JACK WATSON.
I.
Fifty years ago there lived in Caldwell County, Kentucky, a well-to-do
individual named Wilson. He owned a large estate, to which were attached
numerous slaves. Such was the character of the master that bondage sat
lightly upon them. Provident and indulgent, Mr. Wilson allowed his
people to do largely as they chose. To them the words of the old
plantation song,
“Hang up de shubel and de hoe.”
had much of reality.
[Illustration:
A SLAVE HUNT.
]
Strangers came and went among them freely; they heard much of the ways
of escape northward, of which many from plantations surrounding them
availed themselves, but the bonds of affection were so strong between
Mr. Wilson and his people that no effort was ever made on the part of
the latter to escape. But things were not always to remain thus. In
1853, Mr. Wilson sickened and died, a circumstance which brought not
only grief but consternation to his “people,” for they soon learned they
were to be divided among the heirs. Jack and Nannie, a brother and
sister who had grown up on the estate tenderly attached to each other
and to their old master, fell to the lot of a drunken and licentious man
named Watson, who took them to his farm in Davies County, not far from
the Ohio River. Here, as common field hands, they were brutally treated,
and soon began to plan means of escape. Before these were consummated
the old cook died, and Nannie, who was of attractive form and manners,
was taken from the field to fill her place. This only added to the
degradation of her condition, for she was now continually called upon to
repel the lecherous advances of her brutal master. As a punishment for
this she was at length placed in close confinement from which her
brother succeeded in freeing her. They set out at once for the river,
hoping to escape, but were soon overtaken, brought back and so cruelly
whipped by Watson, that Nannie soon died from the effects.
The sight of his lacerated, dying sister, the only tie that bound him to
earth, continually haunted Jack, and he vowed escape, and vengeance if
it were possible. His plans were carefully laid. In perambulating the
numerous swamps in the neighborhood whose outlets led to the river, he
had discovered a hollow tree broken off some twenty feet above the
surrounding water. By climbing an adjacent sapling he discovered that
the hollow within the stub would furnish a secure and comfortable
retreat, should necessity require. By divers acts of plantation civility
he had gained the confidence of “Uncle Jake” and “Aunt Mary,” an old
couple who sympathized deeply with him, and promised him any aid in
their power, provided it was such as “Massa’ll neber know.” All Jack
asked was that in case he disappeared, they should set the third night
after his disappearance something to eat on a shelf where he could reach
it, and every fourth night thereafter until it should, for two
successive times, be untaken. He also gave them in keeping a package of
cayenne pepper to be placed with the edibles. In his visits to the river
he had noted the fastenings of the skiffs, and had provided himself with
both a file and an iron bar which would serve the double purpose as a
means of defense and for drawing a staple. These he carefully secreted
in his prospective retreat, waiting only an opportunity to occupy it.
Such an opportunity was not long in presenting itself, for one night the
master came home late from a drunken revel, and found Jack awaiting him
as ordered. Becoming enraged at some supposed act of disobedience, he
flew at Jack with an open knife. The hour of vengeance had come. Seizing
a hoe, with a single stroke Jack felled him to the ground, a lifeless
form. A moment only he waited to view the gaping wound—to compare it
with poor Nan—then gathering up a few things that he could, he was off
with the fleetness of a deer. Passing two or three miles down the
country, he entered the outlet of the swamp, and after passing down it
for some distance, keeping so near the shore as to make his tracks
observable, he struck in, directly reversing his footsteps, and before
the dawn was safely ensconced in his selected tower.
Morning came and with it the knowledge of Watson’s death. The cause was
easily divined—there was the bloody hoe, and Jack, who was left to wait
his coming, was gone. Blood hounds and fierce men were soon upon his
trail. His course was easily traced to the brook, and his descending
footsteps discerned, but no trace of him could be discovered beyond
that. The greater part thought he had reached the river, and escaped to
the Indiana shore by swimming, at which he was an expert, or had been
drowned in the attempt. Others believed his footsteps only a decoy and
searched all the adjacent swamps, sometimes passing very near him, but
all in vain. Flaming posters, advertising him, were sent broadcast, and
slave catchers on both sides of the river were on the alert.
On the second day a great concourse assembled at Watson’s funeral. There
were many conjectures, and much argument, and loud swearing about the
“nigger” who had done the deed, and as a means of intimidating the
weeping—none more so than Uncle Jake and Aunt Mary—chattels gathered
around, terrible things were promised Jack should he be caught.
The services over, the crowd dispersed, and the next morning all hands
were set to work as usual. At night when all was quiet, Aunt Mary, whose
cabin was the farthest of any from the “mansion,” placed a liberal
ration of hoe cake and bacon, together with the pepper, upon the
designated shelf, and betook herself to the side of Uncle Jake who was
already resting his weary limbs in the land of forgetfulness. Shortly
after midnight a hand was thrust cautiously through the open window, the
packages were softly lifted, a little pepper was deftly sifted in
retreating footsteps, and in a short time Jack was safe again in his
water-shut abode, and when old uncle and auntie were talking of the
“wun’ful ang’l” that had visited the house that night, Jack was quietly
enjoying a morning nap.
Several weeks passed, the excitement about Watson had measurably died
away, two successive depositions of provisions had been left untouched
and the good old couple knew “Dat de angel was feedin’ Jack no moa’,
like de rabens fed ol’ ’Lijer.” They were sure, “Jack am safe.”
Taking his appliances, Jack had descended the outlet some distance one
starlight night, and then striking across the country, had reached the
river just below the little village he had been accustomed to visit
before the death of his sister. The finding of a skiff and the wrenching
away of the fastening occupied but a short time and at daylight he was
safely secreted in an Indiana forest. Knowledge previously gained
enabled him soon to put himself in charge of an underground official,
but instead of making direct for Canada he shipped for the Quaker
settlement near Salem, Ohio, of which he had heard much from a fruit
tree dealer before the death of Mr. Wilson, and ultimately, in the
quaint home of Edward Bonsall found a secure asylum, and in his
nurseries desirable employment, so far from his former home that little
disturbed his mind except the frequent recurring remembrances of his
slain master with the cruelly lacerated form of his sister ever rising
in justification of the summary punishment that had been inflicted upon
him.
II.
In the autumn of 1856, Jack went with Mr. Bonsall to Pittsburgh. Whilst
walking along the street, he met face to face a half-brother of his late
master. At first sight he thought it an apparition and turned and ran
rapidly away, but not until he was himself recognized. So dextrous had
been his motions that he eluded the pursuit immediately instituted and
was soon among the hills beyond the city limits.
Hand bills minutely describing him were again widely circulated,
particularly along the belt of country bordering the Pittsburgh and Erie
canal, as it was argued he would try and make his escape by that route
to Canada, and all the appliances of an odious law were called into
requisition to secure his apprehension.
III.
Rap, rap, rap, came a knuckle against the door of Thomas Douglass, of
Warren, Ohio, in the silent hours of the night. Such occurrences were
not frequent of late at the home of the honest Englishman whose love of
justice and humanity had risen above all fear of the pains and penalties
of an unrighteous law. Hastily dressing himself, he inquired, “Who
comes?”
“Ol’ Diligence,” a name recognized at once by Mr. Douglass as the
appelation of a colored conductor from Youngstown.
“Hall right; wat’s aboard?”
“Subjec’, Massa Douglass, and hard pressed, too.”
“’Ard pressed his ’e? Well, come in.”
The door was opened, a brief explanation followed, and Jack Watson and
“Old Diligence” were consigned to a good bed for the night. In the
morning his faithful guide, who had himself escaped from bondage many
years before gave Jack some money, a supply of which he always had in
hand, and left him with the emphatic assurance, “Massa Douglass am a
true man.” But Jack was hard to be assured, and when seated at breakfast
with the master machinist’s hands, he trembled like an aspen.
Three gentlemen, Levi Sutliff, John Hutchins and John M. Stull had been
early summoned to devise the best means for forwarding Jack safely. The
two former of these had been long experienced operators; the latter was
rather a novice at the business. A few years previously, an ambitious
young man, he had gone south as a teacher, thinking little and caring
less about the “peculiar institution.” He had been in Kentucky but a
short time when a slave auction was advertised and his Buckeye
inquisitiveness prompted him to witness it. Two or three children were
struck off and then the mother, a well formed, good-looking octaroon,
was put upon the block.
“Now, gentlemen,” said the auctioneer, a hard-shelled Baptist preacher,
“I offer you a valuable piece of property. She’s a good cook; can make
clothes, or handle a hoe as well as a man. She’s a healthy woman,
gentlemen, an more’n that, she’s a Christian. Gentlemen, she’s a member
of my own congregation.”
The buyers crowded around. They examined her teeth, her hands, her feet,
her limbs as though she had been a horse on sale.
Our spectator began to feel himself getting white in the face, and swear
words were rising in his throat, and he beat a hasty retreat.—John was
under conviction.
A few mornings after our young teacher was wakened by the sound of heavy
blows and cries of pain proceeding from another part of the hotel. That
evening when Harry, the boy appointed his special waiter, came to his
room, Mr. Stull cautiously inquired who had been punished in the
morning.
“Dat was me Massa. De ol’ boss gib’d me a buckin.”
“What was the trouble, Harry, and what is a bucking?”
“Why Lor’ bress you, Massa, dis chile slep’ jus’ a minit too long, an’
de ol’ boss cum’d wid his ‘buck,’ a board wid a short han’l and full ob
holes, an’ he bent Harry ober, like for to spank a chil’, an’ o Lor’ how
he struck.” (Then lowering his voice,) “Say, Massa Stull, can you tell
de Norf star?”
The boy had been all care, attention and manliness. The soul of the
teacher was fully aroused.—Stull was converted.
Waiting the coming of these gentlemen, Jack had gone into the back yard,
and when they arrived he was nowhere to be found. A prolonged search
failed to reveal his whereabouts, and when at length night fell kind
Mrs. Douglass placed an ample plate of provisions in the back kitchen
and continued it for several weeks, hoping he might return, but no
_angel_ ever spirited a particle of it away.
IV.
Years ago, even before Wendell Phillips, Abbey Kelley and others of
their school began to hurl their bitter anathemas at the institution of
slavery, there lived upon a far-reaching Virginia plantation in the
valley of the James a man who had taken a truly comprehensive and
patriotic view of the institution that was blighting the reputation of
his state, as well as impoverishing her soil. He had inherited his fine
estate, encumbered by a large number of slaves, and his soul revolted at
the idea of holding them in bondage. A man of fine physique, commanding
mien and superior intellectual endowments, John Young could not brook
the idea of eating bread that savored of the sweat of another’s brow,
and the thought of living amid the withering, blighting scenes of slave
labor and slave traffic was not at all congenial to his tastes. Casting
about, he soon found a purchaser for his broad acres. Before disposing
of his plantation, however, he made a trip into western Pennsylvania,
and in Mercer county, on the rich bottoms of Indian Run, made purchase
of an extensive tract of valuable land. Returning to the Old Dominion,
he at once concluded the sale of his estate, and vowed his intention of
going North.
His friends were amazed at the idea of his becoming a “Pennymight”
farmer, and his people were thrown into consternation, as they expected
soon to be exposed on the auction block. The sallies of one class he
easily parried; the fear of the other he quickly allayed by calling them
together and presenting them with freedom papers. There was a moment of
silence, of blank astonishment, and then arose shouts, and cries, and
hallelujahs to God, amid laughter and tears, for this wonderful
deliverance.
When the excitement had somewhat subsided the late master revealed to
them the fact that he was going north where it was respectable for a
white man to labor, and if any of them should ever come his way they
would see him chopping his own wood and hoeing his own corn, and that
they were now free to go where they chose, only they must see they did
not lose their papers.
“Bress de good Lor’, Massa, we’ll go wid you to dat new plantashun and
be spect’ble too, and make light work for ol’ Massa.”
Though foreign to the purpose of Mr. Young, he yielded to the
importunity of those he had manumitted, and soon there appeared on the
Pennsylvania purchase a spacious residence, built rather in the Virginia
style, and around it were grouped numerous, cabins, occupied by the
sable colony that had followed the Caucassian proprietor. The family
equipage was brought along, and Alexander Johnson always persisted in
being Massa’s coachman and driving him in state.
The farm improved rapidly under the guidance of intelligence, aided by
paid labor, and John Young’s house soon became known as a hospitable
home, and to none more so than to the fugitive from bondage, for he
early became an influential agent on the great thoroughfare to Canada.
Securing the aid of a few neighbors and friends, rather as a matter of
compliment than otherwise, Mr. Young had erected, at a convenient site,
a nice country chapel, now a Methodist church in which the writer has
been privileged to speak, and here the people of the neighborhood, white
and black, met for worship.
The Sabbath evening service in this little church had closed and the
speaker, J. W. Loguen, an eloquent man, though a former fugitive from
slavery, but at that time pastor of a Baptist church in Syracuse, N. Y.,
and largely engaged in the underground transit business, sat conversing
with Mr. Young, in the home of the latter gentleman, when Uncle ’Lec, as
the old coachman was familiarly called, entered and excitedly exclaimed,
“Mass Young, him am come, him am come.”
“Who has come, Alec?” queried the host kindly.
“Why, Massa, dat runaway wot de han’ vill tell bout, an’ him am fearfu’
scar’ an’ no mistake, fo’ he say de catchers am arter him shua.”
“Bring him in, Alec,” said Mr. Young, and in a moment more there was
ushered into the room a tall, muscular colored man, bearing evident
traces of white blood and answering fully the description of Jack
Watson. His story, other than what we have already learned, was that at
Warren, being suspicious of so many white men, he had gone out of the
back yard of Mr. Douglass and a short distance along the canal and
secreted himself until night in an old ware-house, still well remembered
as bearing the inscription, “Forwarding and Commission. M. B. Taylor &
Co.” In the evening he had struck out for Indian Run, of which Old
Diligence had told him. He had traveled all the night, but not being
able to reach his destination, had lain secreted during the day, and now
hungry and fearful he appealed to Mr. Young for food and protection,
both of which were readily accorded.
After the cravings of appetite had been satisfied, a conference was
held, and it was decided that Jack should try and make Syracuse, after
which Mr. Loguen would assure both safety and employment. Owing to the
well-known character of Mr. Young and his attachés, and unmistakable
evidences of close pursuit that had preceded Jack’s coming, it was
further determined to forward him at once to “Safe Haven.” In accordance
with this decision the family carriage, an imposing piece of “rolling
stock,” soon stood at the door with ’Lec consequentially seated upon the
box. A moment later, Jack, Mr. Loguen, and stalwart John Young emerged
from the mansion, and as they took their seats in the carriage, Mr.
Young said: “Now, Alec, look well to your lines and remember the ‘Haven’
is to be made before daylight.”
“Yes, Massa, dis ol’ chile keep an eye to de lines, de road, an’ anyting
’spicuous, an’ rouse up ol’ missus long afor’ de chicken’ ’gin to crow,”
saying which, he gave a gentle chirrup and the carriage went rolling
away to the northward.
V.
Whoever was accustomed, a third of a century ago, to travel over the
road from Warren, O., to Meadville, Pa., will remember a wayside inn,
whose sign bore in German character the euphonious name of
“Aughfeultwangher House.” The house itself, like its name, was of German
origin, a genuine example of a Dutch farm house, bespeaking both comfort
and thrift. The occupants were of the same name as the house, the
proprietor being an honest, quiet, well-meaning man, with no special
personality. Not so his better half, however. She was a character—a
decided personality. Kind and generous, she had a temper, which when let
loose became a very tornado. She was neat and tidy as a housekeeper, and
unexcelled as a cook. A regular embodiment of piety and profanity; of
sympathy and execration; of wit, repartee and scurrilous invective, her
very off-handedness made the house immensely popular with drovers and
road-men, and it was quoted from the prairies of the west to the Quaker
City itself; and many is the man who has traveled an extra five miles to
gain the hospitable roof of the “Awfultricker House,” as it came to be
called by those who failed to accomplish the German of it.
As an illustration of the without and the within of the place, a little
personal experience is introduced. At the end of a bleak November day, I
found myself taking the advice of a friend and making an extra exertion
with jaded beast, in order to enjoy the hospitality of the
“Aughfeultwangher.” Knowing the reputation of the hostess I greeted her
with: “Well, Auntie, can you keep a stranger to-night?”
Looking at me with a quizzical expression and evidently pleased at the
appellation used, she replied: “Dot is von long face to keeps all in von
house.”
“O, well, never mind, I can let a part of it stay in the barn.”
“Vell, I guess we growds es all in dem house,” and running to the back
door, she called out, “Fater, fater, here bist einer mann, unt ein pferd
vas Shineral Shackson rote. Nehms du es dem stolle vilst Ich das abend
essen for dem manne erhalten.”
Obedient to the summons the host came at once, and took the wearied
beast, whilst I was ushered into the little bar-room, whose well-filled
box-stove was sending out a genial warmth, and away went the sprightly
dame to prepare supper, whose savory odors soon filled the house.
Directly the door into the great family kitchen opened, and I did not
wait for a repetition of the hearty “Coome Meister, your supper bist
ready.” Entering, I found the room seated after the German style, and
was greeted with the sight of a great, open fire-place, with its
bake-oven and pot-hole attachment. Upon the table were rich slices of
ham, eggs, bread, such as only a genuine German woman can bake, and
other things in abundance. When I was seated and the good woman had
poured out a cup of delicious coffee, she took a chair opposite, and
after eying me a moment, inquired:
“Vell, Meister, var from you come?”
“From Ohio, auntie.”
“You bist von Yankee, then.”
“No, I’m a Buckeye.”
“Von Puckeye! vas ish dat, eh?”
“One born in Ohio.”
“Unt vas your fater ein Sherman?”
“No, auntie, but my grandfather was.”
“O your grossfater. Vell, I tot dare vas some Shermeny blud; dot lickt
hair und blau eyes zint der sign, meister.”
“Well, auntie, ’tis not bad blood, is it.”
“O nein. Mein Got, es ist dot best, but das Yankee is shust so goot,” to
which of course I assented, with the remark that the two together are a
little better, thus causing the old lady to laugh outright.
After a moment’s pause, in which there seemed to be a studying of what
tactics to pursue, she said, “Vell, meister, it bist none of my pisness,
but vas you stoon in das velt?”
Wishing to make a fine conquest, I summoned what little German I could
muster and replied, “Ich bin einer school-meister.”
“Got in himmel! du bist einer schulmeister, O Ich vish de kinder vare to
house—”
Just then the host came in, and there was a rapid discharge of pure
German between them, the outcome of which was a passing of a very
pleasant evening, though the English on the one side and the German on
the other were both very broken, and when the hour for retiring came I
was escorted by the old couple to what was evidently the best room in
the house. Approaching the bed the hostess laid back a fine feather
tick, revealing sheets of snowy whiteness overspreading another, and
then with a feeling of conscious pride exclaimed, “Dot, Her
Schulmeister, is mine bester bett, unt do canst schlafen on der top, in
der mittel or unter das bett, shust as you bleze. Guten abent.”
Such was the house, such were the Aughfeultwanghers, with the addition
of being Jacksonian Democrats of the straightest sect, the least likely
people, apparently, to have any sympathy with the underground work, yet
shrewd John Young, ever fertile in expedients, had approached this
couple, and as a result of the conference there was arranged a snug
little room over and back of the oven with the way of entry by the
pot-hole. This room was never to be occupied but by one individual, and
he was to be brought by Mr. Young in person, who was also to provide for
the taking away. In view of these facts he had christened the place
“Safe Haven,” and its existence, outside of the family, was known only
to himself, Alec and one or two others of his retainers and “Mose”
Bishop, a tall, slim man, residing at Linesville, having a perfect
hatred of creeds and cant, but an enthusiastic supporter of every cause
demanding sympathy and justice, and who on account of his Jehu style of
driving, was known along the _road_ as “The Lightning Conductor.”
VI.
True to his promise, before the first cock had sounded the approaching
morn on that late October night, Alec reined up at the Aughfeultwangher,
and Mr. Young, alighting, rapped at the door, and all questions being
satisfactorily answered, Jack was admitted, and the carriage rolled
rapidly down to the little village at the foot of Conneaut lake, and at
the hotel breakfast was ordered for men and beasts.
Having washed themselves, they were waiting the progress of culinary
processes in the kitchen, meanwhile regaling themselves by reading the
hand-bill advertising Jack, which was conspicuously posted in the
bar-room, when two horsemen, one a constable from Mercer county, rode up
and also ordered breakfast and feed for their horses.
The constable and Mr. Young readily recognized each other, and though no
word was passed it was evident to each that his business was understood
by his neighbor, hence the breakfast passed in silence, and when his
bill was settled, the carriage of the ex-Virginian took a homeward
direction.
No sooner was it gone than the constable remarked to Boniface, “I have
been after that turnout all night. When it started there was a
_passenger_ in it, answering to that bill there.”
“You’ve been making the old fellow a close call,” said the landlord,
“but you’ll find him a hard one to handle.”
“Yes; but if I could catch the nigger, the $500 wouldn’t come bad. We
have been close on his track for several days. We know he was at Young’s
last night but where in the d—— he is now is the question.”
“Dropped somewhere, likely.”
“Yes, _dropped_. Old Alec was too much for us, and we lost the trail.
From which direction did they come?”
“From towards Meadville.”
“Do you know any station that he could have touched?”
“No, unless Aughfeultwangher’s.”
“Awfultricker’s! ha! ha! Upon my life that is a bright idea. Why the old
woman would make even Young think the day of judgment had come if he
were to bring a nigger to her home.”
“So I would have thought once, and so I am disposed to think now, but I
have sometimes thought his bland manners have overcome her Democracy and
that somewhere about the premises there is a station; yet ’tis all guess
work with me. I give you the information; if you, gentlemen, can make
$500 out of it, you are welcome to the fee.”
After a short consultation between the constable and the stranger, a
regular catcher who had undertaken to capture Jack, they ordered their
horses and were off towards the Aughfeultwangher.
VII.
Immediately on receiving Jack into the house, the good landlady supplied
him with an ample dish of provisions and removing the dye tub and other
obstructions from the pot-hole pointed him to her bed-room for “zingle
shentelmens,” and when he had disappeared, she replaced her pots and
kettles, taking care to place the dye tub in which the yarn for family
stockings were receiving its finishing tint of blue, in the very mouth
of the hole. This done she went about her morning duties and was thus
busily engaged when the two horsemen rode up, dismounted and came in.
After paying the compliments of the morning and taking a drink, the
constable inquired, “Has Mr. Young been here this morning?”
“Mister Yoong, vat Yoong you means?”
“John Young.”
“Vat, dot Shon Yoong fon town in Merzer gounty?”
“Yes.”
“O ya, er trive up unt vater ees team.”
“Was there anybody with him?”
“O ya, dot black Alec alvays goes mit him.”
“Did you see anybody get out?”
“Nein.”
“And he didn’t leave anyone here?”
“Vell, shentelmens, dot is von great kweschon. You tinks I have von of
tem niggers pout here. You shall zee. Now, shentelmens, you looks all
apout; you shall shust go in te barn and dru dis house shust as you
blese. Den you knows if Shon Young leaves von black mans here.”
So saying the old lady led them through the barn and all parts of the
house until the kitchen was reached. Here she bade them look into the
oven, and then that they might peer into the pot-hole she began removing
the dye tub, but in so doing was careful to spill a little of the
liquid. As the fumes spread through the room the catcher exclaimed as
they reached his olfactories, “O the d—l.”
“Yes, der toiful, shentelmens, der toiful; you comes to mine house as if
de Aughfeultwangher wo’dt keep ein runavay nigger; you go dru, you go
unter mine parn; you goes indo mine pet rooms; you climps down into mine
shamber, unt you goes up indo mine seller, and now der toiful! You peest
tswi tam deeps, unt if you no go so gwick as von leetel minit, I sets
mine tok on you unt er makes you into sausage meat fore von hour.
Pounce! here Pounce, here!” and a great house dog came rushing into the
back door as the two runaway-seekers beat a hasty retreat, each catching
a glimpse, as he passed out, of the huge animal called to act as
judgment executioner upon them. Though foiled, they were not
discouraged, but transferred their place of watching to other parts.
VIII.
Reaching home, Mr. Young immediately wrote Mr. Bishop, as follows:—
“—o— —56—10—28—81.
Dear—— ——,
Piratical craft square rigged, but our wind was good and we _holed_
the duck. (— — —) ‘Mine Got, mine Got, mine Got——for XXX——’
Greeley’s advice. Day and night; day and night; day and night. With
an eye to foxes, let ’er slide.
Yours,
o——o”
On its receipt, Mr. Bishop took the necessary precautions to execute the
contents of the letter, and on the third night proceeded to carry them
out, being not unaware of the fact that he was closely watched.
IX.
Two men were standing in their respective doorways in the village of
Andover, Ohio, on a November afternoon. The one was a broad-shouldered,
full-chested man, with a flowing beard, a merry twinkle in the eye, a
kind of devil-may-care negligence in his appearance, with a physique
that betokened great power and endurance. This man had long been known
technically as “Thribble X” of station “1001,” at Gustavus, Ohio, from
which place he had migrated to Andover to proclaim the principles of the
Universalist faith, and was known among his people as Elder Shipman, or
more familiarly, “Uncle Charley.”
The other gentleman was of slimmer build, sandy complexion, thoughtful
mien, and the very manner in which he handled his pipe would guarantee
that he was of “Hinglish stock.”
As they thus stood, a buggy came driving from the east at break-neck
speed, and dashing up to the parsonage the driver exclaimed, “Elder, can
you do anything for this duck, for they’re after us hotter’n h—ll.”
“Don’t you know there is no such place as that, Mose?” was the calm
reply.
“Well, well, I’ve no time to discuss theological matters now; all I know
is if there is no such place, there ought to be a new creation at once
for the sake of two fellows that must already be this side of the
Shenango.”
“So near as that? Set him out.”
Immediately the colored man was bidden to alight, and whilst he and the
elder struck out for the woods a short distance to the southwest, the
buggy was turned and driven rapidly toward Richmond.
Scarcely was it out of sight, when two horsemen came galloping into
town, and riding up to our English friend, who had been an interested
spectator of the little scene just described and was wont to express his
satisfaction of English laws by quoting,
“Slaves cannot breathe in Highland; if their lungs
Received ’er hair, that moment they are free;”
and inquired, “Stranger, did you see a buggy drive into town from the
east a short time ago with two men in it?”
“Hi ’ave, gentlemen.”
“Was one of them black?”
“’E was, gentlemen.”
“Should you think the other was the man they call Mose Bishop?”
“Hi should, gentlemen.”
“Which way did he drive?”
“To the north, gentlemen.”
“Thank you, sir, and good day.”
“Good day, gentlemen.”
Clapping spurs to their horses, the riders were away with a bound, under
the inspiration of the first genuine cry of “On to Richmond.”
Reaching the proper point, Bishop turned eastward and dashed down
through Padan-aram, much to the surprise of the denizens of that
sequestered community, whilst his pursuers swept on to the Center, and
on inquiry at the village store, were blandly informed by the
proprietor, Mr. Heath, that there had been no buggy at all in the place
that day. Had Mose and the elder heard the _refined_ language that then
made the very atmosphere about Richmond blue, they would both have been
converts to the orthodox doctrine of sulphuric cleansing.
X.
Watching the departure of the others, Shipman and his charge crossed the
road to the eastward, and were soon threading the woodlands bordering
the Shenango, and about midnight sought quarters at a friend’s of the
elder, not far from Linesville. Arming themselves with heavy walking
sticks, just before evening of the next day they set out for Albion.
They had not proceeded far before they saw they were to encounter four
sinister-looking fellows. “Now, Jack,” said the elder, “You have endured
too much to be taken back. I do not wish to pay a thousand dollars fine
nor go to prison for your sake. We may have to use these canes. Do you
understand?”
“Yes, Massa, you can trus’ dis Jack.”
A call to halt was answered by so vigorous a charge and such effective
use of the walking sticks that two of the challengers soon lay upon the
ground and the others beat a hasty retreat. Taking advantage of
circumstances the little train switched, and under the pressure of a
full head of steam reached the “Old Tannery” station near Albion before
daylight.
The conductor was now on strange ground, but knowing there was an agent
in the vicinity named Low, he hunted him up and received such
information as enabled them to make a little clump of hemlocks on the
bank of a ravine not far from the residence of Elijah Drury, of Girard,
the following night.
Farmer Drury was a stalwart, standing little less than six feet in
height, always ready for any good word and work, and had been for many
years engaged in the _transportation_ business. Always wary, however, he
was not to be deceived when, in the morning, our bewhiskered conductor
presented himself and asked for something to eat.
“O yes,” said Mr. Drury, “I can always furnish a man, though a stranger,
something with which to satisfy hunger.”
“But I want something also for a friend.”
“A friend! What do you mean?”
“I mean that I have a friend down yonder in the thicket, who is both
weary and hungry.”
“Mister, do you know what I think?”
“I am not a prophet, sir.”
“Well, it is my opinion that you are a horse thief.”
“Will you come down and see the last nag I trotted off?”
Together the two men went down to the little thicket, and there the
Elder not only exhibited the passenger, but to remove all suspicions,
showed him the scars that indicated the floggings to which the slave had
been subjected, a sight which Mr. Drury often afterwards said came very
near making him swear outright. Thus commenced a friendship between the
two men long continued and fraught with many acts attesting the generous
nature of both.
XI.
When evening came, time being precious, our conductor drew the reins
over Mr. Drury’s best roadsters, and about midnight deposited his
passenger at the doorway of an old-fashioned house, with gable to the
street, wing projecting northward, and a large elm tree nearly in front,
standing on Federal Hill, in what is now South Erie, and for the first
time XXX greeted officially a most redoubtable Keystone agent, known as
the “Doctor,” in those days one of Erie’s well-known characters. He had
gained some knowledge of herbs and roots, which he learned to apply
medicinally, thus acquiring his appellation, which he wore with great
satisfaction, soon coming to look upon all mere “book doctors” in great
contempt. He was accustomed to drive about town with an old brown horse
attached to a kind of carryall vehicle; always took his whisky straight
and in full allopathic doses, though he affected to despise the practice
generally, and prided himself on being the most _reliable agent_ in Erie
county.
Into the Doctor’s private sanctum Jack was at once admitted, and
properly cared for for a number of days, until measurably recuperated
from his weeks of incessant vigil and solicitude, when he was taken in
charge by Thomas Elliott, Esq., of Harborcreek, and conveyed to
Wesleyville, four miles east of the city. Here, inasmuch as fresh news
was obtained of his pursuers, it was thought best to secrete him anew,
and he was therefore deposited in Station “Sanctum Sanctorum”—the garret
of the Methodist Church.
Whoever passes through the village on the “Buffalo Road,” fails not to
notice this unpretentious little brick structure standing by the
wayside. Like most churches built so long ago, it has undergone various
remodelings. The “battlements” have been taken off; doors and windows
have shifted places, but within it is little changed; the seating below
and the three-sided gallery remaining much as of old.
From the time of its first dedication onward, it has been the scene of
many a revival, and for years it was the “horn of the altar” upon which
the panting fugitive laid his hand, and was safe, for its use as a
“station” was known only to a “selected few.”
[Illustration:
OLD CHURCH, WESLEYVILLE, PA.
]
At the time we speak of, a protracted meeting had already been begun,
for the bleakness of winter had early set in. The services were
conducted by Rev. Jas. Gilfillin, a sterling old Scotchman, who had
received a large part of his training in the collieries of his native
land, and before the mast as a sailor on the high seas, assisted by Rev.
William Gheer, a young man of timidity and all gentility of manner. The
interest was most marked, and crowds came nightly to listen, to weep, to
become penitents, not only from up and down the “road,” but from Gospel
Hill, and far beyond, bringing even grand old father and mother Weed,
who had assisted at the formation of the society over thirty years
before, from away up in the “beechwoods,” and with them Nehemiah Beers,
an exhorter, particularly felicitous in the construction of unheard-of
words and expressions.
Under such circumstances Jack was deposited, early one morning, in his
rude apartment, measurably warmed by the pipe which came up from the
great box-stove below, and cautioned that he must keep particularly
quiet during the devotional exercises below. Here he remained for
several days, listening to the praises of new-born souls and the
hosannas of the older brethren during meeting hours, and then descending
and making himself comfortable in the well-warmed room when all was
quiet and safe. Indeed, so well did he play his part as fire-tender,
that the Chambers boys, who chopped the wood, which was hauled to the
church “sled-length” by the brethren, emphatically declared, as they
wondered at the marvellous disappearance of fuel, “It takes a power of
wood to run a red-hot revival, and we shall be glad when the meeting
closes,” and it required no little effort on the part of their father,
the main source of supply, to induce them to persevere in their “labor
of love.”
Thus matters passed until Sunday evening came, when the interest of the
meeting seemed to culminate in a Pentecostal shower. The Rev. James
Sullivan, then a young man, preached a sermon of great eloquence and
power, encouraged by many a hearty Amen from Father Weed and the older
brethren, and the responsive hallelujahs of hale old Sister Weed and the
other “Mothers in Israel.” The sermon ended, men clapped their hands in
ecstatic rapture, and struck up that grand old revival hymn,
“Come ye sinners, poor and needy,”
whilst the old pastor rose in his place, and earnestly exhorted sinners
to come to the “mourner’s bench” and find pardon and peace, until the
feeling of excitement burst forth in one simultaneous, “Amen, hallelujah
to God!”
The Spirit had reached the garret, and in the fervor of excitement Jack
forgot himself, and, “Amen, hallelujah to God!” came back in responsive
echo, sufficiently loud enough to attract the attention of those in the
gallery, who looked at each other in startled amazement.
Down on his knees went Brother Beers, and in the midst of an impassioned
prayer, exclaimed: “O! Lord-ah, come down to-night-ah, and rim-wrack and
center-shake the work of the devil-ah.”
Influenced more by the Spirit than the phraseology of the prayer, there
went up from the worshipping throng a hearty “Amen, and Amen!”
“Amen, and Amen!” came down from above, only to increase the
astonishment of the crowded gallery, most there believing that an angel
hovered over them. As if in perfect accord with the surroundings, Parson
Gheer struck up,
“Behold the Savior of mankind,”
without waiting for
“Nailed to the rugged cross,”
the stentorian voice of the old pastor rang out, “Yes, He comes! He
comes!”
“Yes, He comes! He comes!” shouted the embodied seraph in the garret, in
tones sufficiently loud to catch the ear of the sexton, who immediately
mounted aloft, as he often did to adjust the stovepipe, and though the
meeting continued for an hour longer, there were no farther angelic
demonstrations, yet some in the gallery long persisted that they had
that night been permitted to listen to seraphic strains.
Before daylight Jack was shipped by way of Col. Moorhead’s and North
East, to Conductor Nutting, at State Line, and by him to Syracuse, where
he safely arrived and remained until the breaking out of the war, when
he went south and rendered valuable service to the Union cause, in a way
that may be told in due time.