[Illustration:
H. U. JOHNSON.
]
FROM
DIXIE TO CANADA
ROMANCES AND REALITIES
OF THE
UNDERGROUND RAILROAD
BY
H. U. JOHNSON
AUTHOR OF “SEVENTEEN SEVENTY-SIX AND OTHER POEMS” AND “OBED IN THE GREAT
CO-PARTNERSHIP.”
VOL. I
FIRST THOUSAND
[Illustration]
ORWELL, OHIO
H. U. JOHNSON
BUFFALO
CHARLES WELLS MOULTON
1894
COPYRIGHT, 1894,
BY H. U. JOHNSON.
(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.)
PRINTED BY CHARLES WELLS MOULTON, BUFFALO, N. Y.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_DEDICATION._
_To the millions of happy grand-children of a generation fast leaving
the stage of action, and who must get their knowledge of the Rebellion
and its causes from the lips of those who saw and participated or from
the pages of history, as we, the grand-parents, got ours of the
Revolution from those long since passed away, and from the written
records of that thrilling period, this little volume of unique but
wonderful history is sincerely and most affectionately dedicated by one
of the Grandfathers._
PREFACE.
The years intervening since the abolition of American slavery leave a
majority of our people ignorant of its workings, and of matters
connected with it, except as they are gleaned from the pages of history,
or from the lips of those now grown old.
It is not the purpose of this little volume to discuss the history of
the “peculiar institution” in detail, but simply to give so much of it
as will make appreciable the cause for another one equally “peculiar,”
known for the last twenty years of its existence as the UNDERGROUND
RAILROAD,—a name for a mode of operation, and not of a corporation or
material object.
During the years of its operation, secrecy was a cardinal, an imperative
principle of its management, as the following pages will make apparent.
On the breaking out of the War of the Rebellion, thus putting an end to
its operations, every other subject was swallowed up in the excitement
of the great struggle, and subsequently in that of Reconstruction. Thus
the Road dropped measurably out of sight, leaving but meager reports and
archives to tell the story of its working.
The promptings of a desire to leave to posterity some realistic record
of this, one of the most wonderful and thrilling features of our
national history, no parallel to which is afforded in the annals of
time, must be the excuse for these pages. During the eighties, the
writer, who had lived amid its excitements for years, and was more or
less familiar with the writings of Coffin, Pettit, the Clarkes and
others, undertook a systematic research into the matter, the result of
which was the accumulation of a large fund of incident and information
pertaining to the Road, much of which was published in the _Home
Magazine_ between the years 1883 and 1889, inclusive. Those articles, in
part, carefully revised, are now placed before the reader in this more
permanent form, with the hope that they may receive the generous
approval of an appreciative public.
THE AUTHOR.
ORWELL, OHIO, MAY 20, 1894.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 9
CHAPTER I.
JO NORTON 19
LAVINIA 28
A RUSE 36
THE ORIGINAL “JERRY” 48
A COOL WOMAN 52
CHAPTER II.
JACK WATSON 54
CHAPTER III.
UNCLE JAKE 85
CHAPTER IV.
GEORGE GREEN, OR CONSTANCY REWARDED 98
CHAPTER V.
HOW SOL. JONES WAS LEFT 124
CHAPTER VI.
EDWARD HOWARD 132
CHAPTER VII.
PLUCKY CHARLEY 152
CHAPTER VIII.
STATIE LINES 164
CHAPTER IX.
GEORGE GRAY 173
[Illustration:
JIM JONES IN THE BLACKSMITH SHOP.
]
INTRODUCTION.
The quiet of a midsummer night had settled down over the city of
Washington, when, in August, 1839, a dusky form came, with stealthy
tread, from among some buildings not far away, and cautiously approached
the eastern entrance to the Capitol. Laying his hand upon the cold steps
in the shadow of the great building, Jim Jones, a colored boy of about
seventeen, attentively listened as if in expectation of some
preconcerted signal.
He had waited but a moment thus, when the hand of a patrol was laid
heavily upon his shoulder and the rough query, “What does this mean, you
black rascal?” fell upon his ear.
“Dunno, Massa,” was the reply of the startled boy.
“Don’t know, you black imp?”
“No, Massa, dunno what fo’ I was hea.”
“Well, you know, you young nigger, you have no business here at this
hour of the night.”
“Yes, Massa, I knowed de night am for white folks, and I jus’ cum for to
see—”
“Some d—d abolitionist who is trying to get you away.”
“No, no, Massa.”
“Well, come along and we shall see,” saying which he rudely hurried the
boy away to a place of safe keeping.
In the early morning Jim was recognized by his master, who vainly tried
to extort from him by questioning the cause of his nocturnal ramble.
Failing in this, the boy was taken to a blacksmith shop and his thumbs
placed end to end in the jaws of a vice.
“Now,” said the master, “tell me why you were abroad last night.”
“I dunno,” replied Jim.
A half turn of the screw, and a groan of pain escaped the boy; another
turn and he writhed in agony.
“Now you black son of a b——ch, why were you at the Capitol last night?”
“O Lor’, Massa, a white man tol’ me I should come.”
“What did he want of you?”
“Fo’ to go norf’.”
“And so you were going?”
“Y-e-s—Massa—I—was—fo’—to—go.”
“How?”
“On a railroad undah de groun’.”
“Under the ground?”
“Yes, Massa, so the gem’an said. He was jus’ comin’ to open de way, when
Massa da’ cotched me.”
“Who was he?”
“Dunno, Massa.”
Another turn of the screw, and in the agony of despair the boy yelled,
“Dunno, dunno, Massa, dunno,” and swooned away.
After resuscitation the torture was again applied, but nothing farther
was elicited, as the boy continued to aver he had never heard the name
of the man who was to lead him; and, indeed, he had met him only in the
dark.
Though for years slaves had from time to time been stealing away from
the _kind_ attentions of their masters, and, indeed, very frequently of
late, yet never before had the latter dreamed that their “chattel” went
by subterranean transit, and the theme became one of such absorbing
interest that, when two months later five prominent slaves escaped from
the city in a single night, a Washington morning paper heralded the
matter before the world for the first time as follows:—
“UNDERGROUND RAILROAD!
_A Mystery Not Yet Solved._”
“The abolition incendiaries are undermining, not only our domestic
institutions, but the very foundations of our Capitol. Our citizens
will recollect that the boy Jim, who was arrested last August, while
lurking about the Capitol, would disclose nothing until he was
subject to torture by screwing his fingers in a blacksmith’s vice,
when he acknowledged that he was to have been sent north by
railroad; was to have started near the place where he stood when
discovered by the patrol. He refused to tell who was to aid him—said
he did not know—and most likely he did not. Nothing more could be
got from him until they gave the screw another turn, when he said:
‘_The railroad goes under ground all the way to Boston_.’ Our
citizens are losing all their best servants. Some secret Yankee
arrangement has been contrived by which they ‘stampede’ from three
to eight at a time, and no trace of them can be found until they
reach the interior of New York or the New England States. They can
not have gone by railroad, as every station is closely watched by a
secret police, yet there is no other conveyance by which a man can
reach Albany in two days. That they have done so, is now clearly
demonstrated. Colonel Hardy, a tobacco planter residing in the
District, about five miles from the city, lost five more slaves last
Sunday evening. They were pursued by an expert slave catcher, but no
trace of them was discovered. The search was abandoned this morning,
the Colonel having received a paper called the _Liberty Press_,
printed in Albany, with the following article so marked as to claim
his attention:
“‘Arrived, this morning, by our fast train, three men and two women.
They were claimed as slaves by Colonel Hardy, of the District of
Columbia, but became dissatisfied with the Colonel’s ways of
_bucking_ Harry, making _love_ to Nancy and other similar displays
of _masterly_ affection, and left the old fellow’s premises last
Sunday evening, arriving at our station by the quickest passage on
record.’
“The article recites many incidents that have transpired in the
Colonel’s family, that correspond so exactly with facts that the
Colonel says: ‘Nobody but Kate could have told that story!’ Said
article closes by saying: ‘Now, Colonel H., please give yourself no
trouble about these friends of yours, for they will be safe under
the protection of the British Lion before this _meets_ your eyes.’”
The term which had been given to poor Jim, in confidence, as the means
by which he was to make his escape from bondage, and extorted from him
by torture, having thus been given to the world from the city of
Washington, became henceforth the universal appelation for a
_corporation_ which, for more than twenty years thereafter, extended its
great trunk lines across all the northern states from Mason and Dixon’s
line and the Ohio River to the Queen’s Dominion, and its ramifications
far into the southern states. It was most efficiently officered, and had
its side tracks, connections and switches; its stations and eating
houses all thoroughly well recognized by the initiated; its station
agents and conductors, men undaunted in danger and unswerving in their
adherence to principle; its system of cypher dispatches, tokens and
nomenclature which no attaché ever revealed except to those having a
right to receive them, and its detective force characterized by a
shrewdness in expedients and a versatility of strategy which attached to
any mere money making enterprise would have put “millions in it.” It
received the support of men and women from every class, sect, and party,
though from some more than from others; its character was engraven, as
by a pen of fire, in the hearts and consciences of men, burning deeper
and deeper, until finally abrogated in that grand emancipation
proclamation of Abraham Lincoln, when it was found that its stock,
always unwatered but by tears, had yielded an incomputable percentage in
the freedom secured to over thirty-six thousand fugitives from human
bondage, and embodied in houses, lands, schools, churches and social and
domestic happiness.
Now that the track is all pulled up; that the rolling stock has
disappeared; that most of the operators and passengers have gone down
into silence or are dwelling in forgetfulness of accumulating years, and
that only a few of the old stations remain as they were, a new
generation pertinently inquires, “What called such a road into existence
and how were its gigantic operations so successfully and yet so secretly
carried on?”
To the first of these questions it may be replied that the history of
American slavery is older than the story of Plymouth Rock. In the year
1619 a cargo of Africans, kidnapped on the coast of the “Dark
Continent,” was sold from the deck of a Dutch man-of-war at Jamestown,
Va., to be used in the cultivation of tobacco along the river.
At that time very little was thought about the enormity of human
slavery. The labor proved remunerative, and the institution spread over
the original colonies, with little or no question, so that at the
breaking out of the Revolution there were 500,000 bondmen, a standing
menace to the cause of freedom, and yet technically said to be “armed in
the holy cause of liberty.”
On the adoption of the constitution in 1787, public sentiment had become
so strong against the African slave trade that provision was made for
its abolition in 1808. Persistent effort was also made, particularly by
the Quakers, for the ultimate abolition of slavery itself, but without
avail, as it was claimed by its apologists that it would ultimately die
of its own accord—a prophecy in some sense fulfilled, though in a manner
all undreamed by those who made it.
[Illustration:
THE TRACY WAGON SHOP.
]
[Illustration:
SLAVE PEN IN ATLANTA, GA.
(PHOTOGRAPHED WHILST GEN. SHERMAN’S ARMY HELD THE CITY.)
]
Though Anti-slavery Societies had long been in vogue, of one of which
Benjamin Franklin had been president, it was found by the census of 1800
that the country contained 893,000 slaves. From this time forward one
after another of the Northern States abolished it, until it finally
disappeared from New York last of all, July 4th, 1827. In the meantime
it was strengthened in the South. The invention of the cotton gin and
the extensive manufacture of sugar in the Gulf States, made the rearing
of slaves in those farther north very lucrative, and slave marts were
set up in many of their cities and towns to which men, women and
children were brought and sold upon the auction block and at private
sale.
The slaves thus purchased in Maryland, Virginia, Kentucky and elsewhere
for the more southern markets were either driven across the country like
so many cattle, or, if more convenient, taken down the Ohio and
Mississippi on steam-boats or in flats, all those deemed likely to give
trouble being handcuffed together across a coffle chain, thus
constituting a “coffle.”
On their arrival at the place of destination, they were more or less
jaded and warm, and hence unmarketable until properly fitted up. To
facilitate this, buildings or “pens” were provided where they were well
fed and given liberal rations of whiskey. Under the management of some
genial dealer, they were induced to tell stories, sing songs and make
merry. In this way they were soon recuperated and ready for the ordeals
of another sale in which they were subjected to much the same scrutiny
of body and limb that is bestowed upon a horse when the person would
ascertain its physical condition.
To escape this degradation and the hardships of the southern
plantations, the more intelligent and hardy of the slave population
early began to flee to the free states as an asylum from cruel bondage.
As if in anticipation of this, the constitution had provided for their
return, and under its provisions many were restored to their masters,
through the cupidity of sordid northern men, for the rewards offered.
Finding so many of their chattels escaping and the sentiment against
their return growing stronger and stronger, the southern people, with
the aid of abettors at the north, succeeded in 1850, in securing the
passage of the Fugitive Slave Law, which imposed heavy fines and even
imprisonment for in any way aiding a fugitive from slavery to escape. By
its provisions every man at the North was virtually made a slave
catcher.
Canada now became the goal of the fugitive, and to its safe retreat
thousands escaped, and yet so successful was the business of slave
culture that in 1860 the whole number of persons held as mere chattels,
without a vested right in land, or home, or wife, or husband, or child,
or life, even, that might not be served by the will of the master,
amounted to 3,953,000 souls. The bitterness of sectional feeling
engendered by such a state of affairs, and the intense activity of nerve
and intellect called forth thereby, can never be duly appreciated except
by those who were active participants in the affairs of ten years _ante
bellum_.
The second question, and, also, many points covered by the first, will
be best answered by following the thread of these “Romances and
Realities of the Underground Railroad,” gathered as they are from
personal observation, extensive reading, visitations along many of the
old lines, and numerous interviews and extensive correspondence with
those heroic men and women who dared their fortunes and their personal
liberty in the cause of humanity and right, still lingering among us,
as, also, with many a passenger over this truly wonderful thoroughfare.
[Illustration:
REFUGEES IN WASHINGTON CHURCHYARD.
]
CHAPTER I.
JO NORTON.
I.
So many and varied have been the changes of half a century, and so rapid
the growth of the city in the past twenty-five years, that few of the
present inhabitants of Washington, and less of its old-time frequenters,
now ever think of the cemetery that skirted the stage road leading north
from the city. True, in those by-gone days it was a popular burial
place, even for the first families of the capital, but like many another
“silent city” it long since fell into disuse, and consequently became
for years the most desirable place near the city for an underground
railroad station, and to such use it was assiduously appropriated.
In this solitary place, on a quiet Sabbath evening of October, 1839,
there was heard just as the last faint twilight trembled on the western
horizon a low, distinct whistle. Immediately there arose from among the
growth of bushes and from behind already reclining headstones five dusky
forms, actuated evidently by the same impulse. The whistle was repeated,
and the forms cautiously approached the point whence it proceeded, and
there gathered in presence of a stranger to them all, but with no
previous knowledge of each other’s intent, though all of them were the
property of the same man, Colonel Hardy, a tobacco planter of the
District of Columbia, as previously stated in the “Introduction” to
these “Romances and Realities.”
The first exclamations of surprise over, their unknown companion
proceeded to give them the instructions for the night, after allaying
their superstitious fears, that they were to sink into the earth for a
time, and be under the conduct of invisible personages. Indeed, so far
from that being the case they soon found very much depended upon their
own physical exertion. No sinking down into the ground among the dead,
no sojourn among spooks and ghosts, impressions that had almost gotten
the better of their thirst for freedom, was to be theirs. On the
contrary they were to take at once to the pike and follow it until they
came to the said road, which was then to be their pathway, only turning
out to pass around villages and stations until they came to a man
standing in the track who should signal them by the simple name “Ben.”
To him they were to yield themselves implicitly.
Seeing the little company once fairly started, the stranger returned to
the city, and as he passed the post-office deposited therein a letter
addressed,
“_JOHN JONES, Esq._,
_Albany_,
_N. Y._”
Leaving this missive and the fugitives to pursue their respective
journeys, we pause to inquire into the personalities of the latter. They
were named, respectively, Nancy, Kate, Robert, Harry and Jo, or more
complete, Jo Norton.
As has been said, they were the property of one man, and when not needed
on the plantation, were hired out in the city. Harry was recognized
among his fellows as a man of spirit and ability; but the latter quality
never saved him from the frequent “buckings” engendered by the too free
play of the former. Nancy, an octaroon, was well formed, about twenty
years of age, and according to Kate, who had a spontaneous gift of
gossip, a special favorite of the “Kunnel.”
Jo Norton was a sprightly, intelligent fellow, and had a wife named
Mary, who, with their little boy, was the property of a Mr. Judson,
residing in the city. In his boyhood Jo had been continually employed
upon the plantation, but after he was sixteen was engaged at a hotel
during the winter for several years. For a long time in this place it
was his special duty to wait upon Daniel Webster at table and otherwise.
It was whilst thus employed that he became acquainted with and won Mary,
who had the care of the great statesman’s rooms. During the summer, the
Colonel, when reasonably good natured, allowed Jo to visit his wife and
child once in two weeks, on Sunday. When too choleric to grant his
“chattel” this indulgence, a pass was readily secured from the old man’s
daughter, who was his private secretary, and with whom Jo was a great
favorite. In these visits the possibility of an escape, more especially
for the sake of their boy, was frequently discussed, though no plan was
ever perfected.
One evening whilst returning from one of these visitations, Jo fell in
company with a gentleman whose manner so impressed him that he asked if
he were not from “de Norf.”
“Yes, from Massachusetts,” said the stranger.
“Wy, Massa, dat am de home ob de great Dan’l Webster.”
“Yes; I know him very well.”
“Yes, Massa, an’ doan dis chile knows dat great man to?”
“How is that?”
“Wy, Massa, doan I stan’ ’hind his chaah all dese winters wen him comes
to Congress?”
“Ah, I see. But wouldn’t you like to go north and be free?”
“Lor’ Massa, dat was wat Mary and I talks ’bout dis blessed day.”
“Who is Mary?”
“Mary am my wife, sah, and James am my little boy. Da’longs to anuder
man.”
“A wife and child!” said the stranger half musingly. “Well my good
fellow, we will see what can be done, but we must talk no more now. Meet
me on the corner of “F” and the Avenue two weeks from to-day at noon.”
“Yes sah,” and the two parted.
Two weeks passed, and, as agreed, the parties met, the one readily
assuming the air of a southern gentleman and the other instinctively
falling into the role of his servant. Thus they passed on until a quiet
place was reached, when it was agreed that Jo should take a designated
place in the old cemetery three weeks from that night, but that Mary and
the child should be left in the city till a fitting way for their escape
presented itself. In the mean time the other parties had been separately
interviewed, and assigned their several hiding places, and given the
signal which would call them into the presence of a stranger. Thus it
was that they came together unawares.
II.
Once upon the public highway the little party struck out briskly for the
railroad upon which they turned their faces towards Baltimore, and
following their instructions were making fine progress, when, about
midnight, as they were passing around a village the heavens became
suddenly overcast with clouds, and for an hour or more they wandered in
uncertainty. A halt being called, a lively discussion based upon five
different opinions arose, and how it might have terminated no one can
tell had not the heavens just then cleared up, enabling Harry, who was
both conductor to and astronomer for the train, to get their bearings
from “de ol’ norf.” So much time had thus been lost that daybreak was
just beginning to tinge the east when the mystical word “Ben” fell from
the lips of a man standing upon the track, whom they at once followed
for some distance into a corn-field, where he removed several bundles
from a stack of corn-fodder, and the two women entered a “dodger”
apartment, whilst the men were similarly secreted a little farther on.
A thirty mile walk had given them a good appetite for the bountiful
breakfast provided, after partaking of which they lay down and slept
soundly, whilst “Old Ben,” a free negro who had been furnished the means
to rent and till this field and arrange it as a “way station,” kept
constant vigil and obliterated their tracks by husking corn and
carefully drawing the stocks over them.
III.
Morning came in the city, and soon the absence of the servants from
their employers was reported at the plantation, where the non-appearance
of Jo had already caused the Colonel to give his daughter a special
cursing for “letting that d—d nigger, Jo, have a pass.” Hounds and
hunters were at once called into requisition, but all in vain. All about
the country was scoured and searched, but Uncle Ben’s field was so
public and he so honest, that no one thought of troubling it, or him.
Night came, and under cover of the first hour of darkness the two women
were taken in charge by a man who led them rapidly along the railroad
track till they came to a road where a carriage received them and they
were driven rapidly into the city of Baltimore and there carefully
secreted. Scarcely had they departed when a pack of hounds came into the
field, and, after scenting around for some time, struck their track and
were off in pursuit with such a wild scream as to waken the men from
their quiet slumber.
Meanwhile the letter addressed to Mr. Jones was speeding on its way, and
in due time on an editorial derived therefrom, the compositors in the
office of the _Liberty Press_ at Albany were busy, and on Friday Col.
Hardy received a marked copy of that paper which informed him that his
“chattels” arrived safe in Albany on Tuesday evening, and of course all
farther effort for their recovery was stopped, though the atmosphere was
for some time blue from the effects of the forcible vocabulary which
this piece of news, manufactured specially for a southern market,
eliminated from the old Colonel’s tongue.
IV.
All imminent danger from direct pursuit being now over, early on
Saturday evening Ben led the boys forth and placed them in charge of a
sprightly colored boy about thirteen years of age, whom they were to
keep constantly in sight as they passed through Baltimore, and, as he
bestowed on them a little money, he said: “Now, boys, follah yer guide,
and feah no danjah, and de good Lor’ bress you and bring you safe to
freedom.”
With nimble steps they passed over the road to the city, and there
stopped for a short time at a meeting of colored Methodists, of which
faith were Jo and Harry, and joined lustily in the “Hallelujahs” and
songs of praise. The meeting over, they fell in with the departing
congregation, and as they passed through the principal streets were
vociferous in their praise of “the pow’fu’ preachin’ ob dat ’sidin’
eldah, and de snipshus singin’ ob de yaller gal wid de red rib’n,”
stopping occasionally to buy a few nuts or apples at some grocer’s
stand, ever keeping their little woolly headed conductor in sight, and
before the hour forbidding the presence of colored people on the
streets, were beyond the city limits, and again in company with Kate and
Nancy, who had been brought to a place of rendezvous by a gentleman who
proceeded to give the party specific instructions for the night. This
done, fleetly they sped forward as directed until well towards day-dawn,
when conductor Harry espied two flickering lights placed side by side in
an upper window, and exclaimed: “Bress de Lor’ dah am de sign of rest.”
“Yes, bress de Lor’, O my sou’,” ejaculated the thoroughly wearied Kate,
“an if dis be de unner groun’ railroad whar ebery one furnish his cah
hisself, I’d radder ride wid ol’ Lijah in a charyot ob fiah.”
“Hush, honey, what foah you complain? dis am gwine ober Jordan to de
lan’ ob res’.”
“Yes, an’ Jordan am a hard road to trabel, shu——” but the sentence was
abruptly broken by the clear enunciation of “Thee will tarry here for
the Sabbath.”
The words proceeded from beneath a broad-brimmed hat which emerged from
among some shrubbery, and the party were quickly conducted into a
spacious Quaker kitchen where a bountiful repast was in waiting for
them, after partaking of which they were consigned to safe quarters for
the day.
From this hospitable retreat, they sallied forth on Monday evening for
another night journey, only to find in its ending a duplicate of the
preceding one; and in this way the whole distance from Baltimore to
Philadelphia was made on foot.
Once in the Quaker city, they were quietly put on a fishing smack and
conveyed to Bordentown. At the latter place, under the management of a
shrewd Quaker, a personal friend of the railroad agent, the boys were
hid away among boxes and bales of goods in a freight car and were soon
on their way to Gotham. Meanwhile the girls were dressed for the
occasion, and at evening, closely veiled, just as the train was
starting, were escorted into a coach by a gentleman assuming the full
Southern air, and who had no hesitancy in pushing aside a watcher for
runaways stationed at the door. At New York they again rejoined the “way
freight,” and the whole party were at once sent on to Albany, where they
arrived after a journey of twenty days instead of two as supposed in
Washington.
LAVINIA.
Apropos of the lamentable exhibitions of mob-violence, court-house
burning, Sabbath desecration and election frauds presented by Cincinnati
in the past few years, it may not be amiss to give a little exhibition
of the spirit there manifested by the men of a past generation and see
whence some of her present unenviable reputation comes. The city was
well known to be intensely pro-slavery and to her came many a haughty
Southron for purposes of business or pleasure, bringing with him more or
less of his chattels as attendants. Among the comers of the summer of
1843, was a man named Scanlan, visiting his brother-in-law, one Hawkins.
He brought with his family a pretty slave girl named Lavinia, some ten
years old.
Before the party left New Orleans, the mother of the girl, a slave in
that city, had given her the following admonitory instruction:—“Now
’Vinya, yer Massa’s gwine for ter take yer Norf, an’ wen yer gets to
Sinsnate, chile, yer free, an’ he’ll sen’ some good anj’l for to hide
yer un’er him wing; an’ if you doan go wid him, but kum back to dis Souf
wid yer ol’ Massa, dis very han’ll take yer black skin right off yer
back shuah. Mebbe wen yer safe in dat free lan’, yer ol’ muder’ll fin’
yer thar if the good Lor’ be willin’.” Then she placed around the neck
of the girl a small gold chain which was to be continually worn, that if
they ever chanced to meet in Canada, the mother might know her child.
Once in Cincinnati, Lavinia began looking carefully for some “good
anj’l,” but instead, soon found two in the person of a colored man and
his wife living near Mr. Hawkins’. To those she carefully committed her
mother’s counsel and threat. These parties entered heartily into her
proposition to escape, and one night dressed her in a suit of boy’s
clothes and took her to the head of Spring street, near the foot of
Sycamore Hill, and gave her in charge of Samuel Reynolds, a well-known
Quaker, where she was successfully concealed for a number of days whilst
Scanlan was raging about and as far as possible instituting a vigorous
search.
Not far from Mr. Reynolds was the home of Edward Harwood in whose family
resided John H. Coleman, a dealer in marble. The Harwoods and Colemans
were ardent Abolitionists and ready to stand by any panting fugitive to
the last. Mrs. Harwood’s house stood on a side hill with a steep grade
in front, and the narrow yard was reached by a flight of some twenty
steps, whilst the side and rear were easily accessible.
After a time Mrs. Harwood, who had become much interested in Lavinia,
took her home, where she was carefully concealed during the day, but
allowed a little exercise in the dusk of the evening in the front yard,
which was so high above the street as to be unobservable.
One evening when the girl was thus engaged the great house dog, Swamp,
which always accompanied her kept up such a growling and snarling, as
induced the men to think there might be foul play brewing and they went
out several times but could detect nothing. Finally one of them said,
“That child had better come in; some one may be watching for her,” upon
which Mrs. Coleman put her head out of the window and calling her by
name, bade her come in, after which all was quiet for the night.
Dinner over the next day, the gentlemen had taken their departure down
town, the ladies were busy about their work; an invalid gentleman was
reclining in an easy chair and the girl had fallen asleep up-stairs,
when a man suddenly appeared at the top of the flight of steps and very
uncermoniously entered the front door which was open, and looking
hurriedly around roughly demanded, “Where’s my child? I want my child,
and if you don’t give her up there’ll be trouble.”
It needed no further evidence to convince the ladies it was Scanlan, an
impression which had seized them both even before he had spoken, but
then they were not the kind to be scared by his bluster, and Mrs.
Coleman replied with spirit “You have no child here and if you were a
gentleman you would not be here yourself.”
At this Scanlan turned upon her and whilst his fists were clinched and
his face livid with rage, exclaimed, “I tell you she is here, my slave
girl, Lavinia; I saw her last night myself; and if it had not been for
you, madam, and that devilish dog there, I should have gotten her then.
I had her nearly within my grasp when you bade her come in. I say where
is my child? Give her up.”
“You have no child here,” coolly replied Mrs. Coleman again.
“I say I have, and if she hears me call she will answer me.” Saying
which he went to the stairway and called “Lavinia, Lavinia.”
The child heard the voice, recognized it, and at once quietly hid
herself within the bed. Though the call was repeated several times, no
answer came, and Mrs. Coleman inquired, “Are you satisfied now?”
“I know my child is here, and you cursed Abolitionist have hidden her
away,” said the now almost frantic Scanlan. “You need not think you are
going to fool me. I’m going to have my child, my slave, my property. I
shall go down town and get a warrant and an officer to search your
house, and you’ll get no chance to run the girl away either, for I shall
leave a guard over you whilst I am gone,” then stepping to the door he
said, “Hawkins, come in here,” and the brother-in-law, before unseen by
the inmates of the house, entered. “Now, Mr. Hawkins, I am going for a
warrant, and I want you to see that my child does not get away till the
officer comes,” saying which Scanlan took his departure and Hawkins a
seat, though evidently very ill at ease.
When part way down town the Southron recognized Mr. Harwood coming up
the hill in his buggy, and thinking to intimidate him said, “I am after
my slave girl who is in your house. Your women refuse to give her up.
You will find the place well guarded, and I will soon have a warrant to
search the place.”
“I’ll make it hotter than tophet for any one guarding my house, and the
man who comes about my premises with a search warrant until I am accused
of murder or theft, does so at his peril,” was the warm reply, as Mr.
Harwood started rapidly towards his home. Arriving there he thus
addressed Mr. Hawkins: “I am told, sir, you are here to guard my house
and family. We have need of no such attention, and if you do not
immediately depart from our premises I shall pitch you headlong into the
street. Be gone you miserable tool of a most miserable whelp.” Just then
the cowed and crestfallen Hawkins made a practical application of his
knowledge of Shakespeare, and “stood not upon his going.”
Remembering the great pro-slavery mob of 1836, when the office of James
G. Birney’s paper, _The Philanthropist_, was destroyed, and that of
1841, when but for the prompt action of Governor Corwin in aiding the
arming of the students, an attack would have been made upon Lane
Seminary as a “d—d Abolition hole,” Scanlan hastened to the “Alhambra,”
then a popular saloon, gathered about him a band of roughs and after a
treat all round proceeded to harangue them regarding his loss and also
his unavailing efforts to regain his chattel. Under the influence of his
speech and the more potent one of an open bar, the crowd readily
promised him their support, and arranged to be at the hill in the
evening time to see the fun.
Meantime Mr. Harwood was apprising his friends of the state of affairs,
and these were beginning to gather at his house. One of them, an
employee of Mr. Coleman, as he came up the hill, found a number of flags
already set to guide the mob to the Harwood residence. These were torn
down. Before the arrival of Mr. Coleman a crowd of excited people had
assembled in the street below the house. Seeing among them an officer
notorious for his cupidity and in entire sympathy with the slave
catchers, Mr. Coleman approached him and shaking hands said, “Why how do
you do, Mr. O’Neil? I am told you have a search warrant for my house.”
“For your house?”
“Yes; here is where I live and I wish to know on what grounds you intend
to search my house, as I am not aware of having laid myself liable to
such a process.”
“There must be some mistake,” said the officer. “Indeed, Mr. Coleman, I
must have been misinformed as to the merits of the case.”
“Let me see the paper,” persisted Mr. Coleman.
“No,” said O’Neil, “there is a blunder somewhere,” and he pushed his
way, in a discomfited manner, through the crowd and disappeared.
As the crowd increased in the streets, the friends of Mr. Harwood
arrived, until all the Abolitionists in the city, some forty in number,
were present. Mr. Harwood stood on the front steps with Swamp, and when
anyone evinced a purpose to ascend the steps the fine display of ivory
in the dog’s mouth cooled his ardor. Mr. Coleman and Alf. Burnet,
afterwards well known in anti-slavery circles, went to a Dutch armory
and secured a quantity of arms and ammunition; the women took up the
carpet in the parlor, which soon presented the appearance of a military
bivouac, whilst papers and valuables were hurried off to other houses,
and a strong guard was placed before the door. An application was made
to the sheriff for protection, but he only replied, “If you make
yourself obnoxious to your neighbors, you must suffer the consequences.”
Whilst Scanlan was making his inflammatory speeches down town, and
subsidizing the saloons, Lavinia was redressing in her boy’s suit and
was quietly taken out on a back street to a Mr. Emery’s, the crowd
meanwhile crying, “Bring out the lousy huzzy; where is the black b——ch?”
and other equally classic expressions. One blear-eyed ruffian exclaimed,
“If my property was in thar, I’d have it or I’d have the d—d
Abolitionist’s heart’s blood, I would.” Another one, equally valorous
called out, “Go in boys; why don’t you go in?” and a score of voices
responded, “Go in yourself. The nigger ain’t ourn. Where’s the boss?
Guess he’s afraid of shootin’ irons,” a feeling that evidently pervaded
the whole assemblage.
Being without a leader, and having no personal interest at stake, about
dark the mob moved down the street, stoning and materially damaging the
house of Alf. Burnett’s father as they passed by. The old gentleman
gathered up a large quantity of the missiles and kept them on exhibition
for several years as samples of pro-slavery arguments.
Scanlan vented his spleen and breathed out his threatenings through the
city papers, but being unable to get any redress, and finding he was to
be prosecuted for trespass, he hastily decamped for New Orleans.
After a week or two, Lavinia, dressed in her masculine suit went with
some boys who were driving their cows to the hills to pasture, and was
by them placed in the care of a _conductor_, by whom she was safely
forwarded to Oberlin. Here she was found to have a fine mind, was
befittingly educated, and ultimately sent as a missionary to Africa.
After the lapse of several years she returned to this country, and
whilst visiting the friends in Cincinnati, who had so kindly befriended
her in the days of her childhood, suddenly sickened and died.
A RUSE.
Serious and earnest as was the work of our railroad, it was made the
pretext for many a practical joke and arrant fraud. In the north part of
Trumbull county, Ohio, lived an ancient agent named Bartlett, having in
his employ a newly married man named DeWitt, a rollocking kind of a
fellow, and well calculated to personate a son of Ham, or a daughter as
well. DeWitt conspired with his wife and some of the female members of
the old gentleman’s family to have a little fun at Mr. Bartlett’s
expense. Some thrown off apparel of Mrs. Bartlett was procured from the
garret, and, properly blackened, he was attired in a grotesque manner.
Just at evening a decrepid wench applied for admission at Mr. Bartlett’s
door. The women appeared very much frightened and were about shutting
the door in her face, when the old gentleman, hearing the negro dialect
came to the rescue. Soon the wanderer was comfortably seated, and to Mr.
Bartlett’s inquiry as to where she was from replied, “Oh Lor’, Massa,
I’se from ol’ Virginny an’ I’se boun’ for Canady, and Massa Sutlifft, he
tells me I mus’ cum heah, but de white missus scare at dis ol’ black
face.”
“O well, never mind that, they are all right now.”
“Bress de Lor’ for dat.”
Speaking to his wife, Mr. Bartlett directed some supper be prepared
before he should send her on.
“O no, Massa, I’se been done and eat supper dis bressed day.”
“Well, then, we’ll arrange to send you on soon, but come and see my
grandson,” a lad lying sick in the other part of the room, saying which
he arose and took the hand of the dame and led her to the bedside, and
laying his hand across her stooped shoulders, began to speak tenderly of
the little sufferer.
The risibilities of the counterfeit Dinah were now at their utmost
tension and she contrived to place a foot heavily upon the caudal
appendage of the great house dog lying near. There was a sudden bound of
the brute, accompanied by a most unearthly howl, and away darted the
decrepid fugitive, shrieking, “O Lor’ de houn’, de houn’.”
It was in vain the philanthropic old agent called after her, that there
was no danger; on she sped until an opportunity offered to restore
herself to Japhetic hue and male attire.
Mr. Bartlett long upbraided the female portion of his household for want
of humanity on that occasion, but was allowed to die in blissful
ignorance of the ruse played upon him, and DeWitt confessed that the
ultimate fun derived therefrom scarcely compensated for the annoyance of
the old gentleman and the trouble of removing the _cork_.
VI.
A year has passed anxiously at Albany with Jo. Rumors reached him that
in an attempt to escape, Mary had been captured and sold into the south
forever beyond his reach. Gathering up his earnings and bidding his
companions good-by, he started rather aimlessly westward, and where he
would have brought up no one can tell, had he not one day met a
stranger, a pleasant, benevolent looking gentleman, near the village of
Versailles, N. Y. It was just at the close of that most hilarious
campaign in which the cry of “Tippecanoe and Tyler too,” with “two
dollars a day and roast beef,” mollified with liberal potations of “hard
cider,” rendered “Little Matty Van a used up man,” though the result was
not yet ascertained, for no telegraph had learned to herald its
lightning message in advance of time. If no other good came from the
campaign, it had given every class of men the free use of the tongue in
hurrahing for his favorite candidate, and foot-sore and hungry as he
was, there was something about the gentleman that said to Jo, “Now is
your opportunity,” and touching his hat in genuine politeness he called
out, “Hooraw for Ol’ Tip.”
Good naturedly the gentleman responded, “Well, my good fellow, it is a
little late for you to be hurrahing for any candidate now that election
is over, and, though you didn’t quite strike my man, I shall find no
fault. I know what you want more than ‘hard cider.’ It is a night’s food
and lodging.”
“Thank you Massa, I’se tired and hungry, an’ de fac’ am I doan know what
to do with myself.”
“Well, no matter about that just now. Come along;” and Eber M. Pettit,
long known as an earnest Abolitionist in Cattaraugus and Chautauqua
counties, led the disheartened wanderer to his home, where, after
supper, he questioned him as to his history, and when he had learned his
unvarnished tale, he suggested that the man should stay with him that
winter as a man-of-all-chores, and attend the village school.
As a result of that evening’s conference there appeared among the
children of the district school in a few days a colored man of about
twenty five years of age, learning with the youngest of them his a b c.
This was an innovation, unique in the extreme. Some of the villagers
turned up their noses at the “nigger,” but the social standing of Mr.
Pettit, and the story of Jo which was freely circulated among the
people, together with his genial disposition and kindness of manner,
soon silenced all cavil and the school quietly progressed.
Learning that the editor of the _Liberty Press_ was in Washington, Mr.
Pettit addressed him in the following letter:
VERSAILLES, N. Y., Dec. 1, 1840.
_Dear General._—I have at my house a colored man named Jo Norton.
Something over a year ago he left a wife and child in the Capital,
the property of a Mr. Judson. She was to have been brought off
directly after he left, but the effort failed and he understands she
has been sold South. Will you be so kind as to inquire into the
matter and see what can be done in the case if anything? Make your
return to Jo Norton, direct.
Yours Truly,
E. M. PETTIT.
Gen. W. L. Chaplain,
Washington, D. C.
This letter was duly posted, and on the morrow an ebony face, the very
picture of expectancy, put in an appearance at the village post office
with the query, “Any letter for Jo Norton, Massa pos’ massa?” Thus it
was twice a day for a week, when his unsophisticated importunity was
rewarded by a missive bearing the address,
_Jo Norton, Esq._,
_Versailles_,
_N. Y._
_Care E. M. Pettit, Esq._
and bearing the post-mark of the Capital. It read as follows:
MR. NORTON, _Dear Sir_:
The woman about whom Mr. Pettit wrote me is here. After her
husband’s escape she was detected in what was thought to be an
effort to leave and was thrown into prison, where she lost an infant
child. After three months she was visited by her master, and on a
solemn promise never to make another effort to run away she was
taken back to the family where she and the boy appear to be treated
with great kindness. Though he has been offered $800 for her, Mr.
Judson said he never sold a slave, and never will, but if her
husband can raise $350 for them by March 4th, proximo, they will be
given free papers so I can bring them North with me at that time.
Truly,
W. L. CHAPLAIN.
At the reading of this letter, Jo, prompted by the fervent piety of his
nature, broke into hysterical fits of laughter, interspersed with “Bress
de Lor’, bress de Lor’.” But when the first paroxysm of joy was over he
became very despondent, for he had no $350 and no friend to whom to
appeal for it; but here, as before, Mr. Pettit came to the rescue.
“See here, Jo,” he said, “there are nearly three months to the fourth of
March, and yours is a wonderful story. You shall go forth and tell it to
the people, and the money will come.”
“Wy, bress de Lor’, Massa Pettit, dis chile can nebber do dat. De people
would jus’ laf at de nigger.”
“Never mind the laugh, Jo. If you love Mary and the boy you can stand
the laughing. Now be a man. I will go with you and see you start;” and
before bed-time he had laid out the work for his ward, in whom he had
now become thoroughly interested, and had listened several times to his
rehearsal of his story of escape and tale of plantation life, and
offered such suggestions as he thought advisable, and that night Jo went
to bed “to sleep; to dream.” To dream of wife and boy in slavery, and
himself making speeches among the white people of the North for their
deliverance.
The next morning Mr. Pettit went out into the country a few miles where
he had a number of Abolition friends and made full arrangements for Jo’s
speaking there early the next week. In the meantime the word was
thoroughly circulated whilst Jo was most effectively schooled to his new
field, and on the appointed evening the school-house was filled to
overflowing. Jo told his story in such a manner as to draw out rounds of
approbative applause from the mouths of the audience, and six dollars
from their pockets when the hat was passed round. Meetings were held
immediately in the several school districts in the vicinity with marked
success, and then Jo, highly inspired, left school and started out on a
systematic course of lectures which took him to Westfield, Mayville and
other villages of Chautauqua county as well as Cattaraugus.
On the 25th day of January Mr. Pettit received the following from
Washington:
“_Dear Pettit._—If Judson can have $300 by February first, he will
deliver up the woman and child of whom we have had correspondence.
In haste,
W. L. CHAPLAIN.”
He hastened to Ellicottville and found that Jo had already realized
$100. A meeting was immediately called in an office in the village, at
which were present Judge Chamberlin, of Randolph, E. S. Coleman, of
Dunkirk, and several other gentlemen. The letter was read, and at the
suggestion of the Judge a note for two hundred dollars was drawn and
signed by ten of them, with the understanding that they were to share
equally in the payment of any deficit after Jo had done his best. The
money was advanced by Mr. Coleman, and one of the party drove fifty
miles to Buffalo, through a pelting storm, purchased a draft, forwarded
it to Mr. Coleman, and before the “days of grace” had expired Mary and
her child were duly registered and delivered as free people.
Meanwhile Jo’s story had gotten into the papers of Western New York, and
he had calls from various places to lecture; indeed, he had become quite
a local lion, and so successful that early in March when word came that
Mary and the child had reached Utica, he was the possesser of $195. This
he deposited in the hands of Mr. Pettit who returned him $30 and told
him to go and make provision for his wife and child, and pay the balance
of the note when he could. Though he had walked that day from Buffalo, a
distance of nearly thirty miles, Jo immediately returned, and early the
next day, in the home of a leading Abolitionist in Utica there was a
regular “Hal’lujer; Bress de Lor’, for de Lor’ will bress his people,”
time when Jo and Mary met after their seemingly hopeless separation.
VII.
Ten years and more had passed; the Ellicottville note had been long
settled; Jo had laid aside his mission as a lecturer and gone into
business in Syracuse, N. Y., where he owned a pleasant home and had a
family of intelligent children attending the public school; New York
State, like the country at large, had been convulsed over the slavery
question, and the city of his adoption had become a town of intensely
Abolition sentiment. As the outgrowth of the slavery agitation there had
come the enactment of the “Fugitive Slave Law,” as it was popularly, or
rather unpopularly called, by means of which the South thought to render
imperative the rendition of their runaway slaves. But they had counted
without their host. Though successful in cracking their whips over the
heads of Northern law-makers in the Capitol, the great mass of the
people of the free states, no matter what their political affiliations,
felt outraged at the idea of being converted into a set of legally
constituted slave-hunters. Few places more excited the ire of the
chivalry than Syracuse, and the threat was defiantly made that if
another anti-slavery convention was held in the city it should be
enlivened by the seizure of a fugitive of whom a test case could be
made.
Not to be thus intimidated, a call for such a convention was issued and
at the appointed time commenced. Whilst the delegates were organizing in
the old Market Hall, in a cooper shop in another part of the city, all
unconscious of danger, a colored man named Jerry, who had some years
before escaped from slavery, was busy engaged at his labor, when he was
suddenly pounced upon by a marshal and his deputies from Rochester, and,
after a brave resistance, overpowered, manacled and thrown into a cart
secured for that purpose, and hurried away to the commissioner’s office,
closely guarded. The news of the arrest spread like wild-fire, and soon
the streets were thronged with excited people. A man rushed into the
convention and called out: “Mr. President a fugitive has been arrested
and they are trying to hurry him away.” Without motion, the convention
adjourned, and the delegates and attendants were added to the throng
already in the street. The uproar was equal to that, when, for the
“space of two hours,” the people cried, “Great is Diana of the
Ephesians,” but more concentrated, and the cause of coming together
better understood.
Jerry was hurried into the commissioner’s office, the lower door to
which was heavily barred and the upper one securely bolted, so that it
was with difficulty that his council and more immediate friends obtained
admission.
The court once opened, within there was contention, parley, quibble and
delay until twilight fell; without, the building was immediately
surrounded by fugitives who had found an asylum in and about the city,
and free colored people, among whom Jo Norton towered like Saul among
his brethren, and beyond these an immense multitude of citizens who had
stood waiting all the afternoon of that eventful day, manifesting no
disposition to retire.
When it was announced that the court had adjourned for supper, it was
soon evident that the decisive hour had come. A heavy timber was lifted
to the shoulders of some sturdy negroes, and using the temporary space
accorded them, at the watchword “Jo” they hurled it with such force
against the door that bars and hinges gave way, and Norton, crowbar in
hand, at the head of a storming column entered the stairway hall. The
marshal was a man of nerve and disclaimed against any attempt on the
inner door, but in vain. A few vigorous blows of the crowbar forced it
open; there was the sharp report of a pistol succeeded by a quick blow
of the bar, and Jo unharmed, stood master of the situation, whilst the
right arm of the marshal hung useless at his side. The posse scattered,
the marshal saving himself by jumping from the second story window and
skulking away in the dark; Jerry, who had been very roughly treated, was
unloosed, and by daylight was well on his way to Canada, whilst the
convention resumed its deliberations the next day amid the
congratulations of many who before had looked upon its purpose with
indifference or absolute opposition.
As for Jo, though defying slave-hunters and their hirelings as such,
having now arrayed himself by an act of violence against the government,
he took the advice of judicious friends, and soon removed to Canada,
where for years he was an esteemed citizen, and a friend and adviser of
those who came to his locality as fugitives.
VIII.
As an index of Jo’s native quickness of perception, the following
excerpts, taken from Pettit’s “Sketches of the Underground Railroad,”
published some years ago by W. McKinstry & Son, are added, the only
change being that the places where the events are thought to have taken
place are given.
Jo was a serious, devoted Christian, yet his wit and mirthfulness were
often exhibited in keen, sarcastic repartee. At Delanti the question was
asked, ‘Did you work hard when you were a slave?’
‘No! I didn’t work hard when I could help it.’
‘Did you have enough to eat?’
‘Yes, such as it was.’
‘Did you have decent clothes?’
‘Yes, midlin’.’
‘Well, you were better off than most people are here, and you were a
fool to run away.’
‘Well, now, the place I lef’ is there yet, I s’pose. Guess nobody’s
never got into it, and if my frien’ here wants it, he can have it fo’
the askin’, though p’raps he better get his _member of Congress to
recommend him_.’
At Westfield, a fellow asked, ‘Is the speaker in favor of amalgamation?’
‘’Gamation! what’s dat?’
‘It means whites and blacks marrying together.’
‘O dat’s it! as fo’ such things they ’pends mostly on peples’ tas’. Fo’
my part, I have a colored woman fo’ a wife,—that’s my choice,—an’ if my
frien’ here wants a black wife, an’ if she is pleased with him, I’m suah
I shan’t get mad about it.’
Soon after he commenced collecting funds to redeem his family from
bondage, he was invited to go to a school-house in Villenova. When near
the place he saw two boys chopping, and heard one of them say: ‘There’s
the nigger.’
Jo stopped and said: ‘I ain’t a nigger! I allus pays my debts; my massa
was a _nigger_. See here! when you chop, you be a chopper, ain’t dat
so?’
‘Yes,’ responded the boys.
‘Well, when a man _nigs_, I call him a _nigger_. Now ol’ massa nigged me
out of all I earned in my life. Of course he is a nigger.’ Then Jo sang
the chorus to one of Geo. W. Clark’s Liberty songs:
‘They worked me all de day,
Widout one cent of pay;
So I took my flight
In de middle ob de night,
When de moon am gone away.’
‘Now, boys, come over to the school-house this evening and I’ll sing you
the res’ of it.’ That evening Jo had a full house and a good collection.
THE ORIGINAL “JERRY.”
Having given a brief account of the “Jerry Rescue” at Syracuse, a
circumstance fraught with momentous consequences, and no inconsiderable
factor in precipitating the “Impending Crisis,” I now pass to consider
the real original “Jerry Rescue.”
In the early summer of 1834, there came to Austinburg, Ohio, a colored
man of middle age, of whose escape to Ohio tradition, even, gives little
account, only that he was the property of a Baptist deacon who followed
him in close pursuit. Both parties upon the ground, matters became
marvellously lively in the quiet country town.
Jerry was shifted from place to place, but the deacon would in some way
get a clue to his whereabouts, and another move would be made to thwart
the pursuer, some one being always ready to ask him what he would take
for the man; but it was always with him, “I want the nigger, not money.”
Wearied at length with the continued baffling, and believing he had
found the retreat of his chattel, the pious deacon went to Jefferson and
secured the service of Sheriff Loomis to make an arrest. The twain came
upon him just before daybreak, but not to catch him napping. He was up
and off just in time to elude their grasp but not until they caught a
glimpse of him making across the fields in the direction of Eliphalet
Austin’s, who lived near where Grand River Institute now stands.
Rapping at the door, Jerry was admitted by Mr. Austin, who was just in
the act of dressing himself. Reading in the excited manner of the
fugitive the state of the case, Mr. Austin pointed under the family bed
where his wife still lay. Jerry took the hint, and in a moment was
hugging the wall in the darkest corner under the bed. Mr. Austin quietly
closed the bed-room door, started a fire, and was at the well drawing a
pail of water when the pursuers came up.
“Have you seen my nigger this morning?” queried the Deacon.
“It is pretty early to see an object so dark as a colored man, if that
is what you are inquiring about,” was the response.
“Well, early as it is, we have seen him, and believe he is secreted in
your house.”
“Oh, you do, do you? Well, gentlemen, you have the fullest liberty to
search my premises and satisfy yourselves,” and, whilst the sheriff kept
watch without, Mr. Austin furnished the Southerner the most abundant
opportunity within. Candle in hand he led the way to the cellar, then to
the garret. The children’s bed-rooms and the closets of the chamber, the
parlor, spare bed-room and pantry below were all carefully examined, but
no Jerry was found, and the Deacon apologetically remarked: “I beg your
pardon, Mr. Austin, for this intrusion, and for the injustice I did you
in supposing you were harboring my slave.”
“What,” said Mr. Austin, who was also a pious man and a licentiate
minister, “I hope you are not through looking yet.”
“Why, I have been all over the house already.”
“O no, you have not been in my wife’s bed-room yet,” said he rather
sarcastically. “Go in, Deacon. Wife is not up yet; you may find your
‘nigger’ with her.”
Dropping his head in very shame, the Deacon excused himself, and going
out, with the sheriff rode off.
As soon as they were well out of sight, Jerry was taken to the woods and
hidden in an old sugar house, where he remained for some days. Meanwhile
time and perplexity began to soften the Deacon, and he finally concluded
that three hundred and fifty dollars ($350) in hand would be worth more
than “a nigger on foot,” which was raised and paid over, the original
subscription being now in the hands of the writer.
The money paid over and the freedom papers made out, the Deacon had no
difficulty in obtaining an interview with Jerry, a meeting very
satisfactory to the latter personage, now that he could meet “Ol’ Massa
on perfec’ ’quality as gemen.”
There were two things connected with this case which the sturdy old
Austinburgers always regretted. The one was that as the work of purchase
was completed late Saturday afternoon, the Deacon accepted the proffered
hospitality of Mr. Austin for the Sabbath, and with him attended church
in the old historic “meeting house” at the Center, where the Rev. Henry
Cowles dispensed the gospel in the form of a red-hot anti-slavery
sermon, to which the Deacon listened with great expressed satisfaction
if not profit. During the evening service, some unprincipled persons
shaved his horse’s main and tail, which, when known, led several of the
first citizens of the town to save its reputation and show their
appreciation of the gentlemanly qualities of their visitor, by giving
him in exchange for his disfigured horse one equally good, thus sending
him back to Dixie with a high regard for their honesty, as well as
sincerity.
The other was, Jerry, once a free man, went to Conneaut and established
himself as a barber, but unable to bear prosperity, he soon fell into
habits of drinking and dissipation, thus rendering worthless the
investment philanthropy and generosity had made in him.
The following is the subscription referred to above, together with the
names of donors and the amount given so far as they can be deciphered:
We whose names are hereto affixed, promise to pay to Eliphalet
Austin the sums put to our names, for the purpose of liberating from
slavery a colored man whose master is supposed to be in pursuit, and
offers to free him for three hundred and fifty dollars.
Austinburg, July 23, 1834.
Eliphalet & Aaron E Austin. $50.
J. Austin, $40.00.
J. S. Mills, $2.00.
A. A. Barr, $1.00.
G. W. St. John, $25.00.
Luman Whiting, $2.00.
I. Hendry, $5.00.
Amos Fisk, $5.00.
Daniel Hubbard, $1.00.
Mr. Sawtell, $2.00.
L. M. Austin, $5.00.
Dr. A. Hawley, $2.00.
Ward, $5.00.
Jefferson, $20.00.
Orestes K. Hawley, $50.
L. Bissell, $20.00.
T. H. Wells, $3.00.
Harvey Ladd, Jr., $2.00.
James Sillak, $3.00.
Benjamin Whiting, $1.00.
Giddings & Wade, $10.
Russell Clark, $2.00.
Henry Harris, $1.00.
E. Austin, Jr., $15.00.
Ros. Austin, $5.00.
W. Webb, Jr., $5.00.
Henry, $5.00.
A Friend, 50 cents.
The $20.00 from Jefferson was a kind of _religious_ collection.
A COOL WOMAN.
Apropos the deliberation of Mr. Austin, there comes an incident from
southern Ohio illustrating how cool a woman may be in case of emergency.
A slave named Zach had escaped from Virginia and was resting and
recuperating himself in the family of a benevolent man in one of the
southern counties previously to pursuing his onward course, when one
evening the house was surrounded by his owner and a number of other men,
and the right of searching the premises demanded. The husband was much
agitated and appealed to his wife to know what was to be done.
“Why,” said she, “let them in, and search the lower part of the house
first, and leave Zack to me.”
“But I tell you, wife, the man can’t be got off without being caught.”
“Don’t I know that? Do as I say.”
The husband took her advice, and whilst he was leading a searching party
through the cellar and lower rooms of the house, she placed the fugitive
carefully between the feather and straw ticks of the family bed, and by
the time the posse reached the room she was composedly in bed as though
nothing unusual was transpiring. The result was that the search proved a
bootless one, and the whole party left, believing they had been
misdirected by some one bent on deceiving them.