“The gaudy, blabbling and remorseful day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea;
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
That drag the tragic melancholy night;
Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings
Clip dead men’s graves, and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagions, darkness in the air.”
_Shakspeare._
Five years after the foregoing singular occurrence, in the winter of
1840, Mr. and Mrs. Listwell sat together by the fireside of their own
happy home, in the State of Ohio. The children were all gone to bed.
A single lamp burnt brightly on the centre-table. All was still and
comfortable within; but the night was cold and dark; a heavy wind
sighed and moaned sorrowfully around the house and barn, occasionally
bringing against the clattering windows a stray leaf from the large
oak trees that embowered their dwelling. It was a night for strange
noises and for strange fancies. A whole wilderness of thought might
pass through one’s mind during such an evening. The smouldering embers,
partaking of the spirit of the restless night, became fruitful of
varied and fantastic pictures, and revived many bygone scenes and old
impressions. The happy pair seemed to sit in silent fascination, gazing
on the fire. Suddenly this _reverie_ was interrupted by a heavy growl.
Ordinarily such an occurrence would have scarcely provoked a single
word, or excited the least apprehension. But there are certain seasons
when the slightest sound sends a jar through all the subtle chambers of
the mind; and such a season was this. The happy pair started up, as if
some sudden danger had come upon them. The growl was from their trusty
watch-dog.
“What can it mean? certainly no one can be out on such a night as
this,” said Mrs. Listwell.
“The wind has deceived the dog, my dear; he has mistaken the noise of
falling branches, brought down by the wind, for that of the footsteps
of persons coming to the house. I have several times to-night thought
that I heard the sound of footsteps. I am sure, however, that it was
but the wind. Friends would not be likely to come out at such an hour,
or such a night; and thieves are too lazy and self-indulgent to expose
themselves to this biting frost; but should there be any one about, our
brave old Monte, who is on the look-out, will not be slow in sounding
the alarm.”
Saying this they quietly left the window, whither they had gone to
learn the cause of the menacing growl, and re-seated themselves by the
fire, as if reluctant to leave the slowly expiring embers, although
the hour was late. A few minutes only intervened after resuming their
seats, when again their sober meditations were disturbed. Their
faithful dog now growled and barked furiously, as if assailed by an
advancing foe. Simultaneously the good couple arose, and stood in
mute expectation. The contest without seemed fierce and violent. It
was, however, soon over,--the barking ceased, for, with true canine
instinct, Monte quickly discovered that a friend, not an enemy of the
family, was coming to the house, and instead of rushing to repel the
supposed intruder, he was now at the door, whimpering and dancing for
the admission of himself and his newly made friend.
Mr. Listwell knew by this movement that all was well; he advanced
and opened the door, and saw by the light that streamed out into the
darkness, a tall man advancing slowly towards the house, with a stick
in one hand, and a small bundle in the other. “It is a traveller,”
thought he, “who has missed his way, and is coming to inquire the
road. I am glad we did not go to bed earlier,--I have felt all the
evening as if somebody would be here to-night.”
The man had now halted a short distance from the door, and looked
prepared alike for flight or battle. “Come in, sir, don’t be alarmed,
you have probably lost your way.”
Slightly hesitating, the traveller walked in; not, however, without
regarding his host with a scrutinizing glance. “No, sir,” said he, “I
have come to ask you a greater favor.”
Instantly Mr. Listwell exclaimed, (as the recollection of the Virginia
forest scene flashed upon him,) “Oh, sir, I know not your name, but
I have seen your face, and heard your voice before. I am glad to see
you. _I know all._ You are flying for your liberty,--be seated,--be
seated,--banish all fear. You are safe under my roof.”
This recognition, so unexpected, rather disconcerted and disquieted
the noble fugitive. The timidity and suspicion of persons escaping
from slavery are easily awakened, and often what is intended to dispel
the one, and to allay the other, has precisely the opposite effect. It
was so in this case. Quickly observing the unhappy impression made by
his words and action, Mr. Listwell assumed a more quiet and inquiring
aspect, and finally succeeded in removing the apprehensions which his
very natural and generous salutation had aroused.
Thus assured, the stranger said, “Sir, you have rightly guessed, I
am, indeed, a fugitive from slavery. My name is Madison,--Madison
Washington my mother used to call me. I am on my way to Canada, where
I learn that persons of my color are protected in all the rights of
men; and my object in calling upon you was, to beg the privilege of
resting my weary limbs for the night in your barn. It was my purpose
to have continued my journey till morning; but the piercing cold, and
the frowning darkness compelled me to seek shelter; and, seeing a light
through the lattice of your window, I was encouraged to come here to
beg the privilege named. You will do me a great favor by affording me
shelter for the night.”
“A resting-place, indeed, sir, you shall have; not, however, in my
barn, but in the best room of my house. Consider yourself, if you
please, under the roof of a friend; for such I am to you, and to all
your deeply injured race.”
While this introductory conversation was going on, the kind lady had
revived the fire, and was diligently preparing supper; for she, not
less than her husband, felt for the sorrows of the oppressed and hunted
ones of earth, and was always glad of an opportunity to do them a
service. A bountiful repast was quickly prepared, and the hungry and
toil-worn bondman was cordially invited to partake thereof. Gratefully
he acknowledged the favor of his benevolent benefactress; but appeared
scarcely to understand what such hospitality could mean. It was the
first time in his life that he had met so humane and friendly a
greeting at the hands of persons whose color was unlike his own; yet
it was impossible for him to doubt the charitableness of his new
friends, or the genuineness of the welcome so freely given; and he
therefore, with many thanks, took his seat at the table with Mr. and
Mrs. Listwell, who, desirous to make him feel at home, took a cup of
tea themselves, while urging upon Madison the best that the house could
afford.
Supper over, all doubts and apprehensions banished, the three drew
around the blazing fire, and a conversation commenced which lasted till
long after midnight.
“Now,” said Madison to Mr. Listwell, “I was a little surprised and
alarmed when I came in, by what you said; do tell me, sir, _why_ you
thought you had seen my face before, and by what you knew me to be a
fugitive from slavery; for I am sure that I never was before in this
neighborhood, and I certainly sought to conceal what I supposed to be
the manner of a fugitive slave.”
Mr. Listwell at once frankly disclosed the secret; describing the place
where he first saw him; rehearsing the language which he (Madison) had
used; referring to the effect which his manner and speech had made upon
him; declaring the resolution he there formed to be an abolitionist;
telling how often he had spoken of the circumstance, and the deep
concern he had ever since felt to know what had become of him; and
whether he had carried out the purpose to make his escape, as in the
woods he declared he would do.
“Ever since that morning,” said Mr. Listwell, “you have seldom been
absent from my mind, and though now I did not dare to hope that I
should ever see you again, I have often wished that such might be my
fortune; for, from that hour, your face seemed to be daguerreotyped on
my memory.”
Madison looked quite astonished, and felt amazed at the narration to
which he had listened. After recovering himself he said, “I well
remember that morning, and the bitter anguish that wrung my heart;
I will state the occasion of it. I had, on the previous Saturday,
suffered a cruel lashing; had been tied up to the limb of a tree,
with my feet chained together, and a heavy iron bar placed between my
ankles. Thus suspended, I received on my naked back forty stripes, and
was kept in this distressing position three or four hours, and was then
let down, only to have my torture increased; for my bleeding back,
gashed by the cow-skin, was washed by the overseer with old brine,
partly to augment my suffering, and partly, as he said, to prevent
inflammation. My crime was that I had stayed longer at the mill,
the day previous, than it was thought I ought to have done, which,
I assured my master and the overseer, was no fault of mine; but no
excuses were allowed. ‘Hold your tongue, you impudent rascal,’ met my
every explanation. Slave-holders are so imperious when their passions
are excited, as to construe every word of the slave into insolence. I
could do nothing but submit to the agonizing infliction. Smarting still
from the wounds, as well as from the consciousness of being whipt for
no cause, I took advantage of the absence of my master, who had gone to
church, to spend the time in the woods, and brood over my wretched lot.
Oh, sir, I remember it well,--and can never forget it.”
“But this was five years ago; where have you been since?”
“I will try to tell you,” said Madison. “Just four weeks after that
Sabbath morning, I gathered up the few rags of clothing I had, and
started, as I supposed, for the North and for freedom. I must not stop
to describe my feelings on taking this step. It seemed like taking a
leap into the dark. The thought of leaving my poor wife and two little
children caused me indescribable anguish; but consoling myself with the
reflection that once free, I could, possibly, devise ways and means
to gain their freedom also, I nerved myself up to make the attempt. I
started, but ill-luck attended me; for after being out a whole week,
strange to say, I still found myself on my master’s grounds; the third
night after being out, a season of clouds and rain set in, wholly
preventing me from seeing the North Star, which I had trusted as my
guide, not dreaming that clouds might intervene between us.
“This circumstance was fatal to my project, for in losing my star, I
lost my way; so when I supposed I was far towards the North, and had
almost gained my freedom, I discovered myself at the very point from
which I had started. It was a severe trial, for I arrived at home in
great destitution; my feet were sore, and in travelling in the dark,
I had dashed my foot against a stump, and started a nail, and lamed
myself. I was wet and cold; one week had exhausted all my stores; and
when I landed on my master’s plantation, with all my work to do over
again,--hungry, tired, lame, and bewildered,--I almost cursed the day
that I was born. In this extremity I approached the quarters. I did
so stealthily, although in my desperation I hardly cared whether I
was discovered or not. Peeping through the rents of the quarters, I
saw my fellow-slaves seated by a warm fire, merrily passing away the
time, as though their hearts knew no sorrow. Although I envied their
seeming contentment, all wretched as I was, I despised the cowardly
acquiescence in their own degradation which it implied, and felt a
kind of pride and glory in my own desperate lot. I dared not enter the
quarters,--for where there is seeming contentment with slavery, there
is certain treachery to freedom. I proceeded towards the great house,
in the hope of catching a glimpse of my poor wife, whom I knew might
be trusted with my secrets even on the scaffold. Just as I reached
the fence which divided the field from the garden, I saw a woman in
the yard, who in the darkness I took to be my wife; but a nearer
approach told me it was not she. I was about to speak; had I done so,
I would not have been here this night; for an alarm would have been
sounded, and the hunters been put on my track. Here were hunger, cold,
thirst, disappointment, and chagrin, confronted only by the dim hope
of liberty. I tremble to think of that dreadful hour. To face the
deadly cannon’s mouth in warm blood unterrified, is, I think, a small
achievement, compared with a conflict like this with gaunt starvation.
The gnawings of hunger conquers by degrees, till all that a man has he
would give in exchange for a single crust of bread. Thank God, I was
not quite reduced to this extremity.
“Happily for me, before the fatal moment of utter despair, my good wife
made her appearance in the yard. It was she; I knew her step. All was
well now. I was, however, afraid to speak, lest I should frighten her.
Yet speak I did; and, to my great joy, my voice was known. Our meeting
can be more easily imagined than described. For a time hunger, thirst,
weariness, and lameness were forgotten. But it was soon necessary for
her to return to the house. She being a house-servant, her absence from
the kitchen, if discovered, might have excited suspicion. Our parting
was like tearing the flesh from my bones; yet it was the part of wisdom
for her to go. She left me with the purpose of meeting me at midnight
in the very forest where you last saw me. She knew the place well,
as one of my melancholy resorts, and could easily find it, though the
night was dark.
“I hastened away, therefore, and concealed myself, to await the arrival
of my good angel. As I lay there among the leaves, I was strongly
tempted to return again to the house of my master and give myself up;
but remembering my solemn pledge on that memorable Sunday morning, I
was able to linger out the two long hours between ten and midnight. I
may well call them long hours. I have endured much hardship; I have
encountered many perils; but the anxiety of those two hours, was the
bitterest I ever experienced. True to her word, my wife came laden with
provisions, and we sat down on the side of a log, at that dark and
lonesome hour of the night. I cannot say we talked; our feelings were
too great for that; yet we came to an understanding that I should make
the woods my home, for if I gave myself up, I should be whipped and
sold away; and if I started for the North, I should leave a wife doubly
dear to me. We mutually determined, therefore, that I should remain in
the vicinity. In the dismal swamps I lived, sir, five long years,--a
cave for my home during the day. I wandered about at night with the
wolf and the bear,--sustained by the promise that my good Susan would
meet me in the pine woods at least once a week. This promise was
redeemed, I assure you, to the letter, greatly to my relief. I had
partly become contented with my mode of life, and had made up my mind
to spend my days there; but the wilderness that sheltered me thus long
took fire, and refused longer to be my hiding-place.
“I will not harrow up your feelings by portraying the terrific scene
of this awful conflagration. There is nothing to which I can liken
it. It was horribly and indescribably grand. The whole world seemed
on fire, and it appeared to me that the day of judgment had come;
that the burning bowels of the earth had burst forth, and that the
end of all things was at hand. Bears and wolves, scorched from their
mysterious hiding-places in the earth, and all the wild inhabitants of
the untrodden forest, filled with a common dismay, ran forth, yelling,
howling, bewildered amidst the smoke and flame. The very heavens seemed
to rain down fire through the towering trees; it was by the merest
chance that I escaped the devouring element. Running before it, and
stopping occasionally to take breath, I looked back to behold its
frightful ravages, and to drink in its savage magnificence. It was
awful, thrilling, solemn, beyond compare. When aided by the fitful
wind, the merciless tempest of fire swept on, sparkling, creaking,
cracking, curling, roaring, out-doing in its dreadful splendor a
thousand thunderstorms at once. From tree to tree it leaped, swallowing
them up in its lurid, baleful glare; and leaving them leafless,
limbless, charred, and lifeless behind. The scene was overwhelming,
stunning,--nothing was spared,--cattle, tame and wild, herds of swine
and of deer, wild beasts of every name and kind,--huge night-birds,
bats, and owls, that had retired to their homes in lofty tree-tops
to rest, perished in that fiery storm. The long-winged buzzard and
croaking raven mingled their dismal cries with those of the countless
myriads of small birds that rose up to the skies, and were lost to
the sight in clouds of smoke and flame. Oh, I shudder when I think
of it! Many a poor wandering fugitive, who, like myself, had sought
among wild beasts the mercy denied by our fellow men, saw, in helpless
consternation, his dwelling-place and city of refuge reduced to ashes
forever. It was this grand conflagration that drove me hither; I ran
alike from fire and from slavery.”
After a slight pause, (for both speaker and hearers were deeply moved
by the above recital,) Mr. Listwell, addressing Madison, said, “If it
does not weary you too much, do tell us something of your journeyings
since this disastrous burning,--we are deeply interested in everything
which can throw light on the hardships of persons escaping from
slavery; we could hear you talk all night; are there no incidents that
you could relate of your travels hither? or are they such that you do
not like to mention them.”
“For the most part, sir, my course has been uninterrupted; and,
considering the circumstances, at times even pleasant. I have suffered
little for want of food; but I need not tell you how I got it. Your
moral code may differ from mine, as your customs and usages are
different. The fact is, sir, during my flight, I felt myself robbed
by society of all my just rights; that I was in an enemy’s land, who
sought both my life and my liberty. They had transformed me into a
brute; made merchandise of my body, and, for all the purposes of my
flight, turned day into night,--and guided by my own necessities, and
in contempt of their conventionalities, I did not scruple to take bread
where I could get it.”
“And just there you were right,” said Mr. Listwell; “I once had doubts
on this point myself, but a conversation with Gerrit Smith, (a man, by
the way, that I wish you could see, for he is a devoted friend of your
race, and I know he would receive you gladly,) put an end to all my
doubts on this point. But do not let me interrupt you.”
“I had but one narrow escape during my whole journey,” said Madison.
“Do let us hear of it,” said Mr. Listwell.
“Two weeks ago,” continued Madison, “after travelling all night, I was
overtaken by daybreak, in what seemed to me an almost interminable
wood. I deemed it unsafe to go farther, and, as usual, I looked around
for a suitable tree in which to spend the day. I liked one with a
bushy top, and found one just to my mind. Up I climbed, and hiding
myself as well as I could, I, with this strap, (pulling one out of
his old coat-pocket,) lashed myself to a bough, and flattered myself
that I should get a _good night’s_ sleep that day; but in this I was
soon disappointed. I had scarcely got fastened to my natural hammock,
when I heard the voices of a number of persons, apparently approaching
the part of the woods where I was. Upon my word, sir, I dreaded more
these human voices than I should have done those of wild beasts. I was
at a loss to know what to do. If I descended, I should probably be
discovered by the men; and if they had dogs I should, doubtless, be
‘_treed_.’ It was an anxious moment, but hardships and dangers have
been the accompaniments of my life; and have, perhaps, imparted to me
a certain hardness of character, which, to some extent, adapts me to
them. In my present predicament, I decided to hold my place in the
tree-top, and abide the consequences. But here I must disappoint you;
for the men, who were all colored, halted at least a hundred yards from
me, and began with their axes, in right good earnest, to attack the
trees. The sound of their laughing axes was like the report of as many
well-charged pistols. By and by there came down at least a dozen trees
with a terrible crash. They leaped upon the fallen trees with an air of
victory. I could see no dog with them, and felt myself comparatively
safe, though I could not forget the possibility that some freak or
fancy might bring the axe a little nearer my dwelling than comported
with my safety.
“There was no sleep for me that day, and I wished for night. You may
imagine that the thought of having the tree attacked under me was far
from agreeable, and that it very easily kept me on the look-out. The
day was not without diversion. The men at work seemed to be a gay set;
and they would often make the woods resound with that uncontrolled
laughter for which we, as a race, are remarkable. I held my place in
the tree till sunset,--saw the men put on their jackets to be off.
I observed that all left the ground except one, whom I saw sitting
on the side of a stump, with his head bowed, and his eyes apparently
fixed on the ground. I became interested in him. After sitting in the
position to which I have alluded ten or fifteen minutes, he left the
stump, walked directly towards the tree in which I was secreted, and
halted almost under the same. He stood for a moment and looked around,
deliberately and reverently took off his hat, by which I saw that he
was a man in the evening of life, slightly bald and quite gray. After
laying down his hat carefully, he knelt and prayed aloud, and such
a prayer, the most fervent, earnest, and solemn, to which I think
I ever listened. After reverently addressing the Almighty, as the
all-wise, all-good, and the common Father of all mankind, he besought
God for grace, for strength, to bear up under, and to endure, as a
good soldier, all the hardships and trials which beset the journey of
life, and to enable him to live in a manner which accorded with the
gospel of Christ. His soul now broke out in humble supplication for
deliverance from bondage. ‘O thou,’ said he, ‘that hearest the raven’s
cry, take pity on poor me! O deliver me! O deliver me! in mercy, O God,
deliver me from the chains and manifold hardships of slavery! With
thee, O Father, all things are possible. Thou canst stand and measure
the earth. Thou hast beheld and drove asunder the nations,--all power
is in thy hand,--thou didst say of old, “I have seen the affliction
of my people, and am come to deliver them,”--Oh look down upon our
afflictions, and have mercy upon us.’ But I cannot repeat his prayer,
nor can I give you an idea of its deep pathos. I had given but little
attention to religion, and had but little faith in it; yet, as the old
man prayed, I felt almost like coming down and kneel by his side, and
mingle my broken complaint with his.
“He had already gained my confidence; as how could it be otherwise? I
knew enough of religion to know that the man who prays in secret is far
more likely to be sincere than he who loves to pray standing in the
street, or in the great congregation. When he arose from his knees,
like another Zacheus, I came down from the tree. He seemed a little
alarmed at first, but I told him my story, and the good man embraced me
in his arms, and assured me of his sympathy.
“I was now about out of provisions, and thought I might safely ask
him to help me replenish my store. He said he had no money; but if he
had, he would freely give it me. I told him I had _one dollar_; it was
all the money I had in the world. I gave it to him, and asked him to
purchase some crackers and cheese, and to kindly bring me the balance;
that I would remain in or near that place, and would come to him on his
return, if he would whistle. He was gone only about an hour. Meanwhile,
from some cause or other, I know not what, (but as you shall see very
wisely,) I changed my place. On his return I started to meet him; but
it seemed as if the shadow of approaching danger fell upon my spirit,
and checked my progress. In a very few minutes, closely on the heels of
the old man, I distinctly saw _fourteen men_, with something like guns
in their hands.”
“Oh! the old wretch!” exclaimed Mrs. Listwell, “he had betrayed you,
had he?”
“I think not,” said Madison, “I cannot believe that the old man was
to blame. He probably went into a store, asked for the articles for
which I sent, and presented the bill I gave him; and it is so unusual
for slaves in the country to have money, that fact, doubtless, excited
suspicion, and gave rise to inquiry. I can easily believe that the
truthfulness of the old man’s character compelled him to disclose
the facts; and thus were these blood-thirsty men put on my track. Of
course I did not present myself; but hugged my hiding-place securely.
If discovered and attacked, I resolved to sell my life as dearly as
possible.
“After searching about the woods silently for a time, the whole company
gathered around the old man; one charged him with lying, and called
him an old villain; said he was a thief; charged him with stealing
money; said if he did not instantly tell where he got it, they would
take the shirt from his old back, and give him thirty-nine lashes.
“‘I did _not_ steal the money,’ said the old man, ‘it was given me, as
I told you at the store; and if the man who gave it me is not here, it
is not my fault.’
“‘Hush! you lying old rascal; we’ll make you smart for it. You shall
not leave this spot until you have told where you got that money.’
“They now took hold of him, and began to strip him; while others went
to get sticks with which to beat him. I felt, at the moment, like
rushing out in the midst of them; but considering that the old man
would be whipped the more for having aided a fugitive slave, and that,
perhaps, in the _melée_ he might be killed outright, I disobeyed this
impulse. They tied him to a tree, and began to whip him. My own flesh
crept at every blow, and I seem to hear the old man’s piteous cries
even now. They laid thirty-nine lashes on his bare back, and were going
to repeat that number, when one of the company besought his comrades
to desist. ‘You’ll kill the d--d old scoundrel! You’ve already whipt a
dollar’s worth out of him, even if he stole it!’ ‘O yes,’ said another,
‘let him down. He’ll never tell us another lie, I’ll warrant ye!’ With
this, one of the company untied the old man, and bid him go about his
business.
The old man left, but the company remained as much as an hour, scouring
the woods. Round and round they went, turning up the underbrush, and
peering about like so many bloodhounds. Two or three times they came
within six feet of where I lay. I tell you I held my stick with a
firmer grasp than I did in coming up to your house to-night. I expected
to level one of them at least. Fortunately, however, I eluded their
pursuit, and they left me alone in the woods.
“My last dollar was now gone, and you may well suppose I felt the loss
of it; but the thought of being once again free to pursue my journey,
prevented that depression which a sense of destitution causes; so
swinging my little bundle on my back, I caught a glimpse of the _Great
Bear_ (which ever points the way to my beloved star,) and I started
again on my journey. What I lost in money I made up at a hen-roost that
same night, upon which I fortunately came.”
“But you didn’t eat your food raw? How did you cook it?” said Mrs.
Listwell.
“O no, Madam,” said Madison, turning to his little bundle;--“I had the
means of cooking.” Here he took out of his bundle an old-fashioned
tinder-box, and taking up a piece of a file, which he brought with
him, he struck it with a heavy flint, and brought out at least a dozen
sparks at once. “I have had this old box,” said he, “more than five
years. It is the _only_ property saved from the fire in the dismal
swamp. It has done me good service. It has given me the means of
broiling many a chicken!”
It seemed quite a relief to Mrs. Listwell to know that Madison had, at
least, lived upon cooked food. Women have a perfect horror of eating
uncooked food.
By this time thoughts of what was best to be done about getting Madison
to Canada, began to trouble Mr. Listwell; for the laws of Ohio were
very stringent against any one who should aid, or who were found aiding
a slave to escape through that State. A citizen, for the simple act
of taking a fugitive slave in his carriage, had just been stripped of
all his property, and thrown penniless upon the world. Notwithstanding
this, Mr. Listwell was determined to see Madison safely on his way to
Canada. “Give yourself no uneasiness,” said he to Madison, “for if it
cost my farm, I shall see you safely out of the States, and on your way
to a land of liberty. Thank God that there is _such_ a land so near us!
You will spend to-morrow with us, and to-morrow night I will take you
in my carriage to the Lake. Once upon that, and you are safe.”
“Thank you! thank you,” said the fugitive; “I will commit myself to
your care.”
For the _first_ time during _five_ years, Madison enjoyed the luxury of
resting his limbs on a comfortable bed, and inside a human habitation.
Looking at the white sheets, he said to Mr. Listwell, “What, sir! you
don’t mean that I shall sleep in that bed?”
“Oh yes, oh yes.”
After Mr. Listwell left the room, Madison said he really hesitated
whether or not he should lie on the floor; for that was _far_ more
comfortable and inviting than any bed to which he had been used.
* * * * *
We pass over the thoughts and feelings, the hopes and fears, the plans
and purposes, that revolved in the mind of Madison during the day
that he was secreted at the house of Mr. Listwell. The reader will be
content to know that nothing occurred to endanger his liberty, or to
excite alarm. Many were the little attentions bestowed upon him in his
quiet retreat and hiding-place. In the evening, Mr. Listwell, after
treating Madison to a new suit of winter clothes, and replenishing
his exhausted purse with five dollars, all in silver, brought out his
two-horse wagon, well provided with buffaloes, and silently started
off with him to Cleveland. They arrived there without interruption, a
few minutes before sunrise the next morning. Fortunately the steamer
Admiral lay at the wharf, and was to start for Canada at nine o’clock.
Here the last anticipated danger was surmounted. It was feared that
just at this point the hunters of men might be on the look-out, and,
possibly, pounce upon their victim. Mr. Listwell saw the captain of the
boat; cautiously sounded him on the matter of carrying liberty-loving
passengers, before he introduced his precious charge. This done,
Madison was conducted on board. With usual generosity this true
subject of the emancipating queen welcomed Madison, and assured him
that he should be safely landed in Canada, free of charge. Madison now
felt himself no more a piece of merchandise, but a passenger, and, like
any other passenger, going about his business, carrying with him what
belonged to him, and nothing which rightfully belonged to anybody else.
Wrapped in his new winter suit, snug and comfortable, a pocket full of
silver, safe from his pursuers, embarked for a free country, Madison
gave every sign of sincere gratitude, and bade his kind benefactor
farewell, with such a grip of the hand as bespoke a heart full of
honest manliness, and a soul that knew how to appreciate kindness.
It need scarcely be said that Mr. Listwell was deeply moved by the
gratitude and friendship he had excited in a nature so noble as that of
the fugitive. He went to his home that day with a joy and gratification
which knew no bounds. He had done something “to deliver the spoiled out
of the hands of the spoiler,” he had given bread to the hungry, and
clothes to the naked; he had befriended a man to whom the laws of his
country forbade all friendship,--and in proportion to the odds against
his righteous deed, was the delightful satisfaction that gladdened his
heart. On reaching home, he exclaimed, “_He is safe,--he is safe,--he
is safe_,”--and the cup of his joy was shared by his excellent lady.
The following letter was received from Madison a few days after.
“WINDSOR, CANADA WEST, DEC. 16, 1840.
My dear Friend,--for such you truly are:--
Madison is out of the woods at last; I nestle in the mane of the
British lion, protected by his mighty paw from the talons and the
beak of the American eagle. I AM FREE, and breathe an atmosphere
too pure for _slaves_, slave-hunters, or slave-holders. My heart is
full. As many thanks to you, sir, and to your kind lady, as there
are pebbles on the shores of Lake Erie; and may the blessing of God
rest upon you both. You will never be forgotten by your profoundly
grateful friend,
MADISON WASHINGTON.”