THE MOSES OF HER PEOPLE.

On a hot summer's day, perhaps sixty years ago, a group of merry

little darkies were rolling and tumbling in the sand in front of

the large house of a Southern planter. Their shining skins gleamed

in the sun, as they rolled over each other in their play, and

their voices, as they chattered together, or shouted in glee,

reached even to the cabins of the negro quarter, where the old

people groaned in spirit, as they thought of the future of those

unconscious young revelers; and their cry went up, "O, Lord, how

long!"

Apart from the rest of the children, on the top rail of a fence,

holding tight on to the tall gate post, sat a little girl of

perhaps thirteen years of age; darker than any of the others, and

with a more decided _woolliness_ in the hair; a pure unmitigated

African. She was not so entirely in a state of nature as the

rollers in the dust beneath her; but her only garment was a short

woolen skirt, which was tied around her waist, and reached about

to her knees. She seemed a dazed and stupid child, and as her head

hung upon her breast, she looked up with dull blood-shot eyes

towards her young brothers and sisters, without seeming to see

them. Bye and bye the eyes closed, and still clinging to the post,

she slept. The other children looked up and said to each other,

"Look at Hatt, she's done gone off agin!" Tired of their present

play ground they trooped off in another direction, but the girl

slept on heavily, never losing her hold on the post, or her seat

on her perch. Behold here, in the stupid little negro girl, the

future deliverer of hundreds of her people; the spy and scout of

the Union armies; the devoted hospital nurse; the protector of

hunted fugitives; the eloquent speaker in public meetings; the

cunning eluder of pursuing man-hunters; the heaven guided pioneer

through dangers seen and unseen; in short, as she has well been

called, "The Moses of her People."

Here in her thirteenth year she is just recovering from the first

terrible effects of an injury inflicted by her master, who in an

ungovernable fit of rage threw a heavy weight at the unoffending

child, breaking in her skull, and causing a pressure upon her

brain, from which in her old age she is suffering still. This

pressure it was which caused the fits of somnolency so frequently

to come upon her, and which gave her the appearance of being

stupid and half-witted in those early years. But that brain which

seemed so dull was full of busy thoughts, and her life problem was

already trying to work itself out there.

She had heard the shrieks and cries of women who were being

flogged in the negro quarter; she had listened to the groaned out

prayer, "Oh, Lord, have mercy!" She had already seen two older

sisters taken away as part of a chain gang, and they had gone no

one knew whither; she had seen the agonized expression on their

faces as they turned to take a last look at their "Old Cabin

Home;" and had watched them from the top of the fence, as they

went off weeping and lamenting, till they were hidden from her

sight forever. She saw the hopeless grief of the poor old mother,

and the silent despair of the aged father, and already she began

to revolve in her mind the question, "Why should such things be?"

"Is there no deliverance for my people?"

The sun shone on, and Harriet still slept seated on the fence

rail. They, those others, had no anxious dreams of the future, and

even the occasional sufferings of the present time caused them but

a temporary grief. Plenty to eat, and warm sunshine to bask in,

were enough to constitute their happiness; Harriet, however, was

not one of these. God had a great work for her to do in the world,

and the discipline and hardship through which she passed in her

early years, were only preparing her for her after life of

adventure and trial; and through these to come out as the Savior

and Deliverer of her people, when she came to years of womanhood.

As yet she had seen no "visions," and heard no "voices;" no

foreshadowing of her life of toil and privation, of flight before

human blood-hounds, of watchings, and hidings, of perils by land,

and perils by sea, yea, and of perils by false brethren, or of

miraculous deliverance had yet come to her. No hint of the great

mission of her life, to guide her people from the land of bondage

to the land of freedom. But, "Why should such things be?" and "Is

there no help?" These were the questions of her waking hours.

The dilapidated state of things about the "Great House" told truly

the story of waning fortunes, and poverty was pressing upon the

master. One by one the able-bodied slaves disappeared; some were

sold, others hired to other masters. No questions were asked; no

information given; they simply disappeared. A "lady," for so she

was designated, came driving up to the great house one day, to see

if she could find there a young girl to take care of a baby. The

lady wished to pay low wages, and so the most stupid and the most

incapable of the children on the plantation was chosen to go with

her. Harriet, who could command less wages than any other child of

her age on the plantation, was therefore put into the wagon

without a word of explanation, and driven off to the lady's house.

It was not a very fine house, but Harriet had never before been in

any dwelling better than the cabins of the negro quarter.

She was engaged as child's nurse, but she soon found that she was

expected to be maid of all work by day, as well as child's nurse

by night. The first task that was set her was that of sweeping and

dusting a parlor. No information was vouchsafed as to the manner

of going about this work, but she had often swept out the cabin,

and this part of her task was successfully accomplished. Then at

once she took the dusting cloth, and wiped off tables, chairs and

mantel-piece. The dust, as dust will do, when it has nowhere else

to go, at once settled again, and chairs and tables were soon

covered with a white coating, telling a terrible tale against

Harriet, when her Mistress came in to see how the work progressed.

Reproaches, and savage words, fell upon the ears of the frightened

child, and she was commanded to do the work all over again. It was

done in precisely the same way, as before, with the same result.

Then the whip was brought into requisition, and it was laid on

with no light hand. Five times before breakfast this process was

repeated, when a new actor appeared upon the scene. Miss Emily, a

sister of the Mistress, had been roused from her morning slumber

by the sound of the whip, and the screams of the child; and being

of a less imperious nature than her sister, she had come in to try

to set matters right.

"Why do you whip the child, Susan, for not doing what she has

never been taught to do? Leave her to me a few minutes, and you

will see that she will soon learn how to sweep and dust a room."

Then Miss Emily instructed the child to open the windows, and

sweep, then to leave the room, and set the table, while the dust

settled; and after that to return and wipe it off. There was no

more trouble of that kind. A few words might have set the matter

right before; but in those days many a poor slave suffered for the

stupidity and obstinacy of a master or mistress, more stupid than

themselves.

When the labors, unremitted for a moment, of the long day were

over (for this mistress was an economical woman, and intended to

get the worth of her money to the uttermost farthing), there was

still no rest for the weary child, for there was a cross baby to

be rocked continuously, lest it should wake and disturb the

mother's rest. The black child sat beside the cradle of the white

child, so near the bed, that the lash of the whip would reach her

if she ventured for a moment to forget her fatigues and sufferings

in sleep. The Mistress reposed upon her bed with the whip on a

little shelf over her head. People of color are, unfortunately, so

constituted that even if the pressure of a broken skull does not

cause a sleep like the sleep of the dead, the need of rest, and

the refreshment of slumber after a day of toil, were often felt by

them. No doubt, this was a great wrong to their masters, and a

cheating them of time which belonged to them, but their slaves did

not always look upon it in that light, and tired nature would

demand her rights; and so nature and the Mistress had a fight for

it.

Rock, rock, went the cradle, and mother and child slept; but alas!

the little black hand would sometimes slip down, and the head

would droop, and a dream of home and mother would visit the weary

one, only to be roughly dispelled by the swift descent of the

stinging lash, for the baby had cried out and the mother had been

awakened. This is no fictitious tale. That poor neck is even now

covered with the scars which sixty years of life have not been

able to efface. It may be that she was thus being prepared by the

long habit of enforced wakefulness, for the night watches in the

woods, and in dens and caves of the earth, when the pursuers were

on her track, and the terrified ones were trembling in her shadow.

We do not thank _you_ for this, cruel woman! for if you did her a

service, you did it ignorantly, and only for your own gratification.

But Harriet's powers of endurance failed at last, and she was

returned to her master, a poor, scarred wreck, nothing but skin and

bone, with the words that "She wasn't worth a sixpence."

The poor old mother nursed her back to life, and her naturally

good constitution asserted itself, so that as she grew older she

began to show signs of the wonderful strength which in after

years, when the fugitive slave law was in operation in New York

State, enabled her to seize a man from the officers who had him in

charge, and while numbers were pursuing her, and the shot was

flying like hail about her head, to bear him in her own strong

arms beyond the reach of danger.

As soon as she was strong enough for work, Harriet was hired out

to a man whose tyranny was worse, if possible, than that of the

woman she had left. Now it was out of door drudgery which was put

upon her. The labor of the horse and the ox, the lifting of

barrels of flour and other heavy weights were given to her; and

powerful men often stood astonished to see this woman perform

feats of strength from which they shrunk incapable. This cruelty

she looks upon as a blessing in disguise (a very questionable

shape the blessing took, methinks), for by it she was prepared for

after needs.

Still the pressure upon the brain continued, and with the weight

half lifted, she would drop off into a state of insensibility,

from which even the lash in the hand of a strong man could not

rouse her. But if they had only known it, the touch of a gentle

hand upon her shoulder, and her name spoken in tones of kindness,

would have accomplished what cruelty failed to do.

The day's work must be accomplished, whether the head was racked

with pain, and the frame was consumed by fever, or not; but the

day came at length when poor Harriet could work no more. The sting

of the lash had no power to rouse her now, and the new master

finding her a dead weight on his hands, returned the useless piece

of property to him who was called her "owner." And while she lay

there helpless, this man was bringing other men to look at her,

and offering her for sale at the lowest possible price; at the

same time setting forth her capabilities, if once she were strong

and well again.

Harriet's religious character I have not yet touched upon. Brought

up by parents possessed of strong faith in God, she had never

known the time, I imagine, when she did not trust Him, and cling

to Him, with an all-abiding confidence. She seemed ever to feel

the Divine Presence near, and she talked with God "as a man

talketh with his friend." Hers was not the religion of a morning

and evening prayer at stated times, but when she felt a need, she

simply told God of it, and trusted Him to set the matter right.

"And so," she said to me, "as I lay so sick on my bed, from

Christmas till March, I was always praying for poor ole master.

'Pears like I didn't do nothing but pray for ole master. 'Oh,

Lord, convert ole master;' 'Oh, dear Lord, change dat man's heart,

and make him a Christian.' And all the time he was bringing men to

look at me, and dey stood there saying what dey would give, and

what dey would take, and all I could say was, 'Oh, Lord, convert

ole master.' Den I heard dat as soon as I was able to move I was

to be sent with my brudders, in the chain-gang to de far South.

Then I changed my prayer, and I said, 'Lord, if you ain't never

going to change dat man's heart, _kill him_, Lord, and take him

out of de way, so he won't do no more mischief.' Next ting I heard

ole master was dead; and he died just as he had lived, a wicked,

bad man. Oh, den it 'peared like I would give de world full of

silver and gold, if I had it, to bring dat pore soul back, I would

give _myself_; I would give eberyting! But he was gone, I couldn't

pray for him no more."

As she recovered from this long illness, a deeper religious spirit

seemed to take possession of her than she had ever experienced

before. She literally "prayed without ceasing." "'Pears like, I

prayed all de time," she said, "about my work, eberywhere; I was

always talking to de Lord. When I went to the horse-trough to wash

my face, and took up de water in my hands, I said, 'Oh, Lord, wash

me, make me clean.' When I took up de towel to wipe my face and

hands, I cried, 'Oh, Lord, for Jesus' sake, wipe away all my

sins!' When I took up de broom and began to sweep, I groaned, 'Oh,

Lord, whatsoebber sin dere be in my heart, sweep it out, Lord,

clar and clean;' but I can't pray no more for pore ole master." No

words can describe the pathos of her tones as she broke into these

words of earnest supplication.

What was to become of the slaves on this plantation now that the

master was dead? Were they all to be scattered and sent to

different parts of the country? Harriet had many brothers and

sisters, all of whom with the exception of the two, who had gone

South with the chain-gang, were living on this plantation, or were

hired out to planters not far away. The word passed through the

cabins that another owner was coming in, and that none of the

slaves were to be sold out of the State. This assurance satisfied

the others, but it did not satisfy Harriet. Already the inward

monitor was whispering to her, "Arise, flee for your life!" and in

the visions of the night she saw the horsemen coming, and heard

the shrieks of women and children, as they were being torn from

each other, and hurried off no one knew whither.

And beckoning hands were ever motioning her to come, and she

seemed to see a line dividing the land of slavery from the land of

freedom, and on the other side of that line she saw lovely white

ladies waiting to welcome her, and to care for her. Already in her

mind her people were the Israelites in the land of Egypt, while

far away to the north _somewhere_, was the land of Canaan; but had

she as yet any prevision that _she_ was to be the Moses who was to

be their leader, through clouds of darkness and fear, and fires of

tribulation to that promised land? This she never said.

One day there were scared faces seen in the negro quarter, and

hurried whispers passed from one to another. No one knew how it

had come out, but some one had heard that Harriet and two of her

brothers were very soon, perhaps to-day, perhaps to-morrow, to be

sent far South with a gang, bought up for plantation work. Harriet

was about twenty or twenty-five years old at this time, and the

constantly recurring idea of escape at _sometime_, took sudden

form that day, and with her usual promptitude of action she was

ready to start at once.

She held a hurried consultation with her brothers, in which she so

wrought upon their fears, that they expressed themselves as

willing to start with her that very night, for that far North,

where, could they reach it in safety, freedom awaited them. But

she must first give some intimation of her purpose to the friends

she was to leave behind, so that even if not understood at the

time, it might be remembered afterward as her intended farewell.

Slaves must not be seen talking together, and so it came about

that their communication was often made by singing, and the words

of their familiar hymns, telling of the heavenly journey, and the

land of Canaan, while they did not attract the attention of the

masters, conveyed to their brethren and sisters in bondage

something more than met the ear. And so she sang, accompanying the

words, when for a moment unwatched, with a meaning look to one and

another:

"When dat ar ole chariot comes,

I'm gwine to lebe you,

I'm boun' for de promised land,

Frien's, I'm gwine to lebe you."

Again, as she passed the doors of the different cabins, she lifted

up her well-known voice; and many a dusky face appeared at door or

window, with a wondering or scared expression; and thus she

continued:

"I'm sorry, frien's, to lebe you,

Farewell! oh, farewell!

But I'll meet you in de mornin',

Farewell! oh, farewell!

"I'll meet you in de mornin',

When you reach de promised land;

On de oder side of Jordan,

For I'm boun' for de promised land."

The brothers started with her, but the way was strange, the north

was far away, and all unknown, the masters would pursue and

recapture them, and their fate would be worse than ever before;

and so they broke away from her, and bidding her goodbye, they

hastened back to the known horrors of slavery, and the dread of

that which was worse.

Harriet was now left alone, but after watching the retreating

forms of her brothers, she turned her face toward the north, and

fixing her eyes on the guiding star, and committing her way unto

the Lord, she started again upon her long, lonely journey. Her

farewell song was long remembered in the cabins, and the old

mother sat and wept for her lost child. No intimation had been

given her of Harriet's intention, for the old woman was of a most

impulsive disposition, and her cries and lamentations would have

made known to all within hearing Harriet's intended escape. And

so, with only the North Star for her guide, our heroine started on

the way to liberty, "For," said she, "I had reasoned dis out in my

mind; there was one of two things I had a _right_ to, liberty, or

death; if I could not have one, I would have de oder; for no man

should take me alive; I should fight for my liberty as long as my

strength lasted, and when de time came for me to go, de Lord would

let dem take me."

And so without money, and without friends, she started on through

unknown regions; walking by night, hiding by day, but always

conscious of an invisible pillar of cloud by day, and of fire by

night, under the guidance of which she journeyed or rested.

Without knowing whom to trust, or how near the pursuers might be,

she carefully felt her way, and by her native cunning, or by God

given wisdom, she managed to apply to the right people for food,

and sometimes for shelter; though often her bed was only the cold

ground, and her watchers the stars of night.

After many long and weary days of travel, she found that she had

passed the magic line, which then divided the land of bondage from

the land of freedom. But where were the lovely white ladies whom

in her visions she had seen, who, with arms outstretched, welcomed

her to their hearts and homes. All these visions proved deceitful:

she was more alone than ever; but she had crossed the line; no one

could take her now, and she would never call any man "Master"

more.

"I looked at my hands," she said, "to see if I was de same person

now I was free. Dere was such a glory ober eberything, de sun came

like gold trou de trees, and ober de fields, and I felt like I was

in heaven." But then came the bitter drop in the cup of joy. She

was alone, and her kindred were in slavery, and not one of them

had the courage to dare what she had dared. Unless she made the

effort to liberate them she would never see them more, or even

know their fate.

"I knew of a man," she said, "who was sent to the State Prison for

twenty-five years. All these years he was always thinking of his

home, and counting by years, months, and days, the time till he

should be free, and see his family and friends once more. The

years roll on, the time of imprisonment is over, the man is free.

He leaves the prison gates, he makes his way to his old home, but

his old home is not there. The house in which he had dwelt in his

childhood had been torn down, and a new one had been put up in its

place; his family were gone, their very name was forgotten, there

was no one to take him by the hand to welcome him back to life."

"So it was wid me," said Harriet, "I had crossed de line of which

I had so long been dreaming. I was free; but dere was no one to

welcome me to de land of freedom, I was a stranger in a strange

land, and my home after all was down in de old cabin quarter, wid

de ole folks, and my brudders and sisters. But to dis solemn

resolution I came; I was free, and dey should be free also; I

would make a home for dem in de North, and de Lord helping me, I

would bring dem all dere. Oh, how I prayed den, lying all alone on

de cold, damp ground; 'Oh, dear Lord,' I said, 'I haint got no

friend but _you_. Come to my help, Lord, for I'm in trouble!'"

It would be impossible here to give a detailed account of the

journeys and labors of this intrepid woman for the redemption of

her kindred and friends, during the years that followed. Those

years were spent in work, almost by night and day, with the one

object of the rescue of her people from slavery. All her wages

were laid away with this sole purpose, and as soon as a sufficient

amount was secured, she disappeared from her Northern home, and as

suddenly and mysteriously she appeared some dark night at the door

of one of the cabins on a plantation, where a trembling band of

fugitives, forewarned as to time and place, were anxiously

awaiting their deliverer. Then she piloted them North, traveling

by night, hiding by day, scaling the mountains, fording the

rivers, threading the forests, lying concealed as the pursuers

passed them. She, carrying the babies, drugged with paregoric, in

a basket on her arm. So she went _nineteen_ times, and so she

brought away over three hundred pieces of living and breathing

"property," with God given souls.

The way was so toilsome over the rugged mountain passes, that

often the _men_ who followed her would give out, and foot-sore,

and bleeding, they would drop on the ground, groaning that they

could not take another step. They would lie there and die, or if

strength came back, they would return on their steps, and seek

their old homes again. Then the revolver carried by this bold and

daring pioneer, would come out, while pointing it at their heads

she would say, "Dead niggers tell no tales; you go on or die!" And

by this heroic treatment she compelled them to drag their weary

limbs along on their northward journey.

But the pursuers were after them. A reward of $40,000 was offered

by the slave-holders of the region from whence so many slaves had

been spirited away, for the head of the woman who appeared so

mysteriously, and enticed away their property, from under the very

eyes of its owners. Our sagacious heroine has been in the car,

having sent her frightened party round by some so-called

"Under-ground Railway," and has heard this advertisement, which was

posted over her head, read by others of the passengers. She never

could read or write herself, but knowing that suspicion would be

likely to fall upon any black woman traveling North, she would

turn at the next station, and journey towards the South. Who would

suspect a fugitive with such a price set upon her head, of rushing

at railway speed into the jaws of destruction? With a daring

almost heedless, she went even to the very village where she would

be most likely to meet one of the masters to whom she had been

hired; and having stopped at the Market and bought a pair of live

fowls, she went along the street with her sun-bonnet well over her

face, and with the bent and decrepit air of an aged, woman.

Suddenly on turning a corner, she spied her old master coming

towards her. She pulled the string which tied the legs of the

chickens; they began to flutter and scream, and as her master

passed, she was stooping and busily engaged in attending to the

fluttering fowls. And he went on his way, little thinking that he

was brushing the very garments of the woman who had dared to steal

herself, and others of his belongings.

At one time the pursuit was very close and vigorous. The woods

were scoured in all directions, every house was visited, and every

person stopped and questioned as to a band of black fugitives,

known to be fleeing through that part of the country. Harriet had

a large party with her then; the children were sleeping the sound

sleep that opium gives; but all the others were on the alert, each

one hidden behind his own tree, and silent as death. They had been

long without food, and were nearly famished; and as the pursuers

seemed to have passed on, Harriet decided to make the attempt to

reach a certain "station of the underground railroad" well known

to her; and procure food for her starving party. Under cover of

the darkness, she started, leaving a cowering and trembling group

in the woods, to whom a fluttering leaf, or a moving animal, were

a sound of dread, bringing their hearts into their throats. How

long she is away! has she been caught and carried off, and if so

what is to become of them? Hark! there is a sound of singing in

the distance, coming nearer and nearer.

And these are the words of the unseen singer, which I wish I could

give you as I have so often heard them sung by herself:

Hail, oh hail, ye happy spirits,

Death no more shall make you fear,

Grief nor sorrow, pain nor anguish,

Shall no more distress you dere.

Around Him are ten thousand angels

Always ready to obey command;

Dey are always hovering round you,

Till you reach de heavenly land.

Jesus, Jesus will go wid you,

He will lead you to his throne;

He who died, has gone before you,

Trod de wine-press all alone.

He whose thunders shake creation,

He who bids de planets roll;

He who rides upon the tempest,

And whose scepter sways de whole.

Dark and thorny is de pathway,

Where de pilgrim makes his ways;

But beyond dis vale of sorrow,

Lie de fields of endless days.

The air sung to these words was so wild, so full of plaintive

minor strains, and unexpected quavers, that I would defy any white

person to learn it, and often as I heard it, it was to me a

constant surprise. Up and down the road she passes to see if the

coast is clear, and then to make them certain that it is _their_

leader who is coming, she breaks out into the plaintive strains of

the song, forbidden to her people at the South, but which she and

her followers delight to sing together:

Oh go down, Moses,

Way down into Egypt's land,

Tell old Pharaoh,

Let my people go.

Oh Pharaoh said he would go cross,

Let my people go,

And don't get lost in de wilderness,

Let my people go.

Oh go down, Moses,

Way down into Egypt's land,

Tell old Pharaoh,

Let my people go.

You may hinder me here, but you can't up dere,

Let my people go,

He sits in de Hebben and answers prayer,

Let my people go!

Oh go down, Moses,

Way down into Egypt's land,

Tell old Pharaoh,

Let my people go.

And then she enters the recesses of the wood, carrying hope and

comfort to the anxious watchers there. One by one they steal out

from their hiding places, and are fed and strengthened for another

night's journey.

And so by night travel, by signals, by threatenings, by

encouragement, through watchings and fastings, and I may say by

direct interpositions of Providence, and miraculous deliverances,

she brought her people to what was then their land of Canaan; the

State of New York. But alas! this State did not continue to be

their refuge. For in 1850, I think, the Fugitive Slave Law was put

in force, which bound the people north of Mason and Dixon's line,

to return to bondage any fugitive found in their territories.

"After that," said Harriet, "I wouldn't trust Uncle Sam wid my

people no longer, but I brought 'em all clar off to Canada."

On her seventh or eighth journey, she brought with her a band of

fugitives, among whom was a very remarkable man, whom I knew only

by the name of "Joe." Joe was a noble specimen of a negro,

enormously tall, and of splendid muscular development. He had been

hired out by his master to another planter, for whom he had worked

for six years, saving him all the expense of an overseer, and

taking all trouble off from his hands. He was such a very valuable

piece of property, and had become so absolutely necessary to the

planter to whom he was hired, that he determined to buy him at any

cost. His old master held him proportionately high. But by paying

one thousand dollars down, and promising to pay another thousand

in a certain time, the purchase was made, and this chattel passed

over into the hands of a new owner.

The morning after the purchase was completed, the new master came

riding down on a tall, powerful horse into the negro quarter, with

a strong new rawhide in his hand, and stopping before Joe's cabin,

called to him to come out. Joe was just eating his breakfast, but

with ready obedience, he hastened out at the summons. Slave as he

was, and accustomed to scenes of brutality, he was surprised when

the order came, "Now, Joe, strip, and take a licking." Naturally

enough, he demurred at first, and thought of resisting the order;

but he called to mind a scene he had witnessed a few days before

in the field, the particulars of which are too horrible to be

given here, and he thought it the wisest course to submit; but

first he tried a gentle remonstrance.

"Mas'r," said he, "habn't I always been faithful to you? Habn't I

worked through sun an' rain, early in de mornin' an' late at

night; habn't I saved you an oberseer by doin' his work? hab you

anything to complain agin me?"

"No, Joe, I have no complaint to make of you. You're a good

nigger, an' you've always worked well. But you belong to _me_ now;

you're _my_ nigger, and the first lesson my niggers have to learn

is that I am master and they belong to me, and are never to resist

anything I order them to do. So I always begin by giving them a

good licking. Now strip and take it."

Joe saw that there was no help for him, and that for the time he

must submit. He stripped off his clothing, and took his flogging

without a word, but as he drew his shirt up over his torn and

bleeding back, he said to himself: "Dis is de first an' de last."

As soon as he was able he took a boat, and under cover of the

night, rowed down the river, and made his way to the cabin of "Old

Ben," Harriet's father, and said to him: "Nex' time _Moses_ comes,

let me know."

It was not long after this time, that the mysterious woman

appeared--the woman on whom no one could lay his finger--and men,

women, and children began to disappear from the plantations. One

fine morning Joe was missing, and call as loud as he might, the

master's voice had no power to bring him forth. Joe had certainly

fled; and his brother William was gone, and Peter and Eliza. From

other plantations other slaves were missing, and before their

masters were awake to the fact, the party of fugitives, following

their intrepid leader, were far on their way towards liberty.

The adventures of this escaping party would of themselves fill a

volume. They hid in potato holes by day, while their pursuers

passed within a few feet of them; they were passed along by

friends in various disguises; they scattered and separated; some

traveling by boat, some by wagons, some by cars, others on foot,

to meet at some specified station of the under-ground railroad.

They met at the house of Sam Green,[A] the man who was afterwards

sent to prison for ten years for having a copy of "Uncle Tom's

Cabin" in his house. And so, hunted and hiding and wandering, they

found themselves at last at the entrance of the long bridge which

crosses the river at Wilmington, Delaware.

[Footnote A: In mentioning to me the circumstances of Sam Green's

imprisonment, Harriet, who had no acquaintance with books, merely

mentioned the fact as it had come to her own knowledge. But I have

lately come across a book in the Astor Library which confirms the

story precisely as she stated it. It is in a book by Rev. John

Dixon Long, of Philadelphia. He says, "Samuel Green, a free

colored man of Dorchester County, Maryland, was sentenced to ten

years' confinement in the Maryland State Prison, at the spring

term of the County Court held in Cambridge, Md.

"What was the crime imputed to this man, born on American soil, a

man of good moral character, a local preacher in the Methodist

Episcopal Church; a husband and a father? Simply this: A copy of

'Uncle Tom's Cabin' _had been found in his possession_. It was not

proved that he had ever read it to the colored people."]

No time had been lost in posting up advertisements and offering

rewards for the capture of these fugitives; for Joe in particular

the reward offered was very high. First a thousand dollars, then

fifteen hundred, and then two thousand, "an' all expenses clar an'

clean for his body in Easton Jail." This high reward stimulated

the efforts of the officers who were usually on the lookout for

escaping fugitives, and the added rewards for others of the party,

and the high price set on Harriet's head, filled the woods and

highways with eager hunters after human prey. When Harriet and her

companions approached the long Wilmington Bridge, a warning was

given them by some secret friend, that the advertisements were up,

and the bridge was guarded by police officers. Quick as lightning

the plans were formed in her ready brain, and the terrified party

were separated and hidden in the houses of different friends, till

her arrangements for their further journey were completed.

There was at that time residing in Wilmington an old Quaker, whom

I may call _my_ "friend," for though I never saw his face, I have

had correspondence with him in reference to Harriet and her

followers. This man, whose name was Thomas Garrett, and who was

well known in those days to the friends of the slave, was a man of

a wonderfully large and generous heart, through whose hands during

those days of distress and horror, no less than three thousand

self-emancipated men, women and children passed on their way to

freedom. He gave heart, hand, and means to aid these poor

fugitives, and to our brave Harriet he often rendered most

efficient help in her journeys back and forth.

He was the proprietor of a very large shoe establishment; and not

one of these poor travelers aver left his house without a present

of a new pair of shoes and other needed help. No sooner had this

good man received intelligence of the condition of these poor

creatures, than he devised a plan to elude the vigilance of the

officers in pursuit, and bring Harriet and her party across the

bridge. Two wagons filled with bricklayers were engaged, and sent

over; this was a common sight there, and caused no remark. They

went across the bridge singing and shouting, and it was not an

unexpected thing that they should return as they went. After

nightfall (and, fortunately, the night was very dark) the same

wagons recrossed the bridge, but with an unlooked-for addition to

their party. The fugitives were lying close together on the bottom

of the wagons; the bricklayers were on the seats, still singing

and shouting; and so they passed the guards, who were all

unsuspicious of the nature of the load contained in the wagons, or

of the amount of property thus escaping their hands.

The good man, Thomas Garrett, who was in a very feeble state of

health when he last wrote me, and has now gone to his reward,

supplied them with all needed comforts, and sent them on their way

refreshed, and with renewed courage. And Harriet here set up her

Ebenezer, saying, "Thus far hath the Lord helped me!" But many a

danger, and many a fright, and many a deliverance awaited them,

before they reached the city of New York. And even there they were

not safe, for the Fugitive Slave Law was in operation, and their

only refuge was Canada, which was now their promised land.

They finally reached New York in safety: and this goes almost

without saying, for I may as well mention here that of the three

hundred and more fugitives whom Harriet piloted from slavery, not

one was ever recaptured, though all the cunning and skill of white

men, backed by offered rewards of large sums of money, were

brought into requisition for their recovery.

As they entered the anti-slavery office in New York, Mr. Oliver

Johnson rose up and exclaimed, "Well, Joe, I am glad to see the

man who is worth $2,000 to his master." At this Joe's heart sank.

"Oh, Mas'r, how did you know me!" he panted. "Here is the

advertisement in our office," said Mr. Johnson, "and the

description is so close that no one could mistake it." And had he

come through all these perils, had he traveled by day and night,

and suffered cold and hunger, and lived in constant fear and

dread, to find that far off here in New York State, he was

recognized at once by the advertisement? How, then, was he ever to

reach Canada?

"And how far off is Canada?" he asked. He was shown the map of New

York State, and the track of the railroad, for more than three

hundred miles to Niagara, where he would cross the river, and be

free. But the way seemed long and full of dangers. They were

surely safer on their own tired feet, where they might hide in

forests and ditches, and take refuge in the friendly underground

stations; but here, where this large party would be together in

the cars, surely suspicion would fall upon them, and they would be

seized and carried back. But Harriet encouraged him in her cheery

way. He must not give up now. "De Lord had been with them in six

troubles, and he would not desert them in de seventh." And there

was nothing to do but to go on. As Moses spoke to the children of

Israel, when compassed before and behind by dangers, so she spake

to her people, that they should "go forward."

Up to this time, as they traveled they had talked and sung hymns

together, like Pilgrim and his friends, and Joe's voice was the

loudest and sweetest among them; but now he hanged his harp upon

the willows, and could sing the Lord's songs no more.

"From dat time," in Harriet's language, "Joe was silent; he talked

no more; he sang no more; he sat wid his head on his hand, an'

nobody could 'rouse him, nor make him take any intrust in

anything."

They passed along in safety through New York State, and at length

found themselves approaching the Suspension Bridge. They could see

the promised land on the other side. The uninviting plains of

Canada seemed to them,

"Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood,

All dressed in living green;"

but they were not safe yet. Until they reached the center of the

bridge, they were still in the power of their pursuers, who might

at any pause enter the car, and armed with the power of the law,

drag them back to slavery. The rest of the party were happy and

excited; they were simple, ignorant creatures, and having implicit

trust in their leader, they felt safe when with her, and no

immediate danger threatened them. But Joe was of a different

mould. He sat silent and sad, always thinking of the horrors that

awaited him if recaptured. As it happened, all the other

passengers were people who sympathized with them, understanding

them to be a band of fugitives, and they listened with tears, as

Harriet and all except poor Joe lifted up their voices and sang:

I'm on the way to Canada,

That cold and dreary land,

De sad effects of slavery,

I can't no longer stand;

I've served my Master all my days,

Widout a dime reward,

And now I'm forced to run away,

To flee de lash, abroad;

Farewell, ole Master, don't think hard of me,

I'm traveling on to Canada, where all de slaves are free.

De hounds are baying on my track,

Ole Master comes behind,

Resolved that he will bring me back,

Before I cross the line;

I'm now embarked for yonder shore,

Where a man's _a man_ by law,

De iron horse will bear me o'er,

To "shake de lion's paw;"

Oh, righteous Father, wilt thou not pity me.

And help me on to Canada, where all de slaves are free.

Oh I heard Queen Victoria say,

That if we would forsake,

Our native land of slavery,

And come across de lake;

Dat she was standing on de shore,

Wid arms extended wide,

To give us all a peaceful home,

Beyond de rolling tide;

Farewell, ole Master, don't think hard of me,

I'm traveling on to Canada, where all de slaves are free.

No doubt the simple creatures with her expected to cross a wide

lake instead of a rapid river, and to see Queen Victoria with her

crown upon her head, waiting with arms extended wide, to fold them

all in her embrace. There was now but "one wide river to cross,"

and the cars rolled on to the bridge. In the distance was heard

the roar of the mighty cataract, and now as they neared the center

of the bridge, the falls might be clearly seen. Harriet was

anxious to have her companions see this wonderful sight, and

succeeded in bringing all to the windows, except Joe. But Joe

still sat with his head on his hands, and not even the wonders of

Niagara could draw him from his melancholy musings. At length as

Harriet knew by the rise of the center of the bridge, and the

descent immediately after, the line of danger was passed; she

sprang across to Joe's side of the car, and shook him almost out

of his seat, as she shouted, "Joe! you've shook de lion's paw!"

This was her phrase for having entered on the dominions of

England. But Joe did not understand this figurative expression.

Then she shook him again, and put it more plainly, "Joe, you're in

Queen Victoria's dominions! You're a free man!"

Then Joe arose. His head went up, he raised his hands on high, and

his eyes, streaming with tears, to heaven, and then he began to

sing and shout:

"Glory to God and Jesus too,

One more soul got safe;

Oh, go and carry the news,

One more soul got safe."

"Joe, come and look at the falls!"

"Glory to God and Jesus too,

One more soul got safe."

"Joe! it's your last chance. Come and see de falls!"

"Glory to God and Jesus too,

One more soul got safe."

And this was all the answer. The train stopped on the other side;

and the first feet to touch British soil, after those of the

conductor, were those of poor Joe.

Loud roared the waters of Niagara, but louder still ascended the

Anthem of praise from the overflowing heart of the freeman. And

can we doubt that the strain was taken up by angel voices and

echoed and re-echoed through the vaults of heaven:

Glory to God in the highest,

Glory to God and Jesus too,

For all these souls now safe.

"The white ladies and gentlemen gathered round him," said Harriet,

"till I couldn't see Joe for the crowd, only I heard his voice

singing, 'Glory to God and Jesus too,' louder than ever." A sweet

young lady reached over her fine cambric handkerchief to him, and

as Joe wiped the great tears off his face, he said, "Tank de Lord!

dere's only one more journey for me now, and dat's to Hebben!" As

we bid farewell to Joe here, I may as well say that Harriet saw

him several times after that, a happy and industrious freeman in

Canada.[B]

[Footnote B: In my recent interview with Mr. Oliver Johnson he

told me of an interesting incident in the life of the good man,

Thomas Garrett.

He was tried twice for assisting in the escape of fugitive slaves,

and was fined so heavily that everything he possessed was taken

from him and sold to pay the fine. At the age of sixty he was left

without a penny, but he went bravely to work, and in some measure

regained his fortune; all the time aiding, in every way possible,

all stray fugitives who applied to him for help.

Again he was arrested, tried, and heavily fined, and as the Judge

of the United States Court pronounced the sentence, he said, in a

solemn manner: "Garrett, let this be a lesson to you, not to

interfere hereafter with the cause of justice, by helping off

runaway negroes.

The old man, who had stood to receive his sentence, here raised

his head, and fixing his eyes on "the Court," he said:

"Judge--thee hasn't left me a dollar, but I wish to say to thee,

and to all in this court room, that if anyone knows of a fugitive

who wants a shelter, and a friend, _send him to Thomas Garrett_,

and he will befriend him!"

[Not Luther before the Council at Worms was grander than this brave

old man in his unswerving adherence to principle. In those days

that tried men's souls there were many men like this old Quaker,

and many women too, who would have gone cheerfully to the fire and

the stake, for the cause of suffering humanity; men and women

_these_ "of whom the world was not worthy."]

On one of her journeys to the North, as she was piloting a company

of refugees, Harriet came, just as morning broke, to a town, where

a colored man had lived whose house had been one of her stations

of the under-ground, or unseen railroad. They reached the house,

and leaving her party huddled together in the middle of the

street, in a pouring rain, Harriet went to the door, and gave the

peculiar rap which was her customary signal to her friends. There

was not the usual ready response, and she was obliged to repeat

the signal several times. At length a window was raised, and the

head of a _white man_ appeared, with the gruff question, "Who are

you?" and "What do you want?" Harriet asked after her friend, and

was told that he had been obliged to leave for "harboring

niggers."

Here was an unforeseen trouble; day was breaking, and daylight was

the enemy of the hunted and flying fugitives. Their faithful

leader stood one moment in the street, and in that moment she had

flashed a message quicker than that of the telegraph to her unseen

Protector, and the answer came as quickly; in a suggestion to her

of an almost forgotten place of refuge. Outside of the town there

was a little island in a swamp, where the grass grew tall and

rank, and where no human being could be suspected of seeking a

hiding place. To this spot she conducted her party; she waded the

swamp, carrying in a basket two well-drugged babies (these were a

pair of little twins, whom I have since seen well grown young

women), and the rest of the company following. She ordered them to

lie down in the tall, wet grass, and here she prayed again, and

waited for deliverance. The poor creatures were all cold, and wet,

and hungry, and Harriet did not dare to leave them to get

supplies; for no doubt the man at whose house she had knocked, had

given the alarm in the town; and officers might be on the watch

for them. They were truly in a wretched condition, but Harriet's

faith never wavered, her silent prayer still ascended, and she

confidently expected help from some quarter or other.

It was after dusk when a man came slowly walking along the solid

pathway on the edge of the swamp. He was clad in the garb of a

Quaker; and proved to be a "friend" in need and indeed; he seemed

to be talking to himself, but ears quickened by sharp practice

caught the words he was saying:

"My wagon stands in the barn-yard of the next farm across the way.

The horse is in the stable; the harness hangs on a nail." And the

man was gone. Night fell, and Harriet stole forth to the place

designated. Not only a wagon, but a wagon well provisioned stood

in the yard; and before many minutes the party were rescued from

their wretched position, and were on their way rejoicing, to the

next town. Here dwelt a Quaker whom Harriet knew, and he readily

took charge of the horse and wagon, and no doubt returned them to

their owner. How the good man who thus came to their rescue had

received any intimation of their being in the neighborhood Harriet

never knew. But these sudden deliverances never seemed to strike

her as at all strange or mysterious; her prayer was the prayer of

faith, and she _expected_ an answer.

At one time, as she was on her way South for a party of slaves,

she was stopped not far from the southern shore of the Chesapeake

Bay, by a young woman, who had been for some days in hiding, and

was anxiously watching for "Moses," who was soon expected to pass

that way.

This girl was a young and pretty Mulatto, named Tilly, she had

been lady's maid and dressmaker, for her Mistress. She was engaged

to a young man from another plantation, but he had joined one of

Harriet's parties, and gone North. Tilly was to have gone also at

that time, but had found it impossible to get away. Now she had

learned that it was her Master's intention to give her to a Negro

of his own for his wife; and in fear and desperation, she made a

strike for freedom. Friends had concealed her, and all had been on

the watch for Moses.

The distress and excitement of the poor creature was so great, and

she begged and implored in such agonized tones that Harriet would

just see her safe to Baltimore, where she knew of friends who

would harbor her, and help her on her way, that Harriet determined

to turn about, and endeavor to take the poor girl thus far on her

Northward journey.

They reached the shore of Chesapeake Bay too late to leave that

night, and were obliged to hide for a night and day in the loft of

an old out-house, where every sound caused poor Tilly to tremble

as if she had an ague fit. When the time for the boat to leave

arrived, a sad disappointment awaited them. The boat on which they

had expected to leave was disabled, and another boat was to take

its place. At that time, according to the law of Slavery, no Negro

could leave his Master's land, or travel anywhere, without a pass,

properly signed by his owner. Of course this poor fugitive had no

pass; and Harriet's passes were her own wits; but among her many

friends, there was one who seemed to have influence with the clerk

of the boat, on which she expected to take passage; and she was

the bearer of a note requesting, or commanding him to take these

two women to the end of his route, asking no questions.

Now here was an unforeseen difficulty; the boat was not going; the

clerk was not there; all on the other boat were strangers. But

forward they must go, trusting in Providence. As they walked down

to the boat, a gang of lazy white men standing together, began to

make comments on their appearance.

"Too many likely looking Niggers traveling North, about these

days." "Wonder if these wenches have got a pass." "Where you

going, you two?" Tilly trembled and cowered, and clung to her

protector, but Harriet put on a bold front, and holding the note

given her by her friend in her hand, and supporting her terrified

charge, she walked by the men, taking no notice of their insults.

They joined the stream of people going up to get their tickets,

but when Harriet asked for hers, the clerk eyed her suspiciously,

and said: "You just stand aside, you two; I'll attend to your case

bye and bye."

Harriet led the young girl to the bow of the boat, where they were

alone, and here, having no other help, she, as was her custom,

addressed herself to the Lord. Kneeling on the seat, and

supporting her head on her hands, and fixing her eyes on the

waters of the bay, she groaned:

"Oh, Lord! You've been wid me in six troubles, _don't_ desert me

in the seventh!"

"Moses! Moses!" cried Tilly, pulling her by the sleeve. "Do go and

see if you can't get tickets now."

"Oh, Lord! You've been wid me in six troubles, _don't_ desert me

in the seventh."

And so Harriet's story goes on in her peculiarly graphic manner,

till at length in terror Tilly exclaimed:

"Oh, Moses! the man is coming. What shall we do?"

"Oh, Lord, you've been wid me in six troubles!"

Here the clerk touched her on the shoulder, and Tilly thought

their time had come, but all he said was:

"You can come now and get your tickets," and their troubles were

over.

What changed this man from his former suspicious and antagonistic

aspect, Harriet never knew. Of course she said it was "de Lord,"

but as to the agency he used, she never troubled herself to

inquire. She _expected_ deliverance when she prayed, unless the

Lord had ordered otherwise, and in that case she was perfectly

willing to accept the Divine decree.

When surprise was expressed at her courage and daring, or at her

unexpected deliverances, she would always reply: "Don't, I tell

you, Missus, 'twan't _me_, 'twas _de Lord_! Jes' so long as he

wanted to use me, he would take keer of me, an' when he didn't

want me no longer, I was ready to go; I always tole him, I'm gwine

to hole stiddy on to you, an' you've got to see me trou."

There came a time when Harriet, who had already brought away as

many of her family as she could reach, besides all others who

would trust themselves to her care, became much troubled in

"spirit" about three of her brothers, having had an intimation of

some kind that danger was impending over them. With her usual

wonderful cunning, she employed a friend to write a letter for her

to a man named Jacob Jackson, who lived near the plantation where

these brothers were at that time the hired slaves.

Jacob Jackson was a free negro, who could both read and write, and

who was under suspicion just then of having a hand in the

disappearance of colored "property." It was necessary, therefore,

to exercise great caution in writing to him, on his own account as

well as that of the writer, and those whom she wished to aid.

Jacob had an adopted son, William Henry Jackson, also free, who

had come North. Harriet determined to sign her letter with William

Henry's name, feeling sure that Jacob would be clever enough to

understand by her peculiar phraseology, the meaning she intended

to convey.

Therefore, after speaking of indifferent matters, the letter went

on: "Read my letter to the old folks, and give my love to them,

and tell my brothers to be always _watching unto prayer_, and when

_the good old ship of Zion comes along, to be ready to step on

board_." This letter was signed "William Henry Jackson."

Jacob was not allowed to have his letters in those days, until the

self-elected inspectors of correspondence had had the perusal of

them, and consulted over their secret meaning. These wise-acres

therefore assembled, wiped their glasses carefully, put them on,

and proceeded to examine this suspicious document. What it meant

they could not imagine. William Henry Jackson had no parents, or

brothers, and the letter was incomprehensible. Study as they

might, no light dawned upon them, but their suspicions became

stronger, and they were sure the letter meant mischief.

White genius having exhausted itself, black genius was brought

into requisition. Jacob was sent for, and the letter was placed in

his hands. He read between the lines, and comprehended the hidden

meaning at once. "Moses" had dictated this letter, and Moses was

coming. The brothers must be on the watch, and ready to join her

at a moment's warning. But Moses must hurry, for the word had gone

forth that the brothers were to be sent South, and the chain-gang

was being collected.

Jacob read the letter slowly, threw it down, and said: "Dat letter

can't be meant for me no how; I can't make head or tail of it."

And he walked off and took immediate measures to let Harriet's

brothers know that she was on the way, and they must be ready at

the given signal to start for the North.

It was the day before Christmas when Harriet arrived, and the

brothers were to have started on the day after Christmas for the

South. They started on Christmas-day, but with their faces turned

in another direction, and instead of the chain-gang and the whip,

they had the North Star for their guide, and the Moses of her

people for their leader.

As usual, this mysterious woman appeared suddenly, and word was

conveyed to the brothers that they were to be at Old Ben's cabin

on Saturday night, ready to start. "Old Ben" was their father, and

as the parents were not of much use now, Harriet was pretty

certain that they would not be sent away, and so she left them

till she had rescued the younger and more valuable members of the

family.

Quite a number had assembled at the cabin when the hour came for

starting, but one brother was missing. Something had detained

John; but when the time for starting had struck, Harriet's word

was "forward," and she "nebber waited for no one."

Poor John was ready to start from his cabin in the negro quarter

when his wife was taken ill, and in an hour or two another little

heir to the blessings of slavery had come into the world.

John must go off for a "Granny," and being a faithful,

affectionate creature, he could not leave his wife under the

present circumstances.

After the birth of the child he determined to start. The North and

freedom, or the South and life-long slavery, were the alternatives

before him; and this was his last chance. If he once reached the

North, he hoped with the help of Moses to bring his wife and

children there.

Again and again he tried to start out of the door, but a watchful

eye was on him, and he was always arrested by the question, "Where

you gwine, John?" His wife had not been informed of the danger

hanging over his head, but she knew he was uneasy, and she feared

he was meditating a plan of escape. John told her he was going to

try to get hired out on Christmas to another man, as that was the

day on which such changes were made.

He left the house but stood near the window listening. He heard

his wife sobbing and moaning, and not being able to endure it he

went back to her. "Oh, John!" she cried, "you's gwine to lebe me!

I know it! but wherebber you go, John, don't forgit me an' de

little children."

John assured her that wherever he went she should come. He might

not come for her, but he would send Moses, and then he hurried

away. He had many miles to walk to his old father's cabin, where

he knew the others would be waiting for him, and at daybreak he

overtook them in the "fodder house," not far from the home of the

old people.

At that time Harriet had not seen her mother for six years, but

she did not dare to let her know that four of her children were so

near her on their way to the North, for she would have raised such

an uproar in her efforts to detain them, that the whole

neighborhood would have been aroused.

The poor old woman had been expecting her sons to spend Christmas

with her as usual. She had been hard at work in preparation for

their arrival. The fatted pig had been killed, and had been

converted into every form possible to the flesh of swine; pork,

bacon and sausages were ready, but the boys did not come, and

there she sat watching and waiting.

In the night when Harriet with two of her brothers, and two other

fugitives who had joined them arrived at the "fodder house," they

were exhausted and well-nigh famished. They sent the two strange

men up to the cabin to try to rouse "Old Ben," but not to let

their mother know that her children were so near her.

The men succeeded in rousing Old Ben, who came out quietly, and as

soon as he heard their story, went back into the house, gathered

together a quantity of provisions, and came down to the fodder

house. He placed the provisions inside the door, saying a few

words of welcome to his children, but taking care _not to see

them_. "I know what'll come of dis," he said, "an' I ain't gwine

to see my chillen, no how." The close espionage under which these

poor creatures dwelt, engendered in them a cunning and artifice,

which to them seemed only a fair and right attempt on their part,

to cope with power and cruelty constantly in force against them.

Up among the ears of corn lay the old man's children, and one of

them he had not seen for six years. It rained in torrents all that

Sunday, and there they lay among the corn, for they could not

start till night. At about daybreak John had joined them. There

were wide chinks in the boards of the fodder house, and through

these they could see the cabin of the old folks, now quite alone

in their old age. All day long, every few minutes, they would see

the old woman come out, and shading her eyes with her hand, take a

long look down the road to see if "de boys" were coming, and then

with a sad and disappointed air she would turn back into the

cabin, and they could almost hear her sigh as she did so.

What had become of the boys? Had they been sold off down South?

Had they tried to escape and been retaken? Would she never see

them or hear of them more?

I have often heard it said by Southern people that "niggers had no

feeling; they did not care when their children were taken from

them." I have seen enough of them to know that their love for

their offspring is quite equal to that of the "superior race," and

it is enough to hear the tale of Harriet's endurance and self-sacrifice

to rescue her brothers and sisters, to convince one that

a heart, truer and more loving than that of many a white woman,

dwelt in her bosom. I am quite willing to acknowledge that she was

almost an anomaly among her people, but I have known many of her

family, and so far as I can judge they all seem to be peculiarly

intelligent, upright and religious people, and to have a strong

feeling of family affection. There may be many among the colored

race like them; certainly all should not be judged by the idle,

miserable darkies who have swarmed about Washington and other

cities since the War.

Two or three times while the group of fugitives were concealed in

this loft of the fodder house, the old man came down and pushed

food inside the door, and after nightfall he came again to

accompany his children as far as he dared, upon their journey.

When he reached the fodder house, he tied a handkerchief tight

about his eyes, and one of his sons taking him by one arm, and

Harriet taking him by the other, they went on their way talking in

low tones together, asking and answering questions as to relatives

and friends.

The time of parting came, and they bade him farewell, and left him

standing in the middle of the road. When he could no longer hear

their footsteps he turned back, and taking the handkerchief from

his eyes, he hastened home.

But before Harriet and her brothers left, they had gone up to the

cabin during the evening to take a silent farewell of the poor old

mother. Through the little window of the cabin they saw her

sitting by the fire, her head on her hand, rocking back and forth,

as was her way when she was in great trouble; praying, no doubt,

and wondering what had become of her children, and what new evil

had befallen them.

With streaming eyes, they watched her for ten or fifteen minutes;

but time was precious, and they must reach their next under-ground

station before daylight, and so they turned sadly away.

When Christmas was over, and the men had not returned, there began

to be no small stir in the plantation from which they had escaped.

The first place to search, of course, was the home of the old

people. At the "Big House" nothing had been seen of them. The

master said "they had generally come up there to see the house

servants, when they came for Christmas, but this time they hadn't

been round at all. Better go down to Old Ben's, and ask him."

They went to Old Ben's. No one was at home but "Old Kit," the

mother. She said "not one of 'em came dis Christmas. She was

looking for 'em all day, an' her heart was mos' broke about 'em."

Old Ben was found and questioned about his sons. Old Ben said, "He

hadn't _seen one_ of 'em dis Christmas." With all his deep

religious feeling, Old Ben thought that in such a case as this, it

was enough for him to keep to the _letter_, and let the man

hunters find his sons if they could. Old Ben knew the Old

Testament stories well. Perhaps he thought of Rahab who hid the

spies, and received a commendation for it. Perhaps of Jacob and

Abraham, and some of their rather questionable proceedings. He

knew the New Testament also, but I think perhaps he thought the

kind and loving Saviour would have said to him, "Neither do I

condemn thee." I doubt if he had read Mrs. Opie, and I wonder what

judgment that excellent woman would have given in a case like

this.

These poor fugitives, hunted like partridges upon the mountains,

or like the timid fox by the eager sportsman, were obliged in

self-defense to meet cunning with cunning, and to borrow from the

birds and animals their mode of eluding their pursuers by any

device which in the exigency of the case might present itself to

them. They had a creed of their own, and a code of morals which we

dare not criticise till we find our own lives and those of our

dear ones similarly imperiled.

One of Harriet's other brothers had long been attached to a pretty

mulatto girl named Catherine, who was owned by another master; but

this man had other views for her, and would not let her marry

William Henry. On one of Harriet's journeys this brother had made

up his mind to make one of her next party to the North, and that

Catherine should go also. He went to a tailor's and bought a new

suit of clothes for a small person, and concealed them inside the

fence of the garden of Catherine's master. This garden ran down to

the bank of a little stream, and Catherine had been notified where

to find the clothes. When the time came to get ready, Catherine

boldly walked down to the foot of the garden, took up the bundle,

and hiding under the bank, she put on the man's garments and sent

her own floating down the stream.

She was soon missed, and all the girls in the house were set to

looking for Catherine. Presently they saw coming up from the river

a well-dressed little darkey boy, and they all ceased looking for

Catherine, and stared at him. He walked directly by them, round

the house, and out of the gate, without the slightest suspicion

being excited as to who he was. In a few weeks from that time,

this party were all safe in Canada.

William Henry died in Canada, but I have seen and talked with

Catherine at Harriet's house.

I am not quite certain which company it was that was under her

guidance on their Northward way, but at one time when a number of

men were following her, she received one of her sudden intimations

that danger was ahead. "Chillen," she said, "we must stop here and

cross dis ribber." They were on the bank of a stream of some

width, and apparently a deep and rapid one. The men were afraid to

cross; there was no bridge and no boat; but like her great

pattern, she went forward into the waters, and the men not knowing

what else to do, followed, but with fear and trembling. The stream

did not divide to make a way for them to cross over, but to her

was literally fulfilled the promise:

"When through the deep waters I cause thee to go,

The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow."

"For," said she, "Missus, de water never came above my chin; when

we thought surely we were all going under, it became shallower and

shallower, and we came out safe on the odder side." Then there was

another stream to cross, which was also passed in safety. They

found afterward that a few rods ahead of them the advertisement of

these escaping fugitives was posted up, and the officers,

forewarned of their coming, were waiting for them. But though the

Lord thus marvelously protected her from capture, she did not

always escape the consequences of exposure like this. It was in

March that this passage of the streams was effected, and the

weather was raw and cold; Harriet traveled a long distance in her

wet clothing, and was afterward very ill for a long time with a

very severe cold. I have often heard her tell this story; but some

of the incidents, particularly that of her illness, were not

mentioned by herself, but were written me by friend Garrett.

I hardly know how to approach the subject of the spiritual

experiences of my sable heroine. They seem so to enter into the

realm of the supernatural, that I can hardly wonder that those who

never knew her are ready to throw discredit upon the story.

Ridicule has been cast upon the whole tale of her adventures by

the advocates of human slavery; and perhaps by those who would

tell with awe-struck countenance some tale of ghostly visitation,

or spiritual manifestation, at a dimly lighted "_seance_."

Had I not known so well her deeply religious character, and her

conscientious veracity, and had I not since the war, and when she

was an inmate of my own house, seen such remarkable instances of

what seemed to be her direct intercourse with heaven, I should not

dare to risk my own character for veracity by making these things

public in this manner.

But when I add that I have the strongest testimonials to her

character for integrity from William H. Seward, Gerritt Smith,

Wendell Phillips, Fred. Douglass, and my brother, Prof. S.M.

Hopkins, who has known her for many years, I do not fear to brave

the incredulity of any reader.

Governor Seward wrote of her:

"I have known Harriet long, and a nobler, higher spirit, or a

truer, seldom dwells in human form."

Gerritt Smith, the distinguished philanthropist, was so kind as to

write me expressing his gratification that I had undertaken this

work, and added:

"I have often listened to Harriet with delight on her visits to my

family, and I am convinced that she is not only truthful, but that

she has a rare discernment, and a deep and sublime philanthropy."

Wendell Phillips wrote me, mentioning that in Boston, Harriet

earned the confidence and admiration of all those who were working

for freedom; and speaking of her labors during the war, he added:

"In my opinion there are few captains, perhaps few colonels, who

have done more for the loyal cause since the war began, and few

men who did more before that time, for the colored race, than our

fearless and sagacious friend."

Many other letters I received; from Mr. Sanborn, Secretary of the

Massachusetts Board of Charities, from Fred. Douglass, from Rev.

Henry Fowler, and from Union officers at the South during the war,

all speaking in the highest praise and admiration of the character

and labors of my black heroine.

Many of her passes also were sent me; in which she is spoken of as

"Moses," for by that name she was universally known. For the story

of her heroic deeds had gone before her, and the testimony of all

who knew her accorded with the words of Mr. Seward:

"The cause of freedom owes her much; the country owes her much."

And yet the country was not willing to pay her anything. Mr.

Seward's efforts, seconded by other distinguished men, to get a

pension for her, were sneered at in Congress as absurd and

quixotic, and the effort failed.

Secretary Seward, from whom Harriet purchased her little place

near Auburn, died. The place had been mortgaged when this noble

woman left her home, and threw herself into the work needed for

the Union cause; the mortgage was to be foreclosed. The old

parents, then nearly approaching their centennial year, were to be

turned out to die in a poor-house, when the sudden determination

was taken to send out a little sketch of her life to the

benevolent public, in the hope of redeeming the little home. This

object, through the kindness of friends, was accomplished. The old

people died in Harriet's own home, breathing blessings upon her

for her devotion to them.

Now another necessity has arisen, and our sable friend, who never

has been known to beg for herself, asks once more for help in

accomplishing a favorite project for the good of her people. This,

as she says, is "her last work, and she only prays de Lord to let

her live till it is well started, and den she is ready to go."

This work is the building of a hospital for old and disabled

colored people; and in this she has already had the sympathy and

aid of the good people of Auburn; the mayor and his noble wife

having given her great assistance in the meetings she has held in

aid of this object. It is partly to aid her in this work, on which

she has so set her heart, that this story of her life and labors

is being re-written.

At one time, when she felt called upon to go down for some company

of slaves, she was, as she knew, watched for everywhere (for there

had been an excited meeting of slave-holders, and they were

determined to catch her, dead or alive), her friends gathered

round her, imploring her not to go on in the face of danger and

death, for they were sure she would never be allowed to return.

And this was her answer:

"Now look yer! John saw de City, didn't he?" "Yes, John saw de

City." "Well, what did he see? He saw twelve gates, didn't he?

Three of dose gates was on de north; three of 'em was on de east;

an' three of 'em was on de west; but dere was three more, an' dem

was on de _south_; an' I reckon, if dey kill me down dere, I'll

git into one of dem gates, don't you?"

Whether Harriet's ideas of the geographical bearings of the gates

of the Celestial City as seen in the apocalyptic vision, were

correct or not, we cannot doubt that she was right in the

deduction her faith drew from them; and that somewhere, whether

North, East, South, or West, to our dim vision, there is a gate

that will be opened for our good Harriet, where the welcome will

be given, "Come in, thou blessed of my Father."

It is a peculiarity of Harriet, that she had seldom been known to

intimate a wish that anything should be given to herself; but when

her people are in need, no scruples of delicacy stand in the way

of her petitions, nay, almost her _demands_ for help.

When, after rescuing so many others, and all of her brothers and

sisters that could be reached, with their children, she received

an intimation in some mysterious or supernatural way, that the old

people were in trouble and needed her, she asked the Lord where

she should go for the money to enable her to go for them. She was

in some way, as she supposed, directed to the office of a certain

gentleman, a friend of the slaves, in New York. When she left the

house of the friends with whom she was staying, she said: "I'm

gwine to Mr. ------'s office, an' I ain't gwine to lebe dere, an'

I ain't gwine to eat or drink, till I get money enough to take me

down after de ole people."

She went into this gentleman's office.

"How do you do, Harriet? What do you want?" was the first

greeting.

"I want some money, sir."

"_You do_! How much do you want?"

"I want twenty dollars, sir!"

"_Twenty dollars_! Who told you to come here for twenty dollars!"

"De Lord tole me, sir."

"He did; well I guess the Lord's mistaken this time."

"No, sir; de Lord's nebber mistaken! Anyhow I'm gwine to sit here

till I get it."

So she sat down and went to sleep. All the morning, and all the

afternoon, she sat there still; sometimes sleeping, sometimes

rousing up, often finding the office full of gentlemen; sometimes

finding herself alone. Many fugitives were passing through New

York at this time, and those who came in supposed her to be one of

them, tired out, and resting. Sometimes she would be roused up

with the words:

"Come, Harriet! You had better go; there's no money for you here."

"No, sir; I'm not gwine to stir from here till I git my twenty

dollars!"

She does not know all that happened, for deep sleep fell upon her;

probably one of the turns of somnolency to which she has always

been subject; but without doubt her story was whispered from one

to another, and as her name and exploits were well known to many

persons, the sympathies of some of those visitors to the office

were aroused; at all events she came to full consciousness, at

last, to find herself the happy possessor of _sixty dollars_, the

contribution of these strangers. She went on her way rejoicing to

bring her old parents from the land of bondage.

When she reached their home, she found that her old father was to

be tried the next Monday for helping off slaves. And so, as she

says in her forcible language, "I just removed my father's trial

to a higher court, and brought him off to Canada."

The manner of their escape is detailed in the following letter

from friend Garrett:

WILMINGTON, 6th Mo., 1868.

MY FRIEND: Thy favor of the 12th reached me yesterday, requesting

such reminiscences as I could give respecting the remarkable

labors of Harriet Tubman, in aiding her colored friends from

bondage. I may begin by saying, living as I have in a slave State,

and the laws being very severe where any proof could be made of

any one aiding slaves on their way to freedom, I have not felt at

liberty to keep any written word of Harriet's or my own labors,

except in numbering those whom I have aided. For that reason I

cannot furnish so interesting an account of Harriet's labors as I

otherwise could, and now would be glad to do; for in truth I never

met with any person, of any color, who had more confidence in the

voice of God, as spoken direct to her soul. She has frequently

told me that she talked with God, and he talked with her every day

of her life, and she has declared to me that she felt no more fear

of being arrested by her former master, or any other person, when

in his immediate neighborhood, than she did in the State of New

York, or Canada, for she said she never ventured only where God

sent her, and her faith in the Supreme Power truly was great.

I have now been confined to my room with indisposition more than

four weeks, and cannot sit to write much; but I feel so much

interested in Harriet, that I will try to give some of the most

remarkable incidents that now present themselves to my mind. The

date of the commencement of her labors, I cannot certainly give;

but I think it must have been about 1845; from that time till

1860, I think she must have brought from the neighborhood where

she had been held as a slave, from 60 to 80 persons,[C] from

Maryland, some 80 miles from here. No slave who placed himself

under her care, was ever arrested that I have heard of; she mostly

had her regular stopping places on her route; but in one instance,

when she had several stout men with her, some 30 miles below here,

she said that God told her to stop, which she did; and then asked

him what she must do. He told her to leave the road, and turn to

the left; she obeyed, and soon came to a small stream of tide

water; there was no boat, no bridge; she again inquired of her

Guide what she was to do. She was told to go through. It was cold,

in the month of March; but having confidence in her Guide, she

went in; the water came up to her armpits; the men refused to

follow till they saw her safe on the opposite shore. They then

followed, and, if I mistake not, she had soon to wade a second

stream; soon after which she came to a cabin of colored people,

who took them all in, put them to bed, and dried their clothes,

ready to proceed next night on their journey. Harriet had run out

of money, and gave them some of her underclothing to pay for their

kindness. When she called on me two days after, she was so hoarse

she could hardly speak, and was also suffering with violent

toothache. The strange part of the story we found to be, that the

masters of these men had put up the previous day, at the railroad

station near where she left, an advertisement for them, offering a

large reward for their apprehension; but they made a safe exit.

She at one time brought as many as seven or eight, several of whom

were women and children. She was well known here in Chester County

and Philadelphia, and respected by all true abolitionists. I had

been in the habit of furnishing her and those who accompanied her,

as she returned from her acts of mercy, with new shoes; and on one

occasion when I had not seen her for three months, she came into

my store. I said, "Harriet, I am glad to see thee! I suppose thee

wants a pair of new shoes." Her reply was, "I want more than

that." I, in jest, said, "I have always been liberal with thee,

and wish to be; but I am not rich, and cannot afford to give

much." Her reply was: "God tells me you have money for me." I

asked her "if God never deceived her?" She said, "No!" "Well! how

much does thee want?" After studying a moment, she said: "About

twenty-three dollars." I then gave her twenty-four dollars and

some odd cents, the net proceeds of five pounds sterling, received

through Eliza Wigham, of Scotland, for her. I had given some

accounts of Harriet's labor to the Anti-Slavery Society of

Edinburgh, of which Eliza Wigham was Secretary. On the reading of

my letter, a gentleman present said he would send Harriet four

pounds if he knew of any way to get it to her. Eliza Wigham

offered to forward it to me for her, and that was the first money

ever received by me for her. Some twelve months after, she called

on me again, and said that God told her I had some money for her,

but not so much as before. I had, a few days previous, received

the net proceeds of one pound ten shillings from Europe for her.

To say the least there was something remarkable in these facts,

whether clairvoyance, or the divine impression on her mind from

the source of all power, I cannot tell; but certain it was she had

a guide within herself other than the written word, for she never

had any education. She brought away her aged parents in a singular

manner. They started with an old horse, fitted out in primitive

style with a _straw collar_, a pair of old chaise wheels, with a

board on the axle to sit on, another board swung with ropes,

fastened to the axle, to rest their feet on. She got her parents,

who were both slaves belonging to different masters, on this rude

vehicle to the railroad, put them in the cars, turned Jehu

herself, and drove to town in a style that no human being ever did

before or since; but she was happy at having arrived safe. Next

day, I furnished her with money to take them all to Canada. I

afterward sold their horse, and sent them the balance of the

proceeds. I believe that Harriet succeeded in freeing all her

relatives but one sister and her three children. Etc., etc.

Thy friend,