THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY.
As my married children had charge of the farm, and the younger ones
were in school, and well provided for, I spent a few months in mission
work and nursing the sick. My dear friends, Levi and Catherine Coffin,
had given me a very cordial invitation to make their house my home
whenever I was in Cincinnati. Soon after my arrival, at early dawn,
nine slaves crossed the river, and were conducted to one of our friends
on Walnut Hills for safety, until arrangements could be made to forward
them to Victoria's domain. I called on them to see what was needed for
their Northern march, and found them filled with fear lest they should
be overtaken. As there was a prospect before them of being taken down
the river, they concluded to "paddle their own canoe." They had with
them their five little folks, that seemed as full of fear as were their
trembling parents. A little girl of five years raised the window-shade
to look out. When her mother discovered her she exclaimed, in a
half-smothered voice, "Why, Em! you'll have us all kotched, if you
don't mind;" and the little thing dropped behind a chair like a
frightened young partridge hiding under a leaf at the mother's alarm of
danger. While making our plans, we were greatly relieved, to find that
the well known Quaker conductor, William Beard, was in the city, with a
load of produce from his farm. This covered market-wagon was a safe
car, that had borne many hundreds to his own depot, and was now ready
for more valuable freight before the city should be filled with
slave-hunters. But few weeks elapsed before we learned of the safe
arrival of these two families that we fitted for their journey to
Canada.
One of our vigilance committee came early one morning to inform us that
there were two young men just arrived, who were secreted in the
basement of Zion Baptist Church (colored). As their home was only
twenty-five miles from the river, it was necessary to make all possible
speed in removing them before Kentucky slave-hunters should block our
track. I took their measures, to procure for each a Summer suit, and
went to our store of new and second-hand clothing, at Levi Coffin's,
where anti-slavery women met tri-monthly, to spend a day in making and
repairing clothing for fugitive slaves. In early evening I took a large
market-basket, with a suit for each, and had them conducted to a safer
hiding-place, until a way opened for them to go to a Friends'
settlement, about eighty miles distant, where George chose to remain
and work a few months. But James would not risk his liberty by
tarrying, and censured George for running such a risk. "You needn't
think your new name's gwine to save you when ole massa comes."
But little did James understand the deep-hidden reason that kept his
friend George behind. He worked faithfully nearly a year, kept the suit
I gave him for his Sunday suit, and used his old Kentucky suit for his
work, patching them himself, until patch upon patch nearly covered the
old brown jeans of his plantation wear. When warm weather again
returned, without revealing his design of going back to his master in
Kentucky, for he knew his abolition friends would discourage his
project, he took the eighty dollars he had earned since he left his
master, and wore the suit of clothes he brought away, and in the
darkness of night went to his wife's cabin. Here he gave a full history
of the kind friends who had paid good wages for his work, and said he
was going to take all to his master, and tell him he was sick of
freedom; "and you mus' be mighty mad," he went on, "'case I come back;
and say, 'If he's a mind to make sich a fool of his self, as to be so
jubus, 'case I talked leetle while wid Jake, long time ago, as to run
off an' leave me, he may go. He needn't think I'll take 'im back; I
won't have nothin' to say to 'im, never!' Ad' I'll quarrel 'bout you
too; an' when all ov 'em is done fussin' 'bout me comin' back, I'll
steal to you in a dark night, an' lay a plan to meet on Lickin' River;
an' we'll take a skiff an' muffle oars till we get to the Ohio; an' I
knows jus' whar to go in any dark night, an' we 'll be free together. I
didn't tell Jim I's gwine to make massa b'leve all my lies to get you;
for I tell you, Liz, I ain't got whole freedom without you."
Before eight o'clock A. M. George stood before his master, with his old
name and old plantation suit, presenting him with the eighty dollars he
had earned for his master since he had left his home, that he never
wanted to leave again. For he had found "abolitioners the greates'
rascals I ever seen. I wants no more ov' em. They tried hard to git me
to Canada; but I got all I wants of Canada, An' I tell you, Massa
Carpenter, all I wants is one good stiddy home. I don't want this
money; it's yourn."
His master was well pleased, and told all his neighbors how happy his
Tom was to get back again, and gave all the money he had earned since
he had been gone. It was a long time before neighboring planters had
the confidence in Tom that his master had, and they told him that Tom
should never step his foot on their plantations; but he told them all
that he had perfect confidence in Tom's honesty. "He came back
perfectly disgusted with abolitionists; he said they will work a fellow
half to death for low wages. And he even patched his old suit, himself,
that he wore off. And I have found the reason why he left. He and Liz
had a quarrel, and now he don't care a fig about her; and I heard
yesterday that her master says he'll shoot him if he dares to come on
his plantation. But he needn't worry; for you couldn't hire Tom to go
near Liz."
Tom's master told him all the planters were afraid of him, and said he
would play a trick on him yet.
"I'll stay at home, then, and won't even go out to meetin's, till all
ov 'em will see I means what I says."
"That's right, Tom; they don't know you like I do. Bat I told them 't
would do all the niggers good just to hear your story about the
meanness of abolitionists. You know, Tom, that was just what I told
you, that they pretended to be your friends, but they were your worst
enemies."
"Yes, massa, I al'us bleved you; and if Liz hadn't cut up the way she
did I never'd tried 'em."
All things went on smoothly with Tom. He was never more trusty,
diligent, and faithful in all that pertained to his master's interest.
Three months still found him contented and happy, and the constant
praise he received from his master to his neighbors began to inspire
them with sufficient confidence to permit him to attend their meetings
occasionally, though he did not appear anxious to enjoy that privilege
until his master proposed his going, and then he was careful to attend
only day meetings. Neighboring white people often talked with him about
his Northern trip, and all got the story he had told his master, until
Tom became quite a pet missionary, as his reports went far and near,
among both whites and blacks. After Lizzie's master became quite
satisfied with her hatred toward Tom, he allowed the hound, which he
kept over two months to watch for Tom, to go back to the keeper. Though
Tom and Lizzie lived eight miles apart, they had a secret
dispatch-bearer, by whom they reported to each other; but visits were
very few and far between.
One day, in her "clarin-up time," Lizzie came across a bundle
containing a Sunday suit, placed in her cabin when Tom left for the
North, which she took occasion to have a good quarrel over. Taking them
into her mistress, the master being present, she said, "Missus, that'll
I do wid dese ole close Tom lef, when he get mad an' run'd off to spite
me; now I'll burn 'em up or giv' 'em to de pigs for nes', I ain't gwine
to hav' 'em in my way any longer."
"Oh, don't burn 'em up, can't you send 'im word to come and get 'em?"
"I sends 'im no word, if he never gets 'em; I'd heap better giv' 'em to
de hogs."
Turning to another house servant, her mistress said, "Dil, you tell
Page's Jim when he goes to that big meeting your people are going to
have next week, to tell Tom to come and take his truck away, or Liz
will pitch 'em in the fire for 'im."
But there was no hurry manifest, after he got the word. Tom's master
told him he had better go and get his clothes or Liz might destroy
them. Said our George, "One Saturday evenin' I went to have my las'
quarrel with Lizzie. I called her bad names, an' she flung back mean
names, an' twitted me with runnin' away to make her feel bad, when she
didn't care a picayune for me; an' I tole her I never wanted to see her
face agin, an' we almos' cum to blows."
A few months after this there was a holiday, and Tom was so faithful,
his master gave him permission to visit his aunt, six miles distant in
an opposite direction from Lizzie's home, and she too got permission to
visit her friends five miles away, but not towards Tom's master. The
plan laid in his midnight visit was to start after sundown, and go
until dark in the direction of the place each had their permission to
go, and then go for Licking River; and she was to go up the river,
while he was to go down, until they met. He was to secure the first
skiff with oars he could find to aid them down the river with all
possible speed to the Ohio. They succeeded in making good time after
they met, until day dawn overtook them, when they hid the skiff under a
clump of bushes, and the oars they took the precaution to hide some
distance away in case the skiff was discovered and taken away. They
secreted themselves still further in the woods, but not so far but they
could watch their tiny craft through the thicket. Much to their
discomfiture a number of boys found their skiff, and had a long hunt
for the oars, but not succeeding, furnished themselves with poles and
pushed out of sight to the great relief of the temporary owners, so
near being discovered during the hunt for the oars. At ten o'clock,
when all was still, they crept out of their hiding-place, took their
oars, and hunted two hours before they found another skiff. Though
smaller and harder to manage than the one they lost, yet they reached
the Ohio just at sunrise. Two men on the opposite side of Licking River
hallooed, "Where are you going?"
"To market, sir."
"What have you got?"
"Butter an' eggs, sir."
As he saw them in the skiff and pushing toward them, he expected every
moment to be overhauled, but he pulled with all his might for the
opposite shore, and did not dare look back until they had reached the
middle of the river, when, to their great relief, the two men had given
up the chase and turned back, and had almost reached the place of their
starting. He said Lizzie trembled so hard that the coat over her shook,
so great was her fear. Said Lizzie, "I reckon the owner of the coat
shook as hard as I did when you was pullin' for life. I specs you sent
fear clare down into them paddles you's sweattin' over;" and they had a
good laugh over fright and success.
With George there was no fear after entering the basement of Zion
Baptist Church, his old hiding-place. As soon as the report came to us
that a man and his wife had just arrived, I called to learn their
condition and needs, and asked the woman who had charge of the basement
to tell them a friend would call to see them, as new-comers were always
so timid. A voice from the adjoining room was heard to say, "Come right
in, Mrs. Haviland, we are not afraid of you;" and as the fugitive
clasped my hand in both of his, I exclaimed, "Where have you seen me?"
"Don't you mind Jim and George you giv' a basket full of close to las'
Summer? You giv' me the linen pants an' blue checked gingham coat and
straw hat, an' you giv' Jim thin pants and coat and palm-leaf hat; and
don't you mind we went out in a market-wagon to a Quaker settlement?"
"Yes, but how came you here again?"
"It was for this little woman I went back." Then he went over his
managing process, as above related.
As I was soon to go to my home in Michigan, it was proposed by our
vigilance committee that this couple, with Sarah, who made her escape
over a year previously, should go with me. Sarah was to be sold away
from her little boy of three years for a fancy girl, as she was a
beautiful octoroon and attractive in person. She knew full well the
fate that awaited her, and succeeded in escaping. She was an excellent
house servant, and highly respected by all who made her acquaintance
for her sterling Christian character and general intelligence. She had
lived in a quiet Christian family, who gave her good wages, but she did
not dare to risk her liberty within one hundred miles of her former
home.
A few days after the arrival of George and wife a mulatto woman and her
daughter of sixteen, bound South from Virginia, left a steamer and
joined our company. While waiting for a certain canal-boat, the owner
and captain being friendly to our work, another young man joined us.
These we received at different points to avoid suspicion. Before we
reached the third bridge we were overtaken by Levi Coffin with another
young man, whom he had instructed implicitly to regard all the lessons
I might give him. I gave them all a charge to say nothing of going
farther than Toledo, Ohio, and talk of no farther back than Cincinnati.
While on our way George pointed at a wire, and told his wife it was a
telegraph-wire, at which she dodged back, and for a moment seemed as
badly frightened as though her master had been in sight. It was a lucky
thing for us that no stranger happened to be in sight, as her fright
would have betrayed them. Even an assurance from George that the wires
could do no harm, could hardly satisfy her, until he appealed to me to
confirm his statement, that it was the operators at each end of the
wires that gave information.
The day before we reached Toledo one of the drivers left, and the
steersman employed our boy William, with the consent of the captain. I
told George to tell William I wanted to see him at the expiration of
the time set for him to drive. He came into the cabin, while the other
passengers were on deck, and told me all the hands seemed very clever,
and the steersman told him he would find a good place for him to work
in Toledo, and that he would see that he had good wages. He asked him
various questions, that led him to disclose his starting point,
Vicksburg, Mississippi. As he was so very friendly he answered all his
queries, even to his master's name. This I had charged him not to give.
As George and the other colored man saw the steersman and another man
employed on the boat so very intimate, and careful to keep William with
them, they began to fear for their own safety. There came up a sudden
shower during William's time to drive, and he got thoroughly drenched;
and as he had no change of garments, the steersman and the other boys
of the boat furnished him out of their own wardrobe. It had now become
difficult for me to secure an interview with William, on account of his
close friends, and I became as fearful of the telegraph wires as was
Mary, over whom we had a little sport.
But William began to fear all was not right, and regretted having told
this man of his condition, and made an errand on deck, as he saw me
sitting alone. He told me all he had said to the steersman. I told him
to appear very careless, and say nothing, but to appear as if he was
going with the steersman, as he had suggested. As we should be in
Toledo in three hours, I would go into the city, and the women and
George would follow me to a place of safety. Then I would return for my
shawl, that I should leave on the boat. By that time, the passengers
would all have left, and he and the other young man must remain about
the boat. Then I would watch the opportunity, and when I went out, I
should turn short corners, but give them time to keep me in sight.
Accordingly, I returned for my shawl, but made no haste to leave until
those close friends entered a saloon; then was our time; I gave them
the wink and left for a place of safety.
After I had put one and two in a place, my next work was to solicit
money to pay our fare to Canada, on a boat that was to leave at 9 A. M.
the next day. Here were six fares to pay to Detroit, as Sarah had
sufficient to pay her own. The friends in Cincinnati had paid their
fare to Toledo. It was now nearly night, and I had but little time; but
I succeeded by nine o'clock the next morning, leaving a colored man to
conduct them to the boat; with hardly five minutes to spare I reached
the boat, with my living freight.
Once out in the lake we felt quite secure. Yet there was a possibility
of a telegram being sent to William's master, and danger of being
overtaken by officers in Detroit. Knowing of their anxiety to see
Canada, I waited until we were near enough to see carriages and persons
on the road on the other side. When I said to George's wife "There is
Canada." "It ain't, is it?" "It is, certainly. It is where no
slave-owner can claim his slave." She ran to her husband to tell the
good news. But neither he nor the balance of them believed her, and all
came running to me. "That ain't Canada, is it?" Being assured that the
land of freedom was in full view, with tears of joy they gazed upon
their "House of Refuge," and within forty minutes we were there. And to
see them leap for joy was rich pay for all my care in their behalf.
George and Jake had both armed themselves with deadly weapons, in case
of an attempt to capture them, resolving on liberty or death. I left
each with fifty cents and returned to my own sweet home.
I found the large building unfinished. As the first buildings were
temporary, they were unsuitable for students to occupy another Winter,
which would be the eleventh Winter our school had been in successful
operation. Brother Patchin, our principal, was called to another field
as pastor and teacher, and would go if the new building was not ready
for use by the following academic year. While these probabilities were
under consideration, brother J. F. Dolbeare was taken from us, after a
short illness. As he was an important trustee, and an active Christian
worker, his loss was severely felt. We had a few months previously met
with a similar loss in the death of another trustee, our valued friend
and brother, Elijah Brownell, a minister of the Society of Friends.
Surely dark clouds again overhung our favorite institution, in which
many of our students were taught in the school of Christ, before they
came to us, and many out of the hundreds who had enjoyed the privileges
of our school, we had good reasons for believing, yielded their young
hearts to the loving Savior's invitation while with us. With the
undying interests of the youth so near my heart, it was a trial to have
our school suspended a year; but what could I do? I must keep up the
ten per cent interest on three hundred dollars of my indebtedness, and
could not contract five hundred dollars more to finish the institution
building erected on the acre of ground I had given for that object. It
was enclosed, and a portion of the floors laid, and doors and windows
cased. This had cost over one thousand dollars for a building thirty by
fifty-six feet.
As the farm was still carried on by my married children, I concluded to
return to Cincinnati and engage in nursing the sick during the cold
season, as the cough to which I was subject was returning. All things
considered, the conclusion was reached to suspend Raisin Institute one
year at least. An Oberlin scholarship was presented me for my daughter
Laura Jane, who decided to take a gentleman's collegiate course. Not
only my financial pressure seemed to direct toward that more southern
field, but the cause of those who were thirsting for liberty, and were
almost daily leaving boats or crossing the river, was also a strong
incentive to occupy a post near the Southern end of the road whose
Northern terminus was in Queen Victoria's dominions.
Many of my friends thought me presuming to venture so near those who
had threatened my life repeatedly, and in the hand-bills of the
Tennesseans (report said) there was offered $3,000 reward for my head.
Thomas K. Chester stated in a letter that he had sent them to a number
of the Southern States, to let them know what sort of sisters they had
in the North. But J. F. Dolbeare, on the night before his death, called
me to his bedside, and, taking my hand in his, said, "Sister Haviland,
you have passed through close and trying places in your work, and your
anti-slavery mission is not yet finished. Your trials are not over.
Greater dangers are for you to pass through--I see it. O, may the Lord
prepare you for the work he has for you to accomplish! He has sustained
you thus far. He will grant you his protecting arm. I know it." I have
often had occasion to remember the words I listened to in that solemn
hour, during thirty years that have since passed.
A slave-owner from New Orleans, with his wife, three children, and
their nurse, Maria, were bound for Cincinnati. When at Louisville, he
was told if he was going to spend the Summer in Cincinnati he'd be sure
to lose his servant-girl, "as that city is cursed with free negroes and
abolitionists." At this unpleasant information, Champlin and his wife
concluded to make their temporary home in Covington, instead of
Cincinnati, to the great disappointment of Maria, as she and her
husband had been over two years in saving all their little silver
pieces, until the amount was one hundred dollars, which was to be used
in taking her to Canada.
As this "Northern trip" had been calculated two or three years before,
and as they went to no place without their faithful nurse, the slave
couple also made their plans. Her husband told her, as she would have a
good opportunity to secure her freedom, he would manage to secrete
himself on some through boat, and meet her in Canada; and he could go
with less money than she could, and insisted upon her taking all they
had saved. But after Maria found they were going to hire rooms and
board in a hotel in Covington, she went to the trunk that contained her
clothes and the children's, and to her great disappointment her hundred
dollars, that she had so securely tied in a little rag and rolled in
her garments, was taken out by her mistress, who never pretended to go
to her trunk for any thing, having no care whatever of her children's
wardrobe. But she must hide her feelings by putting on a cheerful face,
though she felt as though all her hopes of freedom, of which she had so
fondly dreamed, were blasted forever.
She found her task, as usual, was to keep the wardrobe of her mistress
and the children in order, and care for the children day and night. A
few days elapsed, and she asked her mistress if she would please give
her money to purchase herself a pair of shoes, as she heard they were
cheaper here than at home. She said she would either get her shoes or
give her the money in a few days; but neither shoes nor money came. Two
and three weeks passed, and Maria ventured to repeat her request; but
the reply was, "Your shoes are good enough for a while yet."
While her master and mistress were over the river, she frequently took
the children to the river, to amuse them in looking at boats and in
picking up pebbles on the bank, when her longing look was noticed by a
white man, who ventured to ask her if she would like to go across the
river. She told him, if she did, she had no money to give to any one
who would take her. After learning that her master's residence was in
New Orleans, he told her, if she would never let any one know that he
had ever said or done any thing about helping her, let what would
happen, he would take her over without any thing, in the night,
whenever she could get away; but if it was ever known there it would
ruin him. She promised; and as no one was near, and the three children
playing at a little distance, he pointed her to a large root on the
bank, under which she could hide, and there wait until she heard a low
whistle near the root, when she could come out and step into a skiff
without saying a word, and he would muffle the oars so as not to be
heard, and take her to a colored family he knew over the river, where
she would be safe until they would send her on to Canada.
"But how can I go on, when I's got no money?"
"They know of a way to send such people as you without money. You'll
get with those over there who will see you safe; never fear."
"I never can tell you," she said, in relating her story, "how strange I
felt about sich good news as this, and wondered if it could be true. I
jus' trimbled like a popple leaf all the evenin'. Master and missus was
over in the city to a lecture on Fernology, and didn't get back till
twelve o'clock. I kep' the chillen awake later'n common, so they'd
sleep sounder. Then I tied my clothes up in a tight bundle, an' had my
shoes an' hat whar I'd lay han's on 'em, an' put out the light. I was
snorin', when missus looked in an' said, 'All's asleep--all right;' an'
I waited till the clock struck one, an' all still. I crep' sof'ly out
on the street, and down to the root, an' waited for a whistle. The
clock struck two. O, how long! Will that man come? Chillen may cry, an'
missus fin' me gone. Had I better wait till it's three o'clock? May be
he can't come. He said, if any thing happen he couldn't come to-night,
I mus' go back, an' try another night. An' 'bout as I began to think I
better go back come the whistle. I stepped in, an' we went over; but
the clock struck three before we got half across, an' he was mighty
fear'd he couldn't get back afore daybreak."
News reached us during the day that a woman crossed the river early,
and was so near it as to be dangerous for a hiding-place; and it fell
to my lot to see her in a safe place as soon as the darkness of night
would shield us from being detected by Champlin and his aids, who were
already seen at street corners. I took a black Quaker bonnet and a drab
shawl and a plain dress-skirt in a market-basket, with which to
disguise our fugitive.
I found her in a dark room, where I fixed her up for a walk; and she
told me of her loss of the hundred dollars, but I told her all would be
well without it. I instructed her to take my arm as we went, and take
good care to limp all the way, for we should pass plenty of
Kentuckians. Thickly veiled, we walked half a mile, turning short
corners to elude watchers, if any, from our starting-point. As we went
up Central Avenue to Longworth, we passed through a crowd, one of whom
said:
"I'm going to line my pockets to-night. Thar's five hundred dollars
reward out."
Said another, in a low tone, "When did she cross?"
"Last night some time, they say."
My Quaker sister, limping at my side, was trembling, I sensibly felt,
as she hung upon my arm, as we listened to these remarks from her
pursuers. I took her to a very intelligent colored family on Longworth
Street, who were well known to us as true friends.
Although I had passed her pursuers without fear, yet when Levi Coffin
informed me that Ruffin, the greatest slave-hunter in the city, had
just moved next door to Burgess, where I left Maria, my fears were
almost equal to Maria's. "Laura, thou hast left thy fugitive with a
good family, but in a poor place," said our venerable friend. "But wait
until to-morrow evening, when thou hadst better give her another move,
as I know they will use all possible care." The following evening Levi
and friend Hughes were to be on Central Avenue near Longworth Street,
and as I came out with my Quaker woman, they were to walk half a block
ahead and turn on Ninth Street to his house, and if sister Catherine's
sign appeared on the balcony of the second story, we were to ascend the
outside flight of steps, and take her up to the attic in the fourth
story.
Champlin had doubled the reward, and was raving with rage over the loss
of their nurse. He said he would have her if he had to "set one foot in
hell after her," cursing and swearing in a perfect foam; and said a
thousand dollars should be doubled but what he would have her. As the
streets were too well lighted, to give her the appearance of a white
person through the veil, I called for a saucer of flour, with which I
thoroughly powdered her face. Before her veil was adjusted she happened
to look up and saw herself in the large mirror before her, and burst
into a laugh over her white face and Quaker bonnet. I gave her a shake
as I placed my hands over her shoulders: "Don't laugh loud, for your
liberty's sake. Remember the next door neighbor would get his thousand
dollars reward from Champlin, if he could know you are here." "I won't
look at that glass ag'in, I looks so quare."
I took her on the front walk, and following our previous plans, at the
invitation of the white cloth on the balustrade, we soon found
ourselves in the attic. She remained here two weeks, not daring to move
in any direction, as the wealthy New Orleans planter's biped
bloodhounds were seen and heard from in almost every direction through
the city.
As there was in this case an unusual excitement, the editor of the
Cincinnati _Commercial_ inserted a little note in his paper, of the
escape of the New Orleans nurse from her owners, who were boarding at
White Hall Hotel in Covington; and that the mistress had taken one
hundred dollars from the nurse previous to their arrival at their
destination. The day following this notice Champlin came to the
_Commercial_ office and demanded the authority the editor had for
charging his wife with stealing from their servant. For whether it was
he or any one else, it would prove a dear job to vilify his wife like
this, for he'd have their life or $3,000; and swore nothing short would
settle it. He told the editor he would give him till ten o'clock the
next morning, when he should come prepared for the settlement
(referring to his pistols, which he knew how to use). At once Levi
Coffin received a call from the editor for advice, as he was his
informant. During this interview, Catherine came into our room, saying,
"Laura, they are in a tangle with that New Orleans slave-holder, and
they want thee to help straighten it." Going in, I was introduced to
the editor, and main proprietor of the _Commercial_, and they related
the difficulty.
"Now," said Levi, "this young man has invested in this firm all he is
worth, and Champlin will probably ruin his business if he fails to give
his authority for stating Maria's loss of her hundred dollars; and as I
gave him these facts, in case he gives my name as authority, he will
then come upon me, and make trouble, as Champlin seemed determined upon
vengeance."
After a little reflection over these statements and threats I told them
I did not see but I came next, as I told Levi these facts, which I took
from Maria and the family where she was first secreted. And as I had no
property in Ohio, and the little I owned in Michigan I had arranged to
keep from slave-holders, I would stand in the gap and our young friend
might refer to me as authority, if compelled to give it, rather than
lose his life, or property even.
Said Levi, "This is liable to terminate in a serious affair. It would
lay thee liable to imprisonment if he is so disposed, and thy children
in Michigan would feel very sad over such an event."
I replied that I did not fear of remaining long in prison, neither did
I believe he was going to be permitted to put me there, but at all
events I was fully prepared to allow my name to be given. With this
conclusion our young friend left us, saying that if he could manage
that exasperated man without naming me, he would do so. We were all
anxiously waiting to see the result of the fearful meeting at the hour
of ten the following day. Champlin was there at the hour, with the
stern query, "Are you ready, sir, to give me your authority, or abide
the consequences?"
"I am, sir. The colored family where she first stopped informed us."
"Do you take a nigger's testimony?"
"Certainly I do. They are respectable and honest, though poor."
After pouring forth a volley of oaths, and saying he wouldn't stoop so
low as to notice what a nigger would say, for they were all a pack of
liars, he left the office, to the great relief both of the editor and
ourselves. Very soon he came to us with the pleasing report, how those
pistols, so full of powder, flashed in the pan.
But the slave-hunters were still so numerous, it was thought best to
dress her up for another walk, and I took her to a family near
Fourteenth Street, and wrote a letter in Maria's name to her master,
dated it ahead, and from Windsor, Canada West, and sent it enclosed in
a letter to a friend at that place, with directions to mail it to the
master at the date I had given. Maria informed her master Champlin that
Canada was not the cold barren country he had always told her it was,
for they raised great fields of corn, and potatoes, peas and beans, and
everything she saw in Kentucky; and that she had found the best of
friends ever since she left home, and signed her name.
In less than two weeks Kitty Darun's niece came in great haste to
inform us that "Champlin had got poor Maria, and Aunt Kitty is nearly
crying her eyes out over the sad news that a colored man brought over
last night."
"That is all a mistake."
"Oh, no, it's no mistake, for that colored man worked near White Hall
yesterday, and he said the report was just flying."
I hushed her loud words, and whispered, "I can take you to Maria in ten
minutes, I know just where she is."
"Are you _sure_, and may I go tell Aunt Kitty?"
"Go and whisper it, for there are but few friends who know she is still
in the city, because of the close search made for her, that is still
kept up."
The next day she came to us with another story, "That he didn't get
Maria, but got a letter from her in Canada. And that was the current
report."
I told her, "I understood that too, and would tell her all within a few
weeks."
The result of this letter was a withdrawal of all the hired hunters
within twenty-four hours, and during three days' quiet two young men
came from a few miles distant across the river, who got the privilege
of a holiday, and of spending it nearly ten miles farther from the
river than was their home. As they left the night before, they would
have until the next morning before being missed.
As Cazy (one of our vigilance committee) came before sunrise to inform
us of the new arrival, Catharine Coffin came to my bed-room and gave me
a call: "Come, Laura, here are more runaways; Cazy is here and they
want thee." In less than five minutes there were four of us to decide
on the plan of securing the newcomers and the one on our hands. "What
shall we do? Our funds are out, we haven't a dime in our treasury,"
said Cozy.
"We must get enough to take then; two young men and Maria out as far as
the Stubbs settlement to-night," I replied; "for you see all is quiet
now over Maria, and by to-morrow the city will fill up again with
slave-hunters."
"That is what I told Cazy before thou came in; but he says he has a job
on his hands he can not leave," said Levi.
"Where Is Hughes?"
"I don't believe I could get him to leave his work to see to it; but
may be he'll go for you," wild Cazy.
"I'll try." And throwing on my shawl and bonnet, called on Hughes, and
told him he must go and take Maria and two young men who had just
arrived this morning.
"But what can we do without money?"
"I'll get it to-day. What amount is wanting?"
"It will take eight dollars to hire a close carriage and team to go
thirty miles to-night, and I must be back to my work by eight o'clock
tomorrow morning."
"I'll have that ready before night."
"Then I'll call at Uncle Levis's at noon, and see whether you are sure
of success in getting the money; then I will call at the livery on my
return to my work and engage the carriage and team, to be ready by
seven and a half o'clock this evening."
When he called at noon I had four dollars in money and a traveling suit
for Maria, and knew just where I could get the balance. Now for the
plan of starting. I told him he must manage the two men and I would
manage for Maria. "But there are two toll-gates that are closely
watched for colored people, and I want you to go with us past those
gates, as two white persons in front would pass the load; not seeing
any colored people, they would make no inquiries. As Catherine's health
was poor, and cholera was raging in the city, she was not willing I
should remain away over night, and Levi secured William Beckley to
follow us a little distance behind until we had passed those gates,
when I was to return with him. The carriage, with our company, was to
be driven up Central Avenue as far as the orphan asylum, and halt for
Maria and myself; and as he passed the street she was on, Hughes was to
take out his white pocket handkerchief and wipe his face, while William
Fuller, at whose house Maria was secreted, was to walk on the street at
the time appointed to watch for the signal; when discovered, as he
turned toward the house, we were to step out on the street, and walk
the half block where our carriage was in waiting."
But in this we found it necessary to adopt my old rule of being
carelessly careful, as there were Kentuckians in their rented houses
each side of William Fuller's, and they were overheard to say three
days before, that they believed they had "niggers hid at Fuller's, for
the blinds in the second story hadn't been opened in two weeks." The
weather being warm, and the rising of the full moon, and their next
door neighbors sitting on their front porches, all combined to bring us
into full view. As we were watching for the moment to start Maria took
up her bundle of clothes; but I told her the least appearance, aside
from common callers, would create suspicion, and we must send them
after her. "But they's all I got, an' I will never see 'em ag'in," said
Maria, sorrowfully.
"But your liberty is of more value than a cart load of clothes."
"Oh, yes, I knows it; but I can't even change."
"Hand them to me," and they were opened and tightly rolled into the
shape of a six months' baby in a trice; and, as I rolled it in a shawl,
I said, "I'll carry the baby myself." The watchful wife says, "William
is turning back, and I will walk to the corner with you." As we reached
the gate, the neighbors in full view, sister Fuller's little girl
called, "Mamma, I want to see the baby; I didn't know that woman had a
baby." The frightened mother tried to hush her in a smothered voice,
that I feared would betray her excitement. "Let her go with us,
mother," said I. "But auntie hasn't time now to let little sis see the
baby; wait till next time we call, because we are late, and our folks
will be waiting for us." And as we leisurely walked along, sister
Fuller invited us to come another time to make a longer call.
After turning the corner, our sister and little girl left us, and we
quickened our pace to the carriage we saw in waiting. Friend Hughes
stood by the hitching-post, but looked wild with excitement when he saw
me turn to the carriage, as he knew there was no baby aboard; and as he
had hitched in a darker place than near the entrance, he did not
recognize us. But as I gave my baby a toss in the carriage, saying,
"This is part of our company; take care of my baby," he recognized my
voice. "O, yes; this is one of your tricks." Soon we were seated, and
on our way. We passed the two fearful gates with a sharp look by each
keeper, and half a mile beyond I proposed to return; but friend Hughes
said there was a short piece of woods ahead to pass through, then the
coast would be clear the balance of the way, and he would rather I
would go through the woods with them. Just before entering the grove we
heard the loud talking, singing, and laughing of ten or a dozen men we
were going to meet.
As this boisterous company appeared before us, Hughes turned to the two
men behind us, and said, "Are your pistols ready?"
"Yes, sah;" and each took from his own pocket a six-shooter.
"Boys, if those men attempt to take our horses by the bits, and I say,
_Fire!_ will you do it?"
"Yes, sah."
Said I, "Hughes, be careful, be careful. Your excitement will betray us
if you are not _very careful_."
"We don't know what rabble we are going to meet, and I propose to be
ready fur 'em."
"There is nothing known of this company, and I know we are safe."
"I don't know it; and if they make the first move to stop us, be ready,
boys."
"All ready."
There were two six-shooters behind me, and one in the hand of Hughes,
that I feared much more than all the slave-holders in Kentucky.
But we were soon relieved by the remark of one, as we were passing, "It
was well we stopped that bent from falling, or't would have killed
Smith as dead as a hammer." We found by this that they had been to the
raising of a building, and a number of them were more than half drunk.
After going a mile or two farther, and our excitement was over, I took
leave of our company, with a charge to keep quiet and all would be
well, and returned to Levi Coffin's by twelve o'clock. The following
morning we received a good report from our conductor, Hughes, of the
safe delivery of this valuable freight in the Quaker settlement depot,
where they were forwarded to Canada.