I was. There were several men in the house all armed with deadly weapons, awaiting the approach of the intruders. Had they come the whole party would have been massacred. I advised Dorsey to leave, but he very pointedly refused, saying he had been taken up once before alive, but never would be again. The men told him to stand his ground, and they would stand by him and defend him, they had lived together, and would die together. I told them that they knew the strength of the pro-slavery feeling that surrounded them, and that they would be overpowered, and perhaps many lives lost, which might be saved by his changing his place of residence. He said, he had no money, and would rather die with his family, than be killed on the road. I said, how much money do you want to start with, and we will send you more if you need it. Here is one hundred dollars in gold. "That is not enough." "Will two hundred dollars do?" "Yes." I shall bring it to you to-morrow. I got the money the next morning, and when I came with it, he said, he could not leave unless his family was taken care of. I told him I would furnish his family with provisions for the next six months. Then he said he had two small houses, worth four hundred and seventy-five dollars. My reply was that I will sell them for you, and give the money to your family. He then gave me a power of attorney to do so, and attended to all his affairs. He left the next day, being the Sabbath, and has never returned since, although he has lived in the City of Boston ever since, except about six months in Canada. I wish to notice this case a little further, as the only one out of many to which I will refer. About the year 1831 or 1832, Mr. Joseph Purvis, a younger brother of Robert Purvis, about nineteen or twenty years of age, was visiting Mr. Stephen Smith, of Columbia, and while there the claimants of Dorsey came and secured him, and had proceeded about two miles with him on the way to Lancaster. Young Purvis heard of it, and his natural and instinctive love of freedom fired up his warm southern blood at the very recital. He was one of nature's noblemen. Fierce, fiery, and impulsive, he was as quick to decide as to perform. He demanded an immediate rescue. Though he was advised of the danger of such an attempt, his spirit and determination made him invincible. He proceeded to a place where some colored men were working. With a firm and determined look, and a herculean shout, he called out to them, "To arms, to arms! boys, we must rescue this man; I shall lead if you will follow." "We will," was the immediate response. And they went and overtook them, and dispersed his claimants. They brought Dorsey back in triumph to Columbia. He then gave Dorsey his pistol, with the injunction that he should use it and die in defence of his liberty rather than again be taken into bondage. He promised he would. I found him with this pistol on his table, the night I called on him, and I have every reason to believe that the promise gave to Mr. Purvis was one of the chief causes of his obstinacy. The lesson he had taught him had not only become incorporated in his nature, but had become a part of his religion. The history of this brave and noble effort of young Purvis, in rescuing a fellow-being from the jaws of Slavery has been handed down, in Columbia, to a generation that was born since that event has transpired. He always exhibited the same devotion and manly daring in the cause of the flying bondman that inspired his youthful ardor in behalf of freedom. The youngest of a family distinguished for their devotion to freedom, he was without superiors in the trying hour of battle. Like John Brown, he often discarded theories, but was eminently practical. He has passed to another sphere. Peace to his ashes! I honor his name as a hero, and friend of man. I loved him for the noble characteristics of his nature, and above all for his noble daring in defense of the right. As a friend I admired him, and owe his memory this tribute to departed worth. At this point a conscientious regard for truth dictates that I should state that my disposition to make a sacrifice for the removal of Dorsey and some other leading spirits was aided by my own desire for _self-preservation._ I knew that it had been asserted, far down in the slave region, that Smith & Whipper, the negro lumber merchants, were engaged in secreting fugitive slaves. And on two occasions attempts had been made to set fire to their yard for the purpose of punishing them for such illegal acts. And I felt that if a collision took place, we should not only be made to suffer the penalty, but the most valuable property in the village be destroyed, besides a prodigal waste of human life be the consequence. In such an event I felt that I should not only lose all I had ever earned, but peril the hopes and property of others, so that I would have freely given one thousand dollars to have been insured against the consequences of such a riot. I then borrowed fourteen hundred dollars on my own individual account, and assisted many others to go to a land where the virgin soil was not polluted by the foot-prints of a slave. The colored population of the Borough of Columbia, in 1850, was nine hundred and forty-three, about one-fifth the whole population, and in five years they were reduced to four hundred and eighty-seven by emigration to Canada. In the summer of 1853, I visited Canada for the purpose of ascertaining the actual condition of many of those I had assisted in reaching a land of freedom; and I was much gratified to find them contented, prosperous, and happy. I was induced by the prospects of the new emigrants to purchase lands on the Sydenham River, with the intention of making it my future home. In the spring of 1861, when I was preparing to leave, the war broke out, and with its progress I began to realize the prospect of a new civilization, and, therefore, concluded to remain and share the fortunes of my hitherto ill-fated country. I will say in conclusion that it would have been fortunate for us if Columbia, being a port of entry for flying fugitives, had been also the seat of great capitalists and freedom-loving inhabitants; but such was not the case. There was but little Anti-slavery sentiment among the whites, yet there were many strong and valiant friends among them who contributed freely; the colored population were too poor to render much aid, except in feeding and secreting strangers. I was doing a prosperous business at that time and felt it my duty to contribute liberally out of my earnings. Much as I loved Anti-slavery meetings I did not feel that I could afford to attend them, as my immediate duty was to the flying fugitive. Now, my friend, I have extended this letter far beyond the limits intended, not with the expectation that it will be published, but for your own private use to select any matter that you might desire to use in your history. I have to regret that I am compelled to refer so often to my own exertions. I know that I speak within bounds when I say that directly and indirectly from 1847 to 1860, I have contributed from my earnings one thousand dollars annually, and for the five years during the war a like amount to put down the rebellion. Now the slaves are emancipated, and we are all enfranchised, after struggling for existence, freedom and manhood--I feel thankful for having had the glorious privilege of laboring with others for the redemption of my race from oppression and thraldom; and I would prefer to-day to be penniless in the streets, rather than to have withheld a single hour's labor or a dollar from the sacred cause of liberty, justice, and humanity. I remain yours in the sacred cause of liberty and equality, WM. WHIPPER. ISAAC T. HOPPER. The distinctive characteristics of this individual were so admirably portrayed in the newspapers and other periodicals published at the time of his death, that we shall make free use of them without hesitation. He was distinguished from his early life by his devotion to the relief of the oppressed colored race. He was an active member of the old Pennsylvania Abolition Society, and labored zealously with Dr. Benjamin Rush, Dr. Rogers, Dr. Wistar, and other distinguished philanthropists of the time. No man at that day, not even eminent judges and advocates, was better acquainted with the intricacies of law questions connected with slavery. His accurate legal knowledge, his natural acuteness, his ready tact in avoiding dangerous corners and slipping through unseen loop-holes, often gave him the victory in cases that seemed hopeless to other minds. In many of these cases, physical courage was needed as much as moral firmness; and he possessed these qualities in a very unusual degree. Being for many years an inspector of the public prisons, his practical sagacity and benevolence were used with marked results. His enlarged sympathies had always embraced the criminal and the imprisoned, as well as the oppressed; and the last years of his life were especially devoted to the improvement of prisons and prisoners. In this department of benevolence he manifested the same zealous kindness and untiring diligence that had so long been exerted for the colored people, for whose welfare he labored to the end of his days. He possessed a wonderful wisdom in furnishing relief to all who were in difficulty and embarrassment. This caused a very extensive demand upon his time and talents, which were rarely withheld when honestly sought, and seldom applied in vain. Mrs. Kirkland prepared, under the title of "The Helping Hand," a small volume, for the benefit of "The Home" for discharged female convicts, containing a brief description of the institution, and a detail of facts illustrating the happy results of its operation. Its closing chapter is appropriately devoted to the following well-deserved tribute to the veteran philanthropist, to whose zeal and discretion that and so many other similar institutions owe their existence, or to a large degree their prosperity. "Not to inform the public what it knows very well already, nor to forestall the volume now preparing by Mrs. Child, a kindred spirit, but to gratify my own feelings, and to give grace and sanctity to this little book, I wish to say a few words of Mr. Hopper, the devoted friend of the prisoner as of the slave; one whose long life, and whose last thoughts, were given to the care and succor of human weakness, error, and suffering. To make even the most unpretending book for the benefit of 'The Home,' without bringing forward the name of Isaac T. Hopper, and recognizing the part he took in its affairs, from the earliest moment of its existence until the close of his life, would be an unpardonable omission. A few words must be said where a volume would scarcely suffice. "'The rich and the poor meet together, and the Lord is the Father of them all,' might stand for the motto of Mr. Hopper's life. That the most remote of these two classes stood on the same level of benevolent interest in his mind, his whole career made obvious; he was the last man to represent as naturally opposite those whom God has always, even to the end of the world, made mutually dependent. He told the simple truth to each with equal frankness; helped both with equal readiness. The palace owed him no more than the hovel suggested thoughts of superiority. Nothing human, however grand, or however degraded, was a stranger to him. In the light that came to him from heaven, all stood alike children of the Great Father; earthly distinction disappearing the moment the sinking soul or the suffering body was in question. No amount of depravity could extinguish his hope of reform; no recurrence of ingratitude could paralyze his efforts. Early and late, supported or unsupported, praised or ridiculed, he went forward in the great work of relief, looking neither to the right hand, nor to the left; and when the object was accomplished, he shrank back into modest obscurity, only to wait till a new necessity called for his reappearance. Who can number the poor, aching, conscious, despairing hearts that have felt new life come to them from his kind words, his benignant smile, his helping hand. If the record of his long life could be fully written, which it can never be, since every day and all day, in company, in the family circle, with children, with prisoners, with the insane, 'virtue went out of him' that no human observation could measure or describe, what touching interest would be added to the history of our poor and vicious population for more than half a century past; what new honor and blessing would surround the venerated name of our departed friend and leader! "But he desired nothing of this. Without claiming for him a position above humanity, which alone would account for a willingness to be wholly unrecognized as a friend of the afflicted, it is not too much to say that no man was ever less desirous of public praise or outward honor. He was even unwilling that any care should be taken to preserve the remembrance of his features, sweet and beautiful as they were, though he was brought reluctantly to yield to the anxious wish of his children and friends that the countenance on which every eye loved to dwell, should not be wholly lost when the grave should close above it. He loved to talk of interesting cases of reform and recovery, both because those things occupied his mind, and because every one loved to hear him; but the hearer who made these disclosures the occasion for unmeaning compliment, as if he fancied a craving vanity to have prompted them, soon found himself rebuked by the straightforward and plain-spoken patriarch. Precious indeed were those seasons of outpouring, when one interesting recital suggested another, till the listener seemed to see the whole mystery of prison-life and obscure wretchedness laid open before him with the distinctness of a picture. For, strange as it may seem, our friend had under his plain garb--unchanged in form since the days of Franklin, to go no further back--a fine dramatic talent, and could not relate the humblest incident without giving it a picturesque or dramatic turn, speaking now for one character, now for another, with a variety and discrimination very remarkable. This made his company greatly sought, and as his strongly social nature readily responded, his acquaintance was very large. To every one that knew him personally, I can appeal for the truth and moderation of these views of his character and manners. "A few biographical items will close what I venture to offer here. "Isaac T. Hopper was born December 3, 1771, in the township of Deptford, Gloucester county, New Jersey, but spent a large portion of his life in Philadelphia, where he served his apprenticeship to the humble calling of a tailor. But neither the necessity for constant occupation nor the temptations of youthful gaiety, prevented his commencing, even then, the devotion of a portion of his time, to the care of the poor and needy. He had scarcely reached man's estate when we find him an active member of a benevolent association, and his volume, of notes of cases, plans and efforts, date back to that early period. To that time also, we are to refer the beginning of his warm Anti-slavery sentiment, a feeling so prominent and effective throughout his life, and the source of some of his noblest efforts and sacrifices. For many years he served as inspector of prisons in Philadelphia, and thus, by long and constant practical observation, was accumulated that knowledge of the human heart in its darkest windings, that often astonished the objects of his care, when they thought they had been able cunningly to blind his eyes to their real character and intentions. After his removal to New York, and when the occasion for his personal labors in the cause of the slave had in some measure, ceased or slackened, he threw his whole heart into the Prison Association, whose aims and plans of action were entirely in accordance with his views, and indeed, in a great degree, based on his experience and advice. The intent of the Prison Association is threefold: first to protect and defend those who are arrested, and who, as is well known, often suffer greatly from want of honest and intelligent counsel; secondly, to attend to the treatment and instruction of convicts while in prison; and thirdly, on their discharge to render them such practical aid as shall enable the repentant to return to society by means of the pursuit of some honest calling. The latter branch occupied Mr. Hopper's time and attention, and he devoted himself to it with an affectionate and religious earnestness that ceased only with his life. No disposition was too perverse for his efforts at reform; no heart was so black that he did not at least try the balm of healing upon it; no relapses could tire out his patience, which, without weak waste of means still apostolically went on 'hoping all things,' while even a dying spark of good feeling remained. Up to February last did this venerable saint continue his abundant labors; when a severe cold, co-operating with the decay of nature, brought him his sentence of dismissal. He felt that it was on the way, and with the serious grace that marked everything he did, he began at once to gather his earthly robes about him and prepare for the great change which no one could dread less. It was hard for those who saw his ruddy cheek and sparkling eye, his soft brown hair, and sprightly movements to feel that the time of his departure was drawing nigh: but he knew and felt it, with more composure than his friends could summon. It might well be said of this our beloved patriarch, that his eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated. To the last of his daily journeyings through the city, for which he generally used the rail road, he would never allow the drivers to stop for him to get on or off the car, feeling, as he used smilingly to observe, 'very jealous on that point.' Few ever passed him in the street without asking who he was; for not only did his primitive dress, his broad-brimmed hat, and his antique shoe buckles attract attention, but the beauty and benevolence of his face was sure to fix the eye of ordinary discernment. He was a living temperance lecture, and those who desire to preserve good looks could not ask a more infallible receipt, than that sweet temper and out-flowing benevolence which made his countenance please every eye. Gay and cheerful as a boy, he had ever some pleasant anecdote or amusing turn to relate, and in all perhaps not one without a moral bearing, not thrust forward, but left to be picked out by the hearer at his leisure. He seemed born to show how great strictness in essentials could exist without the least asceticism in trifles. Anything but a Simeon Stylites in his sainthood, he could go among 'publicans and sinners' without the least fear of being mistaken by them for one of themselves. An influence radiated from him that made itself felt in every company, though he would very likely be the most modest man present. More gentlemanly manners and address no court in Christendom need require; his resolute simplicity and candor, always under the guidance of a delicate taste, never for a moment degenerated into coarseness or disregard even of the prejudices of others. His life, even in these minute particulars, showed how the whole man is harmonized by the sense of being 'Ever in the Great Taskmaster's eye.' "He died on the 7th of May, 1852, in his eighty-first year, and a public funeral in the Tabernacle brought together thousands desirous of showing respect to his memory." Mrs. Child has written a full, and in many respects, an exceedingly interesting biography of the subject of this memoir, towards the close of which she says: "From the numerous notices in papers of all parties and sects, I will merely quote the following. 'The New York Observer' thus announces his death: "'The venerable Isaac T. Hopper, whose placid, benevolent face has so long irradiated almost every public meeting for doing good, and whose name, influence, and labors, have been devoted with an apostolic simplicity and constancy to humanity, died on Friday last, at an advanced age. He was a Quaker of that early sort illustrated by such philanthropists as Anthony Benezet, Thomas Clarkson, Mrs. Fry, and the like. "'He was a most self-denying, patient, loving friend of the poor, and the suffering of every kind; and his life was an unbroken history of beneficence. Thousands of hearts will feel a touch of grief at the news of his death; for few men have so large a wealth in the blessings of the poor, and the grateful remembrance of kindness and benevolence, as he.' "'The New York Times' contained the following: "'Most of our readers will call to mind, in connection with the name of Isaac T. Hopper, the compact, well-knit figure of a Quaker gentleman, apparently about sixty years of age, dressed in drab or brown clothes of the plainest cut, and bearing on his handsome, manly face the impress of that benevolence with which his whole heart was filled. "'He was twenty years older than he seemed. The fountain of benevolence within freshened his old age with its continuous flow. The step of the octogenarian was elastic as that of a boy, his form erect as a mountain pine. "'His whole physique was a splendid sample of nature's handiwork. We see him now with our mind's eye, but with the eye of flesh we shall see him no more. Void of intentional offence to God or man, his spirit has joined its happy kindred in a world where there is neither sorrow nor perplexity.' "I sent the following communication to 'The New York Tribune': "In this world of shadows, few things strengthen the soul like seeing the calm and cheerful exit of a truly good man; and this has been my privilege by the bedside of Isaac T. Hopper. "He was a man of remarkable endowments, both of head and heart. His clear discrimination, his unconquerable will, his total unconsciousness of fear, his extraordinary tact in circumventing plans he wished to frustrate, would have made him illustrious as the general of an army; and these qualities might have become faults, if they had not been balanced by an unusual degree of conscientiousness and benevolence. He battled courageously, not from ambition, but from an inborn love of truth. He circumvented as adroitly as the most practiced politician; but it was always to defeat the plans of those who oppressed God's poor; never to advance his own self-interest. "'Few men have been more strongly attached to any religious society than he was to the Society of Friends, which he joined in the days of its purity, impelled by his own religious convictions. But when the time came that he must either be faithless to duty in the cause of his enslaved brethren, or part company with the Society to which he was bound by the strong and sacred ties of early religious feeling, this sacrifice he also calmly laid on the altar of humanity. "'During nine years that I lived in his household, my respect and affection for him continually increased. Never have I seen a man who so completely fulfilled the Scripture injunction, to forgive an erring brother, 'not only seven times, but seventy times seven.' I have witnessed relapse after relapse into vice, under circumstances which seemed like the most heartless ingratitude to him; but he joyfully hailed the first symptom of repentance, and was always ready to grant a new probation. "'Farewell, thou brave and kind old Friend! The prayers of ransomed ones ascended to Heaven for thee, and a glorious company have welcomed thee to the Eternal City.'" SAMUEL D. BURRIS, Referred to by John Hunn, was also a brave conductor on the Underground Rail Road leading down into Maryland (via Hunn's place). Mr. Burris was a native of Delaware, but being a free man and possessing more than usual intelligence, and withal an ardent love of liberty, he left "slave-dom" and moved with his family to Philadelphia. Here his abhorrence of Slavery was greatly increased, especially after becoming acquainted with the Anti-slavery Office and the Abolition doctrine. Under whose auspices or by what influence he was first induced to visit the South with a view of aiding slaves to escape, the writer does not recollect; nevertheless, from personal knowledge, prior to 1851, he well knew that Burris was an accredited agent on the road above alluded to, and that he had been considered a safe, wise, and useful man in his day and calling. Probably the simple conviction that he would not otherwise be doing as he would be done by actuated him in going down South occasionally to assist some of his suffering friends to get the yokes off their necks, and with him escape to freedom. A number were thus aided by Burris. But finally he found himself within the fatal snare; the slave-holders caught him at last, and Burris was made a prisoner in Dover jail. His wife and children were thereby left without their protector and head. The friends of the slave in Philadelphia and elsewhere deeply sympathized with him in this dreadful hour. Being able to use the pen, although he could not write without having his letters inspected, he kept up a constant correspondence with his friends both in Delaware and Philadelphia. John Hunn and Thomas Garrett were as faithful to him as brothers. After lying in prison for many months, his trial came on and Slavery gained the victory. The court decided that he must be sold in or out of the State to serve for seven years. No change, pardon or relief, could be expected from the spirit and power that held sway over Delaware at that time. The case was one of great interest to Mr. McKim, as indeed to the entire Executive Committee of the Pennsylvania Anti-slavery Society, who felt constrained to do all they could to save the poor man from his threatened fate, although they had not advised or encouraged him in the act for which he was condemned and about to suffer. In viewing his condition, but a faint ray of hope was entertained from one single direction. It was this: to raise money privately and have a man at the auction on the day of sale to purchase him. John Hunn and Thomas Garrett were too well known as Abolitionists to undertake this mission. A friend indeed, was desirable, but none other would do than such an one as would not be suspected. Mr. McKim thought that a man who might be taken for a negro trader would be the right kind of a man to send on this errand. Garrett and Hunn being consulted heartily acquiesced in this plan, and after much reflection and inquiry, Isaac S. Flint, an uncompromising abolitionist, living in Wilmington, Delaware, was elected to buy Burris at the sale, providing that he was not run up to a figure exceeding the amount in hand. Flint's abhorrence of Slavery combined with his fearlessness, cool bearing, and perfect knowledge from what he had read of the usages of traders at slave sales, without question admirably fitted him to play the part of a trader for the time being. When the hour arrived, the doomed man was placed on the auction-block. Two traders from Baltimore were known to be present; how many others the friends of Burris knew not. The usual opportunity was given to traders and speculators to thoroughly examine the property on the block, and most skillfully was Burris examined from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head; legs, arms and body, being handled as horse-jockies treat horses. Flint watched the ways of the traders and followed for effect their example. The auctioneer began and soon had a bid of five hundred dollars. A Baltimore trader was now in the lead, when Flint, if we mistake not, bought off the trader for one hundred dollars. The bids were thus suddenly checked, and Burris was knocked down to Isaac S. Flint (a strange trader). Of course he had left his abolition name at home and had adopted one suited to the occasion. When the crier's hammer indicated the last bid, although Burris had borne up heroically throughout the trying ordeal, he was not by any means aware of the fact that he had fallen into the hands of friends, but, on the contrary, evidently labored under the impression that his freedom was gone. But a few moments were allowed to pass ere Flint had the bill of sale for his property, and the joyful news was whispered in the ear of Burris that all was right; that he had been bought with abolition gold to save him from going south. Once more Burris found himself in Philadelphia with his wife and children and friends, a stronger opponent than ever of Slavery. Having thus escaped by the skin of his teeth, he never again ventured South. After remaining a year or two in Philadelphia, about the year 1852 he went to California to seek more lucrative employment than he had hitherto found. Becoming somewhat satisfactorily situated he sent for his family, who joined him. In the meanwhile, his interest in the cause of freedom did not falter; he always kept posted on the subject of the Underground Rail Road and Anti-slavery questions; and after the war, when appeals were made on behalf of contrabands who flocked into Washington daily in a state of utter destitution, Burris was among the first to present the matter to the colored churches of San Francisco, with a view of raising means to aid in this good work, and as the result, a handsome collection was taken up and forwarded to the proper committee in Washington. About three years ago, Samuel D. Burris died, in the city of San Francisco, at about the age of sixty years. To the slave he had been a true friend, and had labored faithfully for the improvement of his own mind as well as the general elevation of his race. MARIANN, GRACE ANNA, AND ELIZABETH R. LEWIS. Near Kimberton, in Chester county, Pa., was the birth-place, and, till within a few years, the home of three sisters, Mariann, Grace Anna and Elizabeth R. Lewis, who were among the most faithful, devoted, and quietly efficient workers in the Anti-slavery cause, including that department of it which is the subject of this volume. Birth-right members of the Society of Friends, they were born into more than the traditional Anti-slavery faith and feeling of that Society. A deep abhorrence of slavery, and an earnest will to put that feeling into act, as opportunity should serve, were in the very life-blood which they drew from father and mother both. Left fatherless at an early age, they were taught by their mother to remember that their father, on his visits to their maternal grandfather, living then in Maryland, was wont, as he expressed it, to feel the black shadow of slavery over his spirit, from the time he entered, till he left, the State; and that, on his death-bed, he had regretted having let ill-health prevent his meeting with, and joining one of the Anti-slavery Societies of that day. Of the mother's share in the transmission of their hereditary feeling, it is enough, to all acquainted with the history of Anti-slavery work in Pennsylvania, to say that she was sister, not by blood alone, but in heart and soul, to that early, active, untiring abolitionist, Dr. Bartholomew Fussell. It is easy to see that the children of such parents, growing up under the influence of such a mother, needed no conversion, no sacrifices of prejudice or hostile opinions, to make them Anti-slavery; but were ready, simply as a matter of course, to work for the good cause whenever any way appeared in which their work could serve it. What was called "modern abolitionism," as distinguished from the less aggressive form of opposition to slavery, which preceded the movement pioneered by Garrison, they at once accepted, as soon as it was set before them, through the agents of the American Anti-Slavery Society, in the campaign in Pennsylvania, begun in 1836. Regarding it but as the next step forward in the way they had already entered, they instinctively fell into line with the new movement, assisted in forming a society auxiliary to it, in their own neighborhood, and were constant to the end in working for its advancement. EARNEST IN THE CAUSE. [Illustration: GRACE ANNE LEWIS] [Illustration: MRS. FRANCIS E. W. HARPER] [Illustration: JOHN NEEDLES.] Auxiliary to the influences already mentioned, was a very early recollection of seeing a colored man, Henry, bound with ropes and carried off to slavery. Grace Anna, not more than four or five years old at the time, declared that the man's face of agony is before her now; nor is it likely that her sisters were impressed less deeply. Of natures keenly sensitive, they hated slavery, from that hour, as only children of such natures can; and--as yet too young and immature for that charity to have been developed in them, which can see a brother even in the evil-doer, and pity while condemning him,--they even more intensely hated, while they feared, the actors in the outrage, and despised the girl who had betrayed the victim. Ever after, any one of them could be trusted to be faithful to the hunted fugitive, though an army of kidnappers might surround her. Another of their early recollections was of a white handkerchief which was to be waved from a back window, as a signal of danger, to a colored man at work in a wood near by. And, all the while, the feelings aroused by such events were kept alive by little Anti-slavery poems, which they were wont to learn by heart and recite in the evenings. Grace Anna, on her first visit to Philadelphia, when nine years old, bought a copy of one of these, entitled "Zambo's Story," pleased to recognize in it a favorite of her still earlier childhood. By means like these they were unconsciously preparing themselves for the predestined tasks of their after-life; and if there were danger that such a strain upon their sympathies, as they often underwent, might prove unhealthful, it was fully counteracted by ball-playing, and all kinds of active out-door amusements of childhood, so that it was never known to result in harm. As time passed on, their home, always open to fugitives, became an important centre of Underground Rail Road operations for the region extending from Wilmington, Del., into Adams county, Pa.; and they, grown to womanhood, had glided into the management of its very considerable business. They received passengers from Thomas Garrett, and sometimes others, perhaps, of Wilmington, when it was thought unsafe to send them thence directly through Philadelphia; from Wm. and Phebe Wright, in Adams county, and from friends, more than we have room to name, in York, Columbia, and the southern parts of Lancaster and Chester counties; the several lines, from Adams county to Wilmington, converging upon the house of John Vickers, of Lionville, whose wagon, laden apparently with innocent-looking earthen ware from his pottery, sometimes conveyed, unseen beneath the visible load, a precious burden of Southern chattels, on their way to manhood. [At a later period, the trains from Adams county generally took another course, going to Harrisburg, and on to Canada, by way of the Susquehanna Valley; though still, when pursuit that way was apprehended, the former course was taken.] These passengers, the Lewises forwarded in diverse ways; usually, in the earlier times, by wagon or carriage, to Richard Moore, of Quakertown, in Bucks county, about thirty miles distant; but later, when abolitionists were more numerous, and easier stages could be safely made, either directly to the writer, or to one or other of ten or twelve stations which had become established at places less remote, in the counties of Chester and Montgomery. During portions of the time, their married sister Rebecca, and her husband, Edwin Fussell, and their uncle, Dr. B. Fussell, and, after him, his brother William, lived on farms adjoining theirs, and were their active helpers in this work. The receiving and passing on of fugitives, was not all they had to do. Often it was necessary to fit out whole families with clothing suitable for the journey. In cases of emergency they would sometimes gather a sewing-circle from such neighboring families as could be trusted; and, with its help, accomplish rapidly the needed work. One instance is remembered, of a woman, with her little boy, whom they put into girls' attire; and, changing also the woman's dress, sent both, by cars, to Canada, accompanied by a friend. In this kind of work, too, they had generous aid from friends at neighboring stations. From Lawrenceville and Limerick, and Pottstown and Pughtown, came contributions of clothing; at one time a supply which filled compactly three three-bushel bags, and of which a small remainder, still on hand when slavery was abolished, was sent South to the freedmen. The prudence, skill, and watchful care with which the business was conducted, are well attested by the fact that, so far as can be remembered, during all the many years of their connection with the Underground Rail Road, not a plan miscarried, and not a slave that reached their station was retaken; although among their neighbors there were bitter adversaries of the Anti-slavery cause, eager to find occasion for hostile acts against any abolitionist; and, at times, especially vindictive against the noble sisters, because of their effective co-operation with other friends of Temperance, in preventing the licensing of a liquor-selling tavern in the neighborhood. On one occasion, when, within a week, they had passed on to freedom no less than forty fugitives, eleven of whom had been in the house at once, they were amused at hearing a remark by some of their pro-slavery neighbors, to the effect that "there used to be a pretty brisk trade of running off niggers, but there was not much of it done now." Though parties of four, five or six sometimes arrived in open day, they seldom sent any away till about nightfall or later, and, whenever the danger was greater than usual, the coming was also at night. The fugitives, in attempting to capture whom, Gorsuch was killed, near Christiana, were brought to them at midnight, by Dr. Fussell; and in this case such caution was observed, that not even the hired girl knew of the presence of persons not of the family. For one reason or another,--perhaps to let a hot pursuit go by; perhaps to allow opportunity for recovering from fatigue and recruiting exhausted strength, or for earning means to pursue the journey by the common railroads,--it was often thought advisable that passengers should remain with them for a considerable period; and numbers of these were, at different times, employed as laborers in some capacity. Grace Anna testifies that some of the best assistants they ever had in the house or on the farm, were these escaped slaves; that in general they were thrifty and economical, one man, for instance, who spent several years with them, having accumulated five hundred dollars before he went on to Canada; and another, enough to furnish an old coat with a full set of buttons, each of which was a golden half-eagle, covered with cloth, and firmly sewed on, besides an ample supply of good clothing for himself and his wife; and that, almost without exception, they were honest and loyal to their benefactors, and only too happy to find opportunities of showing their gratitude. One man sent back to the sisters a letter of thanks, through a gentleman in England, whither he had gone. And once, when Grace Anna was passing an elegant mansion in Philadelphia, a colored woman rushed out upon her with such an impetuous demonstration of affection, joy, and thankfulness--all thought of fitness of time and place swept away by the swell of strong emotion--as might well have amused, or slightly astonished, the passers in the street, who knew not that in her arms the woman's child had died. But it is no marvel that to her the memory of that poor runaway slave-woman's true affection is more than could have been the warmest welcome from her educated and refined mistress. One case, of which the sisters for a time had charge, seems worthy of a somewhat more extended mention. In the fall of 1855 a slave named Johnson, who, in fleeing from bondage, had come as far as Wilmington, thinking he saw his master on the train by which he was journeying northward, sprang from the car and hurt his foot severely. The Kennett abolitionists having taken him in hand, and fearing that suspicious eyes were on him in their region, felt it necessary to send him onward without waiting for his wound to heal. He was therefore taken to the Lewises, suffering very much in his removal, and arriving in a condition which required the most assiduous care. For more than four months he remained with them, patient and gentle in his helplessness and suffering, and very thankful for the ministrations of kindness he received. He was nursed as tenderly as if his own sisters had attended him, instead of strangers, and was so carefully concealed that the nearest neighbors knew not of his being with them. Their cousin, Morris Fussell, who lived near, being a physician, they had not to depend for even medical advice upon the outside world. As the sufferer's wound, in natural course, became offensive, the care of it could not but have been disagreeable as well as toilsome; and the feeble health of one of the sisters at that time must have made heavier the burden to be borne. But it was borne with a cheerful constancy. In a letter which Grace Anna wrote after she had attended for some time in person to the patient, with the care and sympathy which his condition demanded, and begun to feel her strength unequal to the task, in addition to her household duties, she asked a friend in Philadelphia to procure for her a trusty colored woman fit to be a helper in the work, offering higher wages than were common in that region for the services required, and adding that, indeed, they could not stand upon the amount of pay, but must have help, if it could be obtained, though not in a condition to bear undue expenditure. But, she said, the man "is unable to be removed; and if he were not, I know of no place where the charge would not be equally severe." So, in perfect keeping with her character, she just quietly regarded it as a matter of course that it should still continue where it was. And there it did continue until spring, when the man, now able to bear removal, was conveyed to the writer, and, after a time, went thence to Boston. There his foot, pronounced incurable, was amputated, and the abolitionists supplied him with a wooden limb. He then returned and spent another winter with the Lewises, assisting in the household work, and rendering services invaluable at a time when it was almost impossible to obtain female help. The next spring, hoping vainly to recover in a warmer climate from the disease induced by the drain his wounded foot had made upon his system, he went to Hayti, and there died; happy, we may well believe, to have escaped from slavery, though only to have won scarely two years of freedom as an invalid and a cripple. The sisters were so thoroughly united in their work, as well as in all the experiences of life, that this brief sketch has not attempted what indeed it could not have achieved--a separation of their spheres of beneficent activity. Yet they had each her individual traits and adaptations to their common task; "diversities of gifts, but the same spirit." Elizabeth, although for many years shut out by feeble health from any part requiring much bodily exertion, was ever a wise counsellor, as well as ready with such help as her state of health would warrant. Though weak in body, in spirit she was strong and calm and self-reliant, with a clear, discriminating intellect, a keen sense of right, and a certain solidity and balanced symmetry of the spiritual nature which made her an appreciable power wherever she was known. Of Mariann, Grace Anna says, that if a flash of inspiration was required, it usually came from her. Taught by her love for others, and by a sensitiveness almost preternaturally quick, "she always knew exactly the right thing to do," and put all the poetry of a nature exquisitely fine into her efforts to diffuse around her purity and peace and happiness. Her constant, utterly unselfish endeavors to this end contributed in ample measure to the blessedness of a delightful home, rich in the virtues, charities and graces which make home blessed. Veiled by her modest and retiring disposition, to few beyond the circle of her home were known the beauty and beneficence of her noiseless life; but those who did look in upon it testified her worth in terms so strong as showed how deeply it impressed them. "Just the best woman I ever knew," said a young man for whom she had long cared like a mother. "I cannot remember," said another, "ever hearing from her one ungentle word;" and it may be safely doubted whether she was ever heard to utter such. And one who "knew her every mood" cannot recall an instance of selfishness in her, even when a child. "The most womanly woman I ever knew," declared a friend long closely intimate with her, "and such as would have been adored, if found by any man worthy of her." The ideal element in her was chastened by sound sense and blended with a quick sagacity; but her shrinking sensitiveness, too keen to be quite healthy, and an extreme of self-forgetfulness, amounting possibly to a defect in one sojourning amid this world's diverse dispositions and experiences, rendered her, on the whole, less balanced and complete than her younger sisters, and not well fitted for rough encounter with life's trials. So it became Grace Anna's province, especially after their mother's death, to stand a shelter between her and whatever would unpleasantly affect her by its contact; to be in some sort as a brother to her, seeing there was no brother in the house. But from this it must not be inferred that Grace Anna is less gifted with the distinctive qualities of her sex. For the native fineness of her spiritual texture, her gentle dignity and feminine delicacy and grace, mark her as "every inch" a true and noble woman. In her combine in happy union the calm strength of soul and self-reliance of her younger, with the poetic ideality and a just degree of the quick sensibility of her elder sister, with better health than either, making her foremost of the three in that executive efficiency which did so much to give their plans the uniform success already mentioned. Kindness and warm affection, clearness of moral vision, and purity of heart, with a lively relish for quiet intellectual pleasures, for society and books adapted to refine, improve and elevate, were among the characteristics common to them all. Mariann and Elizabeth, having lived to see the triumph of the Right, in the Presidential Proclamation of Freedom to the slaves, have gone from their earthly labors to their heavenly rest; which, we may well believe, is that whereof the poet speaks: "Rest in harmonious action like the stars, Doing the deeds which make heaven musical, The earth a heaven, and brothers of us all." Grace Anna still continues here, working for human welfare in such fields as still demand the laborer's toil; and finding mental profit and delight in the pursuit of natural science. CUNNINGHAM'S RACHE. BY MISS GRACE A. LEWIS. Among the many fugitives whose stories were full of interest, was that of a woman named Rachel. She was tall, muscular, slight, with an extremely sensitive nervous organization, a brain of large size, and an expression of remarkable sagacity and quickness. She was living in West Chester, Chester county, Pa., when attempts were made to retake her to Slavery. With wonderful swiftness and adroitness she eluded pursuit, and was soon hurried away. Speedily reaching our house, she hid herself away during the day, and in the evening, as a place of greater safety, she was transferred to the house of our uncle, Dr. Fussell, then residing on an adjoining farm. As was his wont, this kind-hearted man soon entered into a conversation with her, and in a few minutes discovered that she had once been a pupil of his during his residence in Maryland many years before. At the moment of recognition she sprang up, overwhelming him with her manifestations of delight, crying: "You Dr. Fussell? You Dr. Fussell? Don't you remember me? I'm Rache--Cunningham's Rache, down at Bush River Neck." Then receding to view him better, "Lord bless de child! how he is grown!" Her tongue once loosened, she poured forth her whole history, expressing in every lineament her concentrated abhorrence of her libertine master, "Mort Cunningham." Over that story, it is needful to pass lightly, simply saying, she endured all outraged nature could endure and survive. For the sake of humanity we may trust there were few such fiends even among southern masters as this monster in human shape. Cunningham finally sold her to go further South, with a master whose name cannot now be recalled. This man was in ill health, and after a time he and his wife started northward, bringing Rache with them. On the voyage the master grew worse, and one night when he was about to die, a fearful storm arose, which Rache devoutly believed was sent from Heaven. In describing this scene, she impersonated her surroundings with wonderful vividness and marvellous power. At one moment she was the howling wind; at another the tumultuous sea--then the lurching ship--the bellowing cow frightened by the storm--the devil, who came to carry away her master's soul, and finally the weak, dying man, as he passed to eternity. They proceeded on their voyage and landed at their place of destination. Rache sees the cow snuffing the land breeze and darting off through the crowd. The captain of the vessel points to the cow and motions her to follow its example. She needs nothing more. Again she is acting--she is now the cow; but human caution, shrewdness, purpose, are lent to animal instinct. She looks around her with wary eye--scents the air--a flash, and she is hidden from the crowd which you see around her--she is free! Making her way northward, she finally arrived at the house of Emmer Kimber, Kimberton, Chester county, Pa., and proving a remarkably capable woman, she remained a considerable time in his family, as a cook. She finally married, and settled in West Chester, where the pair prospered and were soon surrounded by the comforts of a neat home. After several years of peaceful life there, she was one day alarmed, not by the heirs of her dead master, but by the loathed "Mort Cunningham," who, without the shadow of legal right, had come to carry her back to Slavery. Fear lent her wings. She darted into a hatter's shop and out through the back buildings, springing over a dye kettle in her way, and cleared a board fence at a bound. On her way to a place of safety she looked back to see, with keen enjoyment, "Mort Cunningham" falling backward from the fence she had leaped. Secure in a garret, she looked down into the streets below, to see his vacant, dazed look as he sought, unable to find her. Her rendering of the expression of his face at this time, was irresistibly ludicrous, as was that of his whole bearing while searching for her. "Mort Cunningham" did not get her, but whether or not she ever returned to the enjoyment of her happy home, in West Chester, we never knew, as this sudden flight was the last we ever heard of her. She was one of the most wide-awake of human beings, and the world certainly lost in the uneducated slave, an actor of great dramatic power. FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER. The narratives and labors of eminent colored men such as Banneker, Douglass, Brown, Garnet, and others, have been written and sketched very fully for the public, and doubtless with advantage to the cause of freedom. But there is not to be found in any written work portraying the Anti-Slavery struggle, (except in the form of narratives,) as we are aware of, a sketch of the labors of any eminent colored woman. We feel, therefore, not only glad of the opportunity to present a sketch not merely of the leading colored poet in the United States, but also of one of the most liberal contributors, as well as one of the ablest advocates of the Underground Rail Road and of the slave. No extravagant praise of any kind,--only simple facts are needed to portray the noble deeds of this faithful worker. The want of space forbids more than a brief reference to her early life. Frances Ellen Watkins Harper (Watkins being her maiden name) was born in the City of Baltimore in 1825, not of slave parentage, but subjected of course to the oppressive influence which bond and free alike endured under slave laws. Since reaching her majority, in looking back, the following sentences from her own pen express the loneliness of her childhood days. "Have I yearned for a mother's love? The grave was my robber. Before three years had scattered their blight around my path, death had won my mother from me. Would the strong arm of a brother have been welcome? I was my mother's only child." Thus she fell into the hands of an aunt, who watched over her during these early helpless years. Rev. William Watkins, an uncle, taught a school in Baltimore for free colored children, to which she was sent until she was about thirteen years of age. After this period, she was put out to work to earn her own living. She had many trials to endure which she would fain forget; but in the midst of them all she had an ardent thirst for knowledge and a remarkable talent for composition, as she evinced at the age of fourteen in an article which attracted the attention of the lady in whose family she was employed, and others. In this situation she was taught sewing, took care of the children, &c.; and at the same time, through the kindness of her employer, her greed for books was satisfied so far as was possible from occasional half-hours of leisure. She was noted for her industry, rarely trifling away time as most girls are wont to do in similar circumstances. Scarcely had she reached her majority ere she had written a number of prose and poetic pieces which were deemed of sufficient merit to publish in a small volume called "Forest Leaves." Some of her productions found their way into newspapers and attracted attention. The ability exhibited in some of her productions was so remarkable that some doubted and others denied their originality. Of this character we here copy an extract from one of her early prose productions: CHRISTIANITY. "Christianity is a system claiming God for its author, and the welfare of man for its object. It is a system so uniform, exalted and pure, that the loftiest intellects have acknowledged its influence, and acquiesced in the justness of its claims. Genius has bent from his erratic course to gather fire from her altars, and pathos from the agony of Gethsemane and the sufferings of Calvary. Philosophy and science have paused amid their speculative researches and wondrous revelations to gain wisdom from her teachings and knowledge from her precepts. Poetry has culled her fairest flowers and wreathed her softest to bind her Author's 'bleeding brow.' Music has strung her sweetest lyres and breathed her noblest strains to celebrate his fame; whilst Learning has bent from her lofty heights to bow at the lowly cross. The constant friend of man, she has stood by him in his hour of greatest need. She has cheered the prisoner in his cell, and strengthened the martyr at the stake. She has nerved the frail and shrinking heart of woman for high and holy deeds. The worn and weary have rested their fainting heads upon her bosom, and gathered strength from her words and courage from her counsels. She has been the staff of decrepit age and the joy of manhood in its strength. She has bent over the form of lovely childhood, and suffered it to have a place in the Redeemer's arms. She has stood by the bed of the dying, and unveiled the glories of eternal life, gilding the darkness of the tomb with the glory of the resurrection." Her mind being of a strictly religious caste, the effusions from her pen all savor of a highly moral and elevating tone. About the year 1851 she left Baltimore to seek a home in a Free State, and for a short time resided in Ohio, where she was engaged in teaching. Contrary to her expectations, her adopted home and calling not proving satisfactory, she left that State and came to Pennsylvania as a last resort, and again engaged in teaching at Little York. Here she not only had to encounter the trouble of dealing with unruly children, she was sorely oppressed with the thought of the condition of her people in Maryland. Not unfrequently she gave utterance to such expressions as the following: "Not that we have not a right to breathe the air as freely as anybody else here (in Baltimore), but we are treated worse than aliens among a people whose language we speak, whose religion we profess, and whose blood flows and mingles in our veins.... Homeless in the land of our birth and worse off than strangers in the home of our nativity." During her stay in York she had frequent opportunities of seeing passengers on the Underground Rail Road. In one of her letters she thus alluded to a traveler: "I saw a passenger _per_ the Underground Rail Road yesterday; did he arrive safely? Notwithstanding that abomination of the nineteenth century--the Fugitive Slave Law--men still determine to be free. Notwithstanding all the darkness in which they keep the slaves, it seems that somehow light is dawning upon their minds.... These poor fugitives are a property that can walk. Just to think that from the rainbow-crowned Niagara to the swollen waters of the Mexican Gulf, from the restless murmur of the Atlantic to the ceaseless roar of the Pacific, the poor, half-starved, flying fugitive has no resting-place for the sole of his foot!" Whilst hesitating whether or not it would be best to continue teaching, she wrote to a friend for advice as follows: "What would you do if you were in my place? Would you give up and go back and work at your trade (dress-making)? There are no people that need all the benefits resulting from a well-directed education more than we do. The condition of our people, the wants of our children, and the welfare of our race demand the aid of every helping hand, the God-speed of every Christian heart. It is a work of time, a labor of patience, to become an effective school teacher; and it should be a work of love in which they who engage should not abate heart or hope until it is done. And after all, it is one of woman's most sacred rights to have the privilege of forming the symmetry and rightly adjusting the mental balance of an immortal mind." "I have written a lecture on education, and I am also writing a small book." Thus, whilst filling her vocation as a teacher in Little York, was she deeply engrossed in thought as to how she could best promote the welfare of her race. But as she was devoted to the work in hand, she soon found that fifty-three untrained little urchins overtaxed her naturally delicate physical powers; it also happened just about this time that she was further moved to enter the Anti-Slavery field as a lecturer substantially by the following circumstance: About the year 1853, Maryland, her native State, had enacted a law forbidding free people of color from the North from coming into the State on pain of being imprisoned and sold into slavery. A free man, who had unwittingly violated this infamous statute, had recently been sold to Georgia, and had escaped thence by secreting himself behind the wheel-house of a boat bound northward; but before he reached the desired haven, he was discovered and remanded to slavery. It was reported that he died soon after from the effects of exposure and suffering. In a letter to a friend referring to this outrage, Mrs. Harper thus wrote: "Upon that grave I pledged myself to the Anti-Slavery cause." Having thus decided, she wrote in a subsequent letter, "It may be that God himself has written upon both my heart and brain a commission to use time, talent and energy in the cause of freedom." In this abiding faith she came to Philadelphia, hoping that the way would open for usefulness, and to publish her little book (above referred to). She visited the Anti-Slavery Office and read Anti-Slavery documents with great avidity; in the mean time making her home at the station of the Underground Rail Road, where she frequently saw passengers and heard their melting tales of suffering and wrong, which intensely increased her sympathy in their behalf. Although anxious to enter the Anti-Slavery field as a worker, her modesty prevented her from pressing her claims; consequently as she was but little known, being a young and homeless maiden (an exile by law), no especial encouragement was tendered her by Anti-Slavery friends in Philadelphia. During her stay in Philadelphia she published some verses entitled, "Eliza Harris crossing the River on the Ice." It was deemed best to delay the issuing of the book. After spending some weeks in Philadelphia, she concluded to visit Boston. Here she was treated with the kindness characteristic of the friends in the Anti-Slavery Office whom she visited, but only made a brief stay, after which she proceeded to New Bedford, the "hot-bed of the fugitives" in Massachusetts, where by invitation she addressed a public meeting on the subject of Education and the Elevation of the Colored Race. The occasion and result of the commencement of her public career was thus given by her own pen in a letter dated August, 1854: "Well, I am out lecturing. I have lectured every night this week; besides addressed a Sunday-school, and I shall speak, if nothing prevent, to-night. My lectures have met with success. Last night I lectured in a white church in Providence. Mr. Gardener was present, and made the estimate of about six hundred persons. Never, perhaps, was a speaker, old or young, favored with a more attentive audience.... My voice is not wanting in strength, as I am aware of, to reach pretty well over the house. The church was the Roger Williams; the pastor, a Mr. Furnell, who appeared to be a kind and Christian man.... My maiden lecture was Monday night in New Bedford on the Elevation and Education of our People. Perhaps as intellectual a place as any I was ever at of its size." Having thus won her way to a favorable position as a lecturer, the following month she was engaged by the State Anti-Slavery Society of Maine, with what success appears from one of her letters bearing date--Buckstown Centre, Sept. 28, 1854: "The agent of the State Anti-Slavery Society of Maine travels with me, and she is a pleasant, dear, sweet lady. I do like her so. We travel together, eat together, and sleep together. (She is a white woman.) In fact I have not been in one colored person's house since I left Massachusetts; but I have a pleasant time. My life reminds me of a beautiful dream. What a difference between this and York!... I have met with some of the kindest treatment up here that I have ever received.... I have lectured three times this week. After I went from Limerick, I went to Springvale; there I spoke on Sunday night at an Anti-Slavery meeting. Some of the people are Anti-Slavery, Anti-rum and Anti-Catholic; and if you could see our Maine ladies,--some of them among the noblest types of womanhood you have ever seen! They are for putting men of Anti-Slavery principles in office, ... to cleanse the corrupt fountains of our government by sending men to Congress who will plead for our down-trodden and oppressed brethren, our crushed and helpless sisters, whose tears and blood bedew our soil, whose chains are clanking 'neath our proudest banners, whose cries and groans amid our loudest paeans rise." Everywhere in this latitude doors opened before her, and her gifts were universally recognized as a valuable acquisition to the cause. In the letter above referred to she said: "I spoke in Boston on Monday night.... Well, I am but one, but can do something, and, God helping me, I will try. Mr. Brister from Lowell addressed the meeting; also Rev. ---- Howe. We had a good demonstration." Having read the narrative of Solomon Northrup (12 years a slave), she was led to embrace the Free Labor doctrine most thoroughly; and in a letter dated at Temple, Maine, Oct. 20, 1854, after expressing the interest she took in the annual meeting of the Anti-Slavery Society of that state, she remarked: "I spoke on Free Produce, and now by the way I believe in that kind of Abolition. Oh, it does seem to strike at one of the principal roots of the matter. I have commenced since I read Solomon Northrup. Oh, if Mrs. Stowe has clothed American slavery in the graceful garb of fiction, Solomon Northrup comes up from the dark habitation of Southern cruelty where slavery fattens and feasts on human blood with such mournful revelations that one might almost wish for the sake of humanity that the tales of horror which he reveals were not so. Oh, how can we pamper our appetites upon luxuries drawn from reluctant fingers? Oh, could slavery exist long if it did not sit on a commercial throne? I have read somewhere, if I remember aright, of a Hindoo being loth to cut a tree because being a believer in the transmigration of souls, he thought the soul of his father had passed into it ... Oh, friend, beneath the most delicate preparations of the cane can you not see the stinging lash and clotted whip? I have reason to be thankful that I am able to give a little more for a Free Labor dress, if it is coarser. I can thank God that upon its warp and woof I see no stain of blood and tears; that to procure a little finer muslin for my limbs no crushed and broken heart went out in sighs, and that from the field where it was raised went up no wild and startling cry unto the throne of God to witness there in language deep and strong, that in demanding that cotton I was nerving oppression's hand for deeds of guilt and crime. If the liberation of the slave demanded it, I could consent to part with a portion of the blood from my own veins if that would do him any good." After having thus alluded to free labor, she gave a short journal of the different places where she had recently lectured from the 5th of September to the 20th of October, which we mention here simply to show the perseverance which characterized her as an advocate of her enslaved race, and at the same time show how doors everywhere opened to her: Portland, Monmouth Centre, North Berwick, Limerick (two meetings), Springvale, Portsmouth, Elliott, Waterborough (spoke four times), Lyman, Saccarappo, Moderation, Steep Falls (twice), North Buxton, Goram, Gardner, Litchfield, twice, Monmouth Ridge twice, Monmouth Centre three times, Litchfield second time, West Waterville twice, Livermore Temple. Her ability and labors were everywhere appreciated, and her meetings largely attended. In a subsequent letter referring to the manner that she was received, she wrote, "A short while ago when I was down this way I took breakfast with the then Governor of Maine." For a year and a half she continued in the Eastern States, speaking in most or all of them with marked success; the papers meting out to her full commendation for her efforts. The following extract clipped from the Portland Daily Press, respecting a lecture that she was invited to deliver after the war by the Mayor (Mr. Washburne) and others, is a fair sample of notices from this source: "She spoke for nearly an hour and a half, her subject being 'The Mission of the War, and the Demands of the Colored Race in the Work of Reconstruction;' and we have seldom seen an audience more attentive, better pleased, or more enthusiastic. Mrs. Harper has a splendid articulation, uses chaste, pure language, has a pleasant voice, and allows no one to tire of hearing her. We shall attempt no abstract of her address; none that we could make would do her justice. It was one of which any lecturer might feel proud, and her reception by a Portland audience was all that could be desired. We have seen no praises of her that were overdrawn. We have heard Miss Dickinson, and do not hesitate to award the palm to her darker colored sister." In 1856, desiring to see the fugitives in Canada, she visited the Upper Province, and in a letter dated at Niagara Falls, Sept. 12th, she unfolded her mind in the following language: "Well, I have gazed for the first time upon Free Land, and, would you believe it, tears sprang to my eyes, and I wept. Oh, it was a glorious sight to gaze for the first time on a land where a poor slave flying from our glorious land of liberty would in a moment find his fetters broken, his shackles loosed, and whatever he was in the land of Washington, beneath the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument or even Plymouth Rock, here he becomes a man and a brother. I have gazed on Harper's Ferry, or rather the rock at the Ferry; I have seen it towering up in simple grandeur, with the gentle Potomac gliding peacefully at its feet, and felt that that was God's masonry, and my soul had expanded in gazing on its sublimity. I have seen the ocean singing its wild chorus of sounding waves, and ecstacy has thrilled upon the living chords of my heart. I have since then seen the rainbow-crowned Niagara chanting the choral hymn of Omnipotence, girdled with grandeur, and robed with glory; but none of these things have melted me as the first sight of Free Land. Towering mountains lifting their hoary summits to catch the first faint flush of day when the sunbeams kiss the shadows from morning's drowsy face may expand and exalt your soul. The first view of the ocean may fill you with strange delight. Niagara--the great, the glorious Niagara--may hush your spirit with its ceaseless thunder; it may charm you with its robe of crested spray and rainbow crown; but the land of Freedom was a lesson of deeper significance than foaming waves or towering mounts." While in Toronto she lectured, and was listened to with great interest; but she made only a brief visit, thence returning to Philadelphia, her adopted home. With her newly acquired reputation as a lecturer, from 1856 to 1859 she continued her labors in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, &c. In the meantime she often came in contact with Underground Rail Road passengers, especially in Philadelphia. None sympathized with them more sincerely or showed a greater willingness to render them material aid. She contributed apparently with the same liberality as though they were her own near kin. Even when at a distance, so deep was her interest in the success of the Road, she frequently made it her business to forward donations, and carefully inquire into the state of the treasury. The Chairman of the Committee might publish a volume of interesting letters from her pen relating to the Underground Rail Road and kindred topics; but a few extracts must suffice. We here copy from a letter dated at Rushsylvania, Ohio, Dec. 15th: "I send you to-day two dollars for the Underground Rail Road. It is only a part of what I subscribed at your meeting. May God speed the flight of the slave as he speeds through our Republic to gain his liberty in a monarchical land. I am still in the lecturing field, though not very strong physically.... Send me word what I can do for the fugitive." From Tiffin, Ohio, March 31st, touching the news of a rescue in Philadelphia, she thus wrote: "I see by the Cincinnati papers that you have had an attempted rescue and a failure. That is sad! Can you not give me the particulars? and if there is anything that I can do for them in money or words, call upon me. This is a common cause; and if there is any burden to be borne in the Anti-Slavery-cause--anything to be done to weaken our hateful chains or assert our manhood and womanhood, I have a right to do my share of the work. The humblest and feeblest of us can do something; and though I may be deficient in many of the conventionalisms of city life, and be considered as a person of good impulses, but unfinished, yet if there is common rough work to be done, call on me." Mrs. Harper was not content to make speeches and receive plaudits, but was ever willing to do the rough work and to give material aid wherever needed. From another letter dated Lewis Centre, Ohio, we copy the following characteristic extract: "Yesterday I sent you thirty dollars. Take five of it for the rescuers (who were in prison), and the rest pay away on the books. My offering is not large; but if you need more, send me word. Also how comes on the Underground Rail Road? Do you need anything for that? You have probably heard of the shameful outrage of a colored man or boy named Wagner, who was kidnapped in Ohio and carried across the river and sold for a slave.... Ohio has become a kind of a negro hunting ground, a new Congo's coast and Guinea's shore. A man was kidnapped almost under the shadow of our capital. Oh, was it not dreadful?... Oh, may the living God prepare me for an earnest and faithful advocacy of the cause of justice and right!" In those days the blows struck by the hero, John Brown, were agitating the nation. Scarcely was it possible for a living soul to be more deeply affected than this female advocate. Nor did her sympathies end in mere words. She tendered material aid as well as heartfelt commiseration. To John Brown's wife[A] she sent through the writer the following letter: [Footnote A: Mrs. Harper passed two weeks with Mrs. Brown at the house of the writer while she was awaiting the execution of her husband, and sympathized with her most deeply.] LETTER TO JOHN BROWN'S WIFE. FARMER CENTRE, OHIO, Nov. 14th. MY DEAR MADAM:--In an hour like this the common words of sympathy may seem like idle words, and yet I want to say something to you, the noble wife of the hero of the nineteenth century. Belonging to the race your dear husband reached forth his hand to assist, I need not tell you that my sympathies are with you. I thank you for the brave words you have spoken. A republic that produces such a wife and mother may hope for better days. Our heart may grow more hopeful for humanity when it sees the sublime sacrifice it is about to receive from his hands. Not in vain has your dear husband periled all, if the martyrdom of one hero is worth more than the life of a million cowards. From the prison comes forth a shout of triumph over that power whose ethics are robbery of the feeble and oppression of the weak, the trophies of whose chivalry are a plundered cradle and a scourged and bleeding woman. Dear sister, I thank you for the brave and noble words that you have spoken. Enclosed I send you a few dollars as a token of my gratitude, reverence and love. Yours respectfully, FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS. Post Office address: care of William Still, 107 Fifth St., Philadelphia, Penn. May God, our own God, sustain you in the hour of trial. If there is one thing on earth I can do for you or yours, let me be apprized. I am at your service. Not forgetting Brown's comrades, who were then lying in prison under sentence of death, true to the best impulses of her generous heart, she thus wrote relative to these ill-fated prisoners, from Montpelier, Dec. 12th: "I thank you for complying with my request. (She had previously ordered a box of things to be forwarded to them.) And also that you wrote to them. You see Brown towered up so bravely that these doomed and fated men may have been almost overlooked, and just think that I am able to send one ray through the night around them. And as their letters came too late to answer in time, I am better satisfied that you wrote. I hope the things will reach them. Poor doomed and fated men! Why did you not send them more things? Please send me the bill of expense.... Send me word what I can do for the fugitives. Do you need any money? Do I not owe you on the old bill (pledge)? Look carefully and see if I have paid all. Along with this letter I send you one for Mr. Stephens (one of Brown's men), and would ask you to send him a box of nice things every week till he dies or is acquitted. I understand the balls have not been extracted from him. Has not this suffering been overshadowed by the glory that gathered around the brave old man?... Spare no expense to make the last hours of his (Stephens') life as bright as possible with sympathy.... Now, my friend, fulfil this to the letter. Oh, is it not a privilege, if you are sisterless and lonely, to be a sister to the human race, and to place your heart where it may throb close to down-trodden humanity?" On another occasion in writing from the lecturing field hundreds of miles away from Philadelphia, the sympathy she felt for the fugitives found expression in the following language: "How fared the girl who came robed in male attire? Do write me every time you write how many come to your house; and, my dear friend, if you have that much in hand of mine from my books, will you please pay the Vigilance Committee two or three dollars for me to help carry on the glorious enterprise. Now, please do not write back that you are not going to do any such thing. Let me explain a few matters to you. In the first place, I am able to give something. In the second place, I am willing to do so.... Oh, life is fading away, and we have but an hour of time! Should we not, therefore, endeavor to let its history gladden the earth? The nearer we ally ourselves to the wants and woes of humanity in the spirit of Christ, the closer we get to the great heart of God; the nearer we stand by the beating of the pulse of universal love." Doubtless it has not often been found necessary for persons desirous of contributing to benevolent causes to first have to remove anticipated objections. Nevertheless in some cases it would seem necessary to admonish her not to be quite so liberal; to husband with a little more care her hard-earned income for a "rainy day," as her health was not strong. "My health," she wrote at that time, "is not very strong, and I may have to give up before long. I may have to yield on account of my voice, which I think, has become somewhat affected. I might be so glad if it was only so that I could go home among my own kindred and people, but slavery comes up like a dark shadow between me and the home of my childhood. Well, perhaps it is my lot to die from home and be buried among strangers; and yet I do not regret that I have espoused this cause; perhaps I have been of some service to the cause of human rights, and I hope the consciousness that I have not lived in vain, will be a halo of peace around my dying bed; a heavenly sunshine lighting up the dark valley and shadow of death." Notwithstanding this yearning for home, she was far from desiring at her death, a burial in a Slave State, as the following clearly expressed views show: "I have lived in the midst of oppression and wrong, and I am saddened by every captured fugitive in the North; a blow has been struck at my freedom, in every hunted and down-trodden slave in the South; North and South have both been guilty, and they that sin must suffer." Also, in harmony with the above sentiments, came a number of verses appropriate to her desires in this respect, one of which we here give as a sample: "Make me a grave where'er you will, In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill, Make it among earth's humblest graves, But not in a land where men are slaves." In the State of Maine the papers brought to her notice the capture of Margaret Garner, and the tragic and bloody deed connected therewith. And she writes: "Rome had her altars where the trembling criminal, and the worn and weary slave might fly for an asylum--Judea her cities of refuge; but Ohio, with her Bibles and churches, her baptisms and prayers, had not one temple so dedicated to human rights, one altar so consecrated to human liberty, that trampled upon and down-trodden innocence knew that it could find protection for a night, or shelter for a day." In the fall of 1860, in the city of Cincinnati, Mrs. Harper was married to Fenton Harper, a widower, and resident of Ohio. It seemed obvious that this change would necessarily take her from the sphere of her former usefulness. The means she had saved from the sale of her books and from her lectures, she invested in a small farm near Columbus, and in a short time after her marriage she entered upon house-keeping. Notwithstanding her family cares, consequent upon married life, she only ceased from her literary and anti-slavery labors, when compelled to do so by other duties. On the 23d of May, 1864, death deprived her of her husband. Whilst she could not give so much attention to writing as she could have desired in her household days, she, nevertheless, did then produce some of her best productions. Take the following for a sample, on the return from Cleveland, Ohio, of a poor, ill-fated slave-girl, (under the Fugitive Slave Law): TO THE UNION SAVERS OF CLEVELAND. Men of Cleveland, had a vulture Sought a timid dove for prey, Would you not, with human pity, Drive the gory bird away? Had you seen a feeble lambkin, Shrinking from a wolf so bold, Would ye not to shield the trembler, In your arms have made its fold? But when she, a hunted sister, Stretched her hands that ye might save, Colder far than Zembla's regions Was the answer that ye gave. On the Union's bloody altar, Was your hapless victim laid; Mercy, truth and justice shuddered, But your hands would give no aid. And ye sent her back to torture, Robbed of freedom and of right. Thrust the wretched, captive stranger. Back to slavery's gloomy night. Back where brutal men may trample, On her honor and her fame; And unto her lips so dusky, Press the cup of woe and shame. There is blood upon your city, Dark and dismal is the stain; And your hands would fail to cleanse it, Though Lake Erie ye should drain. There's a curse upon your Union, Fearful sounds are in the air; As if thunderbolts were framing, Answers to the bondsman's prayer. Ye may offer human victims, Like the heathen priests of old; And may barter manly honor For the Union and for gold. But ye can not stay the whirlwind, When the storm begins to break; And our God doth rise in judgment, For the poor and needy's sake. And, your sin-cursed, guilty Union, Shall be shaken to its base, Till ye learn that simple justice, Is the right of every race. Mrs. Harper took the deepest interest in the war, and looked with extreme anxiety for the results; and she never lost an opportunity to write, speak, or serve the cause in any way that she thought would best promote the freedom of the slave. On the proclamation of General Fremont, the passages from her pen are worthy to be long remembered: "Well, what think you of the war? To me one of the most interesting features is Fremont's Proclamation freeing the slaves of the rebels. Is there no ray of hope in that? I should not wonder if Edward M. Davis breathed that into his ear. His proclamation looks like real earnestness; no mincing the matter with the rebels. Death to the traitors and confiscation of their slaves is no child's play. I hope that the boldness of his stand will inspire others to look the real cause of the war in the face and inspire the government with uncompromising earnestness to remove the festering curse. And yet I am not uneasy about the result of this war. We may look upon it as God's controversy with the nation; His arising to plead by fire and blood the cause of His poor and needy people. Some time since Breckinridge, in writing to Sumner, asks, if I rightly remember, What is the fate of a few negroes to me or mine? Bound up in one great bundle of humanity our fates seem linked together, our destiny entwined with theirs, and our rights are interwoven together." Finally when the long-looked-for Emancipation Proclamation came, although Mrs. Harper was not at that time very well, she accepted an invitation to address a public meeting in Columbus, Ohio, an allusion to which we find in a letter dated at Grove City, O., which we copy with the feeling that many who may read this volume will sympathize with every word uttered relative to the Proclamation: "I spoke in Columbus on the President's Proclamation.... But was not such an event worthy the awakening of every power--the congratulation of every faculty? What hath God wrought! We may well exclaim how event after event has paved the way for freedom. In the crucible of disaster and defeat God has stirred the nation, and permitted no permanent victory to crown her banners while she kept her hand upon the trembling slave and held him back from freedom. And even now the scale may still seem to oscillate between the contending parties, and some may say, Why does not God give us full and quick victory? My friend, do not despair if even deeper shadows gather around the fate of the nation, that truth will not ultimately triumph, and the right be established and vindicated; but the deadly gangrene has taken such deep and almost fatal hold upon the nation that the very centres of its life seem to be involved in its eradication. Just look, after all the trials deep and fiery through which the nation has waded, how mournfully suggestive was the response the proclamation received from the democratic triumphs which followed so close upon its footsteps. Well, thank God that the President did not fail us, that the fierce rumbling of democratic thunder did not shake from his hand the bolt he leveled against slavery. Oh, it would have been so sad if, after all the desolation and carnage that have dyed our plains with blood and crimsoned our borders with warfare, the pale young corpses trodden down by the hoofs of war, the dim eyes that have looked their last upon the loved and lost, had the arm of Executive power failed us in the nation's fearful crisis! For how mournful it is when the unrighted wrongs and fearful agonies of ages reach their culminating point, and events solemn, terrible and sublime marshal themselves in dread array to mould the destiny of nations, the hands appointed to hold the helm of affairs, instead of grasping the mighty occasions and stamping them with the great seals of duty and right, permit them to float along the current of circumstances without comprehending the hour of visitation or the momentous day of opportunity. Yes, we may thank God that in the hour when the nation's life was convulsed, and fearful gloom had shed its shadows over the land, the President reached out his hand through the darkness to break the chains on which the rust of centuries had gathered. Well, did you ever expect to see this day? I know that all is not accomplished; but we may rejoice in what has been already wrought,--the wondrous change in so short a time. Just a little while since the American flag to the flying bondman was an ensign of bondage; now it has become a symbol of protection and freedom. Once the slave was a despised and trampled on pariah; now he has become a useful ally to the American government. From the crimson sods of war springs the white flower of freedom, and songs of deliverance mingle with the crash and roar of war. The shadow of the American army becomes a covert for the slave, and beneath the American Eagle he grasps the key of knowledge and is lifted to a higher destiny." This letter we had intended should complete the sketch of Mrs. Harper's Anti-Slavery labors; but in turning to another epistle dated Boston, April 19th, on the Assassination of the President, we feel that a part of it is too interesting to omit: "Sorrow treads on the footsteps of the nation's joy. A few days since the telegraph thrilled and throbbed with a nation's joy. To-day a nation sits down beneath the shadow of its mournful grief. Oh, what a terrible lesson does this event read to us! A few years since slavery tortured, burned, hung and outraged us, and the nation passed by and said, they had nothing to do with slavery where it was, slavery would have something to do with them where they were. Oh, how fearfully the judgments of Ichabod have pressed upon the nation's life! Well, it may be in the providence of God this blow was needed to intensify the nation's hatred of slavery, to show the utter fallacy of basing national reconstruction upon the votes of returned rebels, and rejecting loyal black men; making (after all the blood poured out like water, and wealth scattered like chaff) a return to the old idea that a white rebel is better or of more account in the body politic than a loyal black man.... Moses, the meekest man on earth, led the children of Israel over the Red Sea, but was not permitted to see them settled in Canaan. Mr. Lincoln has led up through another Red Sea to the table land of triumphant victory, and God has seen fit to summon for the new era another man. It is ours then to bow to the Chastener and let our honored and loved chieftain go. Surely the everlasting arms that have hushed him so strangely to sleep are able to guide the nation through its untrod future; but in vain should be this fearful baptism of blood if from the dark bosom of slavery springs such terrible crimes. Let the whole nation resolve that the whole virus shall be eliminated from its body; that in the future slavery shall only be remembered as a thing of the past that shall never have the faintest hope of a resurrection." Up to this point, we have spoken of Mrs. Harper as a laborer, battling for freedom under slavery and the war. She is equally earnest in laboring for Equality before the law--education, and a higher manhood, especially in the South, among the Freedmen. For the best part of several years, since the war, she has traveled very extensively through the Southern States, going on the plantations and amongst the lowly, as well as to the cities and towns, addressing schools, Churches, meetings in Court Houses, Legislative Halls, &c., and, sometimes, under the most trying and hazardous circumstances; influenced in her labor of love, wholly by the noble impulses of her own heart, working her way along unsustained by any Society. In this mission, she has come in contact with all classes--the original slaveholders and the Freedmen, before and since the Fifteenth Amendment bill was enacted. Excepting two of the Southern States (Texas and Arkansas), she has traveled largely over all the others, and in no instance has she permitted herself, through fear, to disappoint an audience, when engagements had been made for her to speak, although frequently admonished that it would be dangerous to venture in so doing. We first quote from a letter dated Darlington, S.C., May 13, 1867: "You will see by this that I am in the sunny South.... I here read and see human nature under new lights and phases. I meet with a people eager to hear, ready to listen, as if they felt that the slumber of the ages had been broken, and that they were to sleep no more.... I am glad that the colored man gets his freedom and suffrage together; that he is not forced to go through the same condition of things here, that has inclined him so much to apathy, isolation, and indifference, in the North. You, perhaps, wonder why I have been so slow in writing to you, but if you knew how busy I am, just working up to or past the limit of my strength. Traveling, conversing, addressing day and Sunday-schools (picking up scraps of information, takes up a large portion of my time), besides what I give to reading. For my audiences I have both white and colored. On the cars, some find out that I am a lecturer, and then, again, I am drawn into conversation. 'What are you lecturing about?' the question comes up, and if I say, among other topics politics, then I may look for an onset. There is a sensitiveness on this subject, a dread, it may be, that some one will 'put the devil in the nigger's head,' or exert some influence inimical to them; still, I get along somewhat pleasantly. Last week I had a small congregation of listeners in the cars, where I sat. I got in conversation with a former slave dealer, and we had rather an exciting time. I was traveling alone, but it is not worth while to show any signs of fear. * * *Last Saturday I spoke in Sumter; a number of white persons were present, and I had been invited to speak there by the Mayor and editor of the paper. There had been some violence in the district, and some of my friends did not wish me to go, but I had promised, and, of course, I went. * * * * I am in Darlington, and spoke yesterday, but my congregation was so large, that I stood near the door of the church, so that I might be heard both inside and out, for a large portion, perhaps nearly half my congregation were on the outside; and this, in Darlington, where, about two years ago, a girl was hung for making a childish and indiscreet speech. Victory was perched on our banners. Our army had been through, and this poor, ill-fated girl, almost a child in years, about seventeen years of age, rejoiced over the event, and said that she was going to marry a Yankee and set up housekeeping. She was reported as having made an incendiary speech and arrested, cruelly scourged, and then brutally hung. Poor child! she had been a faithful servant--her master tried to save her, but the tide of fury swept away his efforts. * * * Oh, friend, perhaps, sometimes your heart would ache, if you were only here and heard of the wrongs and abuses to which these people have been subjected. * * * Things, I believe, are a little more hopeful; at least, I believe, some of the colored people are getting better contracts, and, I understand, that there's less murdering. While I am writing, a colored man stands here, with a tale of wrong--he has worked a whole year, year before last, and now he has been put off with fifteen bushels of corn and his food; yesterday he went to see about getting his money, and the person to whom he went, threatened to kick him off, and accused him of stealing. I don't know how the colored man will vote, but perhaps many of them will be intimidated at the polls." From a letter dated Cheraw, June 17th, 1867, the following remarks are taken: "Well, Carolina is an interesting place. There is not a state in the Union I prefer to Carolina. Kinder, more hospitable, warmer-hearted people perhaps you will not find anywhere. I have been to Georgia; but Carolina is my preference. * * The South is to be a great theatre for the colored man's development and progress. There is brain-power here. If any doubt it, let him come into our schools, or even converse with some of our Freedmen either in their homes or by the way-side." A few days later she gave an account of a visit she had just made in Florence, where our poor soldiers had been prisoners; saw some of the huts where they were exposed to rain and heat and cold with only the temporary shelter they made for themselves, which was a sad sight. Then she visited the grave-yards of some thousands of Union soldiers. Here in "eastern South Carolina" she was in "one of the worst parts of the State" in the days of Slavery; but under the new order of things, instead of the lash, she saw school books, and over the ruins of slavery, education and free speech springing up, at which she was moved to exclaim, "Thank God for the wonderful change! I have lectured several nights this week, and the weather is quite warm; but I do like South Carolina. No state in the Union as far as colored people are concerned, do I like better--the land of warm welcomes and friendly hearts. God bless her and give her great peace!" At a later period she visited Charleston and Columbia, and was well received in both places. She spoke a number of times in the different Freedmen schools and the colored churches in Charleston, once in the Legislative Hall, and also in one of the colored churches in Columbia. She received special encouragement and kindness from Hon. H. Cadoza, Secretary of State, and his family, and regarded him as a wise and upright leader of his race in that state. The following are some stirring lines which she wrote upon the Fifteenth Amendment: FIFTEENTH AMENDMENT. Beneath the burden of our joy Tremble, O wires, from East to West! Fashion with words your tongues of fire, To tell the nation's high behest. Outstrip the winds, and leave behind The murmur of the restless waves; Nor tarry with your glorious news, Amid the ocean's coral caves. Ring out! ring out! your sweetest chimes, Ye bells, that call to praise; Let every heart with gladness thrill, And songs of joyful triumph raise. Shake off the dust, O rising race! Crowned as a brother and a man; Justice to-day asserts her claim, And from thy brow fades out the ban. With freedom's chrism upon thy head, Her precious ensign in thy hand, Go place thy once despised name Amid the noblest of the land. O ransomed race! give God the praise, Who led thee through a crimson sea, And 'mid the storm of fire and blood, Turned out the war-cloud's light to thee. Mrs. Harper, in writing from Kingstree, S.C., July 11th, 1867, in midsummer (laboring almost without any pecuniary reward), gave an account of a fearful catastrophe which had just occurred there in the burning of the jail with a number of colored prisoners in it. "It was a very sad affair. There was only one white prisoner and he got out. I believe there was some effort made to release some of the prisoners; but the smoke was such that the effort proved ineffectual. Well, for the credit of our common human nature we may hope that it was so. * * * Last night I had some of the 'rebs' to hear me (part of the time some of the white folks come out). Our meetings are just as quiet and as orderly on the whole in Carolina as one might desire. * * I like General Sickles as a Military Governor. 'Massa Daniel, he King of the Carolinas.' I like his Mastership. Under him we ride in the City Cars, and get first-class passage on the railroad." At this place a colored man was in prison under sentence of death for "participating in a riot;" and the next day (after the date of her letter) was fixed for his execution. With some others, Mrs. Harper called at General Sickles' Head Quarters, hoping to elicit his sympathies whereby the poor fellow's life might be saved; but he was not in. Hence they were not able to do anything. "Next week," continued Mrs. Harper, "I am to speak in a place where one of our teachers was struck and a colored man shot, who, I believe, gave offence by some words spoken at a public meeting. I do not feel any particular fear." Her Philadelphia correspondent had jestingly suggested to her in one of his letters, that she should be careful not to allow herself to be "bought by the rebels." To which she replied: "Now, in reference to being bought by rebels and becoming a Johnsonite I hold that between the white people and the colored there is a community of interests, and the sooner they find it out, the better it will be for both parties; but that community of interests does not consist in increasing the privileges of one class and curtailing the rights of the other, but in getting every citizen interested in the welfare, progress and durability of the state. I do not in lecturing confine myself to the political side of the question. While I am in favor of Universal suffrage, yet I know that the colored man needs something more than a vote in his hand: he needs to know the value of a home life; to rightly appreciate and value the marriage relation; to know how and to be incited to leave behind him the old shards and shells of slavery and to rise in the scale of character, wealth and influence. Like the Nautilus outgrowing his home to build for himself more 'stately temples' of social condition. A man landless, ignorant and poor may use the vote against his interests; but with intelligence and land he holds in his hand the basis of power and elements of strength." While contemplating the great demand for laborers, in a letter from Athens, February 1st, 1870, after referring to some who had been "discouraged from the field," she wisely added that it was "no time to be discouraged." * * * "If those who can benefit our people will hang around places where they are not needed, they may expect to be discouraged. * * * Here is ignorance to be instructed; a race who needs to be helped up to higher planes of thought and action; and whether we are hindered or helped, we should try to be true to the commission God has written upon our souls. As far as the colored people are concerned, they are beginning to get homes for themselves and depositing money in Bank. They have hundreds of homes in Kentucky. There is progress in Tennessee, and even in this State while a number have been leaving, some who stay seem to be getting along prosperously. In Augusta colored persons are in the Revenue Office and Post Office. I have just been having some good meetings there. Some of my meetings pay me poorly; but I have a chance to instruct and visit among the people and talk to their Sunday-schools and day-schools also. Of course I do not pretend that all are saving money or getting homes. I rather think from what I hear that the interest of the grown-up people in getting education has somewhat subsided, owing, perhaps, in a measure, to the novelty having worn off and the absorption or rather direction of the mind to other matters. Still I don't think that I have visited scarcely a place since last August where there was no desire for a teacher; and Mr. Fidler, who is a Captain or Colonel, thought some time since that there were more colored than white who were learning or had learned to read. There has been quite an amount of violence and trouble in the State; but we have the military here, and if they can keep Georgia out of the Union about a year or two longer, and the colored people continue to live as they have been doing, from what I hear, perhaps these rebels will learn a little more sense. I have been in Atlanta for some time, but did not stay until the Legislature was organized; but I was there when colored members returned and took their seats. It was rather a stormy time in the House; but no blood was shed. Since then there has been some 'sticking;' but I don't think any of the colored ones were in it." In the neighborhood of Eufaula, Ala., in December, 1870, Mrs. Harper did a good work, as may be seen from the following extract taken from a letter, dated December 9th: "Last evening I visited one of the plantations, and had an interesting time. Oh, how warm was the welcome! I went out near dark, and between that time and attending my lecture, I was out to supper in two homes. The people are living in the old cabins of slavery; some of them have no windows, at all, that I see; in fact, I don't remember of having seen a pane of window-glass in the settlement. But, humble as their homes were, I was kindly treated, and well received; and what a chance one has for observation among these people, if one takes with her a manner that unlocks other hearts. I had quite a little gathering, after less, perhaps, than a day's notice; the minister did not know that I was coming, till he met me in the afternoon. There was no fire in the church, and so they lit fires outside, and we gathered, or at least a number of us, around the fire. To-night I am going over to Georgia to lecture. In consequence of the low price of cotton, the people may not be able to pay much, and I am giving all my lectures free. You speak of things looking dark in the South; there is no trouble here that I know of--cotton is low, but the people do not seem to be particularly depressed about it; this emigration question has been on the carpet, and I do not wonder if some of them, with their limited knowledge, lose hope in seeing full justice done to them, among their life-long oppressors; Congress has been agitating the St. Domingo question; a legitimate theme for discussion, and one that comes nearer home, is how they can give more security and strength to the government which we have established in the South--for there has been a miserable weakness in the security to human life. The man with whom I stopped, had a son who married a white woman, or girl, and was shot down, and there was, as I understand, no investigation by the jury; and a number of cases have occurred of murders, for which the punishment has been very lax, or not at all, and, it may be, never will be; however, I rather think things are somewhat quieter. A few days ago a shameful outrage occurred at this place--some men had been out fox hunting, and came to the door of a colored woman and demanded entrance, making out they wanted fire; she replied that she had none, and refused to open the door; the miserable cowards broke open the door, and shamefully beat her. I am going to see her this afternoon. It is remarkable, however, in spite of circumstances, how some of these people are getting along. Here is a woman who, with her husband, at the surrender, had a single dollar; and now they have a home of their own, and several acres attached--five altogether; but, as that was rather small, her husband has contracted for two hundred and forty acres more, and has now gone out and commenced operations." From Columbiana, February 20th, she wrote concerning her work, and presented the "lights and shades" of affairs as they came under her notice. "I am almost constantly either traveling or speaking. I do not think that I have missed more than one Sunday that I have not addressed some Sunday-school, and I have not missed many day-schools either. And as I am giving all my lectures free the proceeds of the collections are not often very large; still as ignorant as part of the people are perhaps a number of them would not hear at all, and may be prejudice others if I charged even ten cents, and so perhaps in the long run, even if my work is wearing, I may be of some real benefit to my race. * * I don't know but that you would laugh if you were to hear some of the remarks which my lectures call forth: 'She is a man,' again 'She is not colored, she is painted.' Both white and colored come out to hear me, and I have very fine meetings; and then part of the time I am talking in between times, and how tired I am some of the time. Still I am standing with my race on the threshold of a new era, and though some be far past me in the learning of the schools, yet to-day, with my limited and fragmentary knowledge, I may help the race forward a little. Some of our people remind me of sheep without a shepherd." * * * * * PRIVATE LECTURES TO FREEDWOMEN. Desiring to speak to women who have been the objects of so much wrong and abuse under Slavery, and even since Emancipation, in a state of ignorance, not accessible always to those who would or could urge the proper kind of education respecting their morals and general improvement, Mrs. Harper has made it her business not to overlook this all important duty to her poor sisters. The following extract taken from a letter dated "Greenville, Georgia, March 29th," will show what she was doing in this direction: "But really my hands are almost constantly full of work; sometimes I speak twice a day. Part of my lectures are given privately to women, and for them I never make any charge, or take up any collection. But this part of the country reminds me of heathen ground, and though my work may not be recognized as part of it used to be in the North, yet never perhaps were my services more needed; and according to their intelligence and means perhaps never better appreciated than here among these lowly people. I am now going to have a private meeting with the women of this place if they will come out. I am going to talk with them about their daughters, and about things connected with the welfare of the race. Now is the time for our women to begin to try to lift up their heads and plant the roots of progress under the hearthstone. Last night I spoke in a school-house, where there was not, to my knowledge, a single window glass; to-day I write to you in a lowly cabin, where the windows in the room are formed by two apertures in the wall. There is a wide-spread and almost universal appearance of poverty in this State where I have been, but thus far I have seen no, or scarcely any, pauperism. I am not sure that I have seen any. The climate is so fine, so little cold that poor people can live off of less than they can in the North. Last night my table was adorned with roses, although I did not get one cent for my lecture." * * * "The political heavens are getting somewhat overcast. Some of this old rebel element, I think, are in favor of taking away the colored man's vote, and if he loses it now it may be generations before he gets it again. Well, after all perhaps the colored man generally is not really developed enough to value his vote and equality with other races, so he gets enough to eat and drink, and be comfortable, perhaps the loss of his vote would not be a serious grievance to many; but his children differently educated and trained by circumstances might feel political inferiority rather a bitter cup." "After all whether they encourage or discourage me, I belong to this race, and when it is down I belong to a down race; when it is up I belong to a risen race." She writes thus from Montgomery, December 29th, 1870: "Did you ever read a little poem commencing, I think, with these words: A mother cried, Oh, give me joy, For I have born a darling boy! A darling boy! why the world is full Of the men who play at push and pull. Well, as full as the room was of beds and tenants, on the morning of the twenty-second, there arose a wail upon the air, and this mundane sphere had another inhabitant, and my room another occupant. I left after that, and when I came back the house was fuller than it was before, and my hostess gave me to understand that she would rather I should be somewhere else, and I left again. How did I fare? Well, I had been stopping with one of our teachers and went back; but the room in which I stopped was one of those southern shells through which both light and cold enter at the same time; it had one window and perhaps more than half or one half the panes gone. I don't know that I was ever more conquered by the cold than I had been at that house, and I have lived parts of winter after winter amid the snows of New England; but if it was cold out of doors, there was warmth and light within doors; but here, if you opened the door for light, the cold would also enter, and so part of the time I sat by the fire, and that and the crevices in the house supplied me with light in one room, and we had the deficient window-sash, or perhaps it never had had any lights in it. You could put your finger through some of the apertures in the house; at least I could mine, and the water froze down to the bottom of the tumbler. From another such domicile may kind fate save me. And then the man asked me four dollars and a half a week board. One of the nights there was no fire in the stove, and the next time we had fires, one stove might have been a second-hand chamber stove. Now perhaps you think these people very poor, but the man with whom I stopped has no family that I saw, but himself and wife, and he would make two dollars and a half a day, and she worked out and kept a boarder. And yet, except the beds and bed clothing, I wouldn't have given fifteen dollars for all their house furniture. I should think that this has been one of the lowest down States in the South, as far as civilization has been concerned. In the future, until these people are educated, look out for Democratic victories, for here are two materials with which Democracy can work, ignorance and poverty. Men talk about missionary work among the heathen, but if any lover of Christ wants a field for civilizing work, here is a field. Part of the time I am preaching against men ill-treating their wives. I have heard though, that often during the war men hired out their wives and drew their pay." * * * * * "And then there is another trouble, some of our Northern men have been down this way and by some means they have not made the best impression on every mind here. One woman here has been expressing her mind very freely to me about some of our Northerners, and we are not all considered here as saints and angels, and of course in their minds I get associated with some or all the humbugs that have been before me. But I am not discouraged, my race needs me, if I will only be faithful, and in spite of suspicion and distrust, I will work on; the deeper our degradation, the louder our call for redemption. If they have little or no faith in goodness and earnestness, that is only one reason why we should be more faithful and earnest, and so I shall probably stay here in the South all winter. I am not making much money, and perhaps will hardly clear expenses this winter; but after all what matters it when I am in my grave whether I have been rich or poor, loved or hated, despised or respected, if Christ will only own me to His Father, and I be permitted a place in one of the mansions of rest." Col. J.W. Forney, editor of "The Press," published July 12, 1871, with the brief editorial heading by his own hand, the document appended: The following letter, written by Mrs. F.E.W. Harper, the well-known colored orator, to a friend, Mr. Wm. Still, of Philadelphia, will be read with surprise and pleasure by all classes; especially supplemented as it is by an article from the Mobile (Alabama) _Register,_ referring to one of her addresses in that city. The _Register_ is the organ of the fire-eaters of the South, conducted by John Forsyth, heretofore one of the most intolerant of that school. Mrs. Harper describes the manner in which the old plantation of Jefferson Davis in Mississippi was cultivated by his brother's former slave, having been a guest in the Davis mansion, now occupied by Mr. Montgomery, the aforesaid slave. She also draws a graphic picture of her own marvellous advancement from utter obscurity to the platform of a public lecturer, honored by her own race and applauded by their oppressors. While we regret, as she says, that her experience and that of Mr. Montgomery is exceptional, it is easy to anticipate the harvest of such a sowing. The same culture--the same courage on the part of the men and women who undertake to advocate Republican doctrines in the South--the same perseverance and intelligence on the part of those who are earning their bread by the cultivation of the soil, will be crowned with the same success. Violence, bloodshed, and murder cannot rule long in communities where these resistless elements are allowed to work. No scene in the unparalleled tragedy of the rebellion, or in the drama which succeeded that tragedy, can be compared to the picture outlined by Mrs. Harper herself, and filled in by the ready pen of the rebel editor of the Mobile _Register_: MOBILE, July 5, 1871. MY DEAR FRIEND:--It is said that truth is stranger than fiction; and if ten years since some one had entered my humble log house and seen me kneading bread and making butter, and said that in less than ten years you will be in the lecture field, you will be a welcome guest under the roof of the President of the Confederacy, though not by special invitation from him, that you will see his brother's former slave a man of business and influence, that hundreds of colored men will congregate on the old baronial possessions, that a school will spring up there like a well in the desert dust, that this former slave will be a magistrate upon that plantation, that labor will be organized upon a new basis, and that under the sole auspices and moulding hands of this man and his sons will be developed a business whose transactions will be numbered in hundreds of thousands of dollars, would you not have smiled incredulously? And I have lived to see the day when the plantation has passed into new hands, and these hands once wore the fetters of slavery. Mr. Montgomery, the present proprietor by contract of between five and six thousand acres of land, has one of the most interesting families that I have ever seen in the South. They are building up a future which if exceptional now I hope will become more general hereafter. Every hand of his family is adding its quota to the success of this experiment of a colored man both trading and farming on an extensive scale. Last year his wife took on her hands about 130 acres of land, and with her force she raised about 107 bales of cotton. She has a number of orphan children employed, and not only does she supervise their labor, but she works herself. One daughter, an intelligent young lady, is postmistress and I believe assistant book-keeper. One son attends to the planting interest, and another daughter attends to one of the stores. The business of this firm of Montgomery & Sons has amounted, I understand, to between three and four hundred thousand dollars in a year. I stayed on the place several days and was hospitably entertained and kindly treated. When I come, if nothing prevents, I will tell you more about them. Now for the next strange truth. Enclosed I send you a notice from one of the leading and representative papers of rebeldom. The editor has been, or is considered, one of the representative men of the South. I have given a lecture since this notice, which brought out some of the most noted rebels, among whom was Admiral Semmes. In my speech I referred to the Alabama sweeping away our commerce, and his son sat near him and seemed to receive it with much good humor. I don't know what the papers will say to-day; perhaps they will think that I dwelt upon the past too much. Oh, if you had seen the rebs I had out last night, perhaps you would have felt a little nervous for me. However, I lived through it, and gave them more gospel truth than perhaps some of them have heard for some time. A LECTURE. We received a polite invitation from the trustees of the State-street African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church to attend a lecture in that edifice on Thursday evening. Being told that the discourse would be delivered by a female colored lecturer from Maryland, curiosity, as well as an interest to see how the colored citizens were managing their own institutions, led us at once to accept the invitation. We found a very spacious church, gas-light, and the balustrades of the galleries copiously hung with wreaths and festoons of flowers, and a large audience of both sexes, which, both in appearance and behaviour, was respectable and decorously observant of the proprieties of the place. The services were opened, as usual, with prayer and a hymn, the latter inspired by powerful lungs, and in which the musical ear at once caught the negro talent for melody. The lecturer was then introduced as Mrs. F.E.W. Harper, from Maryland. Without a moment's hesitation she started off in the flow of her discourse, which rolled smoothly and uninterruptedly on for nearly two hours. It was very apparent that it was not a cut and dried speech, for she was as fluent and as felicitous in her allusions to circumstances immediately around her as she was when she rose to a more exalted pitch of laudation of the "Union," or of execration of the old slavery system. Her voice was remarkable--as sweet as any woman's voice we ever heard, and so clear and distinct as to pass every syllable to the most distant ear in the house. Without any effort at attentive listening we followed the speaker to the end, not discerning a single grammatical inaccuracy of speech, or the slightest violation of good taste in manner or matter. At times the current of thoughts flowed in eloquent and poetic expression, and often her quaint humor would expose the ivory in half a thousand mouths. We confess that we began to wonder, and we asked a fine-looking man before us, "What is her color? Is she dark or light?" He answered, "She is mulatto; what they call a red mulatto." The 'red' was new to us. Our neighbor asked, "How do you like her?" We replied, "She is giving your people the best kind and the very wisest of advice." He rejoined, "I wish I had her education." To which we added, "That's just what she tells you is your great duty and your need, and if you are too old to get it yourselves, you must give it to your children." The speaker left the impression on our mind that she was not only intelligent and educated, but--the great end of education--she was enlightened. She comprehends perfectly the situation of her people, to whose interests she seems ardently devoted. The main theme of her discourse, the one string to the harmony of which all the others were attuned, was the grand opportunity that emancipation had afforded to the black race to lift itself to the level of the duties and responsibilities enjoined by it. "You have muscle power and brain power," she said; "you must utilize them, or be content to remain forever the inferior race. Get land, every one that can, and as fast as you ean. A landless people must be dependent upon the landed people. A few acres to till for food and a roof, however bumble, over your head, are the castle of your independence, and when you have it you are fortified to act and vote independently whenever your interests are at stake." That part of her lecture (and there was much of it) that dwelt on the moral duties and domestic relations of the colored people was pitched on the highest key of sound morality. She urged the cultivation of the "home life," the sanctity of the marriage state (a happy contrast to her strong-minded, free-love, white sisters of the North), and the duties of mothers to their daughters. "Why," said she in a voice of much surprise, "I have actually heard since I have been South that sometimes colored husbands positively beat their wives! I do not mean to insinuate for a moment that such things can possibly happen in Mobile. The very appearance of this congregation forbids it; but I did hear of one terrible husband defending himself for the unmanly practice with 'Well, I have got to whip her or leave her.'" There were parts of the lecturer's discourse that grated a little on a white Southern ear, but it was lost and forgiven in the genuine earnestness and profound good sense with which the woman spoke to her kind in words of sound advice. On the whole, we are very glad we accepted the Zion's invitation. It gave us much food for new thought. It reminded us, perhaps, of neglected duties to these people, and it impressed strongly on our minds that these people are getting along, getting onward, and progress was a star becoming familiar to their gaze and their desires. Whatever the negroes have done in the path of advancement, they have done largely without white aid. But politics and white pride have kept the white people aloof from offering that earnest and moral assistance which would be so useful to a people just starting from infancy into a life of self-dependence. In writing from Columbiana and Demopolis, Alabama, about the first of March, 1871, Mrs. Harper painted the state of affairs in her usually graphic manner, and diligently was she endeavoring to inspire the people with hope and encouragement. "Oh, what a field there is here in this region! Let me give you a short account of this week's work. Sunday I addressed a Sunday-school in Taladega; on Monday afternoon a day-school. On Monday I rode several miles to a meeting; addressed it, and came back the same night. Got back about or after twelve o'clock. The next day I had a meeting of women and addressed them, and then lectured in the evening in the Court-House to both colored and white. Last night I spoke again, about ten miles from where I am now stopping, and returned the same night, and to-morrow evening probably I shall speak again. I grow quite tired part of the time. * * * And now let me give you an anecdote or two of some of our new citizens. While in Taladega I was entertained and well entertained, at the house of one of our new citizens. He is living in the house of his former master. He is a brick-maker by trade, and I rather think mason also. He was worth to his owner, it was reckoned, fifteen hundred or about that a year. He worked with him seven years; and in that seven years he remembers receiving from him fifty cents. Now mark the contrast! That man is now free, owns the home of his former master, has I think more than sixty acres of land, and his master is in the poor-house. I heard of another such case not long since: A woman was cruelly treated once, or more than once. She escaped and ran naked into town. The villain in whose clutch she found herself was trying to drag her downward to his own low level of impurity, and at last she fell. She was poorly fed, so that she was tempted to sell her person. Even scraps thrown to the dog she was hunger-bitten enough to aim for. Poor thing, was there anything in the future for her? Had not hunger and cruelty and prostitution done their work, and left her an entire wreck for life? It seems not. Freedom came, and with it dawned a new era upon that poor, overshadowed, and sin-darkened life. Freedom brought opportunity for work and wages combined. She went to work, and got ten dollars a month. She has contrived to get some education, and has since been teaching school. While her former mistress has been to her for help. "Do not the mills of God grind exceedingly fine? And she has helped that mistress, and so has the colored man given money, from what I heard, to his former master. After all, friend, do we not belong to one of the best branches of the human race? And yet, how have our people been murdered in the South, and their bones scattered at the grave's mouth! Oh, when will we have a government strong enough to make human life safe? Only yesterday I heard of a murder committed on a man for an old grudge of several years' standing. I had visited the place, but had just got away. Last summer a Mr. Luke was hung, and several other men also, I heard." While surrounded with this state of affairs, an appeal reached her through the columns of the National Standard, setting forth a state of very great suffering and want, especially on the part of the old, blind and decrepit Freedmen of the District of Columbia. After expressing deep pity for these unfortunates, she added: "Please send ten dollars to Josephine Griffing for me for the suffering poor of the District of Columbia. Just send it by mail, and charge to my account." Many more letters written by Mrs. Harper are before us, containing highly interesting information from Louisiana, Mississippi, Florida, North Carolina, Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, Maryland, and even poor little Delaware. Through all these States she has traveled and labored extensively, as has been already stated; but our space in this volume will admit of only one more letter: "I have been traveling the best part of the day. * * * Can you spare a little time from your book to just take a peep at some of our Alabama people? If you would see some instances of apparent poverty and ignorance that I have seen perhaps you would not wonder very much at the conservative voting in the State. A few days since I was about to pay a woman a dollar and a quarter for some washing in ten cent (currency) notes, when she informed me that she could not count it; she must trust to my honesty--she could count forty cents. Since I left Eufaula I have seen something of plantation life. The first plantation I visited was about five or six miles from Eufaula, and I should think that the improvement in some of the cabins was not very much in advance of what it was in Slavery. The cabins are made with doors, but not, to my recollection, a single window pane or speck of plastering; and yet even in some of those lowly homes I met with hospitality. A room to myself is a luxury that I do not always enjoy. Still I live through it, and find life rather interesting. The people have much to learn. The condition of the women is not very enviable in some cases. They have had some of them a terribly hard time in Slavery, and their subjection has not ceased in freedom. * * * One man said of some women, that a man must leave them or whip them. * * * Let me introduce you to another scene: here is a gathering; a large fire is burning out of doors, and here are one or two boys with hats on. Here is a little girl with her bonnet on, and there a little boy moves off and commences to climb a tree. Do you know what the gathering means? It is a school, and the teacher, I believe, is paid from the school fund. He says he is from New Hampshire. That may be. But to look at him and to hear him teach, you would perhaps think him not very lately from the North; at least I do not think he is a model teacher. They have a church; but somehow they have burnt a hole, I understand, in the top, and so I lectured inside, and they gathered around the fire outside. Here is another--what shall I call it?--meeting-place. It is a brush arbor. And what pray is that? Shall I call it an edifice or an improvised meeting-house? Well, it is called a brush arbor. It is a kind of brush house with seats, and a kind of covering made partly, I rather think, of branches of trees, and an humble place for pulpit. I lectured in a place where they seemed to have no other church; but I spoke at a house. In Glenville, a little out-of-the-way place, I spent part of a week. There they have two unfinished churches. One has not a single pane of glass, and the same aperture that admits the light also gives ingress to the air; and the other one, I rather think, is less finished than that. I spoke in one, and then the white people gave me a hall, and quite a number attended.... I am now at Union Springs, where I shall probably room with three women. But amid all this roughing it in the bush, I find a field of work where kindness and hospitality have thrown their sunshine around my way. And Oh what a field of work is here! How much one needs the Spirit of our dear Master to make one's life a living, loving force to help men to higher planes of thought and action. I am giving all my lectures with free admission; but still I get along, and the way has been opening for me almost ever since I have been South. Oh, if some more of our young women would only consecrate their lives to the work of upbuilding the race! Oh, if I could only see our young men and women aiming to build up a future for themselves which would grandly contrast with the past--with its pain, ignorance and low social condition." It may be well to add that Mrs. Harper's letters from which we have copied were simply private, never intended for publication; and while they bear obvious marks of truthfulness, discrimination and impartiality, it becomes us to say that a more strictly conscientious woman we have never known. Returning to Philadelphia after many months of hard labor in the South, Mrs. Harper, instead of seeking needed rest and recreation, scarcely allows a day to pass without seeking to aid in the reformation of the outcast and degraded. The earnest advice which she gives on the subject of temperance and moral reforms generally causes some to reflect, even among adults, and induces a number of poor children to attend day and Sabbath-schools. The condition of this class, she feels, appeals loudly for a remedy to respectable and intelligent colored citizens; and whilst not discouraged, she is often quite saddened at the supineness of the better class. During the past summer when it was too warm to labor in the South she spent several months in this field without a farthing's reward. She assisted in organizing a Sabbath-school, and accepted the office of Assistant Superintendent under the auspices of the Young Men's Christian Association. Mrs. Harper reads the best magazines and ablest weeklies, as well as more elaborate works, not excepting such authors as De Tocqueville, Mill, Ruskin, Buckle, Guizot, &c. In espousing the cause of the oppressed as a poet and lecturer, had she neglected to fortify her mind in the manner she did, she would have been weighed and found wanting long since. Before friends and foes, the learned and the unlearned, North and South, Mrs. Harper has pleaded the cause of her race in a manner that has commanded the greatest respect; indeed, it is hardly too much to say, that during seventeen years of public labor she has made thousands of speeches without doing herself or people discredit in a single instance, but has accomplished a great deal in the way of removing prejudice. May we not hope that the rising generation at least will take encouragement by her example and find an argument of rare force in favor of mental and moral equality, and above all be awakened to see how prejudices and difficulties may be surmounted by continual struggles, intelligence and a virtuous character? Fifty thousand copies at least of her four small books have been sold to those who have listened to her eloquent lectures. One of those productions entitled "Moses" has been used to entertain audiences with evening readings in various parts of the country. With what effect may be seen from the two brief notices as follows: "Mrs. F.E.W. Harper delivered a poem upon 'Moses' in Wilbraham to a large and delighted audience. She is a woman of high moral tone, with superior native powers highly cultivated, and a captivating eloquence that hold her audience in rapt attention from the beginning to the close. She will delight any intelligent audience, and those who wish first-class lecturers cannot do better than to secure her services."--_Zion's Herald, Boston._ "Mrs. Frances E.W. Harper read her poem of 'Moses' last evening at Rev. Mr. Harrison's church to a good audience. It deals with the story of the Hebrew Moses from his finding in the wicker basket on the Nile to his death on Mount Nebo and his burial in an unknown grave; following closely the Scripture account. It contains about 700 lines, beginning with blank verse of the common measure, and changing to other measures, but always without rhyme; and is a pathetic and well-sustained piece. Mrs. Harper recited it with good effect, and it was well received. She is a lady of much talent, and always speaks well, particularly when her subject relates to the condition of her own people, in whose welfare, before and since the war, she has taken the deepest interest. As a lecturer Mrs. Harper is more effective than most of those who come before our lyceums; with a natural eloquence that is very moving."--_Galesburgh Register, Ill._ Grace Greenwood, in the Independent in noticing a Course of Lectures in which Mrs. Harper spoke (in Philadelphia) pays this tribute to her: "Next on the course was Mrs Harper, a colored woman; about as colored as some of the Cuban belles I have met with at Saratoga. She has a noble head, this bronze muse; a strong face, with a shadowed glow upon it, indicative of thoughtful fervor, and of a nature most femininely sensitive, but not in the least morbid. Her form is delicate, her hands daintily small. She stands quietly beside her desk, and speaks without notes, with gestures few and fitting. Her manner is marked by dignity and composure. She is never assuming, never theatrical. In the first part of her lecture she was most impressive in her pleading for the race with whom her lot is cast. There was something touching in her attitude as their representative. The woe of two hundred years sighed through her tones. Every glance of her sad eyes was a mournful remonstrance against injustice and wrong. Feeling on her soul, as she must have felt it, the chilling weight of caste, she seemed to say: 'I lift my heavy heart up solemnly, As once Eleotra her sepulchral urn.' ... As I listened to her, there swept over me, in a chill wave of horror, the realization that this noble woman had she not been rescued from her mother's condition, might have been sold on the auction-block, to the highest bidder--her intellect, fancy, eloquence, the flashing wit, that might make the delight of a Parisian saloon, and her pure, Christian character all thrown in--the recollection that women like her could be dragged out of public conveyances in our own city, or frowned out of fashionable churches by Anglo-Saxon saints." THE END. INDEX. * * * * * PREFACE, 1-6. ILLUSTRATIONS, 7, 8. CONTENTS, 9-21. Anthony, Kit, and wife Leah, and three children, Adam, Mary, and Murry, 99. Amby, Nat, 102. Amby, Elizabeth, 102. Augusta, John, (letter.) 110. Anderson, Henry, alias Wm. Anderson, 137. Amos, Stephen, alias Henry Johnson, 160. Atkins, Wm. Henry, 211. Atkinson, Anthony, 260. Atkinson, John, 299. Anderson, Geo., 316. Anderson, Thos., 334. Ashmead, John W., attorney of U.S., for E. Dist., Pa., 356. Aldridge, Bazil, 392. Aldridge, Caroline, 401. Alexander, John, 429. Armstead, Moses, 430. Allen, Andrew, 435. Allison, Ebenezer, 449. Anderson, Joshua John, 472. Alligood, Geo., 488. Alligood, Jim, 488. "A woman with two children," 503. Archer, Sam, 526. Alberti, Geo. F., 534. Blow, Anthony, (alias Henry Levison,) 61. Butler, James, and Stephen, 70. Brinkley, Wm., 74. Brown, Henry Box, 81. Burton, Perry, 105. Boyer, Mary Elizabeth, 124. Brown, Louisa, 135. Brit, Elizabeth, 136. Brown, Harriet, alias Jane Wooton, 136. Brown, Chaskey, 138. Brown, Chas., 139. Brown, Solomon, 163. Brown, John, 168. Bigelow, J., 177. Barlow, Archer, alias Emit Robins, 203. Bush, Sam'l, alias Wm. Oblebee, 204. Brooks, Susan, 211. Bird, Chas., 219. Brown, Angeline, 219. Brown, Albert, 219. Brown, Chas., 219. Burrell, James, 223. Boggs, Alex., 223. Bell, Harrison, and daughter Harriet Ann, 223. Blackson, Jas. Henry, 223. Bowlegs, Jim, alias Bill Paul, 240. Bennett, David, and wife Martha, with their two children, 259. Bell, Louisa, 259. Bohm, Henry, 259. Bailey, Josiah, 272. Bailey, Wm., 272. Banks, Henry, 284. Banks, Elizabeth, 288. Brown, Anthony, and Albert, 288. Butcher, Wm., alias Wm. T. Mitchell, 300. Bradley, Richard, 305. Bennett, Dan'l, alias Henry Washington, and wife Martha, and two children, 305. Brooks, Adam, alias Wm. Smith, 312. Boyer, Jacob Mathias, 314. Bodams, Matthew, 316. Bowser, Nathaniel, 316. Brown, Wm., 339. Brown, Chas. Henry, 339. Brister, Nancy, 377. Burrell, Lewis, 383. Burrell, Peter, 383. Bivans, Belinda, 388. Branson, Randolph, 391. Booze, Richard J., 393. Ball, Oscar, D., 399. Butler, John Alex., 416. Belle, Jim, 420. Benton, Sam'l, 429. Bacon, Abe, 431. Boile, Susan Jane, 434. Bishop, Elizah, 441. Ballard, Geo. Henry, 445. Bowler, Wm., 449. Bell, Susan, 463. Beesly, Dick, 473. Boldan, Chas. Andrew, 473. Bayne, Richard, 478. Bowling, Carter, 478. Boize, Henry, 481. Banks, Jim, 487. Blockson, Jacob, 488. Boyce, Andrew Jackson, 495. Burton, Handy, 495. Brown, Stepney, 497. Brown, James, 502. Brown, John, 504. Bell, Sarah Jane, (with babe in arms,) 507. Bell, Robt., (and two others,) 511. Brown, John, 514. Brown, Jacob, 516. Buchanan, Jenny, 521. Brown, Wm., 523. Burkett. Henry, 528. Burkett, Elizabeth, 528. Burton, Hale, 528. Bird, Mary, 559. Brooks, Mrs. Dr., 590. Burris, Sam'l D., 746-747. Conklin, Seth, 23. Coffin, Levi, 33. Clayton, John, 54. Camp, Jos. Henry, 66. Christian, Jas. Hamilton, 69. Camper, Jas., 97. Cornish, Aaron, and wife, with six children, Solomon, Geo., Anthony, Jos., Ed. Jas., Perry Lake, and a nameless babe, 99. Colburn. Jeremiah, 107. Cooper, Wm., 108. Collins, Nathan, and wife Mary Ellen, 108. "Cambridge Democrat," 109. Congo, Charles, and wife Margaret, 138. "Child," (14 months old,) 155. Chapman, Emeline, 157. Carr, Dan'l, 168. "Charles," 208. Clayton, Louisa, 223. Cromwell, Henry, 259. Chase, John, alias Dan'l Floyd, 296. Crummill, Jas., 305. Childs, Lewis, 305. Cooper, Thos., 316. Cooper, Henry, 319. Cole, David, and wife, 325. Cornish, Joseph, 334. Chambers, Henry, 334. Chambers, John, 334. Curtis, Mary, 339. Craft. Wm., and Ellen, 368. Cobb, Lewis, 377. Clinton, Thos., 382. Carroll, Geo., 391. Clagart, John, 391. Connor, Chas., 397. Connor, Chas., 397. Connor, Jas., 403. Cary, Harrison, 406. Cole, Wm., 418. Cole, Bill, 419. Cooper, Mary, 430. Carney, Wm., 435. Cain, James, 437. Carroll, Edward, 443. Carr, Robt, 444. Cannon, Plymouth, 446. Carr, John Thompson, 449. Christy, Jack, 454. Combash, John Wesley, 455. Carpenter, Wm., 464. Campbell, Frank, 478. Cope, Wm. Thos., 481. Clexton, Perry, 487. Connor, Wm. Jas., wife and child, and four brothers, 491. Collins, Theophilus, 495. Carlisle, Wm., 499. Cannon, Ansal, 500. Chiou, Wm., and wife Emma, 519. Casting, Edward, 526. Cotton, Henry, 532. Canby, Wm. J., 556. Corson, Geo., 721-723. Cleveland, Prof. Chas. D., 723-734. Davis, Clarissa, 60. Davis, Wm., 66. Dorsey, Maria, 79. Dutton, Marshall, 99. Dobson, Henrietta, 102. Dorsey, Luther, 139. Dotson, Isaac, 208. "David," 216. Dorsey, Geo., 219. Davis, Dan'l, alias David Smith, 223. Duncans, Benj., alias Geo. Scott, 223. Delaney, Jas. Henry, atias Stuart Stanley, 223. Dutton, Chas., alias Wm. Rohinson, 286. Derrickson, Peter, 309. Dunagan, Sarah A., 313. Davis, Isaac D., 313. Dorsey, Anna, 319. Dickinson, Benj., 325. Ducket, Benj., 382. Davis, Sam, 386. Davis, "Old Jane," 394. Dauphus, Etna Elizabeth, 440. Derrix, Townsend, 442. Diggs, Dave, 465. Dade, John, and Henry, 469. Davis, Enoch, 514. Dickson, Thos. Edward, 514. Douglass, Thos., 524. Dunmore, Henry, 526. Dungy, John Wm., 541. Douglass, Frederick, 597-598. Elliott, Thomas, 73. Epps, Mary, (alias Emma Brown,) 74. Ennells, Noah, 97. Emerson, Robt., 98. Eden, Bichard, 150. Ennis, Mary, alias Licia Hemmin, with two children, Lydia and Louisa Caroline, 207. Eglin, Harriet, 214. Eglin, Charlotte, 214. Edwards, David, 311. Ellis, Joe, 408. Ennis, Ephraim, 485. Edwards, Alfred, 511. Edwards, David, 526. Ennets, Stephen, and wife Maria, with three children, Harriet, Amanda and babe, 530. Forman, Isaac, 64. Ford, Sheridan, 67. Fletcher, Benj. R. 79. Foster, Emily, alias Ann Wood, 124. Frisley, Alfred Jas., 138. F., Capt and Mayor of Norfolk, 165. Freeman, Thos., 168. Foster, Jas., 168. Fleeing Girl of 15 years, in male attire, 177. Fisher, Robt., 206. Foreman, Ellen, alias Eliz. Young, 223. Freeland, Geo., 223. Foreman. Jas. H., 260. Frances, Eliz., alias Ellen Saunders, 275. Fowler, Arthur, alias Benj. Johnson, 305. Francis, Lewis, alias Lewis Johnson, 334. Fall, Sam'l, 334. Fisher, Jonathan, 338. Freeman, Wm. Thos., alias Ezekiel Chambers, 339. Fidget, Isaac, 339. Fugitive Slave Bill of 1850, 343. Farmer, Wm. 374. Fineer, Abe, 386. Fuller, Cornelius, and wife Harriet, 500. Foster, Turner, 506. Field, Henry, 509. Foreman, Isaac, 559. Furness, Wm. H., D.D., 659-665. Gilliam, Wm. H., 54. Garrett, Thomas, 74. Griffin, Wm., 97. Grigby, Barnaby, alias John Boyer*, 124. Grant, Joseph, 132. Goulden, Alfred, 135. Galloway, Abram, 150. Gardner, Nathaniel, 168. Gault, Phillis, 168. "Green," 208. Garrett, Lucy, alias Julia Wood, 223. Gilbert, Chas., 235. Green, Sam'l, alias Wesley Kennard, 246. Green, Richard, 259. Green, Geo., 259. Green, Lear, 281. Govan, Wm., 288. Gibson, John Wesley, 301. Giles, Lewis, 308. Good, Beverly, 311. Griffin, Jas., alias Thos. Brown, 314. Green, Dan'l, alias Geo. Taylor, 319. Graves, Caroline, 334. Graham, Geo., and wife Jane, 337. Gooseberry, Thos. Jervis, 339. Gibson, Adam, 343. Gorsuch, Edward, 350. Gorham, Henry, 379. Green, Zebulon, 383. Graham, Montgomery, 399. Green, Christopher, and wife Ann Maria, and son Nathan, 409. Grimes, Harry, 422. Grantham, Nancy, 459. Gardner, Priscilla, 472. Gross, Sam, 474. Gross, Peter, 474. Gray, John Boize, 481. Gassway, Caroline, 491. Gross, Albert, 603. Grinage*, John, 503. Gross, Chas. Henry, 504. Graff, Evan, 519. Goines, Luke, 520. Gray, Henry, 559. Gray, Mary, 559. Goodwin, Abigail, 617-622. Garrett, Thos., 623-642. Gibbons, Dan'l, 642-648. Garrison, Wm. Lloyd, 665-680. Harris, Wesley, alias Robert Jackson, 48. Hall, Romulus, 51. Harris, Abram, 51. Hughes, Daniel, 73. Hill, Jos., and wife Alice, and son Henry, 99. "Hannah," 104. Hitchens, C., 105. Hubert, Alfred, 105. Henry, Thos., 108. Hollis, Henry Chas., 139. Hilton, Elijah, 161. Hogg, Wm., alias, John Smith, 164. Haines, Francis, 168. Hill, John Henry, 189. Hill, Hezekiah, 200. Hill, Jas., 202. Harris, Nathan, 206. Haley, Harriet, alias Ann Richardson, 223. Handy, Jas. Edward, alias Dennis Cannon, 223. Hall, John, alias John Simpson, 223. Hall, John, 250. Harris, Joseph, 260. Hodges, Henry, 260. Handy, Joshua, alias Hamilton Hamby, 286. Hudson, Ephraim, alias John Spry, 286. Hilliard, Frances, 287. Harding, Louisa, alias Rebecca Hall, 287. Houston, Maria Jane, 287. Hoopes, Miles, 288. Hinson, Jas., alias David Caldwell, 288. Hill, Simon, 288. Holladay, Chas., 288. Howard, Henry, 305. Hacket, Lloyd, alias Perry Watkins, 310. Hall, Jos., Jr., 313. Heines, Peter, 316. Hooper, Henry, 339. Hall, Jacob, alias Henry Thomas, wife Henrietta, and child, 339. Hamlet, Jas., 343. Hanaway, Castner, 350. Hilliard, Mrs. Geo. S., 373. Hill, Jones, 382. Hall, Charles, 383. Homer, Alfred, 388. Harper, Thos., 410. Haines, Edward, 414. Haines, Jos., 414. Harris, Thos., 414. Hipkins, Wm. Henry, 416. Hill, Geo., 416. Hall, Hanson, 418. "Hanson," 419. Hollon, Alfred, 427. Henry, James, 429. Harris, Darius, 441. Henderson, Eliza, 459. Hunt, Orlando J., 461. Herring, Elias Jack, 471. Harper, Ruth, 472. Hutton, Bill, 474. Holden, Levin, 491. Hopkins, Sidney, 493. Hill, Jos. Henry, 493. Heath, Chas., 499. Hillis, John, 500. Hall, Edward, 502. Hall, John, 502. Hall, Chas., 502. Harris, James, 516. Hughes, Wm., 516. Henson, James, 523. Henry, Joe, 526. Helpers and Sympathizers at Home and Abroad, 584. Hunn, John, 712-719. Hopper, Isaac T., 740-745. Harper, Frances Ellen Watkins, 755-780. "Isabella," 98. Irwin, Asbury, 485. Johnston, Rev. N.R., 31. Jones, Wm. Box Peel, 46. Johnson, Perry, 64. Johnson, Henry, 70. Johnson, Jane, and her two little boys, 86. Jones, Thos., alias Robt. Brown, 121. Jordan. Wm., alias Wm. Price, 129. Johnson, W. Sam'l, 158. Johnson, Jane Mary, alias Harriet, 160. Johnson, Ann Rebecca, 160. Johnson, Wm. H., 160. Johnson, Eliz., 160. Johnson, Mary Ellen, 160. Johnson, Ann, 164. Johnson, David, 168. Jones, Alice, 168. Johnson, Wm., 223. Jasper, Elias, 259. Joiner, Maria, 259. Jones, Arthur, 260. Jones, Robt. and wife Eliza, 260. Jackson, Peter, alias Staunch Tilghman, 296. Judah, John, 305. Jones, Samuel, 305. Jones, Tolbert, 305. Johnson, Wm. Henry, alias John Wesley, 310. Johnson, James, alias Wm. Gilbert, and wife Harriet, 319. Jones, James, 325. Jones, Rebecca, 325. Jones, Sarah Frances, 325. Jones, Mary, 325. Jones, Rebecca, Jr., 325. Jones, Fenton, 339. Johnson, Jas., 383. Jackson, Wm., 396. Johnson, Geo., 413. Johnson, Eliza Jane, 418. Johnson, John, 430. Jackson, "General Andrew," 437. Jones, Catharine, and son Henry, 440. Jones, Mary, 463. Jones, Lew, 465. Jake, and Mary Ann, his wife, 465. Janney, John, 474. Johnson, Talbot, 474. Jackson, Jas. Henry, 474. Jackson, Rebecca, and daughter, 477. Johns, Lydia Ann, 485. Johns, Robt., and wife "Sueann," 486. Johnson, Cornelius Henry, 493. Jackson, Robt., 495. Johnston, Wm., 500. Jones, Henry, 506. Jackson, Ann Maria, 512. Jackson, Mary Ann, 512. Jackson, Wm. Henry, 512. Jackson, Frances Sabina, 512. Jackson, Wilhelmina, 512. Jackson, John Edwin, 512. Jackson, Ebenezer Thos., 512. Jackson, Wm. Albert, 512. Jackson, Andrew, 516. Johnson, Rosanna, 516. Johnson, Jos. C., 526. Kneeland, Joseph, (alias Joseph Hulson,) 68. Kane, Jane, alias Catharine Kane, 296. Kline, Henry H., 350. Kane, Judge, 358. Kane, Col. T.L., 366. Kell, Jim, 499. Kelly, Henson, 520. Knight, Mary, 563. Letters, U.G.R.R., 39-46. Light, George, 99. Lewis, G., 111, (letter.) Lee, Capt., 111. Loney, Cordelia, 112. Loney, Anthony, alias Wm. Armstead, 122. Lee, Chas., alias Thos. Bushier, 136. Logan, W.J., (letter,) 158. Little, Nancy, 168. Lewis, Laura, 288. Laminson, Wm. Henry, 334. Lewis, Eliza, 350. Latham, Major, 379. Lambert, Elizabeth, and three children, Mary, Horace, and Wm. Henry, 382. Logan, Geo., 383. Logan, John, 383. Lee, Ordee, 393. Long, Silas, 394. Light, Solomon, 394. Lewis, Edward, 422. Lee, Wm., 434. Laws, George, 470. Lewis, Geo., 488. Lazarus Jas., 491. Lee, John Edward, 500. Lee, Lewis, 514. Langhorn, Henry, alias Wm. Scott, 536. Lewey, Mrs., 559. Lewis, Mariann, Grace Anna, and Elizabeth R., 748-755. McKiernon, B., 34. Matterson Bros., 49. Mansfield, Rev. L.D. 54. Mercer, Jas, 54. Morgan, Edward, 70. Moore, Henry, 97. Murry, Oracy, alias Sophia Sims, 136. Massey, James, 143. Mahoney, Matilda, 172. Morris, John, 260. McCoy, Robt., alias Wm. Donor, 274. Mitchell, Cyros, alias John Steel, 286. Molock, Francis, alias Thos. Jackson, 286. Mclntosh, John, 287. Miles, Sam'l, alias Robert King, 288. Madden, Thos., 294. Matthews, Pete, alias Sam'l Sparrows, 295. Mayo, Harriet, 305. Mercer, Verenea, 309. Mead, Zechariah, alias John Williams, 314. Morris, James, 316. Matthews, Tom, 324. Munson, Alex., 334. Maddison, Wylie, 379. Moody, Wm. Henry, 388. Moore, John Henry, 416. Myers, John, 434. Mason, James, 444. Mitchell, Lemuel, 445. Mitchell, Josiah, 445. Mitchell, John, 445. Mountain, Ann, and child, 449. Melvin, Mary Frances, 459. Mackey, Wm., 462. Mills, Sarah Ann, 491. Maxwell, Thos, 499. Murray, Robt., 508. Mills, Jerry, 532. Mills, Diana, 532. Mills, Cornelius, 532. Mills, Margaret, 532. Mills, Susan, 532. Moore, Aunt Hannah, 547. Miller, Joseph C., 551. Millburn, Mary, alias Louisa F. Jones, 558. Mr. McKim to Geo. Thompson, 580. Moore, Esther, 613-616. Mott, Lucretia, 649-654. McKim, Jas. Miller, 654-659. Neall, Daniel, 79. Nixon, Thos., 168. Nixon, Fred., 168. Nixon, Sam, alias Dr. Thos. Bayne, 254. Nelson, Wm., and wife Susan and son, 259. Nixon, Isaiah, 260. Nickless, Kit, 284. Nelson, Peter, 463. Nole, Chas, 487. Newton, Isaac, 509. Nichols, Randolph, 524. Oberne, Henry, 105. Oliver, William, 514. Organization, Vigilance Committee, 610-612. Predo, Henry, 72. Parker, Levin, 97. Pugh, Anthony, 98. Peters, Hannah, 102. Pipkins, Jefferson, alias David Jones, 136. Pipkins, Louisa, 136. Petty, Peter, 168. Pennington, Dr. J.W., brother and two sons, 172. "Perry," 208. Peaden, Edward, and wife, 223. Pennington, Peter, 272. Payne, Dan'l, 305. Purnell, Chas., 309. Page, Thos., 325. Purnell, Oliver, 339. Parker, Wm., 350. Pry, Sauney, 382. Parker, Thos., 386. Pattie, Winnie, and her daughter Elizabeth, 387. Pennington, Tom, 431. Perry, Anna, 437. Payne, Oscar, 465. Pinket, John, 500. Piney, Benjamin, 516. Peck, Lewis, 526. Purnell, John, 528. Pierce, Wm., 533. Parker, Rachel, and Elizabeth, 551. Pennypacker, Elijah F., 688-690. Purvis, Robt., 711. Quantence, Pascal, 421. Quinn, Edward, 511. Redick, Willis, 66. Robinson, Jos., and Robt., 74. Ross, Major, 105. Rhoads, Geo., 143. Rhoads, Jas., 143. Rhoads, Eliz. Sarah, and child, 143. Ringold, Chas. H., 217. Richards, John Henry, 217. Robinson, Wm., 223. Ross, Benj., alias Jas. Stewart, 296. Ross, Henry, alias Levin Stewart, 296. Ross, Robert, 296. Roberts, Emory, alias Wm. Kemp, 305. Reed, Isaac, 319. Robinson, Isaiah, 325. Robinson, Dan'l, 325. Royan, Wm., 391. Ross, Benj., and wife Harriet, 395. Rodgers, Geo., 427. Rodgers, Chas. N., 427. Rister, Amarian Lucretia, 434. Russell, Geo., 439. Robinson, Josephine, 486. Ringgold, Chas., 499. Ross, Chas., 500. Ryan, James, 500. Roach, John, and wife Lamby, 504. Ringgold, Chas, 509. Ringgold, Wm., 509. Robinson, Miles, 539. Roney, Major Isaac, 556. Richardson, Mrs. Anne H, 593, 604-605-606-607-608. Russell, Dr. Bartholomew, 695-698. Rhoades, Sam'l, 719-721. Solomon, Geo., 79. Swan, Stebney, 98. Stinger, John, 98. Stanley, Daniel, 102. Scott, John, 102. Stanly, Josiah, 102. Stanly, Caroline, 102. Stanly, Dan'l, Jr., 102. Stanly, John, 103. Stanly, Miller, 103. Scott, Jack. 104. Scott, Cornelius, 122. Stewart, Robt., alias Gasberry Robinson, 128. Smith, Vincent, alias John Jackson, 128. Smith, Betsy, alias Fanny Jackson, 128. Speaks, John, 132. Salter, Henry Chas., 138. Smith, W. Jeremiah, and wife Julia, 141. Stephenson, Eliz. Mary, 143. Stephens, L.E. (letter,) 156. Scott, Godfrey, 168. Smith, John, 168. Spencer, John, 204. Spencer, Wm., 204. Spencer, Jas. Albert, 204. Scott, Hettie, alias Margaret Duncans, and daughter Priscilla, 205. Sims, Samuel, 208. Smith, Robt., 217. Scott, Jane, 219. Stater, Sam'l, 223. Stuart, James, alias Wm. Jackson, 223. Smith, Sarah, alias Mildreth Page, 223. Snowden, Lewis, alias Lewis Williams, 223. "Salt Water Fugitive," 242. Stewart, Henry, 259. Shepherd, Harriet, with five children, Anna Maria, Edwin, Eliz. Jane, Mary Ann and John Henry, 302. Somler, Washington, alias James Moore, 304. Shephard, Perry, 319. Sperryman, Geo., alias Thos. Johnson, 319. Spires, Valentine, 319. Smith, Wm. Israel, 319. Spence, Arthur, 325. Scott, Sam'l, 334. Stout, Isaac, alias Geo. Washington, 334. Slave Hunting Tragedy in Lancaster Co., Pa., 348. Shepherd, Andrew, 379. Saunders, Henry, 386. Scott, Wm., 390. Smith, Thos., 413. Smith, Adam, 413. Sheldon, James, 414. Stewart, Harriet, and daughter Mary Eliza, 418. Scott, Jim, 431. Scott, Sam, 431. Scott, Bill, 431. Smith, John, 439. Smith, Julius, 454. Smith, Mary, 454. Smith, James, 454. Smith, Henry Edward, 454. Skinner, Thos. Edward, 455. Shaw, Elijah, 458. Smith, Sam, 474. Shaw, Nace, 480. Smith, Dan'l McNorton, 480. Smith, Sam'l, 499. Smallwood, Henry, 504. Smith, John Wesley, 508. Stewart, Susan, 508. Smith, Josephine, 508. Smith, John, 516. Smallwood, John, 516. Smith, Stafford, 520. Stanton, Phillip, 524. Snively, David, 526. Sipple, Thos., 528. Sipple, Mary Ann, 528. Seymour, Wm., 559. Saunders, Sarah, 559. Scott, Winfield, and three children, 559. Shipley, Thos., 698-710. Thompson, John, 105-106. Turner, Jackson, 117. Turner, Isaac, 117. Turner, Edmondson, 117. Taylor, Wm. N., 134. Taylor, Stephen, 139. Trusty, Henry Perry, 143. Thompson, Chas., 146. Tatum, Allen, 168. Tonnel, Rosanna, alias Maria Hyde, 207. Tubman, Harriet, 247. The Protection of Slave Property in Va., 277. Tubman, Harriet, ("Moses") 296. Thompson, Charles, 316. Thompson, Charity, 316. Taylor, Owen, 320. Taylor, Otho. 320. Taylor, Mary Ann, 320. Taylor, Benj., 320. Taylor, Edward, with a brother and his wife and two children, 320. Taylor, Caroline, 325. Taylor, Nancy, 325. Taylor, Mary, 325. Tubman, Harriet, 383. Thompson, Wm. Henry, 386. Todd, Israel, 392. Tilison, Abram, 410. Triplet, Wm., 410. Turner, Samuel, 429. Thornton, Lawrence, 430. Thompson, Jas. Henry, 439. Taylor, Roberta, 450. Thompson, Robert, 451. Thornton, Alfred S., 452. Taylor, Jacob, 455. Tucker, Henry, 462. Taylor, Benj., 478. Taylor, James, 503. Townsend, Henry, 516. Tudle, Henry and wife, 525. Thomas, Miss Mary B. 583. Thomas, Joseph, 509. Tubman, Harriet, 530. Taylor, Harriet, 559. Tappan, Lewis, 680-688. Upsher, Geo., 422. Viney, Joseph and family, 101. Vaughn, Michael, 168. White, Mrs. L.E., 56. Wilson, Hiram, (Ag't U.G.R.R.,) 80. Williamson, Passmore, 87. "William," 104. Whitney, Israel, 105. Williams, Samuel, alias John Williams, 123. Wanzer, Frank, alias Robt. Scott, 124. Waters, Jacob, 135. Williams, Ed., alias Henry Johnson, 136. Washington, Wm. Henry, 138. Washington, Geo., 143. White, Emanuel T., 154. Woolfley, Levina, 164. Wilson, Willis, 168. Wilson, Ned, 168. Wilson, Sarah C., 168. Weems, Maria, alias Joe Wright, 185. Weems, Arrow, (letter,) 187. Waples, Hansel, 207. White, Wm. B., 211. Wiggins, Dan'l, 223. Wines, Moses, 223. Wooden, Wm., alias Wm. Nelson, 223. White, Miles, 223. Weaver, Mary, (Irish Girl's Devotion to Freedom,) 251. Washington, Henry, alias Anthony Hardy, 259. Whiting, Ralph, 260. Williams, Isaac, 284. Williams, Geo., 288. Walker, Geo., alias Austin Valentine, 311. Washington, Henry, 334. Washington, Eliza, 334. Wilson, Wm., 379. Watson, Jas. Henry, 383. Williams, Wm., and his wife, 383. Winston, Jos., 389. Wright, John, and wife Eliz. Ann, 397. Wood, John, 401. Wright, Leeds, 410. Wise, Harry, 411. Wooders, Abram, 412. Williams, Elizabeth, 429. Wells, Jack, 431. Washington. Geo. Nelson, 440. Williamson, Wm., 441. Wilkinson, Horatio, 445. Wood, Mose, 465. Weems, John, 471. Williams, Hansom, 480. White, Isaac, 481. Williams, Richard, 491. Wheeler, Henry, 491. Wood, Edward, 500. Wilkins, Jas. Andy, and wife Lucinda, and son Chas., 504. Wilson, Lewis, 511. Waters, John, 511. Williams, Wesley, 516. White, Geo., 526. White, Albert, 526. White, Tucker, 555. Williams, Henry, 559. Williams, Euphemia, 566. Wright, Wm., 691-695. Whipper, Wm., 735-740. Young, Murray, 473. Yonng, Gusta, 480. Young, Anna Elizabeth, (with babe in arms,) 507. WHAT HAS BEEN SAID ABOUT IT * * * * * At the closing meeting of the PENNSYLVANIA ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY, held in Philadelphia, May 5, 1870, the following was unanimously passed: Whereas, The position of WILLIAM STILL in the Vigilance Committee connected with the "UNDERGROUND RAILROAD," as its Corresponding Secretary, and Chairman of its Active Sub-Committee, gave him peculiar facilities for collecting interesting facts pertaining to this branch of the anti-slavery service; therefore, _Resolved_, That the PENNSYLVANIA ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY requests him to compile and publish his personal reminiscences and experiences relating to the "UNDERGROUND RAILROAD." * * * * * HON. JOHN W. FORNEY, in a letter to the Washington _Sunday Chronicle_, said: "Slavery and its mysterious inner life has never yet been described. When it is, Reality will surpass Fiction. Uncle Tom's Cabin will be rebuilt and newly garnitured. A book, detailing the operations of the 'UNDERGROUND RAILROAD,' is soon to be published in Philadelphia, by WM. STILL, Esq., an intelligent colored gentleman, which, composed entirely of facts, will supply material for indefinite dramas and romances. It will disclose a record of unparalleled courage and suffering for the right." * * * * * And again, in a letter to the same paper, Mr. Forney says: * * * * "A coincidence even more romantic is soon to be revealed in the pages of the _remarkable book_ of Wm. Still, of Philadelphia, entitled 'THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD,' referred to in my last. Mr. Still kept a careful memorandum of the sufferings and trials of his race during the existence of the 'Fugitive Slave Law,' in the belief that they would be instructive to his posterity, rather than from any hope of the overthrow of the revolting system of human servitude * * * he resolved to spread before the world this _unprecedented_ experience. When his book appears, it will accomplish more than one object. Interesting to the literary world, it will undoubtedly facilitate the reunion of other colored families long divided, long sought for, and perhaps to this day strangers to each other. * * * * The volume containing this and other equally romantic yet truthful stories will soon be out, and, _my word for it, no book of the times will be more eagerly read or more profitably remembered._" * * * * * The San Francisco _Elevator_ says: * * * * "Mr. Still is one of the pioneers of 'THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD' in Philadelphia, where he still resides. He has aided more slaves to escape than any other man, Bishop Lougan, of Syracuse, _perhaps_ excepted. * * * * We hope his book will have a wide circulation, as it will be a valuable addition to the history of the anti-slavery struggle _such as no other man can write._" * * * * * Having been, during many years, associated with WILLIAM STILL, in laboring for the abolition of American slavery, we heartily bear our testimony to his abundant opportunities for acquiring information relative to the subject of this book; and to his vigilance and fidelity in all the departments of anti-slavery work in which he was engaged, and especially in that department usually called "THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD." We gladly avail ourselves of this opportunity to express our confidence in his ability to present to the public an authentic and interesting history of this enterprise. _Prominent Members of the Anti-Slavery Society._ LUCRETIA MOTT, J. MILLER McKIM, ROBERT PURVIS, MARY GREW, E.M. DAVIS, SARAH PUGH, DILLWYN PARRISH, JOSHUA L. HALLOWELL, HENRY M. LAING, MARGARET J. BURLEIGH, EDWARD HOPPER, CHARLES WISE, JOHN LONGSTRETH, J.K. WILDMAN, JAMES A. WRIGHT. Certainly no volume ever met with higher or more extensive endorsement. From the time the author announced his intention to prepare a book from his notes and records until it was given to the public, it was the subject of favorable comment by leading minds of the country, without reference to race. Since its publication it has received the endorsement of the Press generally, and of Statesmen, Preachers, Lawyers, Doctors, Students, in fact men of all ranks. Brief Extracts from Letters to the Author by Prominent Men. _FROM HON. HENRY WILSON, LATE VICE PRESIDENT OF UNITED STATES_. I have glanced over a few pages of your History of the Underground Railroad, _and I most earnestly commend it_. You have done a good work. This story of the heroic conduct of fugitives from oppression, and of the devotion of their friends, will be read with deep interest, especially by the old friends of the slave in the stern struggle through which we have passed. I hope your labors will be rewarded by a grateful public. * * * * * _FROM HORACE GREELEY_. _Dear Sir:_--For most of the years I have lived, the escape of fugitives from slavery, and their efforts to baffle the human and other bloodhounds who tracked them, formed the romance of American History. That romance is now ended, and our grandchildren will hardly believe its leading incidents except on _irresistible testimony_. I rejoice that you are collecting and presenting _that testimony_, and heartily wish you a great success. * * * * * _FROM HON. CHARLES SUMMER, LATE U.S. SENATOR FROM MASS._ The Underground Railroad has performed its part, but must always be remembered gratefully, as one of the peculiar institutions of our country. I cannot think of it without a throbbing heart. You do well to commemorate those associated with it by service or by benefit--the saviors and the saved. The army of the late war has had its "Roll of Honor." You will give us two other, rolls, worthy of equal honor--the roll of fugitives from slavery, helped on their way to freedom, and also the roll of their self-sacrificing benefactors. I always hesitated which to honor most, the fugitive slave or the citizen who helped him, in defiance of unjust laws. Your book will teach us to honor both. * * * * * _FROM JOHN G. WHITTIER_. The story of the escaped fugitives--the perils, the terrors of pursuit and re-capture--the shrewdness which baffled the human blood-hounds--the untiring zeal and devotion of the friends of the slave in the free States, are well described. _The book is more interesting than any romance_. It will be of permanent value to the historian of the country, during the anti-slavery struggle. _I cheerfully commend it to the public favor_. * * * * * _FROM J. WHEATON SMITH, D.D._ I am happy to find that material for this interesting work exists. I had feared that much which will be here recorded, would perish with the brave and worthy men who were personally interested. These verities of history contain the interest of romance, and our children's children will read them with wonder and admiration. * * * * * _FROM, HON. S.P. CHASE, LATE CHIEF JUSTICE U.S. SUPREME COURT_. _Your book will certainly be an interesting one. No one probably has had equal opportunities with yourself of listening to the narratives of fugitive slaves. No one will repeat them more truthfully, and no stories can be more fraught with interest than theirs_. Let us rejoice, that, in our country, such narratives can never be heard again. * * * * * _FROM WM. LLOYD GARRISON_. I congratulate you that, after much patient research, careful preparation, and untiring labor, you have completed your voluminous work on "THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD." I am sure your work will be found to be _one of absorbing interest, worthy of the widest patronage, and historically valuable as pertaining to the tremendous struggle for the abolition of chattel slavery in our land. No phase of that struggle was so crowded wifh thrilling incidents, heroic adventures, and self-sacrificing efforts as the one you have undertaken to portray, and with which you were so closely connected, to wit:_ "THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD." While it will be contemplated with shame, sadness, and astonishment, by posterity, it will serve vividly to illustrate the perils which everywhere confronted the fugitives from the Southern "house of bondage," and to which those who dared to give them food and shelter were also subjected. * * * * * _FROM GEN. O.O. HOWARD_. You could not prepare a work that would afford more instruction and interest to me than a detailed history of the operations of the so-called "UNDERGROUND RAILROAD." _I am delighted_ at the casual examination I have been permitted to give it. Thousands will rise up to call you blessed for your faithful record of our "legalized crime," and its graphic terrible consequences set forth by you in _such true pictures and plain words_. * * * * * _HON. CARL SCHURZ, SECRETARY OF THE INTERIOR_. I have no doubt you can make the narrative a very interesting contribution to the history of an important period of our national development. It will be calculated to strengthen in the whole American people a just sense of the beneficent results of the great social revolution we have achieved, and to inspire the people of your own race with a high appreciation of the blessings of liberty they now enjoy. * * * * * _FROM HON. W.D. KELLEY, CONGRESSMAN FROM PA._ The stories you tell with admirable simplicity and directness of the suffering heroically endured by such numbers of poor fugitives, will instruct and inspire many who have regarded the American slave as a member of an inferior race. _Office_ "THE PRESS," _Philadelphia, Pa.__My Dear Sir:_--I have read most of the proof sheets of your forthcoming book, entitled "THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD," and have just examined the letter-press preparatory to its publication, and the accompanying engravings, and I cannot refrain from stating, that I believe it to be a consummate work of its kind. Its chief merit, of course, consists in its _extraordinary revelations_ of the injustice and cruelty of the dead system of slavery, but it is gratifying to notice that it will be printed and sent forth to the world in so complete and admirable a style, _I commend it most cheerfully as a book that every citizen should have in his library._ Very truly, yours, JNO. W. FORNEY. WM. STILL, Esq. * * * * * I join very cordially in the preceding statement and recommendation. HON. MORTON McMICHAEL, _Ex-Mayor of Phila., Editor of N.A. & U.S. Gazette._ * * * * * I most cordially unite with Col. Forney and other gentlemen in recommending to the public Mr. Still's work, entitled "THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD." The thrilling narratives cannot be read, even at this day, without exciting the deepest emotion. GEO. H. STUART. * * * * * I fully and heartily concur in the opinion of Col. Forney respecting Mr. Still's work, entitled "THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD." HON. CHAS. GIBBONS. * * * * * Mr. Still's work appears to me to be one of _great interest, and I most heartily unite in recommending it to the public attention._ HON. HENRY C. CAREY. * * * * * _FROM, J. MILLER MCKIM._ I have read your book with feelings of mingled pleasure and pride; pleasure at the valuable contribution which it furnishes to anti-slavery history and anti-slavery literature, and pride that you are the author of it. But the chief value of the book will be found in its main narratives, which illustrate to the life the character of slavery, the spirit and temper of the men engaged for its overthrow, and the difficulties which had to be overcome by these men in the accomplishment of their purpose. A book so unique in kind, so startling in interest, and so trustworthy in its statements, cannot fail to command a large reading now, and in generations yet to come. That you--my long tried friend and associate--are the author of this book, is to me a matter of great pride and delight. * * * * * _FROM HON. JNO. A. BINGHAM OF OHIO._ You will please accept my thanks for the opportunity given me to examine your record of the struggle for freedom by the slave and his friends. It will doubtless be a work of great interest to many of our citizens. _FROM THE NORTH AMERICAN AND U.S. GAZETTE._ Here is an authority that cannot be questioned, competent and correct by many endorsements, that shows without argument, after the true pattern of Herodotus and the chroniclers, what slavery in America was in the decade immediately preceding its overthrow. * * * * * _FROM THE "PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER."_ "Never before has the working of the Underground Railroad been so thoroughly explained. Here we have in complete detail the various methods adopted for circumventing the enemies of freedom, and told, as it is, with great simplicity and natural feeling, the narrative is one which cannot but make a deep impression. Thrilling incidents, heroic adventures and noble deeds of self-sacrigce light up every page, and will enlist the heartiest sympathies of all generous souls. It was eminently just that such a record of one of the most remarkable phases of the struggle against slavery should be prepared, that the memory of the noble originators and supporters of the railroad might be kept green, and posterity enabled to form a true conception of the necessity that called it into existence, and of the difficulties under which its work was performed. The labor of compiling could not have fallen into more appropriate or better qualified hands." * * * * * _FROM THE "BALTIMORE AMERICAN."_ Mr. Still was one of the most courageous managers on the Underground Ralroad, and is therefore well qualified to be its historian. He speaks of his own services with modesty, and, in fact, there is no attempt at exaggeration in any one of the most wonderful series of narratives which he relates. Baltimore was one of the great depots from which the trembling fugitives set out on their trip to Canada, and Mr. Still deals freely with the names of person, yet living, who, no doubt, would be very glad if this most extraordinary book had never been published. It was their misfortune to have furnished a number of passengers for the "Underground Railroad," and now they cannot escape being named in connection with the slaves, who dared, everything for liberty. * * * * * _FROM THE SAN FRANCISCO BULLETIN._ We have often longed to know how the drab-coated philanthropists of Philadelphia managed to furnish systematic assistance to the slave fugitives, and the desire is now gratified. William Still, for many years connected with the anti-slavery office in Philadelphia, and the chairman of the Acting Vigilance Committee of the Philadelphia Branch of the Underground Railroad, has written a ponderous volume, entitled "THE UNDERGROUND RALROAD." ... He has performed his work well. The volume before us, though containing nearly 800 pages, is not elaborated beyond necessity, and fairly teems with interesting sketches. _FROM BISHOP PAYNE OF THE A.M.E. CHURCH, PHILADELPHIA._ My official engagements and private duties have prevented me from reading your work on THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD, throughout. But such portions as I have had time to read, convince me that as a stimulus to noble effort it has much value. It is also a grand _monument_ of the past struggles of the Angel Spirit of Liberty with the Demon of American Slavery. It serves also as a Beacon Light for our future progress in the upward movement. It deserves a wide circulation through the Republic. * * * * * "I cheerfully endorse the above." S.M.D. WARD. (Bishop A.M.E. Church.) * * * * * _FROM LETTER OF HON. EBENEZER D. BASSETT, U.S. MINISTER TO HAITI._ The book must strike everyone who sees it as one of very commendable appearance; and to everyone who reads it, it must commend itself as one of remarkable interest. It is a work which cannot fail to reflect an unusual credit upon the care, industry and sterling ability of its author. All hail to you, my dear fellow, for your success. When nearly four years ago you spoke often to me about your project of writing this book, I always told you I thought it would prove a success; but I tell you now, candidly, that although I never for a moment doubted your peculiar fitness to prepare such a work, yet I feared that when you came to see the time, industry, care and patience, which it would require aside from your pressing everyday business cares and perplexities, you might stop at the foot of the mountain and abandon the tedious ascent. But you have actually made the ascent and stand now on the top of the mountain. Hurrah for my old friend Still! Hurrah! Hurrah!! Hurrah!!! * * * * * _FROM. PROF. W. HOWARD DAY, IN "OUR NATIONAL PROGRESS."_ In his singularly and creditably brief preface, Mr. Still sincerely disclaims literary pretension; but creditable as is this to the author, we may say that the work is in style excellent reading, and that if it were not so, the narratives themselves are so thrilling, possess such a heart-reaching interest, that if these were literary crudities, they would be entirely placed in the background in the concentrated blaze of light which the author pours upon the bloody pathway of these victims of injustice, from 1851, when the terrors of the Fugitive Slave Law began, to the hour when Slavery and Rebellion were washed out in blood, together. We have not space for a reprint of one of these interesting histories, but we are personally acquainted with the "facts" as related by Mr. Still, and the persons involved, and can attest the truth of the statements made. Some of these parties we have met in their flight, others in their temporary sojourn in the then so-called Free States; others we knew (Harriet Tubman and Moses among them) in their latest and safest refuge, (Canada,) under the protection of the Cross of St. George and St. Andrew. It was due to such that this book should be written. Their heroic deeds, in behalf of personal liberty of themselves and others, deserve commemorating. Their deeds of daring, winning victory at last, in the face of wily and unscrupulous men devoted to their capture, and sustained by the voice, the law and the cannon of the Government, ought to be written in unfading letters across the history of a people struggling upward to enfranchisement. It will teach the coming generations who were our fathers and our mothers; who there were in these years of agony who braved death to secure liberty and who upheld the noble banner of a dying race until their efforts, by God's blessing, made the race rise and live. All thanks to Mr. Still for thus placing this noble record of the free, and those struggling to be free, before the world. * * * * * _FROM, THE BOSTON JOURNAL, BOSTON, MASS._ The present volume is a narrative, or rather a collection of narratives, of the adventures of slaves on their way to freedom. The style is perfectly simple and unaffected, and it is well that it is so. The facts and incidents related are themselves so full of interest and dramatic intenseness as to need no coloring. The narratives throughout have the mark of truth upon them, and are based on authentic records. American history would not be complete without some such book as this, written by one within the circle of those devoted philanthropists who were so fearless and unremitting in their efforts for human freedom. * * * * * _FROM THE PROVIDENCE PRESS, PROVIDENCE, R.I._ This large volume is full of facts. To read its pages is to bring the past up with vividness. Many of those who fought with the worse than Ephesus' beasts encountered by Paul, to wit, the man-hunters of the South, we knew personally, and their narratives as given in this volume we can vouch for, having received their accounts at the time, from their own lips. Historically the book is valuable, because it is fact and not fiction, although fifty years from to-day it will read like fiction to the then living. * * * * * _FROM THE NEWBURYPORT HERALD, MASS._ It is not a romance, but it is a storehouse of materials which will hereafter be used in literature, and be studied, not only by historians, dramatists and novelists, but also by those who will seek to comprehend and realize the fact, that there has been, in this country, a condition of society and law which made the Underground railroad possible. THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD, * * * * * BY WILLIAM STILL. * * * * * AN AUTHENTIC RECORD OF THE WONDERFUL HARDSHIPS, HAIRBREADTH ESCAPES, AND DEATH STRUGGLES WHICH MARK THE TRACK FROM SLAVERY TO FREEDOM IN THE UNITED STATES. * * * * * This is one of the most remarkable volumes of the century. Its publication has only been made possible by a combination of circumstances which seldom attend the birth of a book. Before emancipation, and while the bane of slavery was on the country, the thrilling facts of this volume could not have been made public. Peace and the blessing of freedom permit their publication, free circulation and unmolested reading. Of all the thousands who favored freedom for the slaves, who gloried in the odium attached to anti-slaveryism, who witnessed the frequent efforts of the bondsmen to escape, who aided them in their quest for liberty, few dared to take notes of what they witnessed, and fewer still dared to preserve them, lest they should be turned into witnesses against them. But one man, and that the author of this book, is known to have succeeded in preserving anything like a full account of the workings of the UNDERGROUND RAILROAD, as it was called before emancipation. These records grew on his hands during the years he acted as Chairman of the Philadelphia Branch of that celebrated corporation, until they reached the extent of the present volume. They are made up of letters received, of interviews held, of narratives taken down at the time, of real reminiscence and authentic biography. Nothing imaginative enters into the composition of the volume. It is simply succinct history, always startling, sometimes bloody. The annals of no time since the Inquisition are so full of daring ventures for life and liberty or heroic endurance under most trying circumstances. As a history of the UNDERGROUND RAILROAD, the work is most curious and valuable. It tells of an ingenuity and faithfulness on the part of the officials of the road which seems well-nigh marvellous. As its pages reveal the methods by which aid was given to the escaping slave, one is compelled to wonder almost as if he were facing a revelation. The secrets of Masonry are not more mysterious than were the ways of these officials who clothed, fed and comforted the fugitive, while they apparently never knew his name or whereabouts. Even those who never believed in the existence of an UNDERGROUND RAILWAY, or who, believing, cursed its existence, will read its history, at this time, with the relish of astonishment and the zest of discoverers. But the book has a higher meaning and use. It is curious and hitherto unprinted history to the white race. To the black race, and especially that part of it once slave, it is more than a history of a time of peril. It is for them what Exodus was to the fugitives from Egypt, a history and an inspiration as well. They may learn from it of their heroes and how deeply the love of liberty was implanted in their bosoms. The Swiss never tire of the story of their Tell, nor the Welsh of that of their Glendower. Every nation has its exemplar, whose bravery and virtues are a perpetual lesson and source of admiration. The colored race may now read of its real heroes, its Joshuas, Spartacuses, Tells and Glendowers, among the list of those who silently broke their chains and dared everything in order to breathe the sweet air of liberty. They are not blazoned heroes, full of loud deeds and great names, but quiet examples of what fortitude can achieve where freedom is the goal. It is time now that the colored race should know something of the steps which led from Egypt to Canaan, something of their own contributions to the grand march of the tribes across and beyond the Red Sea. There are no slaves beneath the starry flag. All may read who will, and what they will. For the colored man no history can be more instructive and inspiring than this, of his own making, and written by one of his own race. The generations are growing in light. Not to know of those who were stronger than shackles, who were pioneers in the grand advance toward freedom; not to know of what characters the race could produce when straightened by circumstances, nor of those small beginnings which ended in triumphant emancipation, will, in a short time, be a reproach. This History of the hardships and struggles of those of their own race is more for them than for mankind at large. It furnishes the world proof that, though slaves, they were nevertheless men. It furnishes them proof that the heroic abounds in their race as in others, and that achievement follows persistent effort, as well with them as with others. The volume will be not only their admiration but constant encouragement. In its pages one is not invited to hard, dry reading. It is narrative in style, simple in language, and possesses the thrill and pathos of a novel. In all its parts it is an evidence of the saying that "Truth is stranger than fiction." The author scarcely needs an introduction to the public. He is a scholarly, successful business man of Philadelphia, who has long been identified with churches, charities and every project for ameliorating the condition of his race. His word in all things is as good as his bond. An ardent member of the Anti-Slavery Society, and an active officer of the Underground Railroad Company, he made his book as a business man makes his ledger, viz.: by noting daily the transactions of the day. How he preserved them does not matter much now, but if a certain loft in the chapel of an old cemetery could speak, it might a tale unfold. The volume is quite large and commanding in appearance. It consists of about 800 pages, clearly printed on beautiful white paper, making the largest book ever written by a colored person in this country. An attractive feature of the book, one which has added largely to its cost, and one which greatly enhances its value to the reader, is its illustrations. These are over seventy in number, and they are made to illustrate the most striking portions of the work. They represent night escapes and day encounters, on land and river, receptions on the soil of freedom, characters of note among the fugitives, and many of those among the anti-slavery people whose names have become historic. It is seldom a volume is seen which so abounds in apt and striking illustration. The field for the sale of this volume is immense. It will prove desirable as a curious contribution to the literature of the times, and will be bought in every home North and South, East and West, where reading is cherished. It is pre-eminently the book for the colored race. There is not a colored man or woman in the whole land who will not want to possess it. Even if he cannot read, he will want it for his children. It will be their history and their story for generations. We have fixed the price at a very low figure, so as to completely answer all pleas of poverty or hard times. The whole book of _800 SUPER-ROYAL OCTAVO PAGES_ is filled with the thrilling History of the Secret work of the U.G.R.R., giving an authentic account of the wonderful Escapes and Daring Deeds, the Endurance and Sacrifice of men and women in their efforts for freedom. It is BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED and substantially bound, and furnished at the following _VERY LOW PRICES:_ IN FINE ENGLISH CLOTH, PANNELLED,............... $3.00 IN BEAUTIFUL EMBOSSED MOROCCO, GILT CENTRE, ... 4.00 Every book corresponds with above description or the subscriber is not bound to take it. PEOPLE'S PUBLISHING CO., 26 SO. 7TH ST., PHILADELPHIA, PA., CINCINNATI, O., CHICAGO, ILL., OR, ST. LOUIS, MO. _FROM THE "NATION," N.Y._ It is, nevertheless, a chapter in our history which connot be skipped or obliterated, inasmuch as it marks one stage of the disease of which the crisis was passed at Gettysburg. It is one, too, for which we ought not to be dependent on tradition; and, all things considered, no one was so well qualified as Mr. Still to reproduce that phase of it with which he was so intimately concerned, as chairman of the Acting Committee of the Vigilance Committee of Philadelphia. Of all the Border States, Pennsylvania was the most accessible to fugitives from slavery; and as the organization just named was probably the most perfect and efficient of its kind, and served as a distributor to the branches in other States, its record doubtless covers the larger part of the field of operations of the Underground Railroad; or, in other words, of the systematic but secret efforts to promote the escape of slaves. * * * * * _FROM THE CHRISTIAN UNION, N.Y._ "The narratives themselves, told with the simplicity and directness of obvious truth, are full of terror, of pathos, the shame of human baseness and the glory of human virtue; and though the time is not yet sufficiently distant from the date of their occurrence to give to this record the universal acceptance it deserves, there are few, we think, even now, who can read it without amazement that such things could be in our very day, and be regarded with such general apathy. When the question, still so momentous and exciting, of the relations of the two races in this country, shall have passed from the vortex of political strife and social prejudice, and taken its place among the ethical axioms of a Christian civilization, then this faithful account of some of the darkest and some of the brightest incidents in our history--this cyclopædia of all the virtues and all the vices of humanity--will be accepted as a most valuable contribution to the annals of one of the important eras of the world." * * * * * _FROM THE "LUTHERAN OBSERVER," PHILADELPHIA._ "It is a remarkable book in many respects. Like the 'Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin,' by Mrs. Stowe, it reveals many of the most thrilling personal dramas and tragedies in the entire history of slavery. That 'truth is stranger than fiction' has hundreds of striking illustrations in this volume, which is a narrative of facts, the records of which were kept by Mr. Still, and are the only records in existence of the famous organization known as the Underground Railroad. It was established for the purpose of aiding slaves to escape from their masters in the South, but its operations were so mysterious and secret that, although everybody knew and spoke vaguely of its existence during the time of slavery, yet none but the initiated knew the secrets of its management and operations. These are now revealed for the first time in this work, and are as strange and wonderful as the most absorbing pictures of romance." * * * * * _FROM, THE CHRISTIAN RECORDER, PHILA._ There has been no such work produced by any colored man in the country. "My Bondage and my Freedom," by Douglass, was a remarkable book, and was justly appreciated by the liberty-loving people of the North and of England, but it was the story of a single hero. Comparatively, the same may be said of the lives of Jermain Logan and others. But all these were but the exploits of individuals. The work of Mr. Still, however, takes a broader scope. It is the story of scores of heroes--heroes that equalled Douglass in nerve, and Logan in tact, and excelled either in thrilling adventure. * * * * * _FROM "ZION'S HERALD," BOSTON._ "It is a big book in manner, matter, and spirit; the biggest book America has yet written. It is our 'Book of Martyrs,' and William Still is our Fox the Chronicler. It is the 'thousand witnesses' of Theodore Weld, enlarged and intensified. It is more than Uncle Tom, Wilson's 'History of the Anti-slavery War,' or the hundred histories of the war itself.... "The book is well illustrated with portraits of the railroad managers, and with scenes taken from life, and is far the most entertaining and instructive story ever issued from the American press. Everybody should buy, read, and transmit to his children these annals of our heroic age." * * * * * _FROM THE "MORNING STAR," DOVER, NEW HAMPSHIRE._ "The work is intensely interesting. Many of the narratives thrill the reader through and through. Some of them awaken an indignation, a horror, or a sense of humiliation and shame that makes the blood curdle or the cheek flush, or the breathing difficult. The best and the worst sides of human nature are successfully exhibited. Here heroism and patience stand out transfigured; there selfishness and brutality hold carnival till it seems as though justice had been exiled and God had forgotten his own. The number of cases reported is very large, and the method in which the author has done his work is commendable. There is no rhetorical ambition. The narratives are embodied in plain language. The facts are left to make their own impression, without an attempt to embellish them by the aid of imagination. And the work is timely." * * * * * _FROM THE "FRIENDS' REVIEW," PHILADELPHIA._ "We are glad to see this book. We anticipate for it a large circulation, and a permanent rank in a peculiar and painful department of history. The writer is one among very many who are entitled to the hearty support of philanthropists for their services rendered, often at considerable sacrifices and imminent peril, for the rescue and aid of those who were wickedly held in bondage.... The _Underground Railroad_ should have a place in every comprehensive library, private or public.