ANTI-SLAVERY EXPERIENCES.
This chapter introduces the reader to representatives of a large
proportion of slave-owners of the Southern States, who were perverted
by a system well-named "the sum of all villainies."
Willis Hamilton, an emancipated slave, the hero of this narrative, who
fled to Canada with his slave wife, Elsie, to seek for her the
protection of the British lion from the merciless talons of the
freedom-shrieking American eagle, was emancipated three years previous
to the date of this chapter, together with nineteen others (the reputed
goods and chattels of John Bayliss, a Baptist deacon, near
Jonesborough, Tennessee). Slaveholder though he was, John Bayliss
evidently thought his black people had souls as well as those of white
skins, for he allowed his house servants to remain in the dining-room
during evening family worship, thus giving them instruction which, as
the sequel will show, made the slave the teacher of the master; for one
morning, as "Aunt Lucy," an old and privileged servant, was passing
through his room, she said:
"Massa John, I's bin thinkin' a heap o' dat ar what you read in the
Bible t' other night."
"Ah, what's that, Aunt Lucy?" said the deacon.
"It's to do oder folks as you'd want 'em to do to you, or somehow dat
fashion. I tell you, Massa John, 't would be mighty hard for you white
folks to work great many years and get noffin'. Den, if you dies,
whar'd we go to? I specks we'd go down de riber, like Jones's poor
people did las' week."
"Well, well, Aunt Lucy, that was too bad; but Jones was in debt, and I
suppose they had to be sold."
"O yes, I s'pose so; but dat you read in de Bible sort o' sticks to
me--I can't help it," said this faithful old mother in Israel, as she
went out to her work.
In a moment or two Mrs. Bayliss entered the room, and the deacon said:
"Wife, what kind of a text do you think Aunt Lucy has just given me?"
"Text?"
"Yes, text."
"What's got into her head now?"
"She says she's been thinking about what I read in prayer-time the
other evening, referring to the golden rule, and that it sort o' sticks
to her. She spoke, of the excitement over Jones's black people who were
sent down the river the other day; and I tell you, the way she applied
her text, it 'sort o' sticks' to me."
"O hush!" indignantly exclaimed Mrs. Bayliss. "Aunt Lucy's mighty
religious, and has so many notions of her own she's not worth minding,
any how."
"But she asked me what would become of my black people if I should die,
and if I thought they would ever be torn apart as Jones's were. I tell
you, wife, I have witnessed such scenes too often to feel right in
risking a contingency of that kind," said the deacon, gravely.
"Don't be a fool, now, John Baybss," angrily exclaimed his wife, "about
Aunt Lucy's fuss over Jones's niggers."
"Well," said the deacon, "I don't wonder at her feeling grieved; they
belonged to her Church, and many of them were her relatives."
Here, for the time being, the conversation ended; but the soul of John
Bayliss, awakened by the simple, straight-forward speech of his
bond-woman, refused to be quieted, and he made this the subject of
earnest prayer until the path of duty became so clear before him that
he could not do otherwise than manumit his twenty slaves, although
bitterly opposed by his wife (who refused to free the three held in her
own right).
Elsie, the wife of Willis Hamilton, belonged to a neighboring planter.
She was sold to a drover for the Southern market, and was being torn
from her husband and two little daughters. Willis, in his agony, went
from house to house, imploring some one to buy her, so that she might
remain near her family. Finally one Dr. John P. Chester, who was about
opening a hotel, agreed to purchase Elsie for $800, if Willis would pay
$300 in work in the house, and fare the same as the other servants in
board and clothing. With these conditions Willis gladly complied; but
after they had spent a few months in their new home Deacon Bayliss
examined their article of agreement and found it to be illegal. He told
Willis that Dr. Chester could sell Elsie at any time, and he could
establish no claim to her, even had he paid the $300, which, at the
wages he was receiving, would take him nearly nine years to earn, with
the interest, and advised him to leave Dr. Chester and work for wages,
as he had done since his manumission. This advice was immediately acted
upon, Willis being permitted to spend his nights with his wife. Every
thing passed off pleasantly for a few weeks, until one of the
house-servants told Elsie that she overheard Master John sell both her
and Willis to a slave-trader, who would the following night convey them
to the river with a drove ready for New Orleans. Frantic as the poor
woman was with terror and grief at this information, she managed to
perform her duties as usual until supper-time; and when all were seated
at the table she slipped out unobserved, ran through a corn-field into
the woods, sending word to Willis by a fellow-servant to meet her at a
certain log. The moment Willis received the message he hastened to her
with flying feet; and here the wretched husband and wife, but a few
days before so full of plans for a pleasant future, held their council
in tears.
Willis, in his sudden fright and excitement, could only exclaim: "What
shall we do? Where shall we go?" Elsie, cooler and more composed,
suggested going to Deacon Bayliss for advice. This Willis quickly did,
and soon returned, it having been arranged that he should bring Elsie
there and secrete her in the attic until the excitement of the hunt was
over. After this they assumed the names of Bill and Jane, a brother and
sister who answered to their own description of color and size on
Willia's free papers--the whole list of the twenty slaves emancipated
by Deacon Bayliss being recorded on each paper.
After five weeks hiding at the southern terminus of the "Underground
Railroad," they took up their line of march for Canada. In a Quaker
settlement in Indiana they found friends to whom they revealed their
true relationship, and here they spent a year with a Quaker family
named Shugart. But the slight protection afforded by the laws of
Indiana did not tend to give them a feeling of security, and so they
started again for the promised land with their infant daughter Louisa.
On this journey they were assisted on their way, and made easy and
comfortable compared with their hasty flight from Tennessee, from
whence they walked with swollen and blistered feet, and every nerve
strung to its utmost tension from the fear of pursuit by their Southern
persecutors.
As times were hard in Canada, Elsie consented to come to Michigan with
her husband if he could find a Quaker neighborhood. In their search
they found our house, and my husband, Charles Haviland, Jr., after
learning their condition, leased Willis twenty acres of ground, mostly
openings, for ten years, for the improvements he would make thereon.
Here they lived for three years, when one day Elsie saw a strange man
peering through the fence.
Her first thought was "a Southerner," and snatching her two Little ones
she ran for our house, only a few rods distant. The man pursued her,
and she called for help to a neighbor in sight, at which the skulking
sneak took himself off to the woods. This incident so thoroughly
aroused their fears that they took another farm, a few miles distant,
for three years; then a farm near Ypsilanti for a few years; from
whence they removed to Monroe, where they induced a friend to write to
Willis's old friend and master, Deacon Bayliss, making inquiries after
their two daughters, who were left behind in slavery. They received a
prompt reply, purporting to come from Bayliss, informing them that
their daughters were still living where they left them. He would see
them, he said, by the time he received their next letter, which he
hoped would be soon, that he might be the happy bearer of glad news to
the children from their father and mother. He professed great joy at
hearing from them, wished them to write all the particulars about
themselves, but cautioned them to write to no one but him, and all
would be safe. He requested them to inform him in what town they were
living, as he noticed their letter was dated in one town, mailed in
another, and he was directed to address them in a third. Their friend,
however, strictly cautioned them not to reveal their definite
whereabouts, but to answer all other queries. Willis wrote that as his
farm lease had expired there, he would have to seek another farm, and
did not know where he would be, but to address a letter as before and
it would be forwarded to him.
Their next move was to return to their first Michigan home on my
premises, a few months after the death of my husband, taking up their
abode in the little log-house built for them a few years before, and
working my land on shares. Another letter was soon received from their
friend Deacon Bayliss, as they supposed, and they urged me to reply;
but I firmly refused to write to any one in the land of the
slaveholder, lest the message should fall into the hands of enemies,
and advised them to leave their daughters in the hands of the Lord, who
would yet provide a way of deliverance for them as he had for their
parents. In their great anxiety, however, to hear from their children,
from whom they had been separated so many years, their plea was strong
and persistent: but I remained immovable to all their entreaties, and
told them of a slave family, who, after living twenty years in Indiana,
had but recently been captured and returned to hopeless bondage. Upon
this they yielded to me for the time being, but in a few weeks came
again with pleadings made eloquent by suffering. As they had felt the
vice-like grip of the peculiar system on their own hearts and lives,
they realized too keenly the fate that might any time overtake their
daughters. But I still resisted all their entreaties, and in a few days
after they applied to J. F. Dolbeare, one of the trustees of Raisin
Institute, who, thinking there was no danger, wrote all they desired,
telling the supposed Deacon Bayliss all their past life in the free
States and all their plans for the future. This they kept from me for a
time, but Elsie's heart refused to be quieted, and she finally told me
about it, first telling her husband she believed it their duty "For,"
she says, "I have thought more about it since Aunt Laura told me she
dreamed of three poisonous green vipers which she poked so near the
fire that their sacks were burned to a crisp and the poison all ran
out, so that she thought them powerless for harm, but they still kept
their threatening attitude; and who knows but these vipers may be
slaveholders?" Willis said he had felt like telling me all the while,
and both came to me with their story.
I much regretted this unwise step, but forbore all criticism, and told
them we would hope for the best. A few days after a stranger appeared
at our gate and inquired for a stray horse, which he said left him at
Tecumseh. None having been seen he made similar inquiries at Hamilton's.
He also asked for a glass of water, and while receiving it, says to
Elsie: "Auntie, where does this road lead to, that crosses the river
east?" "To Palmyra," she replied, and frightened at being addressed as
"Auntie," in the Southern style, hastened into her house.
The second night after this, at eleven o'clock, a carriage drove up to
a log-house on one of the cross roads, and three men appeared
simultaneously, two at the front and one at the rear window, but
quickly disappeared. They had evidently mistaken their place, as it was
a white family up with a sick child. It was a dark night, and there was
a dug way ten feet deep perpendicular, near the fence to which their
team was hitched, which the valiant and mysterious trio did not
discover, and when they re-entered their carriage and attempted to turn
around they tumbled into it, horses, carriage, and all. This little
incident so disarranged their plans that they were until daylight
returning to Adrian (only six miles distant), with their broken
trappings and bruised horses. They told the liveryman, Mr. Hurlburt,
that their horses took fright and ran off a steep bank, and begged him
to fix the damages as low as possible, as they were from home, belated,
etc. Mr. Hurlburt assessed them thirty dollars; but he afterwards said,
had he known their business he would have doubled it.
Three days after this fortunate mishap Willis Hamilton received a
letter inclosing three dollars, purporting to be from John Bayliss, who
had come up into Ohio on business, and was on his way to visit them
when he was suddenly taken very Ill, and was pronounced by the
physicians in a critical condition--in fact, they gave him but little
encouragement for recovery, and he desired Willis to come and visit
him, and bring his wife and children, as he might want him for two
weeks. He closed by saying:
"Whether I get better or die, I am resigned, and can say the Lord's
will be done. I shall have every train watched until you come. God
bless you
"Respectfully yours, JOHN BAYLISS"
Of course I was given this letter to read, and I suggested the utmost
caution in obeying this request, for, as the old rat in the fable said,
there might be "concealed mischief in this heap of meal" I called for
the other two letters, and found they were written by the same hand
Willis says: "Oh! I know the old boss too well, he's true as steel; he
won't have anything to do with trap business. Besides, I've got my free
papers, and I'm not afraid to go, but I wont take my wife and children"
I proposed that Mr. Dolbeare or some neighbor go with him That pleased
him, but Mr. Dolbeare could not go. As my son Daniel and I were going
to Adrian, I proposed to get either Mr. Backus or Mr. Peters, both
strong anti-slavery friends in the city, to accompany him to Toledo. As
we were about starting, Joseph Gibbons, a neighbor, came with the
suggestion that Willis remain at home, and James Martin, who was about
his color and size, go in his stead; as Gibbons agreed with me in
believing there was a deep laid plot. To this all parties agreed, and
Willis gave me the letter and the three dollars towards the fare of
whoever should go with James, who was an intelligent young colored man
in our institution. Everything being in readiness we now started for
Adrian, where we arrived just in time to jump on board the train, and
consequently had no leisure to seek out and make the proposed
arrangements with our above mentioned friends, but sent word back to
Willis that we would return the following morning.
Once fairly settled on our journey the responsibility so suddenly
thrust upon me made me cry out in my heart for wisdom beyond my own,
and I prayed for a guiding hand to direct our actions in case we should
find ourselves in the camp of the enemy, face to face with traffickers
in human souls and bodies, who considered no scheme too vile or
desperate for them to undertake, the success of which would in any way
subserve their own interests.
We arrived at Toledo at 7 P. M., and as we left the cars James was,
addressed by a man with the question: "Is your name Willis Hamilton?"
(and without waiting for a reply), "Is your wife with you?"
"No, sir," said James.
"Perhaps I am mistaken," said the questioner, who was the porter of the
Toledo hotel.
"Who do you wish to see?" said James.
"Willis Hamilton is the man I am sent for, by his old friend John
Bayliss, who is at the Toledo hotel, so ill that he is not expected to
live."
"Where is this Mr. Bayliss from?" said James.
"Tennessee, I believe."
"Very well, if there is such a man here I want to see him."
"Come with me, and I'll take you to his room," said the porter.
While this conversation was passing between the porter and James we
were following in the rear, but apparently paying no attention to them.
Our plan was for Daniel to keep James in sight if possible, and
whatever he heard of the sick man to report to me in the parlor. We
entered the hotel nearly together. I was shown into the parlor and
James was taken up a flight of stairs from the bar-room. Daniel was
following, when the porter told him the bar-room for gentlemen was
below. He said, "I am taking this man to see a friend of his who is
very sick, and no strangers are allowed to enter the room." Of course,
my son could do nothing but return, so no further observations could be
taken by us until the reappearance of James. For two long hours we
neither saw nor heard anything of him, and becoming very anxious and
restless I told Daniel to ask for James Martin, as he had business with
him. Twice he made this request, but the porter only said, "Yes, yes,
you shall see him in a minute," and dodged from room to room to keep
out of sight.
Growing desperate, I finally told my son to tell the porter "if that
young colored man is not forthcoming at once, a writ of _habeas corpus_
will be served on him in fifteen minutes, as we must see him
immediately. Also tell Mr. Woodward, the proprietor, that your mother
is here with a message for Mr. John Bayliss, who we understand is very
ill at this house." Mr. Woodward instantly summoned the porter, and we
heard him say in an excited undertone: "There's trouble ahead unless
that young black fellow comes down immediately; tell them to send him
down at once." In a moment the porter, three gentlemen, and James made
their appearance, evidently to the surprise of twenty half drunken
Irishmen who had been chattering all the evening, but were now so still
you could have heard a pin drop, to see Hamilton (as the sequel shows
they supposed) brought down so publicly and without fetters. It
afterwards transpired that Willis Hamilton, upon coming down stairs,
was to have been put into a close carriage, sent away, and his family
then sent for under the plea that he was detained with his sick friend,
and this was the intelligent crowd who were to aid in the success of
the plan.
I had seen a carriage stand fifteen or twenty minutes at the bar-room
door and finally leave without a passenger, and Daniel saw the same
carriage at the rear door equally long, which also left there empty.
Upon coming down James Martin evidently took in the situation at a
glance, for, giving my son a pinch, he said: "Mr. Haviland, let us go
into the dining-room and call for supper." This was to give the drunken
rabble time to leave so that he could relate his adventures with the
Southerners after supper. But by this time the porter came to me to
inquire if I wished to see Mr. Bayliss, the sick man. I replied in the
affirmative, upon which he said: "He is very low; no stranger has been
allowed to enter his room for three days, but his doctor is here. Would
you like to see him?" "I would," I replied. A tall gentleman now
entered the room and addressed me: "Madam, are you the lady who wished
to see me?" "I am, if you are the physician who has charge of John
Bayliss of Tennessee, who we learn is very ill, by a letter which
Willis Hamilton received yesterday."
"I am Dr. Taylor of this city, and have the case of Mr. Bayliss in my
care. His son-in-law is here taking care of him, and they are all
greatly disappointed at not seeing Hamilton this evening, as Mr.
Bayliss has sent for him and his family, and they can not imagine why
he does not come."
"Well, I can tell you why. We feared a trap, as Willis's wife was
formerly a slave."
"I don't see," said the doctor, "how you could suspect any thing wrong
in that letter, as I understand they have written them before, and you
should have compared the letters to see if they were written by the
same person."
"We did so, and found they were written by the same person. But there
are other points to consider: 1st, John Bayliss stands somewhat in the
relation of a slaveholder, as in a former letter he spoke of three aged
slaves living with him, and wished Hamilton and wife to stay with him
two weeks if he lived, which was doubtful, and wished them to be sure
and bring their children, though we all know that four little noisy
children are not agreeable companions in a sick-room."
Here my learned doctor gave his head a vigorous scratch, and said:
"Well, madam, Mr. Bayliss is probably childish from age, and his severe
illness makes him more so. A nervous temperament like his, affected by
disease, often enfeebles the mind, as body and mind are in close
relationship philosophically. Now, he is just childish enough to want
to see those children playing around his room, and he says he would
make them handsome presents; and as money seems to be plenty with him
and apparently no object, I judge they would be well paid for coming."
I did not appear to question this view of the case, but inquired how
long Deacon Bayliss had been ill.
"About seven days, madam," replied the doctor.
"What seems to be the nature of the disease?"
"It was at first a violent attack of bilious fever, but for the last
three days it has assumed a fearful form of typhus."
I told him that Hamilton and his wife were both very anxious about
their old friend, and wished me to see him personally, and give him
their reasons for not coming.
"I should be glad," said the doctor, "to allow you to see him, were it
not for his extreme nervousness, but I dare not risk it. It seems hard
to think the dying request of this poor old man can not be granted. He
seems to consider this family almost next to his own."
"Yes," I said, "it is also hard and humiliating to humane and patriotic
Americans that a system of human bondage exists in this country which
causes these horrible fears and suspicions to loom up like specters
before the mental vision of this persecuted and down-trodden race."
"That is very true," said Dr. Taylor; "slavery is the darkest spot on
our national escutcheon. But in this case there is no cause for
suspicion; for I am sure there is no plot with regard to the Hamilton
family, and I call God to witness that every word I tell you is truth.
As to the three slaves you spoke of, he told me during the first of his
sickness that he emancipated all his slaves, twenty in number, but that
his wife had three in her right, which she refused to free, and these
have always remained in the family. He manumitted his slaves from
purely conscientious scruples; and I believe that if there is a
Christian that walks God's earth he is one, for he has manifested such
patience and resignation during his severe illness that he has entirely
won my affections. Now, don't you think you can induce Hamilton to
bring his family here? I do not believe he will live three days."
"I will be honest with you," I replied. "Although you have talked like
a candid man, I do not believe I could transfer sufficient confidence
to the family to induce them to come unless I should see him, as they
charged me over and again."
At this my tender-hearted Aesculapius sighed deeply, and said: "I am
sorry that they or their friends should entertain any distrust, as I
fear he may not be conscious two days longer. A council of physicians
was called this afternoon, and three out of the four gave it as their
opinion that he could not survive, at the longest, beyond three days;
and I believe him liable to drop away within twenty-four hours,
although it is barely possible he may live a week."
"Well," I replied, "one cause of suspicion, both with my neighbors and
myself was that, although the letters from John Bayliss were all
written by the same hand, the last one was equally well written as the
others, although he was represented as so very low, with little hope of
recovery."
Here my ready-tongued doctor very thoughtfully placed his hand to his
forehead, but in a moment replied: "I will tell you how that was. His
fever was off at the time, which enabled him to carry a steady hand."
"Well, of course," I replied, "we do not know that any plan exists to
remand these people back to slavery, but we only judged of the
possibilities. And for my part I do not believe in regarding the wicked
enactments of men which contravene the laws of eternal right given by
God, who made of one blood all nations who dwell upon the face of the
earth, and of Christ, who left the realms of glory to bring blessings
to mankind, and a part of whose mission was to unloose the heavy
burdens and let the oppressed go free. And in view of the golden rule
given by the great Lawgiver, I would not for my right hand become
instrumental in returning one escaped slave to bondage. I firmly,
believe in our Declaration of Independence, that all men are created
free and equal, and that no human being has a right to make merchandise
of others born in humbler stations, and place them on a level with
horses, cattle, and sheep, knocking them off the auction-block to the
highest bidder, sundering family ties, and outraging the purest and
tenderest feelings of human nature."
"That is all right," said the doctor, "and I understand your feelings.
Slavery is the greatest curse upon our otherwise happy country. But in
this case there need be no fear of any conspiracy to injure your
colored friends; and I did hope, for the sake of Mr. Bayliss, they
would come and visit him, and gratify his dying request."
He then gave me some of the alarming symptoms of his patient, enlarged
on the sympathy he felt for him, and finally proposed to go up and
consult with his son-in law on the propriety of allowing me to see him
in his present exceedingly nervous state. He said if he was not spoken
to perhaps I might be allowed to look at him, as he was kept under the
influence of opiates, and was to-night in a heavy stupor, and not
disposed to talk to any one.
"Would such an arrangement be any satisfaction to you?"
I replied that, while it was immaterial to me, it would probably
satisfy the Hamilton family; and, after a few minutes' consultation in
the sick-room, he returned with the conclusion that I might enter the
room, but that no loud word must be spoken, nor the sound of a footfall
permitted.
"But you can not see his face, as it is covered with cloths wet in
vinegar to draw the fever out, and he is now in a doze, and I do not
wish to disturb him."
He then described the terrible paroxysms, bordering on spasms, suffered
by his patient, in which it took four men to hold him, and was
eulogizing his wonderful fortitude and Christian patience, when the
son-in-law suddenly came rushing into the room in his shirt-sleeves and
stocking-feet, and exclaimed:
"Doctor, doctor, do come quick; father's got another spasm, and I don't
know what to do."
"Yes, yes," said the doctor, "I'll come; don't leave your father a
moment;" and jumped up, apparently in great excitement. But at the door
he halted to tell me that these spasms indicated mortification, when
the son-in-law again opened the door with a bang and the exclamation:
"Doctor, why don't you hurry? Father is vomiting again, and I'm afraid
he is dying."
At this they both rushed frantically up-stairs. In about fifteen
minutes the doctor returned, saying he had given his patient a double
dose of an opiate, and would let him rest awhile. He then launched out
into a description of his treatment of Mr. Bayliss; how he had
blistered him, and performed a surgical operation on him which had
given him great pain; said he was attending him to the neglect of his
other patients, and after exhausting a large amount of eloquence on the
subject returned to the sick chamber. In a few moments he came back
with the information that I could now be admitted, and conducted me to
the room.
As soon as we stepped within the door the doctor halted, but I stepped
to the center of the room, as if I had forgotten that I was only just
to enter, and gazed at the bed and then at the lounge opposite. The
doctor stepped to my side and said, "That is he on the bed yonder." I
stood a moment and took a mental inventory of the sick man, who
appeared full six feet tall and very slender, not at all answering to
the description of the short, heavily built John Bayliss, of two
hundred pounds avoirdupois. Of course, a fit of sickness might reduce a
man's flesh, but it did not appear to me as especially likely to
increase his height. As his face was covered with wet cloths I could
not see the round physiognomy of John Bayliss, but passing my hand over
the face I found it long and thin featured. I whispered to the doctor
that I would like to notice his pulse. He said I could do so on the
jugular vein. I did so, and found the skin of this fever-stricken man
to be the natural temperature, but I whispered to the doctor that I was
not so accustomed to noticing the pulse in that locality as at the
wrist. After some resistance by the sick man, who finally yielded with
a long undertone groan, I found his wrist, and the full, strong,
regular pulse of a well man. There was now no doubt in my mind that I
was alone at this midnight hour, far from home, in a room with three
slaveholders.
As I stepped from the bed the doctor asked me if I was satisfied. The
thought flashed through my mind that I had always contended that
deception was lying, and that no circumstances could justify it But
other thoughts also came, and I replied that I was satisfied.
At this the son-in-law, who had apparently been sleeping on the lounge,
roused himself and commenced rubbing his eyes, and looking at the
doctor, said, "Oh, doctor, do you think father is any better?"
"I can not conscientiously give you any hope," replied the doctor.
"Oh, dear!" he exclaimed, "what shall I do? I am almost sick myself,
taking care of him day and night. If I had only known that they were
near Tecumseh, where I lost my horse, I would have seen them; but I
hoped to have found him better when I returned, instead of which he was
much worse."
At this I stepped towards him, and said: "If you are the gentleman who
was inquiring for a horse in our neighborhood a few days ago, you
called at Hamilton's house and asked for a drink of water."
"What, that place where a black woman brought me a glass of water?"
"Yes; that was Hamilton's wife."
"Is it possible! that little log house where there was a pile of
pumpkins in the yard?"
"Yes," I said.
"Oh! if I had only known it," he exclaimed, "we would have had them
here to help us. What trouble we have had. I reckon father will die,
and I shall have to go home alone. God knows we have had a bad trip of
it."
The careful doctor now began to fear we would disturb the patient, and
we were about leaving the room when he suddenly exclaimed, "I want you
to see what black bilious matter Mr. Bayliss vomited a while ago;" and,
stepping back, he brought me a white bowl two-thirds full of what might
have been the contents of a coffee-pot, with a bottle of black ink
thrown in, and a few spittles floating on top. This, he told me,
indicated mortification. We now passed into the parlor, where we could
talk without disturbing the patient. "Now, madam, as you are fully
satisfied with regard to Mr. Bayliss's illness, can't you do something
to get the Hamiltons here?"
"I am willing," I replied, "to do all in my power, but see no better
way than to inform them of the state of affairs upon my return, and the
train will leave for Adrian at eight o'clock to-morrow morning." The
doctor went up stairs to see what word they wished to send, and soon
returned with the request that I should write to Hamilton to come
immediately, and the porter would go with the letter for ten dollars,
and his father would send another ten dollars to Willis. I still
insisted that my original plan was the best, as the road through the
cottonwood swamp was almost impassable.
The son-in-law now entered, and after walking across the floor a few
times, with sighs and groans and bemoaning his dire calamities, said
his father wished the letter written.
He returned to his father and the doctor went for writing material.
They closed the door behind them for a consultation, I supposed.
The reader will remember that during all this time I knew nothing of
the experience of James Martin with this afflicted trio, but had been
compelled to grope my way blindly. As the doctor and son-in-law went
out my son came in. He had overheard something about the writing, and
said, excitedly: "Don't write, mother; there is no sick man here. That
tall man is Elsie's master, and they threatened James's life when they
had him up stairs."
"Daniel, I know there is no sick man here," I said; "but they do not
think I dream of any plot. It is now midnight, and it is not wise to
let them know that we distrust them. Sit down and let us talk
naturally."
The doctor now returned with writing material, and I sat down to write
while he conversed with my son on the weather and kindred topics. Now
my intention in writing to Hamilton was to serve these slaveholders by
defeating them. I knew, too, that disguising my hand-writing was not
enough to reveal to the Hamilton's that the letter was a sham, and
whatever I wrote would be subjected to the perusal of my employers
before it was sent. At this hour, too, a messenger could not probably
be secured, even for twenty dollars. But as I seated myself at the
table and took my pen in the manner in which I could appear to serve
the slaveholders, but in reality defeat them, it came to me like a
flash, and I cheerfully wrote all they dictated, not omitting the fact
(?) that a council of physicians had decided that John Bayliss could
not live to exceed three days; and after handing it to the doctor and
son-in-law to read, I requested permission to add a few lines on my own
responsibility, which was readily granted, as I explained to them that
Elsie would not be prepared with regard to clothing, either for herself
or children, to be away so long, and I could easily loan her sufficient
garments.
This, of course, was as happy a thought for them as for myself, and was
so received. "Indeed, madam," said the son-in-law, "that will be very
kind in you. They can get ready so much quicker." So I added to my
letter to Willis as follows: "Tell Elsie to take for herself the black
alpaca dress in the south bed-room, and the two pink gingham aprons and
striped flannel dresses in the bureau in the west room for the little
girls. To come to Adrian, take the double team and farm wagon." I
signed my name and handed the letter to the delighted stranger. He then
gave my son a lighted sperm candle to light us over to the Indiana
House, at that time the best hotel in Toledo, and kept by Salter
Cleveland and wife, anti-slavery friends of ours. This light, however,
served them to follow us, as well as guide us to our haven of safety.
After settling ourselves with our friends to tell our adventures I had
a chance to hear James Martin's story. After the failure of my son to
follow James and the porter up stairs, James was of course entirely in
the hands of the enemy. At the head of the stairs they were met by an
elderly gentleman with a lamp, who offered to conduct James to the sick
room, and he was told to enter the first right hand door. On opening
the door he found no one inside. "Oh," said his guide, "they have moved
him to the next room, as was suggested by the council of physicians
this afternoon; we will find him there; and opening the door the
stranger assumed an attitude of command and told him to go in." James,
however, replied: "I shall not go in, sir; you can see as well as I
that the room is empty." The stranger gave a surprised look at the
interior of the room and said: "Oh, I guess they moved him to the
farther room, as some one suggested, after all. As there is no other
room he can be in, you will certainly find him there."
By this time, of course, James began thoroughly to distrust his
conductor, and hesitated about going farther; but desiring to make all
the discoveries possible, and thinking if violence was attempted he
could run down stairs to us, he passed on to the third door, and
throwing it wide open found this room also empty.
He was about turning back when two other men suddenly appeared through
a door at the left, and the three surrounded him, one leveling a
revolver at his head, another at his breast, and the third pointing a
dirk at his side, all indulging in an indiscriminate volley of oaths
and threats. Said his grey-haired guide (who afterwards proved to be
John P. Chester, Elsie's master, the same who had enacted to me the
role of the sympathetic physician), "If you stir or speak one word
we'll kill you. Go into that room, or you're a dead mail." In this
position they entered the room and locked the door. "Now, Hamilton,
we've got you, damn you."
"My name is not Hamilton, but James Martin," was James' reply.
"Damn you," rejoined Chester, "I know you; you were once a slave in
Tennessee."
"No, sir, I never was a slave, nor was I ever in a slave state. I was
born and brought up in the State of New York."
"Then you're a d----d spy, and I've a great mind to shoot you this
minute," said Chester.
"If you call me a spy because I came here to see Mr. John Bayliss for
Mr. Hamilton, then you can do so, for this is why I am here, and I came
here with no intention of harm to any one, I am entirely unarmed, I
have not so much as a penknife with which to defend myself, but I tell
you, gentlemen, I have friends here in this house."
At this they dropped their weapons as by an electric shock, and Chester
exclaimed, "You shan't be hurt! you shan't be hurt!" Then turning to
his son: "Tom, put up your pistol."
"But," says Tom, "I propose to search him and see whether he's clear of
arms."
"No! you shan't do it. I reckon it's as he says."
James, seeing that they were thoroughly intimidated, now felt at his
ease. The Southerners, of course, did not know but a posse of armed men
awaited their actions instead of one little woman and a lad of
seventeen. Chester now addressed James in a subdued tone and manner,
asking him to sit down, "and I'll tell you all about it Mr. John
Bayliss is here and he is very sick; he is not expected to live. But I
am Elsie's master; my name is John P. Chester, and I bought her out of
pure benevolence to save her from going down the river with a drove.
Willis was going from house to house begging for some one to buy his
wife, crying and taking on like he was nearly crazy, and I felt sorry
for him, and told him if he would help me buy her by paying three
hundred dollars in work for me, I could do it, and he entered into a
written agreement with me that I was to feed and clothe him the same as
my other servants, and give him a good price for his work; but before
he had been with me a year he took my property and ran away with it,
and now I want to get it back."
"Why don't you go and get it then?" said James.
"Oh, there's such a set of d----d abolitionists there I can't do it,"
said Chester. "Hamilton wrote to me that he had put in ten acres of
wheat this fall on shares on a widow lady's farm, and that he had a
yoke of oxen, two cows, pigs and chickens."
"Yes," said James, "that is all true."
"Well," said Chester, "you can have all he has there, besides any
amount of money you please to name, if you will assist me in getting
him and his family here. Will you do it?"
James replied, very carelessly, "Well, I don't know but I will for
enough."
"You see," said Chester, "if I can get them here, I can get help from
one place to another in Ohio, and when I strike Kentucky I'd be all
right." In laying plans and making arrangements they consumed two
hours' time, and, as the reader will remember, I became nervous and
sent for James, after which I had my experience with the doctor and the
sick man.
After finding ourselves quietly seated with our friends in their
private parlor, before we had fairly finished relating our adventures,
the night watch came in with the report that three men were pacing
around the house at about equal distances, whom he suspected to be
burglars. Orders were given to keep the outside rooms lighted, and if
any attempt was made to enter to ring the alarm bell and assistance
would be forthcoming. Morning light, however, revealed to the watchmen
that their suspected burglars were the three Southerners, who had
stopped at the Indiana House a few days, but not finding co-operation
probable in their slave-hunting business, had changed their quarters to
the Toledo Hotel. I recognized my doctor and the son-in-law; and the
other, a tall, slender young man, of twenty-two, was my sick and
suffering deacon, who an hour previous had been so near death's door.
Their object, of course, in guarding the house, was to see that we sent
no messenger to defeat the letter I bad so kindly written for them. But
on this matter I gave myself no concern, as Elsie was as well
acquainted with my wardrobe as I was, and would know at once that it
contained no such articles as I mentioned; also, that the house had no
south bedroom, and no bureau in the west room, neither was there a
double team nor a farm wagon on the place. Consequently I had no fears
that the letter was not faithfully fulfilling its mission.
A few minutes before we left the hotel for the 8 o'clock train to
return home a colored man came to James, evidently quite excited, and
said: "We have just heard there is a colored man here having trouble
with slave-holders; if this is true, there are enough of us here to do
whatever is necessary." James did not reply, but looked inquiringly at
me. I replied, "There is trouble," and taking him into a back room,
gave him a brief sketch of James's experience. I told him I did not
think it probable that violence would be offered in daylight, but as
Mr. Cleveland and son were both ill, we would like to know who our
friends were at the depot. He assured me we should have all the aid we
needed. "While at the depot," said he, "we shall watch both you and the
slave-holders, and whatever you desire us to do, madam, say the word,
and it shall be done." I thanked him, but did not think there would be
any difficulty.
The three Southerners were at the depot as soon as we were. In the
ticket office James gave up going, as he thought they intended going
with us. But this I did not care for, and told James he must go now, as
there was no other train until night, and there was no telling what
they might do under cover of darkness. When we got to the cars the
doctor and son-in-law jumped aboard, but the sick man was determined to
take his seat with me, and followed my son and myself from coach to
coach, and whenever we showed any signs of seating ourselves prepared
to seat himself opposite. I looked at his snakish eyes, and concluded
to leave my sick deacon to see James, who still lingered in the ticket
office.
I again urged him to go with me, as I should take another coach when I
returned and get rid of the Southerners. When I returned I ran past the
coach I had left, and Daniel beckoned to me, saying, "Here, mother,
this is the car we took." "Yes," I said, "but I see a lady ahead that I
wish, to sit with." At this the sick man jumped up and exclaimed, "I'll
be d----d if I don't take that seat then." But Daniel pressed his way
past him, and noticed his heavily-laden overcoat pocket. By the time my
son reached me there was no room near us for the sick deacon, so he
returned to his first seat.
During all this time about a dozen men, black and white, were watching
us closely. I beckoned the one who called on us at the hotel to come to
our apartments, and told him to tell James to come immediately to my
door. He came, and I opened the door and told him to enter, as the
train was about moving. When he was inside he says: "I am afraid we
will have trouble." Just then the conductor passed, and I said to him:
"I suppose we will be perfectly safe here, should we have trouble on
our way to Adrian." "Most certainly," he said (raising his voice to the
highest pitch). "I vouch for the perfect safety and protection of every
individual on board this train."
Near Sylvania, a small town ten miles from Toledo, the train halted to
sand the track, and our chivalrous friends got off. Chester and his son
Thomas, the sick deacon, stationed themselves about three feet from us;
and Chester, pointing to James, said in a low, grim voice: "We'll see
you alone some time;" and, turning to my son, "You, too, young man."
Then directing his volley of wrath to me, he roared out: "But that lady
there--you nigger stealer--you that's got my property and the avails of
it--I'll show you, you nigger thief;" and drawing a revolver from his
pocket, his son doing the same, they pointed them towards my face,
Chester again bawling out, "You see these tools, do you? We have more
of 'em here" (holding up a traveling bag), "and we know haw to use
them. We shall stay about here three weeks, and we will have that
property you have in your possession yet, you d----d nigger stealer. We
understand ourselves. We know what we are about."
"Man, I fear neither your weapons nor your threats; they are powerless.
You are not at home--you are not in Tennessee. And as for your
property, I have none of it about me or on my premises. We also know
what we are about; we also understand, not only ourselves, but you."
Pale and trembling with rage they still shook their pistols in my face,
and Chester, in a choked voice, exclaimed: "I'll--I'll--I won't say
much more to you--you're a woman--but that young man of yours; I'll
give five hundred dollars if he'll go to Kentucky with me."
Just then the conductor appeared and cried out: "What are you doing
here, you villainous scoundrels? We'll have you arrested in five
minutes." At this they fled precipitately to the woods, and the last we
saw of these tall and valiant representatives of the land of chivalry
were their heels feat receding in the thicket.
Of course, this brave exhibition of rhetoric and valor called out
innumerable questions from the passengers; and from there on to Adrian,
though already terribly fatigued, we had to be continually framing
replies and making explanations.
Among the people of Sylvania the news spread like wildfire, and it was
reported that over forty men were at the depot with hand-spikes and
iron bars, ready to tear up the track in case the Hamilton family had
been found on the train bound for Toledo.
When we arrived at Adrian my oldest son, Harvey, and Willis were there
to meet us; and when we told Willis that Elsie's old master and his son
had but an hour previously pointed pistols at our heads and threatened
our lives, he could hardly speak from astonishment. Harvey said my
letter arrived before sunrise, but that no one believed I had any thing
to do with it. However, as the porter swore he saw me write it,
Professor Patchin and J. F. Dolbeare were sent for; but they also
distrusted its validity and the truthfulness of the bearer.
Elsie had no faith in it at all. "If," said she, "the old man is so
very sick, as he hasn't seen us for years, they could bring him any
black man and woman, and call them Willis and Elsie, and he'd never
know the difference; and as for that letter, Mrs. Haviland never saw
it. I believe the slave-holders wrote it themselves. They thought, as
she was a widow, she'd have a black dress, and you know she hasn't got
one in the house. And where's the pink aprons and green striped
dresses? And there's no south bed-room in this house. It's all humbug;
and I sha'n't stir a step until I see Mrs. Haviland."
Said another: "These things look queer. There's no bureau in the west
room."
The porter, seeing he could not get the family, offered Willis ten
dollars if he would go to Palmyra with him, but he refused. He then
offered it to my son Harvey if he would take Wills to Palmyra.
"No, sir; I shall take him nowhere but to Adrian, to meet mother," was
Harvey's reply.
After their arrival in Adrian the porter again offered the ten dollars,
and Lawyer Perkins and others advised Harvey to take it and give it to
Willis, as they would protect him from all harm. But when I came I told
him not to touch it; and the porter, drawing near, heard my explanation
of the letter, and the threatening remarks of the people, who declared
that if slave-holders should attempt to take the Hamilton family or any
other escaped slave from our city or county they would see trouble. He
soon gave us the benefit of his absence, and we went home with thankful
hearts that public sentiment had made a law too strong to allow
avaricious and unprincipled men to cast our persecuted neighbors back
into the seething cauldron of American slavery.
All that day our house was thronged with visitors, eager to hear the
story which was agitating the whole community, but about midnight I
told my friends that rest was a necessity, for never in my life was I
so thoroughly exhausted from talking; but, as the next day wan-the
Sabbath, I would in the evening meet all who chose to come in the
Valley School-house (at that day the largest in the county) and tell
them the whole story, and save repeating it so many times.
When the evening came we met a larger crowd than could find
standing-room in the school-house, and report said there was a spy for
the slave-holders under a window outside.
I related the whole story, omitting nothing, and was followed by Elijah
Brownell, one of our ablest anti-slavery lecturers, with a few spirited
remarks. He suggested that a collection should be taken up to defray
our expenses to Toledo and return, and fourteen dollars was soon placed
in my hands.
From a friend of our letter-carrier, the porter of the Toledo Hotel, we
learned that the plans of the slave-holders accorded with those given
James Martin in the sick-room. After getting the Hamilton family in
their clutches they intended to gag and bind--them, and, traveling
nights, convey them from one point to another until they reached
Kentucky. This was precisely on the plan of our underground railroad,
but happily for the cause of freedom, in this case at least, not as
successful.
The citizens of Adrian appointed a meeting at the court-house, and sent
for me to again tell the story of the slaveholder who had so deeply
laid his plans to capture, not only his fugitive slave Elsie and her
four children, but also her husband, who was a free man. Other meetings
were called to take measures for securing the safety of the hunted
family from the iron grasp of the oppressor, whose arm is ever strong
and powerful in the cause of evil; and so great was public excitement
that the chivalrous sons of the South found our Northern climate too
warm for their constitutions, and betook themselves to the milder
climate of Tennessee with as great speed as their hunted slave, with
her husband, hastened away from there fifteen years before.
It may be asked how the Chesters discovered that Hamilton and his wife
were in Michigan. We learned afterward that John P. Chester was the
postmaster at Jonesborough, and receiving a letter at his office
directed to John Bayliss, he suspected it to be from friends of his
former slaves, and opened it. His suspicions being confirmed, he
detained the letter, and both corresponded and came North in the
assumed character of Bayliss. His schemes miscarried, as we have above
narrated, and Bayliss probably never knew of the desperate game played
in his name.
About two weeks after the departure of this noble trio I received a
threatening letter from John P. Chester, to which I replied; and this
was followed by a correspondence with his son, Thomas K. Chester (the
sick deacon). From these letters we shall give a few extracts.
In a letter received under the date of December 3; 1846, John P.
Chester writes: "I presume you do not want something for nothing; and
inasmuch as you have my property in your possession, and are so great a
philanthropist, you Hill feel bound to remunerate me for that
property.... If there is any law of the land to compel you to pay for
them I intend to have it."
In my reply, December 20, 1846, I wrote:
"First, convince me that you have property in my possession, and you
shall have the utmost farthing. But if Willis Hamilton and family are
property in my possession, then are Rev. John Patchin and wife,
principals of Raisin Institute, and other neighbors, property in my
possession, as I have dealing with each family, precisely in the same
manner that I have with Willis Hamilton and family, and I do as truly
recognize property in my other neighbors as in the Hamilton family.
Prove my position fallacious, and not predicated on principles of
eternal right, and they may be blown to the four winds of heaven. If
carnal weapons can be brought to bear upon the spiritual you shall have
the liberty to do it with the six-shooters you flourished toward my
face in Sylvania, Ohio....
"As for my being compelled to pay you for this alleged property, to
this I have but little to say, as it is the least of all my troubles in
this lower world. I will say, However, I stand ready to meet whatever
you may think proper to do in the case. Should you think best to make
us another call, I could not vouch for your safety. The circumstances
connected with this case have been such that great excitement has
prevailed. A. number of my neighbors have kept arms since our return
from Toledo. I can say with the Psalmist, 'I am for peace, but they are
for war.'
"At a public meeting called the next evening after our return from the
Toledo trip, fourteen dollars was placed in my hands as a remuneration
for the assistance I rendered in examining your very sick patient. I
found the disease truly alarming, far beyond the reach of human aid,
much deeper than bilious fever, although it might have assumed a
typhoid grade. The blister that you were immediately to apply on the
back of the patient could not extract that dark, deep plague-spot of
slavery, too apparent to be misunderstood."
I received a long list of epithets in a letter, bearing date,
Jonesboro, Tennessee, February 7, 1847, from Thomas K. Chester, the
sick deacon:
"I have thought it my duty to answer your pack of balderdash, ... that
you presumed to reply to my father, as I was with him on his tour to
Michigan, and a participant in all his transactions, even to the acting
the sick man's part in Toledo ..., True it is, by your cunning
villainies you have deprived us of our just rights, of our own
property.... Thanks be to an all wise and provident God that, my father
has more of that sable kind of busy fellows, greasy, slick, and fat;
and they are not cheated to death out of their hard earnings by
villainous and infernal abolitionists, whose philanthropy is interest,
and whose only desire is to swindle the slave-holder out of his own
property, and convert its labor to their own infernal aggrandizement.
"It is exceedingly unpleasant for me to indulge in abuse, particularly
to a _woman_, and I would not now do it, did I not feel a perfect
consciousness of right and duty.... Who do you think would parley with
a thief, a robber of man's just rights, recognized by the glorious
Constitution of our Union! Such a condescension would damn an honest
man, would put modesty to the blush. What! to engage in a contest with
you? a rogue, a damnable thief, a negro thief, an outbreaker, a
criminal in the sight of all honest men; ... the mother, too, of a
pusillanimous son, who permitted me to curse and damn you in Sylvania!
I would rather be caught with another man's sheep on my back than to
engage in such a subject, and with such an individual as old Laura
Haviland, a damned nigger-stealer....
"You can tell Elsie that since our return my father bought her eldest
daughter; that she is now his property, and the mother of a likely boy,
that I call Daniel Haviland after your pretty son. She has plenty to
eat, and has shoes in the Winter, an article Willis's children had not
when I was there, although it was cold enough to freeze the horns off
the cows.... What do you think your portion will be at the great day of
judgment? I think it will be the inner temple of hell."
In my reply, dated Raisin, March 16, 1847, I informed the sick deacon
that my letter to his father "had served as a moral emetic, by the mass
of black, bilious, and putrid matter it bad sent forth. You must have
been exercised with as great distress, as extreme pain, that was
producing paroxysms and vomiting, that you had in your sick-room in the
Toledo hotel, when your physician was so hastily called to your relief
by your son-in-law, as the matter that lies before me in letter form is
as 'black', and much more 'bilious,' and nearer 'mortification' than
that I saw there."
"We thank you for the name's sake. May he possess the wisdom of a
Daniel of old, although his lot be cast in the lions' den; and, like
Moses, may he become instrumental in leading his people away from a
worse bondage than that of Egypt.
"According to your logic, we are not only robbing the slaveholder, but
the poor slave of his valuable home, where he can enjoy the elevating
and soul-ennobling privilege of looking 'greasy, slick, and fat'--can
have the privilege of being forbidden the laborious task of cultivating
his intellect--is forbidden to claim his wife and children as his own
instead of the property of John P. Chester."
I pitied the young man, whose bitterness of hate seemed incorrigible,
and gave advice which I deemed wholesome, although I yielded to the
temptation of dealing somewhat in irony and sarcasm.
But the next letter from the sick deacon was filled and running over
with vulgar blackguardism, that I would neither answer nor give to the
public eye. It was directed to "Laura S. Haviland, Esq., or Dan." As it
arrived in my absence, my son Daniel handed it to Rev. John Patchin,
who became so indignant in reading the list of epithets that he
proposed to reply.
The first sentence of his letter was:
"Sir,--As John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay were seated in Congress,
they saw passing on the street a drove of jackasses. Said Henry Clay,
'There, Sir, Adams, is a company of your constituents as they come from
the North.' 'All right; they are going South to teach yours,' was the
quick reply. And I think one of those long-eared animals has strayed
down your way, and your ma might have sent you to his school--I think,
however, but a few weeks, or your epistolary correspondence with Mrs.
Haviland would have been vastly improved."
From the report my son gave me of the short epistle, it was filled with
sentenced couched in the same spirit throughout; "for," said he, "that
rabid fire-eater has been treated in a manner too mild. He needs
something more nearly like his own coin."
I shortly after received a few lines from Thomas K. Chester, informing
me that he had my last letter struck off in hand-bills, and circulated
in a number of the Southern States, "over its true signature, Laura S.
Haviland, as you dictated and your daughter wrote it; for, as strange
as it may appear, I have the handwriting of every one of your family,
and also of Willis Hamilton. I distribute these hand-bills for the
purpose of letting the South see what sort of sisters they have in the
North." We learned from a number of sources that to this circular or
hand-bill was attached a reward of $3,000 for my head.
As for the letter that Chester had richly earned, neither my daughter
nor myself had the privilege of perusing it, as it was mailed before my
return home. But I presume the indignant writer designed to close the
unpleasant correspondence.
SECOND EFFORT TO RETAKE THE HAMILTON FAMILY.
After the passage of the famous Fugitive-slave Bill of 1850, turning
the whole population of the North into slave-hunters, Thomas K.
Chester, with renewed assurance, came to Lawyer Beacher's office, in
Adrian, and solicited his services in capturing the Hamiltons, as he
was now prepared to take legal steps in recovering his property. Said
he:
"I ask no favors of Adrian or Raisin, as I have my posse of thirty men
within a stone's throw of this city. All I ask is legal authority from
you, Mr. Beacher, and I can easily get them in my possession."
"I can not aid you," said Mr. Beacher; "it would ruin my practice as a
lawyer."
"I will give you $100, besides your fee," rejoined Chester.
"You have not enough money in your State of Tennessee to induce me to
assist you in any way whatever."
"Will you direct me to a lawyer who will aid me?"
"I can not; I know of none in our State who could be hired to assist
you. And I advise you to return to your home; for you will lose a
hundred dollars where you will gain one, if you pursue it."
At this advice he became enraged, and swore he would have them this
time, at any cost. "And if old Laura Haviland interferes I'll put her
in prison. I acknowledge she outwitted us before; but let her dare
prevent my taking them this time, and I'll be avenged on her before I
leave this State."
"All the advice I have to give you is to abandon this scheme, for you
will find no jail in this State that will hold that woman. And I
request you not to enter my office again on this business, for if it
were known to the public it would injure my practice; and I shall not
recognize you on the street."
In a lower tone Chester continued, "I request you, Mr. Beacher, as a
gentleman, to keep my name and business a secret." With a few
imprecations he left the office.
My friend R. Beacher sent a dispatch to me at once by Sheriff Spafford,
to secure the safety of the Hamilton family at once, if still on my
premises, as my Tennessee correspondents were probably in or near
Adrian. I informed him they were safe in Canada within six months after
the visit from the Chesters. Mr. Beacher also advised me to make my
property safe without delay, but this had been done two years
previously. On receiving this information my friend Beacher replied,
"Had I known this I would have sent for her, for I'd give ten dollars
to see them meet." Mr. Chester heard that the Hamilton family had gone
to Canada, but he did not believe it, as he also heard they had gone to
Ypsilanti, in this State, where he said he should follow them.
We learned in the sequel that he went to Ypsilanti, and took rooms and
board in a hotel, while calling on every colored family in town and for
two or three miles around it, sometimes as a drover, at other times an
agent to make arrangements for purchasing wood and charcoal. During
four weeks he found a family that answered the description of the
Hamilton family in color and number. He wrote to his father that he had
found them under an assumed name, and requested him to send a man who
could recognize them, as they had been away over eighteen years. The
man was sent, and two weeks more were spent in reconnoitering. At
length both were agreed to arrest David Gordon and wife, with their
four children, as the Hamilton family, and applied for a warrant to
take the family as escaped slaves. The United States Judge, Hon. Ross
Wilkins, who issued the warrant, informed one of the most active
underground railroad men, George De Baptist, of this claimant's
business. He immediately telegraphed to a vigorous worker in Ypsilanti,
who sent runners in every direction, inquiring for a Hamilton family.
None could be found; and the conclusion was reached that they were
newcomers and were closely concealed, and the only safe way was to set
a watch at the depot for officers and their posse, and follow
whithersoever they went, keeping in sight. This was done, and the place
they found aimed for was David Gordon's. On entering the house the
officer placed hand-cuffs on David Gordon, who in surprise asked, "What
does this mean?"
Said the officer, "I understand your name is Willis Hamilton, once a
slave in Tennessee."
Gordon replied, "No, sir, you are mistaken; I never was in that State;
neither is my name Hamilton, but Gordon, and I have free papers from
Virginia."
"Where are your papers? If they are good they shall save you."
Pointing to a trunk, "There they are; take that key and you'll find
them."
While the officer was getting the papers, Chester went to the bed of
the sick wife, placed a six-shooter at her head, and swore he'd blow
her brains out in a moment if she did not say their name was Hamilton.
"No, sir, our name is Gordon." Their little girl, standing by, cried
out with fear. He turned to her, with pistol pointing toward her face,
and swore he'd kill her that instant if she did not say her father's
name was Willis Hamilton.
At this juncture, the officer's attention was arrested. "What are you
about, you villain? You'll be arrested before you know it, if you are
not careful. Put up that pistol instantly, and if these papers are
good, I shall release this man, and return the warrant unserved."
He examined them and said, "These papers I find genuine." He then
removed the handcuffs from David Gordon, and with the discomfited
Thomas K. Chester and Tennessee companion returned to the depot for the
Detroit train.
While on their way they met a colored man that Chester swore was Willis
Hamilton. Said the officer, "You know not what you are about; I shall
arrest no man at your command."
On returning the unserved warrant to Judge Wilkins, Chester charged him
with being allied with the "d----d abolitionist, old Laura Haviland, in
running off that family to Malden, to keep me out of my property."
"I knew nothing of the family, or of your business, until you came into
this office yesterday," replied the judge.
In a rage and with an oath, he replied, "I know, sir, your complicity
in keeping slave-holders out of their property, and can prove it." He
threw his hat on the floor and gave a stamp, as if to strengthen his
oath.
The judge simply ordered him out of his office, instead of committing
him to prison for contempt of court; and with his companion he went
back to his Tennessee home, again defeated.
Thomas K. Chester wrote and had published scurrilous articles in
Tennessee, and in a number of other Southern States. They were
vigorously circulated until the following Congress, in which the grave
charge was brought against the judge, "of being allied with Mrs.
Haviland, of the interior of the State of Michigan, a rabid
abolitionist, in keeping slaveholders out of their slave property." A
vigorous effort was made by Southern members to impeach him, while his
friends were petitioning Congress to raise his salary, Judge Wilkins
was sent for to answer to these false charges. Although they failed to
impeach him, yet on account of these charges the addition to his salary
was lost.
When these false accusations were brought into Congress, and the judge
was informed of the necessity of his presence to answer thereto, he
inquired of Henry Bibb and others where I was. They informed him that I
was absent from home. On my return from Cincinnati with a few
underground railroad passengers, I learned of the trouble Judge Wilkins
met, and I called on him. He told me of the pile of Southern papers he
had received, with scurrilous articles, designed to prejudice Southern
members of Congress against him. Said he, "Although they failed in the
impeachment, they said they would come against me with double force
next Congress, and should effect their object." Said the judge, "I want
your address, for if they do repeat their effort, with the explanation
you have now given, I think I can save another journey to Washington.
The judge was never again called upon to defend himself on this
subject, as their effort was not repeated; neither did their
oft-repeated threat to imprison me disturb us."
DEATH OF THE CHESTERS
In the third year of the Rebellion, while in Memphis, Tennessee, on a
mission to the perishing, I found myself in the city where my Tennessee
correspondents lived a few years previous to their deaths. From a
minister who had long been a resident of that city, and had also lived
near Jonesboro, where they resided during the correspondence, I learned
the following facts: A few years prior to the war John P. Chester
removed with his family to Memphis, where he became a patroller. His
son Thomas transacted business as a lawyer. I was shown his residence,
and the office where John P. Chester was shot through the heart by a
mulatto man, whose free papers he demanded, doubting their validity.
Said the man, "I am as free as you are; and to live a slave I never
shall." He then drew a six-shooter from its hiding-place and shot him
through the heart. He fell, exclaiming, "O God, I'm a dead man." The
man threw down the fatal weapon, saying to the bystanders, "Here I am,
gentlemen, shoot me, or hang me, just as you please, but to live a
slave to any man I never shall." He was taken by the indignant crowd,
and hung on the limb of a tree near by, pierced with many bullets. I
can not describe the feeling that crept over me, as I gazed upon the
pavement where John P. Chester met his fate, and which I had walked
over in going to officers' head-quarters from the steamer. Oh! what a
life, to close with such a tragedy!
Thomas K. Chester being a few rods distant ran to assist his dying
father, but his life was gone ere he reached him. A few months later he
was brought from a boat sick with yellow fever, and died in one week
from the attack in terrible paroxysms and ravings, frequently requiring
six men to hold him on his bed. He was ill the same length of time that
they falsely represented a few years before in the Toledo hotel. Said
the narrator, "Thomas K. Chester's death was the most awful I ever
witnessed. He cursed and swore to his last breath, saying he saw his
father standing by his bed, with damned spirits waiting to take him
away to eternal burnings."
After a long walk one day, I called at the former residence of the
Chester family, and was seated in the front parlor. It is hard to
imagine my feelings as I sat in the room where those two men had lain
in death's cold embrace--men who had flourished toward my face the
six-shooter. It was by this kind of deadly weapon the life of one was
taken; and as nearly as words can describe the feigned sickness, the
last week of the life of the other was spent. No wonder the blood
seemed to curdle in my veins in contemplating the lives of these men,
and their end. It is beyond the power of pen to describe the panorama
that passed before me in these moments. The proprietor of the Toledo
hotel lost custom by his complicity in their efforts to retake their
alleged slave property. A few months after the hotel was burned to
ashes.